FIVE YEARS LATER :
Becky opened her eyes and discovered herself behind a desk in a store front office offering legal services in what passes for the poorer side of Las Vegas.
A college age volunteer bounced in the door “Glad you’re here early Becky – we’ve got a doozy – Los Angeles runaway, gets soused, hooks up with a guy as drunk as she is, they both go to the chapel and exchange vows, papa comes o town and breaks in on them with the police claiming all sorts of stuff.”
Struggling to absorb the cascade of information Becky stammered “and our client is daddy, the guy or the gal?”
“The girl – she realizes she did something stupid and is willing to annul the marriage, but says it was all consensual and he couldn’t even perform. She’s scared of Daddy and wants loverboy off the hook.”
“And she’s how old?”
“Looks 19, told the guy she was 18 but is really fifteen and a half.”
“So he can claim fraud and entrapment – so she’s in custody too?”
“Yeah, but the Salvation Army will put her up if Daddy consents.”
“He’d better – if she makes bail and takes off he’ll have no idea where she is. OK, I’ll get on it.”
Becky reached over and grabbed her briefcase and headed out the door, her hefty belly brushing against the desk as her free arm reached for a donut on the way out.
This was Becky’s new reality: public interest law – unsung hero helping the poor, the young, the disenfranchised, the stupid. The drive=by media found nothing compelling or newsworthy in her cases and she was free to eat as she chose. Her body testified to her frequent attendance at the numerous free buffets in the casinos.
It hadn’t been easy building a reputation for honesty and sincerity in the wide open town that some felt defined sin. This was a state with regulated and legal prostitution, 24 hour gambling, legal packing of firearms and no enforced speed limit. But Becky was working for a storefront law firm serving the needy and funded by non-profit grants.
As she heaved herself into her Chevy Blazer she was thankful for her love life –
Bobby Macintosh, idealistic scion of a Midwestern store owned by Grant Macintosh, coincidentally the same Grant that in her AR period thirty years before she’d almost been introduced to and courted by. She’d decided not to tell Bobby that she knew his home town and how she related so easily to his background, but the two did well. He appreciated both her values and her full figure.
She pulled in to the Clark County lockup, adjusted het suit top and sauntered in as professionally as her 250 pound physique would allow, immediately running into Clyde Kiloughm, a high powered hired legal gun from Los Angeles.
“Hello Rebecca – I understand you’re here on the Trudy Simpkins matter,”
“Correct. And you are representing?”
“Her father and legal guardian, Horace Simpkins III.”
“Very well, and does her husband have separate representation.”
“Not yet designated by the court – I’m not sure how you were retained, but we are contesting the assertion that she is a wife or he is her husband. How were you retained”
“Most likely she called for us at the recommendation of a counselor – our fees are usually paid by a foundation, not Clark County, so we have greater latitude in what we do.”
“Well, please let Trudy know her Father is most desirous of her well being and getting loose from this gigolo.”
“Although I am representing Trudy I haven’t spoken with her yet, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Surely you realize she’s a minor?...”
“In a state where the age of consent is 16 counselor – so if we tie this up for twelve weeks she can do whatever she wants. So please don’t try intimidating me.”
“You’re surely not saying …”
“Until I’ve talked with my client I’m not saying anything except that I’m big enough not to be bullied by you – so advise papa not to get me mad. I have a good reputation with the judges here for being straight and honest.”
With that Becky signed in and was escorted to a conference room to await her client.
Trudy Simpkins was a tall willowy blonde who appeared gaunt and frightened as she sat across from the stout attorney, either of whose breasts, were larger than her head.
They talked for an hour, Becky slowly winning the teen’s confidence. Trudy hadn’t been abused by her father but found him totally ineffective as a parent after a divorce. She’d run away more due to desperation for communication and affection than anger, but feared to return. She realized that lying about her age, then taking up with a guy who she barely knew was wrong and getting married was stupid but said she’d run away again if given over to her father. Becky sensed that she meant it. Trudy, however, was willing to be remanded to the Salvation Army’s program rather than stay in jail.
After Trudy was returned to her cell Becky made a series of calls – including arranging lunch at Tony Romas with Mr. Simpkins and his mouthpiece.
“This was a loveless, stupid kid’s mistake,” she informed the Father, “but she needs a program, not a gilded cage in Beverly Hills. In three months she’s free to do whatever – do you want blood or progress that could help the family?”
