DANCING WITH THE ICE LADY. Ken Salter

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СКАЧАТЬ oversight by the Nevada attorney unfamiliar with California requirements or it might be an intentional omission to hide ownership by an out-of-state entity. I made a note to check with the Dept. of Corporations in Sacramento to see if the Nevada corporation had registered with the state and designated a local agent for service of process in case of litigation. I wondered also if Gloria Simmons was aware of the Nevada connection to the business.

      I picked up the copies I’d ordered and headed back to the office to face Patsy Kline. I got caught in traffic and Patsy was fuming when I arrived. Saundra was smirking behind her word processor and watching Patsy getting ready to take me to task. She’d probably been helping Patsy load her gun for big game for the moment I came into her sights.

      Saundra announced, “Mr. Bean can see you now,” in a sing-song voice full of sham.

      Patsy looked a bit worse for wear; she was in her early thirties and starting to put beef on her thighs. She wore a black cocktail dress that emphasized her buxom features but made her look gaudy. She’d over-rouged her cheeks and lips and wore nail polish that clashed with her hennaed hair worn in a pony-tail. Her legs were without hose and her feet were stuffed into scuffed high-heels. She’d worked as a cocktail waitress while her husband took his time getting his M.B.A. degree.

      According to Patsy, he started investing her tips in penny gold mining stocks on the unregulated Vancouver Mining Exchange. He claimed they’d be rich by the time he graduated from Cal. My investigation discovered that he’d registered all the mining shares in his name only and had his broker hold them so Patsy couldn’t see his deceit. Patsy was sure the stocks must be worth a fortune. Her hubby vanished after getting his master’s degree and left her with a five year-old kid and two months worth of unpaid bills and rent. Naturally, Patsy was angry as a disturbed hornet and expected me to find and squeeze money out of her departed spouse.

      Patsy lit up a cigarette and blew smoke in the direction of the “Smoke And I’ll Croak” sign behind my desk. Working in a smoke-filled bar hadn’t helped her complexion or her sense of humor.

      “So, have you found the bastard?” Her voice was deepened by years of smoking.

      “No, he’s still on the move.”

      “What about all the investments he made with my money?” She took a deep drag on her cigarette and gave me a piercing look.

      I tried to avoid her penetrating gaze. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news on that front either . . .”

      “What the fuck! I don’t believe this. No way you’re gonna sit there and tell me the bastard got away with all my hard-earned money. I’ll kill the slick fucker.” She had a stranglehold on her cigarette and her other hand pumped up and down in my direction.

      “He didn’t get away with anything. The stocks are all worthless. They were all highly speculative issues and most of the companies went belly-up.”

      “You mean he stole my hard-earned money and blew it, don’t you?” Her face was flushed and she was on the edge of her seat.

      “That’s one way of looking at it. Another way is that he knowingly made high-risk investments and lost.”

      “The son-of-a-bitch ripped off Katie and me, and didn’t have the smarts to turn a profit on what he stole. The loser lived off me to go to business school. What a waste! I want you to see he goes to jail.”

      “You need to talk to Mr. Green about that. I’ll make an appointment for you to see him to discuss your legal remedies,” I said with a straight face.

      Patsy seemed only somewhat mollified by my shunting her off on Nate. I figured it served him right. She was going to be furious when she learned she had hardly any legal recourse against her husband’s actions other than to nail him for unpaid child support. He’d invested community property income and lost it. It might be impossible to collect the child support. We didn’t know where he’d skipped to; he was probably in another state busy setting up a new identity. Let Nate take the heat. I made her an appointment to see him in three days. Tit for Tat.

      I knew I should cancel my dinner date with Sharon Miller. It wasn’t a good idea to date clients. Things tend to get sticky real fast. Instead of cancelling, I rationalized that it would be good for both of us to get our minds off recent troubles.

      My plan for our evening was simple: enjoy a nice relaxed dinner so we could get to know each other better, then head off to a club in Emeryville where we could dance our asses off and burn off our dinner. I planned to take Sharon back to her apartment, share a friendly kiss at her door and get to bed at a reasonable hour to be ready for a hectic day tomorrow. I had thought of everything for a nice, uncomplicated evening except for what Sharon Miller wanted.

      She greeted me with a big, freckled smile. She was dressed in a sexy, form-fitting, green satin cocktail dress with a scoop-neck bodice and a hem that stopped four inches above her knees. I’d only seen her in jeans and long-sleeved shirts and had no idea until now how physically attractive she was. She’d tamed her mop of carrot-red hair with gold barrettes and wore matching hoop earrings. She let me know she could change her high heels for dancing shoes she’d stuffed in her oversize bag once we got to the club. The lady was dressed to party.

      I took her to dinner at a local, mellow seafood restaurant on the Berkeley Marina that caters to a mixed-race crowd. I was reluctant to take her to one of the soul food restaurants I prefer because it could be tricky on a first date with a white lady. Sharon had spent most of her life in a small, conservative, white farming community in the Central Valley. I wasn’t sure how comfortable she’d be if we dined on unfamiliar food in a restaurant where she’d probably be the only white person. Once I saw how she’d dressed, there was no way I’d take her to her to dine in a black restaurant.

      She might cause a riot.

      Sharon took my mind of Gloria Simmons right away. She was real excited to be out on a date after all she’d been through. She was real easy to talk to and we really enjoyed each other’s company.

      We lingered over our meal to the annoyance of our waiter. Before either of us realized it, we’d sipped through two bottles of Charles Mondavi Chardonnay wine. Sharon’s deep hazel eyes kept changing color from brownish to greenish hues as they reflected complex emotions. We talked comfortably about our very different lives growing up. Sharon told me about getting pregnant and dropping out of college to support her husband and the kid. He’d been her high school sweetheart and she’d never slept with anyone before or after she’d married him. She felt betrayed by him; he’d dumped her after ten years so he could start his career with a younger woman.

      By the time I paid the bill as the restaurant was closing, we were both a little drunk and in a festive mood. As we made our way to my 1968 Chevy Impala, she slipped her hand in mine and squeezed and I did the same.

      Before I could engage the ignition, Sharon was all over me. I’m not used to women I date making the moves, but there was no guile on her part. Her husband hadn’t touched her in nine months and she was hungry for a man’s touch.

      She kissed me with fervor and we explored and probed with our tongues. I slid the palm of my hand slowly across the soft satin fabric molding her breasts. She shivered. Her nipples hardened and stretched to meet my fingertips through her dress as my fingers softly traced their outline through the fabric.

      She moaned softly as I moved my fingers slowly inside the bodice of her dress and under her pushup bra. I carefully slipped the dress straps over her shoulders and released her breasts from their restraint. Her moans grew more urgent when I let my fingers move tenderly СКАЧАТЬ