"A Jury Of One's Own"

by Dan Bell

Copyright ©2003
ISBN: 0-87714-820-1 eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-307-2 PB edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For my daughters Colleen and Lara, Ms. Chris
and the Lady in Red

Photograph of Dan Bell

THE AUTHOR

This is W. Dan Bell's first novel. He has published several short stories and a non-fiction book entitled How To Buy Ocean Front Property. A lawyer in Wisconsin for many years, he now practices law and lives in Kure Beach, North Carolina.

THE BOOK

This is a story about lawyers, bikers and fantasies, sexual and otherwise. It's also about self-delusion and self-destruction, masking and misunderstanding. And about innocent hopes and dreams and bizarre attempts to fulfill them.

SAMPLE

"I'm hungry. Let's go eat. You'll meet Molli tomorrow. She's a far-out righteous woman, and that's all I'm going to say about her, so save your breath on the questions."

Gant didn't figure it out until well after Flick finished his dessert. The biker had chosen a family restaurant and firmly requested a table in the corner far from the few other mid week diners. He fervently detailed his documentary film, emphasizing his studio and equipment and his perception of the project's historical value. He eloquently praised the great philanthropists and called those who financially support the arts visionaries. Flick said Gant had the soul of a biker. He would be the perfect financial underwriter for the project. He'd be revered by both bikers and film lovers. It was a true once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Fate, Flick said, had brought them together.

"You want me to put up money for this biker film of yours, is that it?" Gant said, haughtily incredulous.

"Yeah, that's it. After that, corporate sponsors. I can show you a business plan."

Gant marveled at Flick's diminished size and spoke down to him, delighted to be back in control.

"Are you kidding, Flick? No, I can tell you're actually serious, aren't you?" Gant shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what you heard about me, but I'm not giving you any money."

"Wait, man. I thought- - "

"My deal is that you get me ready for the reunion. That's it. No money exchanges hands. If you got other information, it's wrong and you'll have to deal with it. I'm not involved."

"No financing?"

"Not from me. Flick, think about it. Why would I want to be involved with you? You're a biker. What do you know about the business of making movies?"

Flick cleared his throat. "I see," he said calmly with a quivering undertone of tension. "It's true I haven't made a full-length film. But I am a good businessman. I've built several successful businesses." He sent his forefingers at Gant like attack airplanes. "I wouldn't trade with you or any lawyer. Money and yourself. That's your whole agenda. At least my film will mean something for a lot of people. I'll find the financing somehow. Bet on it."

Gant watched Flick as he had watched many clients. He understood the phases - - rejection, anger, comprehension, acceptance, revival, rejection. This unbroken spiral of disappointment was a dark-colored strand coiled around the linear heartbeat of life, like on an old-time barber's pole.

"I want you to know I appreciate all you're doing for me. You're really a pro. I want you to know that," Gant said.

"Yeah, well, it's been different. Tomorrow, be here by eleven."

Molli's horoscope said fun and financial opportunity ahead which made her laugh because lawyers had been the predators of her life with her parents' divorce and then the fight over her father's estate. She didn't comprehend Flick's explanation except for the one thousand dollar fee. Be a biker chick to some lawyer for his fantasy high school reunion, he'd said. Bizarre. Far out, as Flick would say. I won't tell mom about this one.

She parked Ingrid under the magnolia. Flick met her halfway to the shop. He looked agitated, as if his emotions were jumping around like popping corn. Right away she got nervous. In the large room he paced, and Molli decided not to ask for the money first thing.

"So, how you been?" she said to get it started.

"Financing. This lawyer won't do squat. He's a taker. I figured he'd be some biker groupie who'd be honored to give. He blew me off like I was lint."

Caution flags came out for Molli. She didn't want a lawyer breathing on her unless she got her money up front.

"So what does that mean for me. Should I go home?" Molli said.

"Financing."

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking. Is there money for me, up front, or should I go?"

"Financing for you? Of course."

Molli shoved his hand away from her breast pocket.

"Do you think that's the night depository slot? Give it here. Thank you. What do I do for it? I can give it back, you know."

"There's got to be a way to get some money out of this guy," Flick said.

"Flick, look, I mean listen - - I can't help unless I know what's going on. Tell me everything," Molli said.

Flick replayed the entire experience histrionically and loudly. Flick understood he could lose when he took the risk, the same as if he had bet on a horse to win. But that made it no less grim that he would make the guy's fantasy a reality, and not get paid, he said.

"I wanted to truss him like a turkey and drag him behind the bike until only the rope remained," Flick said.

"And he's got money?" Molli said.

"So Big Sam said. He's a successful lawyer. That I checked."

A fool and his money are soon parted, Molli thought. That old line that leads to the room with the star on the door. I'll bet my body on it.

"I have a spark, a glimmer of an idea," she said. "But you and I have to agree. We split anything we can squeeze from him."

"Seventy-thirty," he said.

"Nope."

"Sixty-forty."

"Half to each, Flick, that's what's fair." As they shook hands Molli said, "nothing crossed?"

"Not me," Flick said, looking up at her from his chair.