“Can she really tie us up for twelve weeks?” he asked his attorney looking at the pleasantly obese woman who’d just put away a 12 ounce steak and baked potato for lunch.
“With allegations of parental suitability and various motions, yes she could. Becky is no slouch.”
“But what I can do isn’t the issue. Its what is best for my client and your daughter.”
“And what about this douche bag who seduced her?”
“There was no actual intercourse or consummation, thanks to your intervention, and she’ll testify he thought she was 18. After all, she was buying drinks when they met and had fake id. He was young and foolish but not that bad. I’m not representing him but am told that after she sobered up she indicated she’ll consent to an annulment as will he. The Sheriff’s not filing charges against him.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“Let’s visit the Salvation Army center and let you see what she’ll be doing for three months. After that she can continue living there until she completes school - either working for her board and room or letting you pay for it. I suggest she work and you put money in an account that she gets only upon graduation.”
“She’s on board with this?”
“The alternative is a bevy of charges including false impersonation, solicitation, illegal use of alcohol, falsification of a marriage application, and malicious entrapment. Even if she got probation she’d be in foster care and she could get eight years in juvi.”
“And it all goes away if she does what the Army says?
“Exactly.”
"She can do this counselor?”
“With court approval.”
“Do I get visitation rights?”
“I don’t think she’ll oppose that – she’s scared, ashamed and confused. You have no idea how many runaways turn up here every month. Her mess is a bit worse than most but at least she’s alive.”
“OK. I’ll sign off on it. Do what needs to be done counselor.”
Horace’s mouthpiece nodded and asked Becky if she wanted dessert to celebrate.
“Why not?” she replied with a smile. “My man doesn’t especially like me dieting anyway.”
Driving back to her storefront office with her full belly pressing against the steering wheel Becky considered her situation. She was making a fraction of what she once did, had a double cubicle on the ground floor with no window for an office, and an idealistic down home country boy as co-counsel and fiance.
She caressed her engagement ring and thought of Leah and her shop and the scores of lives she’d touched since looking at the mirror. Trudy was just the latest.
A news chopper crossed over the road, headed out over Flamingo Blvd for the I-15. Becky smiled knowing that they weren’t looking for her. She wasn’t rich, she wasn’t famous, but she was both fat and fulfilled.
Becky opened her eyes and discovered herself behind a desk in a store front office offering legal services in what passes for the poorer side of Las Vegas.
A college age volunteer bounced in the door “Glad you’re here early Becky – we’ve got a doozy – Los Angeles runaway, gets soused, hooks up with a guy as drunk as she is, they both go to the chapel and exchange vows, papa comes o town and breaks in on them with the police claiming all sorts of stuff.”
Struggling to absorb the cascade of information Becky stammered “and our client is daddy, the guy or the gal?”
“The girl – she realizes she did something stupid and is willing to annul the marriage, but says it was all consensual and he couldn’t even perform. She’s scared of Daddy and wants loverboy off the hook.”
“And she’s how old?”
“Looks 19, told the guy she was 18 but is really fifteen and a half.”
“So he can claim fraud and entrapment – so she’s in custody too?”
“Yeah, but the Salvation Army will put her up if Daddy consents.”
“He’d better – if she makes bail and takes off he’ll have no idea where she is. OK, I’ll get on it.”
Becky reached over and grabbed her briefcase and headed out the door, her hefty belly brushing against the desk as her free arm reached for a donut on the way out.
This was Becky’s new reality: public interest law – unsung hero helping the poor, the young, the disenfranchised, the stupid. The drive=by media found nothing compelling or newsworthy in her cases and she was free to eat as she chose. Her body testified to her frequent attendance at the numerous free buffets in the casinos.
It hadn’t been easy building a reputation for honesty and sincerity in the wide open town that some felt defined sin. This was a state with regulated and legal prostitution, 24 hour gambling, legal packing of firearms and no enforced speed limit. But Becky was working for a storefront law firm serving the needy and funded by non-profit grants.
As she heaved herself into her Chevy Blazer she was thankful for her love life –
Bobby Macintosh, idealistic scion of a Midwestern store owned by Grant Macintosh, coincidentally the same Grant that in her AR period thirty years before she’d almost been introduced to and courted by. She’d decided not to tell Bobby that she knew his home town and how she related so easily to his background, but the two did well. He appreciated both her values and her full figure.
She pulled in to the Clark County lockup, adjusted het suit top and sauntered in as professionally as her 250 pound physique would allow, immediately running into Clyde Kiloughm, a high powered hired legal gun from Los Angeles.
