The Bar Ch. 01

***

I got back to the cubicles excited and barely able to contain myself, I felt like skipping. 'My first case! With a junior partner to boot!'

"So," Gwen asked, as I shuffled back to my cubicle and collapsed on my chair, "how was court?"

"Good," I replied, as she entered my cubicle and perched upon the corner of the desk.

"You slay 'em slugger?"

"You know it, the big NG, I got up there and strutted my stuff like a pro!"

"More like tripped over your shoelaces and got the pity verdict,"

"Ye of little faith,"

"Me of a lot of experience; but seriously how was it?"

"Just a preliminary hearing- hey you ever heard of a guy called Jackson?"

"You got more than that? Like I dunno, a last name? Although there was this Jackson from law school..."

"Zoller. Jackson Zoller,"

"Zoller, Zoller..." she rolled the word around her mouth as if tasting it, "Isn't that the guy who owns BizTeque?"

"That's right!" BizTeque was one of the largest software companies in the state, hell the country even, it made something to do with computer chips... processors? I pretty much knew how to turn on a computer and find the porn, not too much more.

"Why?"

"He's the client, not the guy who founded BizTeque but his son, Jackson,"

"Wow," She looked suitably impressed, "and you're second chairing? Well, all I can say is don't fuck up,"

"Cheers, thanks for the vote of confidence; now piss off, I need to finish up this case before tomorrow."

"Yeah good luck," she thumped me on the back once before returning back to her cubicle.

***

It wasn't nine o'clock, nearly five hours later, before I looked up from my work. Okay I definitely needed coffee. I stood up, cracked my back audibly and glanced over at Gwen.

"You want a cup of coffee?" I asked, trying hard to suppress a yawn.

"Nah, I'm done for the day," she clicked save and pushed her chair back triumphantly, "Another rich client successfully saved from paying taxes."

"The penance we pay for selling our souls," I replied sagely.

"Yeah, well who knows, in a couple of years time we might be the ones who are borderline defrauding the tax man,"

"Ahh, a better tomorrow," I mocked, staring off into the distance... or pretending to, actually staring at an extremely ugly canvas painting that dominated one of the walls of the bull pen. Whether the array of colors in nonsensical order were put there to try and instill us with intrinsic existential thoughts or to motivate us to work hard and get the hell out of here I didn't know.

"Yeah, well for today I'm heading down to the bar," she logged off the computer and stood up, slinging her jacket over her shoulders, "You want to come?"

"Nah, I've still got a couple hundred pages to trawl through, if I'm lucky," I replied, making my way to the kitchenette, "Have a drink for me?"

"Will do," she replied, "meet us later?"

"Yeah, if I can knock this one out of the park."

The coffee did me good, the black bitter liquid was piping hot and I had added enough sugar to give me enough of a high to slip my brain back into gear.

It was two hours later when I finally found my eureka moment, I jumped up from my desk, hitting my knee against the side of it, and punched the air victoriously!

"I am invincible!" I called out in a heavy Russian accent.

"Borris?" Mickey called out from where he sat at his own desk, apparently still in the office.

"Uh yeah," I responded sheepishly, I had honestly thought I was the last one at the office.

"Any reason for your goldeneye impersonations?"

"Convenience clauses are a wonderful things!" I responded, a look of joy plastered all over my face.

"Yeah so is the Russian women's gymnastic Olympics team," he responded, "what's your point?"

"Well after trawling through hundreds of emails it appears the contractor has only been on sight for like four days a week on average,"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, that in itself isn't enough to get rid of him since it isn't long enough to issue him with a warning, but in conjunction with his inability to hire enough cranes, get the roads blocked off, get the supplies on time, it would be more convenient for us to go with another client. Now the clause is worded such that we can't just get rid of him, but in conjunction with-"

"Okay, okay," Mickey held up his hands placating me, "I get it... invincible and all that. Well congrats?"

"Cheers," I responded, sitting back down and shooting off an email to Clint Wiedman, the oversees of the first years, detailing my results.

