Somtimes, Life's Not Fair

As I walked to the conference room I could see that everyone else was there with expectant looks on their faces. I poked my head in and said "As soon as I return this box to my office I'll be right back." Charles Compton followed after me.

"Amy, I'm so glad that you came back. Everyone else's ideas just won't cut it. Can you really come through?" he said.

"Just watch me," I smiled.

When I walked into the conference room and started my presentation I had everyone's undivided attention as much as I ever had even when stripping. Well maybe they weren't as attentive as when I did my ultimate performance the night that I got arrested, but second only to that night. When I got done laying out my strategy and Compton and Offenbach read the professor's email and the case that I had found, there were smiles all around. Of course I didn't tell them that the only way that I found the precedent that we were going to rely on was by misspelling two words when doing a computer search; I'm not stupid!

Charles immediately grabbed one of the partners who had been working on the case, who is a whiz at quickly drafting papers. "Jack, take this and get the motion for a TRO prepared as quickly as possible. We need to file it by 2:00 p.m. I'm going to the courthouse to talk personally with Judge Proctor's clerk and tell her it's coming and get on the docket at eight tomorrow morning."

Charles barked out a number of other instructions to all of the others, Offenbach got on the phone with somebody and was having an excited animated conversation, and the entire office became a beehive of activity.

"What should I do?" I asked Charles.

"Take the day off," Charles said giving me a big hug. Apparently Offenbach overheard him. He motioned for his secretary to give him a wad of cash.

"Please, Amy, go buy something really nice for yourself," he said handing me a stack of hundreds. "I hope that you can come to the hearing, tomorrow,"

"I'll be there," I said with a smile.

As I left I counted the money; three thousand two hundred dollars. I drove to Tim's office, told him the good news, and "made" him fuck me on his desk. After we picked up all the stuff that used to be on his desk, with big smiles on our faces, I kissed him goodbye, told him that I was going to buy a pair of $900 Christian Louboutin shoes and an appropriate dress and accessories, and exited his office wiggling my ass.

__________________

The hearing on the TRO went great. Judge Proctor was impressed with Charles' presentation and granted the TRO. We all left the courtroom believing that the city would have to negotiate to change their urban renewal plans or to make some other accommodation. Offenbach was very solicitous of my goodwill. He asked me to ride with him in his limo back to the office; I agreed.

After some chit chat he got to his point. "Amy, I'm pleased that you accepted my apology, but wonder if there is anything else I need to do to court your goodwill."

"I accepted your apology. It's water over the dam as far as I'm concerned," I replied with a smile.

"I would really like you to continue to work on my projects for your firm," he continued. "I expect to have lots of dealings with you in the future. I hope that you can learn to tolerate the fact that I'm mercurial and that I may insult you again in the future; but I hope that you can put up with it, because I'll never mean to do it, and will sincerely beg your forgiveness if I do."

I paused for a second. It isn't often that a paralegal has the upper hand in a discussion with a multi-billionaire.

"I tell you what, James – you don't mind that I call you 'James,' do you?" I said.

"No, please do," he gushed.

"I tell you what, James; I'll be tolerant of you but you have to understand that I might give back as could as you give. If you can't stand a paralegal dressing you down in front of other people, then we need to end our relationship right now – no hard feelings," I replied.

"Despite what you might have heard, I'm not really a prima donna. If I give you shit I'll expect it back; no hard feelings. Shake?" he said, extending his hand.

"Deal," I replied, shaking it.

Thus began one of the stranger relationships in law firm-client history. Offenbach transferred about 60% of his work to Arnold, Watt & Compton. Compton and lowly little paralegal me were the point people on getting his new projects, and we were the only two people at the firm that he would talk to if he had something new.

Offenbach even offered to pay to send me to law school, but I was happy as a paralegal and in no way did I want to go back to school, so I politely declined.

Compton and I also travelled with Offenbach to his business interests around the world. It was on one of these trips, in Paris, that something mega-bizarre happened.

