Johnson, Johnson & Lambert

Ben managed to slip in just before Parker and his clients returned.

"We are prepared to offer Ms. Hebert a settlement of twenty five thousand dollars," Parker snarled, obviously displeased with the turn of events.

"No," was Trevor's answer.

Claire was better at answering inquiries than her husband, but she too wilted under Trevor's white-hot barrage of questions.

Frances asked Claire Boudreaux a few questions, glaring murderously at her boss for not thinking ahead to prepare his own inquiries. But the damage was done; Claire

Incriminated herself horribly, no matter how much damage control Frances tried to do.

"Mr. Johnson?" Trevor asked.

"I have no questions..." Parker snapped.

"No, Mr. Johnson, could you please ask Ms. St. George to send Denise Trahan in for her testimony?" Trevor asked, clearly enjoying himself.

Under the table, Stephanie squeezed Trevor's leg, then trailed a finger up his trouser leg.

She smiled at Rebecca when Trevor reached down and stopped her progress.

She smiled at Trevor when he gave her hand an affectionate squeeze and released it.

Frances took notes while Trevor asked Denise about the incident, about the deportment of Robin and Claire Boudreaux, about Stephanie's behavior. When Trevor was finished, Frances looked at Parker Johnson. When it became evident that Parker was not prepared to ask Denise Trahan any questions, Frances did.

"Mr. Johnson, please have Ms. St. George send..." Trevor began to ask.

"What? What would it take for this to go away?" Parker snarled.

"I see you still haven't read the answer we filed," Trevor smiled.

Frances found the papers and glanced at them before shoving them over to her supervisor. Her eyebrows went up and she looked over at Stephanie Hebert and Trevor Williams.

"Six hundred and forty five..." Parker nearly howled in rage.

"But that's..." Robin said, then ceased as his wife's fingernails gouged into his upper thigh.

"Half of what you've been awarded over the past five years in various lawsuits and settlements," Trevor smiled easily.

"There is no way in Hell..." Parker growled.

Monique Menendez skated very close to perjuring herself; her dislike of Stephanie was evident. But Trevor managed to coax solid testimony out of the surly girl.

Frances did try, but as long as Monique was held to the facts, her testimony was still a favorable one for

Stephanie.

"I move we adjourn for one hour," Parker hissed.

"So where are you taking me for lunch?" Stephanie gleefully asked the moment the glass doors of the Johnson, Johnson & Lambert building closed behind them.

"I was going to the Dead End; their red beans and rice are the best and their St. Elizabeth draft is ice cold," Trevor said.

"Ew, a titty bar?" Stephanie curled up her face in disgust.

"It's a titty bar?" Trevor asked, face a mask of shock.

"Come on, Stephanie, I'm going to Sweet Peas," Rebecca said. "Their red beans and rice are better than Dead End's. Without the skanky hos."

"Dude, I come with you?" Ben asked Trevor, sticking his tongue out at Rebecca.

"Come on; we're all going to Sweet Pea's," Trevor smiled.

"Ha!" Rebecca stuck her tongue out at Ben. Ben rode with Rebecca, even though Trevor's car would have seated all four of them comfortably.

"I plan to tell Mrs. Jones what a great job Trevor's doing," Rebecca confided to Ben.

"I was fixing to say I'm talking to Mr. Pellichet," Ben agreed.

He laughed.

"But that one kiss just about left him speechless, huh?" he chuckled.

"Yeah, kind of like you Friday night, huh?" Rebecca giggled.

Nearly an hour later, outside of the building, Cindy St. George was cursing herself for her weakness when a white Astin-Martin Db5 screamed to a stop close to her.

"Hi," David Torres smiled at the attractive blonde.

"I tried, I really did," she whined, holding up the cigarette.

"Cough drops," he said. "Especially menthol cough drops. My wife bought us bags of the stuff."

"You're married?" Cindy let her disappointment slip out.

"Not no more," he smiled, not missing her tone of voice. "I quit, she didn't, and then she found a bunch of other stuff to hate about me."

He stopped just before opening the office door.

"You quit for a week? No cheating, a week? I'll give you a ride in that," he said, nodding toward his car.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, looking at him, not the car.

"Yeah, to Side By Side, for a steak dinner," David agreed. "Quit for a whole month? I'll let you drive."

"You're on," Cindy agreed, squashing her cigarette with her shoe.

"But what if I lose?" she asked as they both walked into the reception area.

"Don't," he smiled. "Starts tomorrow and I'm really looking forward to that delicious T-bone next Tuesday night."

"Tomorrow," Cindy said and thought of how many cigarettes were in the pack she had in her purse.