"Well I'm outta here!" I announced as I got up and shrugged on my jacket and satchel. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, unlocking it and calling up the message app, shooting Gwen a text.

FROM: Mark Roberts

SUBJECT: Bar

MESSAGE: Still at the Fat Dog? I need a drink or 2.

Barely five seconds after I hit send she responded.

FROM: Gwenivere Talstoy

SUBJECT: Re Bar

MESSAGE: Damn straight! Get your ass down here ADAP!

FROM: Mark Roberts

SUBJECT: Re Bar

MESSAGE: ADAP? Don't you mean ASAP? ;p

FROM: Gwenivere Talstoy

SUBJECT: Re Bar

MESSAGE: Auto-correct

FROM: Mark Roberts

SUBJET: Re Bar

MESSAGE: Uh huh, sure it's not drunk-text? See you in a few.

FROM: Gwenivere Talstoy

SUBJET: Re Bar

MESSAGE: I'll get you a drink

I slipped the phone back in the pocket and hit the down button the elevator, looking forward to a hard stiff drink after the strange day I'd had.

The Fat Dog is a great little bar about a block and a half away from the office. The entrance is down a flight of concrete stairs at the start of a side alley just of the street, the only thing that indicates it's there is a neon red sign of a newspaper.

Strictly speaking, Fat Dog isn't even the real bar's name, it is technically called Catalogue, the original establishers thought it would be a bar for journo's and the like, but strangely they never found the dark underground gin joint particularly enticing.

Then one night, just as the owners were thinking of pulling out and cutting their losses, a lawyer, on a high after winning his first case, was walking buy and saw one of the few patrons of Catalogue exit. On a whim, the guy entered the bar and ordered a martini. He was so impressed that he asked the bartender the name of the place; the bartender's, Larry's, reply was drowned out by the saxophonist playing in a dark corner.

The lawyer then proceeded to call his colleagues and told them to get down to the Fat Dog ASAP. Well, the lawyer's colleagues were just as taken with the joint and the next night they brought their friends, soon the place became a regular joint for the lawyer's colleagues and their friends.

This breath of fresh life that took the bar from a near complete failure to a new and hip place so inspired the owners they unofficially renamed it the Fat Dog. Well, that lawyer was Harry Adams, the man who would go on to found Adams and Colman, the firm at which I know worked.

I pushed through the large door and nodded to Larry, still working behind the bar after all these years.

"Mark!" Gwen called out, standing up and rushing unsteadily towards me, "You finally got here!"

"Yeah, strangely enough they tend to frown over drinking at the office," I remarked sarcastically, grabbing her around the waist to stop her from falling over.

"You work too hard!" Her voice was slightly slurred but that wasn't the biggest indicator she'd had a bit too much to drink, the way she was softly pawing at my chest was.

"Okay there boozy, the eighth dwarf," I said slowly, gently prying her hands off of me and releasing her from my grasp, only keeping a solid hand at the small of her back to guide her back to the bar.

"Well at least I'm not... crabby the ninth dwarf!"

"Nice, very original. And technically speaking crabby is the same as grumpy, the second dwarf,"

"Know it all. Who are you anyway? Walt Disney?"

"Brothers Grimm,"

"What?"

"The Brothers Grimm came up with it, not Walt Disney, he only made the loveable cartoon,"

"Shut up and have a drink!" We made our way over to Harry, Dale and Wil, other first year associates who were crowded over a small table.

"Hey man," Harry greeted, patting me on the back as I sat down, after depositing Gwen in the chair next to mine.

"Congrats you lucky mother-" thankfully before Dale could finish the sentence Wil cut him off.

"Well done cutie," Wilma was perhaps one of the sweetest people I knew and had no place in the soul sucking profession that we called our own. She stood at only about five foot one with a short bob of brown hair and a pair wire framed glasses that were always slipping down her nose, not exactly the fiercest figure in a courtroom, but nobody could research better than her. When the partners needed a win on a case they came to her; hell it should have been her in court today not me.

