As Buddy talked and Philip seethed, Helena in full Southern-lady-gone-to-town drag stormed through the door of her cousin’s office unannounced.  “Philip, you gotta do something about Daddy and his Fucking Floozy!” she announced.

                “Dammit, Hel!” Philip exploded. “This here is private bidness! Ain’t I already explained to you about attorney-client confidentiality?”

                “Piff piff,” Helena said breezily, brushing away his objections with a sweep of her hand, Revlon Tropical Typhoon colored nails flashing. “Who’s your friend?”

                “Client, Hel, he’s a client!” sputtered Philip. The idea that the likes of a Sattva might be friends with a Handbasket grated on his Southern elitist nerves. “Buddy Sattva, please forgive my impetuous cousin Helena Handbasket.” The introduction made no impact on Buddy, he barely glanced at Helena. Noticing only that he had lost Philip’s attention he waited patiently to continue his story.

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                After such a grand entrance Helena assumed that the lack of focus detected by her man-radar indicated that Buddy simply wasn’t paying attention, so she moved to intersect his line of sight. Buddy politely turned his gaze to the window with its view of the First Baptist steeple.

                Helena was taken by surprise. No man ever turned his gaze away from her, especially not when she was wearing such a fetching summer frock with such a plunging neckline. She quickly checked her hair in the glass front of Philip’s lawbook cabinet… yep, still perfect, thanks to half a can of Extreme Hold for Humid Days hair spray.  

               She regarded Buddy warily. What was this feeling stealing through her heart? Could it be… love?

TO BE CONTINUED…