Molli sat on his desktop and uncrossed her long legs. The toe of her right foot dangled less than an inch from his left calf. She leaned forward, looked him in the eyes, smiled, and lightly rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Now that I have your attention. Let's do this," she said, and explained her idea.

"Far out," he said at the end, and told Molli it was technically no problem.

"When we're finished with him, he must believe that he's a genuine biker, only genuine is not it exactly," she said.

"Righteous," Flick said with a rare smile.

"That's it. Righteous. You must support everything I say. He'll look to you, man to man, as the authority," Molli said.

"That's cool." He listened to a bike shut down outside. "That's his. Let's do it."

At least he's not a fat pig or scrawny nerd, Molli thought as Gant entered with an awkward swagger. He was the average garden variety, not-bad-looking white American male who expects women to flop, legs apart, like penitents at his feet. She hitched up her tight black leather pants and tossed her black wig as if it were real.

"Sorry about last night, man," Flick said. "Didn't mean any offense."

"Oh, none taken," Gant said, distracted by Molli. "Don't worry about it."

"Take me for a ride," Molli said. They got on his bike and rode away.

"Turn around and stop there," Molli said, pointing toward an empty wayside.

Gant muscled the Harley around and stopped. He swung off the cycle and came at her as if she were in heat.

"Forget it," she said sharply. "You need work on your mounting and dismounting," Molli glared, daring him to make the obvious retort, "and I wanted to save you the embarrassment of doing it at the shop. That's a tough crowd, believe me, I know."

"What's wrong with how I get on and off? The bike, I mean," Gant said.

"You act like you want to kiss its feet. Think of it as your girlfriend. You have one, right?" Molli said.

"No."

Molli put on her surprised face. "Let me tell you, I want a man to respect me, sure. But I don't want him mousing around, feeling like he has to ask if it's okay before he gives me a hug. Bike's the same. Treat it with respect, but just get on it. Understand?"

"Are you serious?"

"It's not a question of whether I'm serious. It's a question of whether you're serious. Now, we're going to this reunion, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Gant said.

"I'm going as the biker girl?"

Gant didn't speak.

"Come on, answer the question," she said.

"Yeah, of course"

"And you want them to believe that I am?"

"Sorry. Am what?"

"A biker chick. You want them to believe I'm a biker chick."

"Oh, I think they will."

"You expect I'll do what's necessary to convince them, correct?" Molli said.

"I'm sure you'll convince them, don't worry about it," Gant said.

"And you expect me to convince them?"

"Yes. But don't worry about it. You'll be fine."

This is fun, Molli thought. Dad's attorney taught me that a lawyer may be the easiest part for an actor to play. "Isn't it true that and isn't it true this?" he kept demanding of me. The question controls. The answer is a small dog jumping through a hoop at the circus. It takes acting skills straight from my classes, as familiar as driving a car.

"And you want them to believe that you're a biker?" she said.

"Yeah. That is what this is about," Gant said.

"You'll do what's necessary to convince them?"

"Best I can."

"You want Flick and I to teach you what's necessary?" Molli said.

"He's done a good job, so far," Gant said.

"You don't know much about being a biker, that's what you expect us to teach you?"

"Right. You playing lawyer or what?' Gant said.

"No, you're the lawyer. Flick and I are the bikers. If the script called for lawyers, I'd be listening to you. Since it calls for bikers, you listen to us."

Gant nodded impatiently.

"So you'll listen to what we tell you?"

"Sure, yeah," he said.

"And do it?"

"Well- -"

"No, 'well' isn't an acceptable answer. You either say yes or I'm gone."

"Wait a minute."

"Listen," Molli said, "if you're not committed to being the best biker you can be, then forget it. I'm not spending the weekend in a hotel with a fool."

"No, no. Yeah, yeah. I'm with you all the way. Let's do it right." He laughed. "Just don't be too hard on me."

"Do I look like someone who would be hard on you?"

He stood silent.

"Go get on that bike like she was your woman," she directed with a wink. "You seem to know what that's about."

Gant laughed. He wiped his palms on the front of his shirt and climbed aboard, looking at Molli for approval.

This guy, Molli thought, is high maintenance. He shouldn't be doing this. I could spend a lot of time trying to convince him to go home. Focus on what's best for Molli - - my future, my mom, my car, my cat, and myself. Keep your eye on the dressing room star.

"Better," she said. "You know what you need? An earring."

"No earring. I've been through that already," Gant said.

Molli shrugged. "You don't quite have the walk. Flick will help. I do know you have to puff up. Because I'm a woman, I really have to puff when I ride. A small woman, she'd have to puff even more. You're a big, good-looking man, naturally puffed. Stick your chest out and act like this part of the world belongs to you. Know what I mean?"

"Actually, I do. The courtroom."

"Of course. Only don't be polite. There's no judge. You're a biker. You don't ask anyone for permission for anything. 'May I,' 'please,' and 'thank you,' they're out of your vocabulary. Mostly you don't say anything, you just do and take. Now, big boy, take me home."

"Let's ride, woman," Gant said, his voice deep and phony.

Oh, brother, Molli said to herself.

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