Chapter 8

Stephanie nearly fainted when Trevor accepted the four hundred and fifty thousand dollar settlement. David Torres, owner of Casa Ole, Chuck, and Cowboy's Barbeque, as well as Jumpers and Mickey's Lounge, glanced at the letter of termination Billy Theriot had signed and offered Stephanie fifty thousand to drop her suit.

"And have a nice day," Trevor agreed.

He knew, in a 'Right to Work' state, he'd have a very hard time winning any case against Torres Foods, LLC.

"I have five hundred..." Stephanie whispered to Rebecca when the two were in the ladies' room.

"Minus our twenty five percent," the paralegal reminded the client.

"That's still..." Stephanie struggled to do the math in her head.

"Three seventy five," Rebecca supplied.

"I am about to lose my mind," Cindy St. George announced as she marched into the bathroom.

"And menthol cough drops suck," she declared as she slammed the stall door closed.

"If he wasn't so cute I'd tell him to kiss my ass," she continued as a forceful stream could be heard.

"Have a nice day," both Rebecca and Stephanie cheerfully said as they left the bathroom.

"Whatever," Cindy giggled.

Trevor Williams did get to eat at the Dead End, along with Donald Pellichet, and Jay Richards. The three ordered the fried catfish platters.

"One hundred and twenty five thousand," Donald happily said as Melinda Fontenot put the heaping plates down in front of the three men.

"And what was that about finding paying clients?" Trevor asked.

"Heavenly Father, we ask that you bless this food," Donald began a quick blessing and the men began stuffing the smoking hot fish into their mouths.

"You still my lawyer?" Stephanie typed out and sent the text message to Trevor's cell phone.

"Depends," Donald shrugged when Trevor read the text message to him. "She need a lawyer?"

"You need a lawyer?" Trevor asked.

No," was her reply.

"No, I'm not your lawyer," Trevor answered, not needing Donald's input.

"When can we see you?" Stephanie asked.

"See you on Monday," Donald smiled when Trevor looked up from the message.

"Thirty minutes," Trevor replied. "Eating lunch."

At her tiny apartment, Clarisse stopped Stephanie from putting on her sluttiest outfit.

"No, no, remember? He like you good girl looking, hair pulled back," the woman reminded Stephanie.

"How about shorts?" Stephanie asked, quickly pulling her hair back. "Think he'd like..."

"Pretty legs you got? Yeah, he like the shorts," Clarisse agreed easing her bulk out of the low slung futon.

Stephanie wiggled out of her panties and pulled on her shortest shorts. She realized, even though she'd lost most of the fat bearing Kristina had deposited on her belly, hips and rear, she'd not lost enough to zip up the Daisy Dukes

Her next shortest shorts had the same unfortunate fate, so she had to settle for her Casa Ole skirt, with a fresh pair of thong panties, and a simple tee shirt. She scrubbed

Her face clean of the make-up, and pulled on a simple pair of flip flops.

"I am so grateful to Bobby Boudreaux," Stephanie declared, kissing Trevor the moment she flung her door open.

"Yeah, I love that little bastard," Trevor admitted as She pulled him into the apartment. "By the way, who's Bobby Boudreaux?"

"The little shit tripped me," Stephanie reminded him, tugging at his tie.

Kristina waited until Mommy's tee shirt and bra lay on the floor, along with Trevor's suit jacket and tie before deciding that she needed a clean diaper and a bottle.

"Damn it!" Stephanie groaned, giggling as Trevor released her nipple.

"Hi Sweetheart," Trevor smiled down at the cooing girl. "Hi; remember me?"

"You're that lawyer! Where's the crucifix? Where's the holy water?" Trevor responded in his high pitched voice.

"No, no, Sweetheart; that's only for vampires," Trevor said.

"What's the difference?" he asked in his high pitched voice.

"Stop," Stephanie giggled. "Go get a bottle for her; they're in the fridge."

While Trevor fed Kristina her bottle, Greg St. Charles was in the office of his new attorney, Nicole Banks, going over the papers Dianne St. Charles had him served with.

"It's pretty straightforward," the young woman said, sitting back in her desk.

"But I don't want a..." Greg whined.

"Mr. St. Charles," Nicole sighed. "Was your engagement with Dianne Pratt a surprise?"

"What? What do you mean?" Greg asked.

"Or were you having sex with this uh, Stephanie Hebert, a friend of your fiancé, with the full knowledge that you were engaged to be married to Ms. Pratt at the time?" Nicole pressed.

"Well, yeah but..." Greg said.

"Was Ms. Pratt aware of this, uh, sexual congress between you and Ms. Hebert? If we can prove that she knew of..." Nicole pressed.

"No, she uh, she would have killed me," Greg admitted.

"Mr. St. Charles, I'll see if we can get an order of marital counseling, but I very seriously doubt that we'll

Get that," Nicole said. "Maybe if we offer to pay all expenses a judge will be more inclined to..."

