Fight Night

Another Collaboration with Susan S.

The room was exactly the kind of taste one would find in a lawyer's office, which was exceptionally appropriate. A laser printed placard on the eighty-year-old, cherry-maple landing pad proclaimed it to be the office of one "James Kenneth Gromley, Atty. at Law"

 

Michael Douglas Flanagan sat on the overstuffed chair, drumming well manicured fingers on its arm. Michael's long, curvy legs were crossed at the knee, his expensive nylons making a shushing sound as he bounced his Louboutin pumps back and forth, tapping the desk on the upswing. The movement sounded like a one-man band, "Tap tap tap shush shush thwack. Tap tap tappity tap shush thwack thuk." The nervous movements made his Abaeté skirt hike up higher and higher.

 

He pulled the skirt down to a more decent level and took out a cigarette case made of silver and pulled a Sobranie Cocktail from it, immediately activating the lighter built into the hinge. Just as he sucked in a massive cloud of cancer, the door to the east of him opened and Gromley eased himself into the room like a parent leaving a colicky baby’s bedroom.

 

“You should have worn something more…” The lawyer searched for a politically correct term. Finding none, he gave up and turned to Michael.

 

“I wore this for David.  He used to like the look.  You were gone a while, what happened?” Michael let the smoke leak out as he talked. “He wants the loft in the city, doesn’t he. Well he and his little chippie can just pony up some money. I won’t have that… that… that blonde! …traipsing thru where Colin…”

 

“He’s not asking for the loft.” Gromley looked reluctant to go on but Michael wasn’t watching.

 

Michael bit his lip.  Ever since the K-mart special walked into David’s arms, his tastes had changed.  “Then it’s the Lamborghini! That s**t-head wants to wiggle his butt into my candy apple red Lamborghini!” Flanagan took another long suck on the thin, pink cigarette. “That figures. His b***h wants all of my hand-me-downs. Well he can have the one but…”

 

“Not the Lamborghini. Look, will you just sit there and smoke for a minute while I tell you the bad news?”

 

Michael opened and closed his mouth a few times before giving in and taking a seat.

 

“He wants Colin.”

 

“What?” Michael stabbed his cigarette out on the glass top of the desk in lieu of an ashtray, then folded his hands carefully in his lap. “Well of course he wants Colin! He’s our son. What father doesn’t love his son? I wouldn’t dream of cutting him off from our sweet boy. He can have as much visitation time as he feels necessary. Good God! You may as well take his breath away!”

 

“He wants Colin exclusively.”

 

“Exclusively?” Michael blinked and stared.

 

Gromley nodded his head solemnly, knowingly, “Yes.” The word was drawn out with a lilt.

 

“Define exclusively.” Michael’s lips were so tightly stretched he looked like he’d just come in from the cold. His voice had gone low and taut as well.

 

“Exclusively, exclusively! ‘To the exclusion of.’ Bloody hell, Michael, you know what ‘exclusively’ means!”

 

“Damn it, James! Keep a civil tongue in your head. You know such language gives me a migraine.” The offended young man reached over and grabbed his cream, leather clutch purse from the other overstuffed chair. He began rummaging through it as he continued, “Well you’ll just have to tell him no! It’s a... a ploy to get me angry.” He found the pills and brandished them above his head without pausing his speech or looking up, “That man wouldn’t know how to push my buttons if I wrote a wiki about it.”

 

“Well, he did say, ‘Michael has no sense of responsibility. He can barely keep himself in stockings on his own salary so I’ve been the one to foot the bill.  Colin could starve in a house like that.”

 

Michael was up and halfway to the door before the lawyer finished at a shout. His client had begun the argument before the door was open, “Oh no you don’t, you damn penny pinching…! You’ll get Colin over my dead…” he and his verbiage stopped cold as he finally cleared the casing.

 

"Are you quite done?", asked Paul, giving Michael the old mad stare he was so known for.

 

He was the only person who could ever get Michael to shut up, especially in that gray Armani power suit he was wearing.

 

Paul Thomas Clayfield was one of the most vicious attorneys in town, and he took upon himself the liberty to speak however he wanted to whoever he wanted, not that many would argue over that right.  Vicious or not, he was a successful lawyer. There were many who would love to taken him down a peg.

 

"Well well, I guess it's true - some things never change", He looked at Michael's outfit with complete despise, "Do you really think growing up with you is an appropriate environment for our son? And it's not just the clothes, mind you, it's the nicotine smell as well. Tell me, dear Michael, when was the last time you've found yourself not holding some sort of tobacco product to your mouth?"