“Hello Rebecca – I understand you’re here on the Trudy Simpkins matter,”
“Correct. And you are representing?”
“Her father and legal guardian, Horace Simpkins III.”
“Very well, and does her husband have separate representation.”
“Not yet designated by the court – I’m not sure how you were retained, but we are contesting the assertion that she is a wife or he is her husband. How were you retained”
“Most likely she called for us at the recommendation of a counselor – our fees are usually paid by a foundation, not Clark County, so we have greater latitude in what we do.”
“Well, please let Trudy know her Father is most desirous of her well being and getting loose from this gigolo.”
“Although I am representing Trudy I haven’t spoken with her yet, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Surely you realize she’s a minor?...”
“In a state where the age of consent is 16 counselor – so if we tie this up for twelve weeks she can do whatever she wants. So please don’t try intimidating me.”
“You’re surely not saying …”
“Until I’ve talked with my client I’m not saying anything except that I’m big enough not to be bullied by you – so advise papa not to get me mad. I have a good reputation with the judges here for being straight and honest.”
With that Becky signed in and was escorted to a conference room to await her client.
Trudy Simpkins was a tall willowy blonde who appeared gaunt and frightened as she sat across from the stout attorney, either of whose breasts, were larger than her head.
They talked for an hour, Becky slowly winning the teen’s confidence. Trudy hadn’t been abused by her father but found him totally ineffective as a parent after a divorce. She’d run away more due to desperation for communication and affection than anger, but feared to return. She realized that lying about her age, then taking up with a guy who she barely knew was wrong and getting married was stupid but said she’d run away again if given over to her father. Becky sensed that she meant it. Trudy, however, was willing to be remanded to the Salvation Army’s program rather than stay in jail.
After Trudy was returned to her cell Becky made a series of calls – including arranging lunch at Tony Romas with Mr. Simpkins and his mouthpiece.
“This was a loveless, stupid kid’s mistake,” she informed the Father, “but she needs a program, not a gilded cage in Beverly Hills. In three months she’s free to do whatever – do you want blood or progress that could help the family?”
“Can she really tie us up for twelve weeks?” he asked his attorney looking at the pleasantly obese woman who’d just put away a 12 ounce steak and baked potato for lunch.
“With allegations of parental suitability and various motions, yes she could. Becky is no slouch.”
“But what I can do isn’t the issue. Its what is best for my client and your daughter.”
“And what about this douche bag who seduced her?”
“There was no actual intercourse or consummation, thanks to your intervention, and she’ll testify he thought she was 18. After all, she was buying drinks when they met and had fake id. He was young and foolish but not that bad. I’m not representing him but am told that after she sobered up she indicated she’ll consent to an annulment as will he. The Sheriff’s not filing charges against him.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“Let’s visit the Salvation Army center and let you see what she’ll be doing for three months. After that she can continue living there until she completes school - either working for her board and room or letting you pay for it. I suggest she work and you put money in an account that she gets only upon graduation.”
“She’s on board with this?”
“The alternative is a bevy of charges including false impersonation, solicitation, illegal use of alcohol, falsification of a marriage application, and malicious entrapment. Even if she got probation she’d be in foster care and she could get eight years in juvi.”
“And it all goes away if she does what the Army says?
“Exactly.”
"She can do this counselor?”
“With court approval.”
“Do I get visitation rights?”
“I don’t think she’ll oppose that – she’s scared, ashamed and confused. You have no idea how many runaways turn up here every month. Her mess is a bit worse than most but at least she’s alive.”
“OK. I’ll sign off on it. Do what needs to be done counselor.”
Horace’s mouthpiece nodded and asked Becky if she wanted dessert to celebrate.
“Why not?” she replied with a smile. “My man doesn’t especially like me dieting anyway.”
Driving back to her storefront office with her full belly pressing against the steering wheel Becky considered her situation. She was making a fraction of what she once did, had a double cubicle on the ground floor with no window for an office, and an idealistic down home country boy as co-counsel and fiance.
She caressed her engagement ring and thought of Leah and her shop and the scores of lives she’d touched since looking at the mirror. Trudy was just the latest.
A news chopper crossed over the road, headed out over Flamingo Blvd for the I-15. Becky smiled knowing that they weren’t looking for her. She wasn’t rich, she wasn’t famous, but she was both fat and fulfilled.