"But I'm already paying seven hundred a month..." Greg spat.

"Then just sign the papers, Mr. St. Charles," Nicole said, standing up. "If you're not willing to pay,

Then I see no need to go any further with this."

"Five fucking hundred just for..." Greg St. Charles was muttering as he walked down the hall.

"If you had seen Sophia Coutre, it would have been one thousand just to tell you what you should already know," Nicole said as she closed her office door.

While Greg St. Charles was allowing fresh tears of self-pity to fall as he sat in his car in the parking lot of his attorney's office, Dianne was in the living room of their home, gleefully giving Brandon Johnson blue balls.

There was a reason that Greg had gone to Stephanie's apartment for blow jobs, for pussy; Dianne did not put out. She flaunted her delectable flesh, her sweet bubble butt, her delicious breasts, her long legs, but she did not put out.

Dianne was very masterful at promising, then finding reasons to break those promises. A cup left out, no pussy. Socks not in the hamper, no pussy. Toilet seat left up, no pussy. A cock going anywhere but in her pussy? Wasn't going to happen. But bending over in front of her lawyer, letting him see a

Few tendrils of blonde pubic hair escape her tight shorts was all part of the game. Letting her lawyer see a quick flash of light brown nipple, large and hard, was part of the game.

'Accidentally' brushing up against Brandon Johnson's pathetic little erection, all part of the game.

Brandon smirked; Dianne St. Charles must think he was stupid, if she thought he couldn't see the game she was playing. Her pathetic wimp of a husband might fall for this shit; no wonder he was pumping that hot, nasty Stephanie Hebert, but Brandon would let Dianne think she was getting one over on him.

"Uh, hey, mind getting your cat away from me?" Brandon snapped when Mustaine, who was actually Greg's Persian cat, came too close.

Brandon hated cats, and cats seemed to sense this and seemed to go out of their way to annoy him.

"Aw, you don't like pussy cats?" Dianne asked, picking up the offending beast.

"No," was Brandon's terse reply.

"Well, you know they do sleep in my bed," she said, spreading her legs apart, to give him a little glimpse of her crotch before putting the cat down, blocking his view.

"And who said I'm sleeping here?" Brandon thought. "Blow my load down your throat, then I'm out of here."

"By the way; that lunch was delicious," Dianne preened.

"Yeah, Side By Side's one of my favorites," Brandon agreed. "Listen, I got a two o'clock deposition, so..."

Dianne was a little shocked, but quickly moved to hide it, when Brandon casually unzipped his trousers and fished out a four inch cock.

"Mr. Johnson, I'm still a married woman," she said coolly.

"And? And I'm a married man," Brandon scoffed and used a handful of her blonde hair to pull her face toward his erection.

Dianne threw Mustaine at Brandon's lap, but the cat simply scrambled away.

While Dianne was learning that some men were not as easily manipulated as Greg St. Charles, her father, or her high school teachers, Cindy St. George sat at her rotunda, counting down the hours until the weekend.

"And then what?" she asked herself as she unwrapped yet another cough drop.

A whole weekend without cigarettes seemed impossible.

Her mother and her mother's boyfriend, Jack, were planning a back yard barbeque. Barbeques meant beer. And an ice cold bottle of beer in one hand meant a cigarette in the other hand.

"David Torres, I hate you," she said out loud and looked in her purse.

There were no cigarettes in her purse. There wasn't even a cigarette lighter. She'd given her last pack of cigarettes to Jack, along with her pink lighter.

Myrna, her mother, had teased Jack about accepting a pink lighter, but Jack had smiled and shrugged.

"Going to lunch?" Cindy asked Frances DeSalvo as the young attorney walked toward the glass doors, briefcase in hand.

"No, sneaking out early," Frances confided.

"Brandon has that deposition at two," Cindy reminded her.

"Shit," Frances said, stamping her foot.

She then turned and walked back to her office.

"Sorry," Cindy said.

"Me too," Frances agreed.

Parker Johnson came out of his office and put a few envelopes on the corner of Cindy's desk.

"Mail comes when?" he demanded.

"Ten, ten thirty," Cindy reminded him.

"So, I've already missed him?" Parker snapped.

"Her, yes sir," Cindy agreed.

"You got a cold?" Parker asked, backing away from her as he smelled the cough drop she was sucking on.

"No, trying to quit smoking," Cindy said.

"You smoke?" Parker asked and Cindy stared at him.

A moment after Parker had gone back into his office, Debbie Dees, his large breasted administrative assistant came out of his office and grabbed the envelopes from Cindy's desk. The red head's high heeled pumps tapped out an angry rhythm on the tiled floor as she stomped toward the

Glass doors.