"Cheers you guys," I thanked them and could barely suppress a grin.

"Get this down you big fella," Dale commanded as he slid a drink across the table.

"Cheers," I said again and took a big gulp of the drink, regretting it almost immediately, "What the hell is that!" I spluttered, trying not to spit it out all over my friends.

"A cherry popper," Hary said as the others burst out in laughter.

"Or, what Larry thinks is a cherry popper," Dale clarified, clapping me on the back.

"You know, 'cause your first case and all that," Gwen admitted, surreptitiously slipping her hand onto my thigh.

"Well, as much as I thank you for the sentiment," I said pushing the drink back across the table and just as subtly sliding Gwen's hand off my thigh, "I need something a whole lot better and a whole lot stronger."

I stood up from the table and made my way over to the bar, reaching into my back pocket and slipping out my black leather wallet.

"Mark," Larry greeted as he sidled over, grabbing tumbler off the rack as he made his way over.

"Ah Larry you know me too well," I said, smiling at the glass he popped down on the counter.

"Mate, it's been nine months and in that time you've had at least one scotch every night," Larry was born and bred in New York but he'd taken a fondness to my English vernacular, "I'd be a pretty crappy barman if I didn't know what you were going to order on the most important night of your career so far,"

"Calm down there Mrs Bennet," I responded, "It was just a preliminary hearing, it's not exactly as if it's a big Daniel Kaffee moment or anything, I pretty much sat there and looked pretty,"

"Daniel who?"

"Kaffee? Daniel Kaffee?" I was dismayed by the look of confusion still on his face, "You know, who Tom Cruise plays in 'A Few Good Men'?"

"Oh, I think I've heard of that, isn't that the one where he does the whole: Show me the money! routine?"

"No... that's Jerry Maguire..." I tried not to sound horribly insulting but still- come on! "A Few Good Men is: You don't want the truth, because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall! You need me on that wall!"

"Right..." Larry responded, clearly still no more enlightened, "you want a drink or not?"

"Yeah, we'll leave the popular culture lesson for another time," I responded, checking out the rows of scotch they kept behind the bar on a high shelf with dim lighting illuminating their dusty labels, "how about the... hmm... Aberlour 21,"

"An excellent choice, sir" Larry mocked, grabbing the bottle from the top of the shelf and pouring a measure that was a great deal larger than a standard drink, "For your first day in the courtroom, even if you were just looking pretty." He winked and pushed the glass towards me, waving away the twenty I held out.

"Thanks mate," I grinned back at him, but instead of slipping the twenty back in my wallet I threw it in the brandy glass that served as a tip jar.

"Our glorious hero returns," Harry greeted as I sat back down, sipping from the peaty, smoky drink.

"Guys, seriously, I didn't do anything," I placated yet again.

"Still you made it there before any of us," Dale replied.

"Listen, I got called up because I have an English accent and a pretty face," I told them emphatically for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"Oh come one, tell us all about it!" Wil asked, leaning in.

"Fine. I went in, Jenny waived the reading of the-"

"Who?" Dale cut in

"Jennifer Alswel, one of the junior partners," I explained.

"Oh Alswel, she's on the 52nd right? I've work for her before I think," of course Wilma would have worked for her; I felt mildly bad at beating Gwen and Dale to the courtroom, Harry honestly wasn't cut out for it yet, but I felt really bad for getting there before Wilma, she earned a seat at the table months ago.

"Yeah that's her," I admitted.

"But you call her Jenny?" Dale clarified.

"She... told me to,"

"Rawr," Harry growled.

"What?" Wilma, Dale and myself questioned together.

"You know... rawr." He repeated, then at the looks we were giving him continued, "Cougar?"

"Oh yeah!" Harry joined in, a giant grin spreading over her face.

"You guys want to hear about it or not?" I asked, playing the only card I had in my hand to get them off this topic, "So Jennifer waived the reading of the charges, we entered a non-guilty plea and the case was set to start on the 23rd."

