Free A Class Action by Gene Grossman Page B

my first question. “Who’s calling please?”
    To my surprise it’s not a telemarketer. “Mister Sharp, can I call you Peter? This is Patty Seymour.”
    “ I’m sorry Miss Seymour, but I don’t recognize your name. Is this about a current case we’re both working on?”
    “ No, I’m the calendar deputy City Attorney in the West Los Angeles courtroom you appeared in a couple of times this month. I’m afraid we didn’t get off to a very good start in our past few meetings.”
    Jeez. This is the ex-district attorney’s niece – the one who hates my guts for getting her bi-sexual uncle ousted from office.
    “ Oh, yeah… listen, I really am sorry about your uncle. I had nothing personal against him, I mean, he really dressed nice and now he’ll probably wind up being the governor, so everything worked out for the best. If you…”
    “ No, no Peter. I know it was nothing personal. I’m not calling for that at all. I’m calling to ask if you’d like to accompany me to a legal function. Judge Parker will be addressing our legal group and he suggested that I bring you along as my guest. It’s a monthly meeting of our law luncheon club, and he’ll be talking about confidential informants and probable cause.”
    This is a pleasant surprise. I really thought she hated me. I guess the only way to attract members of the opposite sex is by ignoring them. That must be true, because over the years, thousands of women have been using that system, obviously trying to attract me.
    “ Well yes, that would be nice. Why don’t you e-mail me the information, and I’ll pick you up.”
    If I remember correctly, she wasn’t too bad to look at. This could be very interesting. I’ve already got a connection with the District Attorney’s office, and if this relationship gives me access to the City Attorney’s office, my opportunities as a criminal defense lawyer will definitely be bumped up a notch.
    After hanging up with Patty, I see that the window tinting crew has gone. There’s a knock on the hull - it’s Tom and Lori, the married couple who are dockmasters at our anchorage. After inviting them aboard we exchange small talk about the Marina for a while and they surprise me with some news. “Mister Sharp, your little one called us earlier… we’re here to give you your boat handling test. You’re the only one on the dock who hasn’t taken it yet. Will you be driving from down here at the lower steering station, or from up on the flybridge?”
    What the hell is she up to? She knows I don’t even know how to start the engines on this huge boat. I look towards her stateroom. The door is partly ajar and I see her peering out, pointing up in the air.
    “ Mister Sharp, did you hear us? Will you be driving from down here or up on the bridge?”
    I received the signal from my coach. “Er, uh, I’ll be doing it from up on the bridge.”
    “ Very smart, Mister Sharp. That’s the best place to do it from. Much better all-around vision from up there.”
    “ Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
    Suzi comes out tells us that she’s afraid to watch, so she’ll be hiding in her stateroom. This impresses Tom and Lori.
    “ She’s such a little doll… we just love her.”
    The dockmasters step off of our boat and go up on the flybridge of a neighbor’s boat, where they sit down and prepare to make notes on their clipboards as they view my boat handling performance. This may wind up becoming one of my most embarrassing moments.
    The kid comes out of her stateroom and gives me only one instruction. “When you’re up there, put your hands on the clutch controls, but don’t hold on too tight. I’ll be working them from down here, and I don’t want to feel you fighting me from up there.”
    What a devil she is. The windows were tinted so that the dock masters wouldn’t see her behind the wheel of the lower steering station. She’s got me acting as a shill for her. Now I know how a ventriloquist’s dummy feels.
    It’s