"Bye," Cindy cheerfully called out after telling herself she would not ask Debbie to stop off at the Pack N' Sack and pick her up a pack of Benson Hedges Menthols.

"David Torres, I hate you," Cindy said. "I can't even feel my tongue anymore."

Chapter 9

"But what if they don't like me?" Stephanie asked as Trevor struggled to get Kristina's car seat into the rear of his car.

"What?" Trevor asked as he finally heard the satisfying 'click' of the hook attaching to the bar between the halves of the seats.

"Oh, I forgot; you're a lawyer," Stephanie teased. "Mr. Williams, on or before the afternoon of

Saturday, what would the legal problems be if your family thinks I'm just a whore?"

"Don't quit your day job," Trevor smiled and held out his hands for Kristina. "You'd make a terrible lawyer."

"Seriously, Trevor, what if..." Stephanie asked as Trevor hooked Kristina in her car seat.

"What if they look at you and think 'oh my God; she's gorgeous, and she's got a beautiful baby girl and our Trevor's so lucky be with her?' What would we do then?" Trevor asked, kissing her.

"Do they know you're a lawyer?" Trevor asked in his high pitched voice.

"No, no, I'm too ashamed to tell them that," Trevor said to Kristina, who was just staring at the ceiling of his car. "I tell them I play the piano at a brothel."

Stephanie looked around at the beautiful home on Wells Street. It was in one of the more upscale neighborhoods in DeGarde, Louisiana. Despite Trevor's assurances, looking at the beautiful home just made her insecurities worse.

Trevor draped the diaper bag over his shoulder and unhooked Kristina from her car seat, as if he did this every day.

"Oh, you must be Stephanie! Hi! I'm Tammy! Oh, and who's this? Oh what a pretty little baby, hi!" an attractive blonde woman enthused, meeting them halfway up the bordered walkway.

"Mom, this is Stephanie Hebert," Trevor said, smiling. "Stephanie, this is Tammy Williams."

"Hi," Stephanie said

"And who's this, huh? Who's this?" Tammy fussed at Kristina.

"Hi, I'm Tara, Trevor's sister," an attractive blonde girl smiled, holding out her hand. "I'm the one told Trevor give you his business card when we were at the restaurant."

"Oh! Then you my new best friend," Stephanie smiled.

"Aw!" Tara laughed and hugged Stephanie.

"Uh, we paying to cool off the whole neighborhood? Leave the door wide open?" an older version of Trevor barked, smiling as he closed the door, stepping onto the walkway.

"Dad, this is Stephanie Hebert," Trevor said, relinquishing Kristina to his mother. "Stephanie, this is Tom Williams."

"Wasting all that money on a house, could have just bought a field somewhere, come on y'all, let's get inside, huh?" Tom smiled, shaking Stephanie's hand.

"You do know you'll never get her back, right?" Tom said to Stephanie as both Tara and Tammy led the procession, both chattering excitedly to the baby.

Inside, Stephanie was introduced to Travis, Trevor's sixteen year old brother.

"Dude, I changed my mind!" Travis declared, looking at Stephanie. "I'm going to be a lawyer!"

"Just what this world needs, huh?" Tom asked Stephanie.

"Yeah, Trevor took me to Casa Ole for my first legal margarita and there's this little demon running around so I started videoing it and I mean, right next to us, not even five feet away, little heathen slams right into this waitress and I said, 'Trevor, go give her your card,'" Tara regaled the Williams' clan as they sat down for roast beef, au gratin potatoes, and broccoli.

"Why would she need a card for a piano player?" Tom asked, smiling widely.

"That's what I said!" Trevor exclaimed.

While Stephanie was enjoying both a good meal and a warm, loving family meal, Cindy St. George was in her mother's back yard, sure she was going to crawl out of her skin as she tried, unsuccessfully, to get away from the smell of cigarettes.

She had never noticed just how many of her family, how many of their friends and neighbors and acquaintances smoked. It seemed, everywhere she turned, someone was either lighting a cigarette, blowing smoke in her direction, or stomping one out.

"David Torres, I hate you," she smiled and drank another beer as she finally found a safe haven.

She had to laugh; the safe haven was right next to the charcoal barbeque pit. Smoke billowed out of the rusted old appliance as she helped Jack cook the food.

"Who are you and what did you do with Cindy?" Jack said.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Cindy asked.

"I been living here eight years and this is the first time you've ever helped me with this," Jack pointed out. "You're either sitting in a corner getting drunk, or already half stoned, or sneaking off to screw somebody."

At first, Cindy was prepared to hurl an insult at her mother's boyfriend, then she realized he was right.

"Sorry, Jack," she said. "I hate you, but you're right."

"You sound more and more like Myrna every day," Jack smiled and pretended he was going to pinch her nose with his greasy tongs.