"Yeah, not too interesting," Gwen broke in, swaying slightly in her seat.

"What's the case?" Wil asked, eyes alight with intrigue.

"Not too sure, something to do with aggravated assault," I responded, not sure how far exactly confidentiality extended, sure these guys were part of my firm but maybe Jenny didn't want me blabbing all about it, "Anyway, what's your week looking like?"

That did the trick, the subject quickly changed and I let Dale launch into another one of his long tales, which more often than not seemed to miss all point. They were a bit of a legend around the office, stories which would keep you on edge waiting for the climax but more often than not ended lamely with: and then I went home.

During Dale's regaling, I took a second to take check on Gwen. I wasn't sure how much she'd had to drink but she seemed to be struggling, her eyes slightly glassy and occasionally she missed the table when she went to put her elbow on it.

"You okay?" I whispered in her ear after knocking back the remainder of my scotch.

"Yesh, jusht fine," She slurred, finding it hard to keep my eye.

"Uh huh, sure, well you have to work in, oh" I glanced at my watch, "fuck nine hours. Come on, I'm taking you home."

"Guys," I announced to the group, interrupting Dales pointless story much to his dismay, "I'm going to call it quits and I think Gwen is to, I'll put her in a cab. See you all tomorrow?"

"Oooh the big man can't even have a drink after work anymore? Too important for us?" Harry joked.

"Well you know, I've got to meet with a junior associate in the morning, you know what that's like... oh hang on a sec, I guess you don't." I said, smiling to lessen the blow.

"You wound me kind sir," Harry retaliated with a false over the top English accent. Dale and Wilma bid their own goodnights. I shrugged into my jacket that was hanging on the back of the chair before helping Gwen up from her own chair.

We walked somewhat unsteadily to the exit, waving at Larry on our way out. The cool air that hit us as we exited sobered me up from any effects I'd been feeling instantly, but Gwen only pressed herself tighter into me and shivered.

"Thanks Mark, you're a good guy," She dopily mumbled, letting me half carry her up the stairs and down the alley to the street.

"Don't I know it," I responded, waiving down a cab that was coming down the busy metropolitan avenue.

"You know," She responded dulcetly, twisting around so she was face to face with me, "you could always make sure I get inside my apartment alright... instead of just putting me in a cab,"

"Yeah, but then I'd have to catch the subway home, and I don't feel much like getting stabbed tonight," I jovially retaliated, gently chucking her below the chin with my index finger.

"I have a big bed," her hand was on my chest again and it felt as if her fingers were feeding a direct current to my chest.

"Goodnight Gwen," I took all my willpower to refuse her invitation and I knew if I was as drunk as she was there was no way I wouldn't be jumping in the cab with her. I popped open the door and helped her slide into the back seat.

I leant down, slipping my head into the interior intending to say something along the lines of: see you tomorrow, when her lips suddenly leapt forward and pressed firmly against my own. Well, if her fingers sent sparks through my body, her lips made me feel as if I'd just been hooked up to the mains.

Our kiss was warm and soft and she

tasted like strawberries and chocolate. I could feel a reaction down south and I knew that if I didn't break off this kiss now then I'd be in the cab with her and we'd be doing something stupid tonight.

"Ah, Gwen," I moaned, breaking the kiss and ducking back outside the cab, hoping the cool wind calmed me down and put me back in a sensible mindset, "You are a wicked, wicked girl. Text me when you get home."

I shut the rear door and slipped the driver thirty bucks, double what it should cost to get her home, telling him to make sure she got in safe.

***

Final Note:

Hey, so thanks for reading to the end! Sorry it is a bit tame, but like i said it's more to test the waters and see what you think! Is it worth continuing with?

Also i haven't sorted out all the details with the case (which will feature prominently throughout the story) so let me know if you have any ideas about what you think Jackson did!

Please please please comment! Even if it's just to say let it die and hang yourself out of shame for writing such utter crap!