The Duet (6 page)

Sure enough, Fancy Pants Intellectual Properties Lawyer did a spit take (literally – she sprayed coffee all over her desk) when I walked in. To her credit, she recovered quickly. To her husband’s credit, he barely noticed me at all.

I had toned things down a bit. My hair was braided in two pigtails. My skirt was longer than usual, just a couple inches above the knee, and I’d gone with the solid dark green tights to match the plaid instead of the textured brighter one’s I had first put on. I didn’t have any shirts without slogans, so I went with an old CBGB t-shirt that wasn’t torn. I’d turned it inside out to hide the skull image, and topped it with a blazer I’d stolen from Cooper’s closet that morning. I didn’t have time or money to shop for shoes, so there wasn’t anything to be done about the boots, but I figured my feet would be tucked under a desk most of the day anyway.

I was put right to work. In fact, I wasn’t even shown around or introduced to anyone else in the office. I would later find out that there were two paralegals, but I wouldn’t be there long enough to remember their names. I would also later stumble across the bathroom, which had become a necessity by about two in the afternoon.

The office was bustling, but quiet. Nobody spoke unless they had to; phone calls were made in hushed tones. Both Mr. and Mrs. McDonald, as I was forced to call them, since using first names was a sign of disrespect, had private offices on opposite sides of the sprawling work space, and their doors were usually closed.

“Isabel!” Mrs. McDonald barked, startling me from the task at hand (attempting to figure out the intricate filing system without asking any of my helpful co-workers for assistance).

“It’s Izzy,” I said, though the look it garnered made me wish I didn’t.

“Whatever.” She waved her hand in the air, and actually stuck her nose up in the air. Nice touch. “I need you to call American Express and dispute these charges.” She tossed a file at me and retreated to her office.

There were six months of statements in the file, all of which had more lines highlighted than not. I felt like I was up for the challenge, so I went ahead and dialed the customer service number, anxious to kick a little ass. I hated these big corporations who tried to get away with billing innocent small businesses all kinds of erroneous charges, thinking they would just pay without question.

I waited on hold, listening to an elevator version of a Rolling Stones song. Twenty minutes went by. Mrs. McDonald poked her head out of her office three times to check my progress. Finally, in the middle of a stirring rendition of Smoke On the Water (who picked this music?), I was rewarded with a live person.

“Thank you for calling American Express Small Business, may I help you?” a bored voice said.

I stopped scribbling senseless characters on my desk blotter, and spread the offending statements out in front of me. “Yes, thank you. I would like to dispute some charges. There’s quite a few, actually.” I smirked a little, loving the sound of my superior attitude coming across nicely.

“May I have the account number please?”

I read her the digits, squirming in my seat. When this bitch realized we were on to their little scheme, she would be much less bored. In fact, she might even lose her job simply for having the poor luck of answering this particular call.

“And is this Veronica McDonald I am speaking with?” She still sounded like she might drop into a nap any minute.

“No, this is her assistant. I would like to start with the statement dated January…”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I do not show any authorized users on this account besides Ms. McDonald.”

I was taken aback. “I’m not trying to use the card. I’m just calling to straighten out the bill.”

“I am unable to speak with anyone regarding the account except for authorized users. Ma’am.”

Cut it out with the ma’am. I didn’t like this woman. Not one bit. I didn’t even feel bad now if she was going to lose her job.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

I thought of the amount of time I had to hold in order to get to this point, and all the crappy music I’d been subjected to during that wait, and I panicked. “Wait! Here is Mrs. McDonald now. Let me just put her on the phone.” I fumbled for the hold button, and waited a beat before picking back up.

I made my voice sound firmer, more businesslike. In case they’d ever spoken to my boss before, they’d know she had a crisp demeanor.

“This is Veronica McDonald,” I said, with a furtive glance toward the actual Veronica’s closed door.

“Ah, yes, Ms. McDonald. For security purposes, would you please verify the address associated with your account?”

“Certainly,” I said, proud of myself for pulling off this farce. I rattled off the address printed on the statement, tapping my pencil eraser as I did.

“Very good,” said the voice, sounding possibly less bored than she was earlier. “Now, for further security purposes, can you please verify the last four digits of the social security number.”

“Sure,” I said, my pencil freezing in midair.

“Okay.” Silence on the other end.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry. Go ahead with what?”

“Give me the digits and I’ll verify if they’re the correct ones.” My palms were getting sweaty, and my pigtails were itching.

“Ah, ma’am. I’m afraid I can’t do that. In order for us to proceed, I will need you to give me the last four digits of the social security number associated with this account.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with that,” I said. I was starting to tire of this woman.

“Well then I’m afraid I can’t help you. I need to confirm that this is indeed Veronica McDonald I am speaking to.”

“But I’ve already confirmed that it is I. Why would I be calling about Veronica McDonald’s account if I wasn’t Veronica McDonald? What possible motivation would I have to dispute charges on an account other than my own?”

I heard a click. For a moment I thought that bitch might’ve hung up on me. “Hello?” I said firmly, half hoping that she was gone.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I cannot proceed with this inquiry at this time. Perhaps you can call back another time when you have…”

“Let me speak to a supervisor. This is an outrage! First you people allow dozens of fraudulent charges to appear on my account, then you refuse to help me rectify the situation.” I could do this. I was totally channeling my boss of just a few hours. I was a natural at this shit.

“Please hold.” The music was back, but this time I found myself humming along while I waited. Veronica’s door opened and she poked her head out. I gave her the thumbs up and pointed to the phone and she disappeared again.

