It was appreciated; the mere thought of Alfred made Arthur's chest ache. It was just that ... what was most annoying to Arthur was the fact that Alfred hadn't even had a very good excuse. Arthur didn't have any misconceptions that his sexual skill was worth jeopardizing the successful dissolution of one's marriage. And if all he was worth to Alfred Jones was a quick fuck, then Arthur decided he was worth more to himself.
Now if Alfred had claimed to be in love with Arthur, then Arthur might have understood, and dealt with the matter differently. So he told himself. Unfortunately, or fortunately perhaps, he was not to be tested in that way.
Still, within the next few weeks, the news had gotten around to his colleagues. Both he and Alfred had said their transfer was mutual and amicable, but nobody wanted to believe it. Many lawyers were gossips, even within the bounds of confidentiality.
In this case Arthur thought the speculation stupider than ever. Attorneys withdrew from cases all the time. Still, this had been a very large case, and it became clear that Arthur's reputation stood to take a hit. Even some of his own clients, mostly the ones who were in the corporate or real estate businesses, had heard about it. The assumption seemed to be that Arthur couldn't handle the case, one or the other of them had been difficult to work with.
Well, Arthur supposed he could say that yes, Alfred Jones was difficult to work with. He had a habit of offering fellatio to his attorneys. After flirting with them until they were stupid with lust, of course.
As for not handling the case, that was the stupidest; it had turned out to be surprisingly easy once Mariel Jones's pregnancy had come to light.
The only thing Arthur was going to get out of the whole situation was that kiss: he certainly hadn't forgotten that. He remembered it often, sometimes when he was in the shower of an evening, or later, in bed. Or both. Sometimes he thought about it during the day, when he was sitting at his desk and resolutely not even nuh-uh Google-searching Alfred Jones or trying to explain to Mr. Vash the CPA that no, he was not on the case any longer and that Mr. Vash should contact Lars Andersen, Esquire. Mr. Vash had apparently become attached to Arthur and Arthur's ideas about what was best for their ex-mutual client.
It was a Tuesday when Arthur fielded yet another such e-mail from Vash. Yes, he said, Mr. Jones was coming to the office at one-thirty to sign some papers. No, he was not seeing Arthur Kirkland, but Lars Andersen. Could Arthur forward this information? Thank you, sincerely, Arthur Kirkland, Esquire.
Arthur planned to be out by one-fifteen, running Very Important Errands elsewhere. Thus he was surprised when at one-ten he heard Alfred Jones's voice outside his office door.
"Is he in? Does he have a minute? Just a minute, I promise."
"Pardon me, I'll have to check. One moment, please."
Monaca's voice was cool and instead of buzzing Arthur, she came into his office and shut the door behind her. She wore a frown. Dear lady, she had been offended on Arthur's behalf and suspected funny business in the Jones camp.
"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Jones is here and wants a minute," she said, in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "Do you want me to tell him you're on a conference call or something?"
Arthur felt his ribcage do that familiar squeezing-his-innards thing, and he took a deep breath to loosen it. "No, but thank you, Monaca. Tell him I have two minutes."
"Ooookay," she said. She went out and Alfred came in.
He walked in more slowly than usual, as if cautious. He was a little pale -- perhaps because of the particular shade of grey he wore -- but otherwise he looked as delectable as Arthur had remembered. Not Googled, of course. "Hi, Arthur," Alfred said.
Arthur didn't arise from his desk, nor did he invite Alfred to sit. "Hello. What can I do for you?"
Alfred hovered over Arthur's desk and looked him up and down, like trying to read him. "I dunno, Arthur. What can you do for me?"
All Right, Tonight (Part 42/?)
Now if Alfred had claimed to be in love with Arthur, then Arthur might have understood, and dealt with the matter differently. So he told himself. Unfortunately, or fortunately perhaps, he was not to be tested in that way.
Still, within the next few weeks, the news had gotten around to his colleagues. Both he and Alfred had said their transfer was mutual and amicable, but nobody wanted to believe it. Many lawyers were gossips, even within the bounds of confidentiality.
In this case Arthur thought the speculation stupider than ever. Attorneys withdrew from cases all the time. Still, this had been a very large case, and it became clear that Arthur's reputation stood to take a hit. Even some of his own clients, mostly the ones who were in the corporate or real estate businesses, had heard about it. The assumption seemed to be that Arthur couldn't handle the case, one or the other of them had been difficult to work with.
Well, Arthur supposed he could say that yes, Alfred Jones was difficult to work with. He had a habit of offering fellatio to his attorneys. After flirting with them until they were stupid with lust, of course.
As for not handling the case, that was the stupidest; it had turned out to be surprisingly easy once Mariel Jones's pregnancy had come to light.
The only thing Arthur was going to get out of the whole situation was that kiss: he certainly hadn't forgotten that. He remembered it often, sometimes when he was in the shower of an evening, or later, in bed. Or both. Sometimes he thought about it during the day, when he was sitting at his desk and resolutely not even nuh-uh Google-searching Alfred Jones or trying to explain to Mr. Vash the CPA that no, he was not on the case any longer and that Mr. Vash should contact Lars Andersen, Esquire. Mr. Vash had apparently become attached to Arthur and Arthur's ideas about what was best for their ex-mutual client.
It was a Tuesday when Arthur fielded yet another such e-mail from Vash. Yes, he said, Mr. Jones was coming to the office at one-thirty to sign some papers. No, he was not seeing Arthur Kirkland, but Lars Andersen. Could Arthur forward this information? Thank you, sincerely, Arthur Kirkland, Esquire.
Arthur planned to be out by one-fifteen, running Very Important Errands elsewhere. Thus he was surprised when at one-ten he heard Alfred Jones's voice outside his office door.
"Is he in? Does he have a minute? Just a minute, I promise."
"Pardon me, I'll have to check. One moment, please."
Monaca's voice was cool and instead of buzzing Arthur, she came into his office and shut the door behind her. She wore a frown. Dear lady, she had been offended on Arthur's behalf and suspected funny business in the Jones camp.
"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Jones is here and wants a minute," she said, in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "Do you want me to tell him you're on a conference call or something?"
Arthur felt his ribcage do that familiar squeezing-his-innards thing, and he took a deep breath to loosen it. "No, but thank you, Monaca. Tell him I have two minutes."
"Ooookay," she said. She went out and Alfred came in.
He walked in more slowly than usual, as if cautious. He was a little pale -- perhaps because of the particular shade of grey he wore -- but otherwise he looked as delectable as Arthur had remembered. Not Googled, of course. "Hi, Arthur," Alfred said.
Arthur didn't arise from his desk, nor did he invite Alfred to sit. "Hello. What can I do for you?"
Alfred hovered over Arthur's desk and looked him up and down, like trying to read him. "I dunno, Arthur. What can you do for me?"