 

Michael's initial reaction was complete stun - he wasn't really prepared for this conflict, How did the subject go from custody of Colin to what he wore? it seems Paul had him at a disadvantage. That tall blond man standing in front of him, in his gray suit and slight scent of a spicy cologne, somehow managed to take his breath away. He wasn't aware of how much he missed the philanderer.

 

"Do you really think I'll entrust the life of my only son in the hands of someone like you? You’ll probably sell his body for 2 packets of Marlboro Light and 2 tickets to see 'Cats'. God knows what I ever saw in you".

 

Paul turned his head to face the office window - the view was spectacular, and on this beautiful spring day the skyline was so clear you could actually see the whole city.  But the view wasn't on Paul's mind, just the thought that he must be the only caretaker of his son, the thought that he must protect his son from such creatures as the one Michael had become.

 

Michael put the aspirin bottle back in his clutch then closed it with a decided click. "So, how's the missus?", he asked venom in his voice and a chill in his heart that Paul’s uptight suppressed nature had grown worse over the last seven months.

 

"Don't you bring Steve into this!"

 

Paul turned around to once again face the being he had loved but now loathed. He kept his eyes focused just to the left of Michael.  It was the eyes to drown in that had perpetrated the mistaken idea that they could get along.

 

"At least he's an actual man, one that provides and takes care of himself. He can set a good example for Colin. Colin could actually learn something from my dear mate, which is more than I can say about you. What can you possibly teach him? How to oversleep? How to undress yourself in the dark in front of strangers? How to get a man to pay for everything in exchange for a few cheap promises?"

 

Michael’s voice was soft and low, but far from gentle, “You know very well I never played those games.  My work doesn’t take me out of the house much, but I never did anything behind your back.  I’ve been on my own for seven months.  Do I look depraved to you?  Do I look destitute?” Michael’s fury was engulfing him, but he didn’t let it show.  Now that the two of them were face to face, his nervous ticks seemed to evaporate as if he needed this tension to survive.

 

Paul's face was getting more and more red, and it seemed like his blond hair was getting whiter in front of Michael's eyes.

 

Michael knew he could play Paul, maybe even get him to come back…  No.  That was forever out of the picture.  Paul had betrayed him and that was not to be forgiven.  This was a battle, and if he were to win it he’d have to do quite a bit more than get Paul angry.

 

"Why don't we let Colin decide?", he suggested.

 

"Colin? what the hell does Colin know about what's good for him? We both know he's better off living with me - I can give him anything. You can barely get food on the table. You better give up now and not drag this matter to court, because I'll bury you along with your $3000 pink shirt".

 

Of course Michael knew he was right, Paul had the upper hand in all that was material, and he had the best divorce attorney available: himself. Michael had to do something, and fast.

 

With a low guttural shout, Michael got up and threw himself at Paul sending them both into the window. Luckily for both of them, the window was made from double coated glass, which somehow managed to support the weight. Like a hockey puck careening off the back wall, the both of them slammed to the floor with Paul on top.

 

"I'll kill you!", screamed Paul, digging his fingers into Michael’s shoulders. It was then the door opened.

 

“Are you two quite through?” The man at the door was about 30 and wore a  Domenico Vacca suit in cashmere and wool.  The tone of his voice as he addressed the two on the floor was a chastisement.

 

"Colin??", said Michael, craning his head around to look—upside down—at his son, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Author's Note

As most of you know, I'm not much of a story writer (at least not very long ones), so many thanks to Susan, who took the lead and let this piece live up to its full potential.

Reviews

[Angel Bird]

Hey this is fabulous! You nicely build up the suspense and it became a real movie in my head.
You've both done a great job here. I just hope there will be a continuation of it soon.
The description of the characters was very well done too, one can really picture the persons and the surroundings here.

Excellent job! I am looking forward to the continuation!

[Susan S.]

Thanks for the kudos, Yuval. You are easy to work with and greatly add to the story line.

[Damian Alan Gray]

This was great! It reminded me of La Cage aux Folles gone horribly wrong. But I'm left to wonder if the story is to be continued, or simply abandoned as is? Too many questions remain. My advice would be to expound upon the relationship between Paul and Michael. It's obvious that they once had a great love for one another, so aside from the fact that Paul strayed into the arms of another lover, what caused this marvelous relationship to fail?