We had concluded a successful negotiation, and were celebrating at a bar. Compton and the others we were with were short hitters. That left only me and Offenbach – and his two bodyguards who were off to the side and out of hearing – at the bar. I had had little to drink, but Offenbach had consumed more alcohol than I ever had seen him before. Right in the middle of a discussion about something totally unrelated he burst out with slurred speech "Amy, I saw a tape of you dancing. You're the sexiest woman in the entire world. I'd pay a million dollars to have a week with you."

I was cool and composed. "Is that all? A million would only get you one night, dude!"

"Would you really do it?" he expectantly asked.

"I doubt it – but who knows; life's not fair sometimes, and one can never know how things will change. But don't hold your breath," I replied.

He looked at me wide-eyed. He lifted up my hand and kissed it about ten times, then got up and as he left said "I've either got to masturbate or get a call girl," and stumbled away from the bar, helped by one of his bodyguards.

By that time in my dealings with Offenbach his comments no longer fazed me, especially when he had been drinking. I didn't think that he'd remember it, but the next day as we departed his private plane when we got back to the U. S. just before he got into his limo, and I was getting ready to ride with Charles, he quickly pulled me aside.

"Amy, I just want you to know that last night it wasn't the alcohol talking. I really meant it, even though I never would have verbalized it if I hadn't been drinking. I won't bring it up again, but I was serious," he said. He had turned beet-red as he talked. He then quickly turned and entered his limo and was gone.

"Interesting," I chuckled to myself.

When I rode back to the office with Charles I nonchalantly said, "Say Charles; how did Offenbach get to see a video of me stripping?"

He turned beet-red. The golden tongue orator was almost tongue-tied as he stuttered, "Uh, well, I have the video from the lawsuit where I first met you in my office because it's evidence. I needed to retain it in case something comes up in the case again. Uh, well, one time when I was out of my office and left Offenbach there when I came back he was viewing the video intently. He asked for a copy but I wouldn't give him one."

"From now on I'll be in charge of retaining that evidence in case there is a need for it in the future," I said with a sneer.

"Oh, ah...sure Amy," he replied and then changed the subject. I got the tape from his office that day and locked in the safe in my office.

__________________

Tim and I had been married about three years when another "life's not fair," so far the worst ever for me, occurred. At that time our marriage was pretty good, but not great. We were very compatible sexually, but there were some irritating things that we had never found out about each other in our world wind courtship, so everyday living – when not in the sack – was hard at times.

My brother Rob, my rock, my best friend, and my protector for most of my life, got very ill. He went through a dozen doctors before they diagnosed the problem. He was sick enough so that he couldn't work, and was put on extended sabbatical – without pay – while he dealt with his problem. His bitch of a wife Denise deserted him during his illness, exacerbating matters significantly. I would have killed the bitch if I ever got my hands on her.

I took an extended leave – also without pay – from work. Compton was very understanding, and he talked to all of the clients, including Offenbach. Offenbach actually called my cell phone to give me his condolences. Tim was not as understanding. He resented the time that I spent with Rob, and the loss of income. I had Rob moved to a hospital closer to me.

After two months of VERY expensive treatment Rob was no better. He was on the verge of maxing out his health insurance, and still no diagnosis. I finally got ahold of an international expert, Dr. von Geist from Berlin. I paid for his flight to the U. S., and he properly diagnosed the problem; a rare cancer that few people ever recovered from. I asked him if there was any hope. I won't try to duplicate his accent.

"Only two people have ever survived – the good news is that they eventually thrived. However, the treatment that was successful is experimental and very expensive, and the success rate so far is only 33%," he said while stroking his beard.

"How expensive?" I asked.

"In Germany it was on the order of one million Euros," he replied. "I don't know if it would cost more or less here."

"How long does he have without the treatment?" was my next question.

"If he doesn't start the treatment within a month, he will be dead within two months – and it will be a painful death," he replied.

Over the next week I talked to Rob's insurance carrier, the hospital he was in, and other hospitals across the country; probably ten meetings and fifty phone calls. The bottom line was that his insurance company would not pay for it, it would cost roughly $1,100,000 for him to have the treatment in the U. S., but that it could be done in the suburban hospital that he was presently in.

I could scrape together about $70,000; Rob had already gone through his savings with his illness and with the divorce from the bitch, so he had only about $25,000 left.