“This is Alexander Remington. Is this Veronica McDonald I am speaking to?”

“Hello Alexander,” I purred. His voice was very sexy indeed. “Yes, this is Veronica. And how are you today?”

“I am just fine, ma’am. I understand that you are unable to give us the last four digits of your social security number. Is that correct?”

“No that is not exactly accurate. You see, Alexander, I do not ever give my personal information out over the phone. I was once the victim of identity theft, you see, and since then, I am vigilant about keeping myself secure. In addition to that, I own a very high profile law firm and I have made quite a few enemies over the years. Let’s just say there are people out there who would stop at nothing to ruin me. Or worse.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Either Alexander had fallen asleep, or he was conflicted about helping me.

“I’m sorry to hear that ma’am.”

“Yes,” I let out a long-suffering sign for dramatic effect. “It can be difficult at times, but I take the necessary precautions and carry on.”

There was tapping on Alexander’s side. “Mary here tells me you had a couple of charges to dispute. How about you tell me what the charges are, and I’ll see if I can help you?”

“Finally. Yes, thank you.” I leafed through the statements and my face fell as I got a good look at them for the first time. All the “fraudulent” charges Veronica had asked me to dispute seemed completely legitimate. They were charges from local restaurants that I recognized, a small charge for a movie theatre down the road, and several from the Coach outlet two towns over. I had just that morning commented on how much I loved the satchel and matching carry-on suitcase I’d seen in Veronica’s office.

Then there were late fees and service charges, all highlighted of course. She was even disputing the annual fee for having the card. Everyone knew you had to pay the annual fee!

“Ms. McDonald, are you still there?”

I grabbed a piece of paper and wadded it up into the receiver. “Alexander?” I said through all the noise. I wadded some more. “Alexander, I’m so sorry. I think there’s something wrong with my phone. I’ll call you right…” I hung up just as that scheming American Express non-payer burst through her door.

“Izzy! I have the most wonderful idea,” she said, speaking to me as if we hadn’t just met for the first time six hours ago. I had to look around to make sure there wasn’t another person named Izzy in the room.

“My husband and I are having a huge cookout this weekend; some friends, a bunch of clients, that sort of thing.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if to say ‘ain’t no big thang’. “You have to come! Bring your swimsuit, we’ll be poolside.”

I nodded dumbly. Unless she forgot to order a clown or a court jester for this shin-dig, I could see no logical reason why she would want me there.

“Did you get anywhere with the credit card company?” she asked sweetly.

“Uh, yes. Yes, I did. I’m just making a few notes here. Can I bring them in to you in just a few minutes?”

“Sure! Hey, you’re doing a great job here, Izzy. I knew I made the right choice bringing you on.”

“Er, thanks,” I said, and she mercifully walked across the room to her husband’s office, leaving me to my work.

She didn’t come back out again until five when she shuffled me out the door and congratulated me on a fabulous first day.

Day two of my legal career was even more rewarding than day one. And by rewarding I mean that it made me realize in no uncertain terms, that I would never ever work with lawyers, or business partners who were married, or bipolar nut jobs again.

I arrived on time – a true miracle indeed – only to find I was the first one there. Veronica had given me a key, the security code and the instructions to disarm it, but I didn’t think I would need it so soon. I rummaged through the giant canvas bag I used for a purse to find the tiny scrap of paper with the information on it.

Ah, there it was! There was a twelve digit number, followed by the pound sign, then ten other digits, then I had to hit the green button twice. Or did that say hit the green button and then the numeral two?

I shrugged and unlocked the front door. How hard could it be? I would have at least thirty seconds to disarm the thing, so if I tried it one way and it didn’t work, I’d have plenty of time to start over.

As soon as I opened the door, the panel started beeping in that ominous way. I fumbled for a light switch but, not wanting to waste any precious time, gave up and blinked instead, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the almost pitch darkness in the vestibule.

I typed in the first round of numbers with no mistakes, then the second. I hesitated for just a split second deciding which way to go, then went with the green button two times. The beeping continued in the steady monotone. It may have even gotten a bit louder. I forced myself to remain calm, and tried the whole sequence again. This time the beeping stopped and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then all hell broke loose.

The entire front of the building began flashing like an overdone house with too many Christmas decorations. My over-caffeinated brain screamed in protest. I heard sirens off in the distance and had the fleeting thought that it was nice to know if I was ever in trouble, the emergency response time was excellent in this part of town.

It was so excellent, in fact, that by the time I got my wits about me and sauntered back out to my car, there were no less than four police cruisers, an ambulance and the fire chief’s truck in the parking lot.

“Put your hands where we can see them, miss.” I instantly obeyed, thinking it was a bit of overkill to use a megaphone. Mine was the only car in the lot and the officer was maybe ten feet from where I was standing.

Another officer got out of his car and walked over slowly. It was clear that I was not going to shoot anyone, so megaphone over-reactor relaxed as well.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing here, miss?”

I lifted my chin in the air. Just because my hair was blue (I wish I’d thought to wear the pigtails again) didn’t mean I was up to no good. “I work here.”

The officer crossed his arms over his chest. “You work here,” he repeated as if that were the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. I could feel my blood start to stir and I knew this wasn’t going to end well. It was one thing to be a smartass to human resources or some fat, lazy warehouse supervisor with his hand where it shouldn’t be. But I didn’t really think me mouthing off to these four – no wait, now there were five – police officers was going to get me very far.