I don’t know why anyone needs a lawyer, but somehow it turns out that you frequently do. I have tried often enough to avoid encumbering myself with some smarmy thief rubbing his hands gleefully as he mentally tots up what he will get out of me this time, but nothing ever works.
As a case in point, let me offer a fender-bender I was involved in. I was using a back way out of Centerville where I had been visiting relatives I usually manage to avoid, when the accident occurred. My adversary was a portly party with a walrus mustache who ought to have been jovial, but wasn’t. “Jesus,” he said as we stood between the cars contemplating the bent metal. “I had the right of way. Didn’t your Mummy tell you what a turn signal meant? It looks like you owe me between a grand and fifteen hundred.”
“Wait a minute,” I cried. “You only switched on the turn signal when you were halfway through the turn.”
“Like hell I did,” he snarled. Then he uttered those ominous words, “Call your lawyer.”
Oliver Wendell Jones had an office the size of an airplane hanger. The walls were lined with encomiums to his skill from a huge number of dignitaries, among whom were numbered three heads of state, a baseball player who averaged 40 home runs a year, and two Hollywood trollops who had risen to stardom on their backs. The furnishings came directly from the set of a Noel Coward drawing room, a Renoir hung behind Jones’ desk, and a construction by Brancusi stood on one foot keeping an eye on things. “Pretty nice place you’ve got,” I said.
“I like to surround myself with quality,” he said.
As I stood there in a suit made under the administration of the first George Bush, I had a sinking feeling that I didn’t quite come up to the mark. “I’m sorry to trouble you about this small matter, but I had a little automobile accident.”
He held up his hand to halt me, like a crossing guard on the alert for jay-walkers. “Just a minute,” he said. “We need to begin at the beginning.”
“I hope we’re not going back to Adam and Eve,” I said, rapidly calculating his hourly rate. “It was just a fender bender. No big deal.”
He frowned. “To a layman, perhaps. When you’ve seen as many of these things as I have, you bring a broader perspective. Have you considered the possibility of whiplash? Of hidden damage to the kidneys?”
“I’m not claiming any of these things. I just want to get my fender fixed.”
He shook his head firmly. “Would that things were always that simple. It’s not what we’re claiming. It’s what they’ll want. I know their lawyer. He’s a vulture. His wife has six fur coats, two of them from protected species.”
I took a quick glance at my watch. I was already out something like three hundred dollars, which was more than Frank’s Auto Body would have charged to pound out the fender. “Maybe I’ve been too hasty.”
“Exactly,” he said. “We mustn’t try to hurry these things.”
I swallowed. “I was hoping we could kind of speed things up.”
He shook his head solemnly. “That’s always where people get into trouble. Things have to go at their own pace.”
By now I could hear my watch ticking. “Well, yes,” I said. “But I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
He took off his watch, set it on the desk where he could see the minutes rolling up, and joined his palms before his face, as if offering thanks. “Now, let’s get back to the beginning.” He laid a paid of yellow paper on the desk. “What were you doing the night before?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Oh,” I said. “My wife and I went over to Fred and Silvia Webster’s place for chili. There wasn’t a lot of drinking. They don’t drink very much.” I paused. “Not like lawyers.”
He gave me a sharp look, but all he said was, “Got a good night’s sleep?”
I started to say that I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since I was in the sixth grade, but thought better of it. “We were in bed by ten.” I took another look at my watch, this time not trying to hide what I was doing. “I’m supposed to be meeting my wife. We’re going to pick out new wallpaper for the hall.”
“She’ll wait.”
“No, she won’t. She never waits. She’ll pick out some wallpaper I’ll hate.” I stood and began to edge towards the door.
“Not so fast, fella,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”
“I can see that. That’s why I think we ought to put it off until I have more time.” I reached the door and put my hand on the knob.
“No time like the present,” he said. “Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today.”
“Absolutely right,” I said. “No shilly-shallying. I’m going to get this wallpaper business settled right now.” I swung the door open and stepped through it.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Jones cried. “We haven’t finished.”
However I was finished. I closed the office door and just made the elevator. It was going up, but I didn’t care where it went as long as it took me out of the clutches of the law.