I talked to my parents. My mother was willing to help, but her fortunes after she and my father split were not good, and she could only contribute about $10,000. My father – who was in a much better situation monetarily – refused to help, the selfish bastard.

I talked to Tim about getting a second mortgage on our house and/or getting a personal loan. Tim adamantly refused.

"There's a one-third chance that he will survive and we go into hock for the rest of our lives? I don't think so, Amy; it's not a rational business decision," he said during the third heated argument about it.

"But he's my brother, and he's been the most important person to me throughout my childhood and early life. He'd do the same for me; this isn't business, it's family and it's life and death," I snarled.

Nothing was resolved; we merely ended up completely pissed at each other, and not talking.

I tried to get a loan on my own, but the bank almost laughed at me when I told them that I wanted $1,000,000. Just to see what the situation would be if Tim also signed the loan – his earnings were high and likely to increase since he was just starting the prime of his career – they likely would be willing to do it if they also had our house and other possessions as collateral.

Unless Tim agreed that left me with just one option – James Offenbach.

The night after my visit to the bank I made one last attempt to get Tim on board. It was difficult just to get him to sit down but I assured him that what I had to say he needed to hear. I told him about what the bank had to say, reiterated about how important Rob was to me and my need to do anything possible; then hit him with my zinger.

"My only other option, Tim, is to approach James Offenbach. I never told you this, because there was no need since I never seriously considered it, but Offenbach has offered me $1,000,000 to spend a week with him. I'm going to take him up on his offer," I said, with a tear forming in my eye.

Tim was stunned. After he recovered he said "Offenbach must have been drunk when he said that. He couldn't be serious."

"Why not; don't you think that I'm worth it?" I roared with my arms crossed. Under other circumstances this would have been a horrible question to ask him but under the present circumstances I wasn't particularly concerned about putting him at the horns of a dilemma.

Tim didn't answer for the longest time; my expression and stare didn't waver. "You're serious, aren't you?" he finally said more than asked.

"As serious as I've ever been," I calmly replied.

"It's over between us if you do that?" was his cold response.

"Then we're done – put the house on the market or buy out my interest right away," I retorted, just as coldly. I got up, went to the phone, and called Offenbach's private number while Tim was still in the room. It went to voice mail. I left a message, still in Tim's presence. "James, this is Amy. Please call me on my cell. I have something very important to talk to you about; we need to meet face-to-face as soon as possible. It relates to our discussion in Paris."

As I was moving my things into the guest bedroom Offenbach called my cell phone.

"What's up Amy?"

"James, I really need to talk to you in person. Do you have a chance to meet with me?"

"I'll only be an hour's flight away from you tomorrow. I'll have my private jet pick you up at the airport at ten tomorrow morning, and my assistant will bring you to my location. Is that acceptable?" he asked.

"That would be great; see you tomorrow morning," I replied, staring at Tim who was standing in the guest room doorway.

________________

When I got to Offenbach's location – a conference room in one of the many businesses that he owned – he had a serious look on his face; I'm sure that mine matched his. We exchanged hugs.

"What's up, Amy?" he asked, getting right to the point.

"James, I want to take you up on the offer you made in Paris; I want to spend the week with you for $1,000,000."

He saw that I was dead serious.

"What's behind your acceptance of my offer?" he probed.

I explained the entire situation to him, holding it together until just near the end when I started crying. I then got to see firsthand how someone only thirty two years old could have become a multi-billionaire. He was clear thinking, decisive, and motivated.

"If I just give you or your brother the money you'll have to pay gift tax on it, and I get no tax benefit from it. Let me work something out," he said with a determined look on his face.

One half hour and eight phone calls later he said "Good news. I'm donating 1.25 million to the non-profit hospital where your brother will receive his treatment and they'll do it for free. I get a tax deduction and kudos for being a philanthropist, and you and your family don't have to pay a cent."

I started crying, got up and gave him a big hug.

"When can I join you for a week?" I asked.

"Amy; I'm an asshole and a shark, but I truly care about you and...there is no way that I'm going to take advantage of you under the circumstances. I remember how I felt when my parents and sister were killed; I would have done anything to save them, and I really respect you for being the same way. Consider this payment for past services," he said. Then he got a glint in his eye. "However – I would like a copy of the tape of you dancing!" he chuckled.

