(c) Pamela Schloesser Canepa, 2017 All rights reserved
Photo credit, Pixabay
“I want to sue death,” the young lady whispered. “Death has stolen from me my brother, my parents, my best friend, and now, my beloved dog.”
This young woman will be etched upon my memory. No, not because of her beauty or her dark seductive style. There was truly a deep sadness in her, and I know sometimes that makes a young man either want to break her heart so easily or to sweep up her troubles and attempt to make them all better. I had no plans to do either of those. I simply wanted to go along for the ride. What she was proposing was unheard of and unprecedented, and, yes, she was a lovely young woman. I was a new lawyer, and I had nothing to lose.
“How are you, in light of all these events? Are you okay?” It seemed a legitimate question to ask.
A chuckle escaped her, surprising me. “Of course I’m okay. I’m not depressed or disturbed, if that’s what you mean.” She sat across from me in my new office, looking self-assured, yet poised in her somber attire.
I may have been wet behind the ears, but I knew a client such as this required some triage, a little digging into her background and motives.“What happened to your parents?”
“Our house burned down when I was fourteen. My brother and I were the only survivors. A year ago, he overdosed on pills. I am the only one left of our family.” She looked down in abject regret.
“What do you hope to get from all this? It won’t bring them back,” I said softly. Sure, I was probably stating the obvious to her.
She looked back at me defiantly. “I’ve already run an ad. And if you won’t represent me, I’ll find someone that will. I thought you’d be interested because you’re new to this. There are plenty of desperate, publicity-hungry lawyers. Because, you know, exposure eventually means money.”
She handed me the newspaper ad.It was odd that I hadn’t seen it yet. Well, it was small. It would be easy to miss in the classified section. It read: I, Marissa Clay, am going to sue Death. Death has robbed me of all that I love. There is but little left. I challenge Death to face me. If an agreement can be worked out, this can be kept out of court. I am looking for a suitable place for an initial meeting. Yes, I have legal representation. The ambiance should be dramatic, dark, and somewhat private. There will be one reporter present to record this event. Your establishment will earn a long-time fame for such an honor. I encourage Death to reach out to me at this address: P.O. Box 21111111, Baltimore, MD 21333. Any interested restaurant owner may contact me by posting your own response here.
“You already have legal representation?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Either you’ll say yes, or the guy I’m seeing tomorrow will,” she responded confidently.
“Why would you want to be known for this?”
“That matters nothing to me. I am already a model, already in the public eye, you could say.” She handed me a magazine clipping of herself in a two-piece swimsuit, wearing much less makeup, hair straight and hanging in waves, looking almost innocent.
“You must be very successful. That’s a lovely photo.”She shrugged nonchalantly.
“Yes, the money’s good. The jobs are there for me. This also will bring publicity. It will help you. It will even help the restaurant owner. But, honestly, despite the publicity I may get from this, it is not my primary motivation. I just want to see what happens. I am angry and unafraid. You could say I have a beef with death.”
Against my better judgment, I chose to represent this young woman. I could not turn down the publicity, and my curiosity would not let me be. Offers poured in from several restaurants……
Read the rest here at niume.com: Source: Her Beef With Death…