I am a commitment-phobe, a raging workaholic, yet she still calls me. Regardless, she was right about all of her accusations, ya know? Half of me doesn’t want to settle down, but a part of me does. I’m straddling the fence and that’s just not my style. I think if I meet someone who intrigues me enough, I’d consider it. I need a sign though, too. Something that tells me to go ahead and try it out. I have to move smarter this time; I don’t have the patience for a bunch of bullshit. Yeah… I can admit the truth. I do work too fucking much and I am definitely outta my gotdamn mind. But to that I say, ‘So fucking what?’
I’ve been an attorney for sixteen fucking years and have only had one decent holiday. All those damn years at the University of Chicago, the internships, the summer in New York for more experience, the pro-bono work, and I have yet to spend two solid weeks on an island somewhere, slurping ice cubes from between some sexy woman’s legs before the heat from her body makes ’em melt against my tongue.
He closed his eyes briefly and ran his hand over his hair, the strands smooth against his palm. He then glanced at the torn piece of paper on the dresser. He’d removed it from the crystal jar as he did every morning, but felt the desire to re-read it.
Today, Nixon, you have to move with purpose.
Go after what you want. What is it you do not have that you wish you did?
Is Fear a factor? Use whatever you are afraid of to get what you want.
BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.
He tossed it down and shifted his gaze to the weights in his bedroom.
Heading over, he started to pump iron to the sounds of ‘Mary Jane,’ by Rick James. He mouthed the lyrics between each lift, his chest heaving, arms burning and abs contracting with each motion. As he finished, his cellphone rang. He slammed the weights on the bar, took a deep breath, then snatched up his phone.
“What? I thought I blocked your number.” He chuckled.
“You son of a bitch.” Tex chuckled. “Look, I need a favor, Mafia Man.”
“What? You wanna borrow my tips on how to not be an asshole? Sorry, according to my ex, you’re outta luck.”
“Hey, Mr. Concrete Shoes.” Tex laughed. “No, that’s not it. Look, I need you to come to the courthouse on Tuesday to check out something. I’m getting my balls busted and I want to request a new judge for my client I told you about, the Johnson vs. Edmundson case.”
“Who’s the judge for your case?”
“Milford.”
“Ahhhh, fuck me, man! What a piece of shit. I hate him,” Nixon said.
“See? Tell me about it.”
“I swear that man wants me dead. He’s been giving you a hard time too, huh? All right. I’ve had some luck getting cases away from him a couple of times. It’s not easy though. If I help you, what’s in it for me?”
“Unwavering friendship and a case of beer.”
“I have enough friends and the beers you drink are cheap. You can’t afford me.”
“Since you’re still enjoying your bachelorhood, what about a lady, then?” Nixon grabbed a white hand towel from the back of a nearby chair and swiped it across his brow.
“I can get my own ladies. That’s not really—”
“No, no, listen. You know Nona teaches that yoga class on the weekends, right?”
“Yeah.” He raked his hand through his hair to get it off his face.
“I’ve gone up there a few times. She’s always forgetting something and wants me to drop it off. Anyway, you should see some of the women! Oh man, Nix, you’d be in heaven!”
“Yoga… flexible. Good.” He toyed with the idea. It sounded nice enough.
“Hey, I’ve got a great idea. You want to double date?” As soon as the words left Tex’s mouth, Nixon realized he’d been bamboozled, hustled into a damn trap. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nona is always asking me about that. You know, getting a friend for one of her friends and the four of us hitting the town. I don’t give uh shit, you know me, but it would make her happy.” The guy chuckled stiffly. “She gets attached to some of her students and they become friends… She goes out with them, shit like that. We could go to that one steak house we like, the one we went to last April. Shit. What’s it called?”
“Swift &