I kissed him; not just a little peck, either, while pushing my boobs into his chest.

"Don't make me change my mind," he said, exhaling with wide eyes. His cellphone rang. "I have to take this," he said looking at the caller ID. After a two minute conversation he said "Something important has just come up. Listen, do you mind flying commercial back home – my secretary will get the ticket for you. I've got to take my plane to another meeting right now."

"Thank you again," I said, again starting to cry.

He gave me another hug, and was out the door. His secretary booked me first class on the next available flight and had a limo drive me to the airport. I was shortly on my way home more relieved than I ever had been before in my life.

I went into my office the next day, got the tape of me dancing my last performance out of the safe, had it duplicated, and expressed it to Offenbach's office. I marked the envelope "Personal and Confidential" in red at about ten places, and put a label on the tape that said "For the PERSONAL use of James Offenbach, only!"

__________________

Once I sent out the tape I avoided contact with Tim the next two days. At the end of the third, when I got back from the hospital, he had me served with divorce papers. I called up Charles Compton. He had one of the partners who specialized in family law immediately draft papers countersuing Tim for divorce and those papers were filed the next day.

I almost never saw Tim even though we theoretically lived in the same house. I spent most of the time at the hospital where Rob was receiving the best care imaginable during his experimental treatment. I don't know how often Tim stayed in the house.

Dr. von Geist from Berlin actually visited two days – at the hospital's expense – to make sure that everything was progressing properly.

Rob was three weeks into his month long treatment – and doing well enough that his prognosis was now a 70% chance of not only surviving but thriving – when Tim called my cell phone, the only time that he had done that since I went to see Offenbach. I was tempted not to answer, but realized that I'd have to talk to him sometime.

"Hello," was my cold greeting.

"Uh, Hi, Amy. This is Tim," he said in a cheery voice. I didn't respond.

"Say, how's Rob doing?"

"Fine," I tersely replied.

"Is the treatment working?"

"Seems to be," I responded without emotion.

"Uh, great...Say, Amy, I was wondering if we could meet some time?"

"Why?"

"Well, uh, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Have your lawyer talk to mine," was my emotionless response.

"Well, actually, it's something lawyers can't do for us. Please, let's just meet for dinner tonight. Anyplace you say."

I was tempted to tell him to go to hell; but I was curious. "The hospital cafeteria at 7:00 p. m." I retorted.

"Well, I was thinking maybe our favorite French restaurant, the place where...." I cut him off.

"I thought that you said 'anyplace I say.' Did you not mean that?" I snarled.

There was a pause. "OK, I'll see you at the hospital cafeteria at seven," he replied. I think he was going to say more but I cut off the call.

Tim showed up right on time, dressed in a three piece suit. He looked handsome, but apprehensive. He tried to give me a peck on the check but I turned away. He tried to chit-chat as we went through the cafeteria line – I barely responded. He tried to pay the $8.34 for my meal; I declined and paid for it myself.

After we sat down, when I stonewalled some more chit-chat I finally said, not meanly but not nicely either, "Why did you want to meet, Tim?"

"I wanted to meet to eat some crow," he started out, putting his utensils down on his tray. "I understand that Offenbach arranged a donation to the hospital and that you never went on a trip with him."

"Who told you that?" I asked between bites of my salad.

"Your attorney told my attorney," he self-consciously responded.

"What difference does it make?" I asked.

"I...I really miss you and am distraught with the present state of affairs. And, well, ... uh... well, it caused me to think that maybe I made a mistake," he stuttered.

"No Tim, you didn't make a mistake," I replied in a monotone. I could see hope in his eyes, which I quickly dashed. "A mistake is forgetting to put the toilet seat down; a mistake is dialing one number when trying to reach another; a mistake even might be running out gas. You didn't make a mistake. What you did was demonstrate that you are incapable of understanding me, unconcerned about what my needs, wants and desires are in life, and more concerned with money than relationships. You had a massive, unforgivable fuckup that turned my love for you into indifference."