Business Suit Trekkie

I met Jerry in the City of Sin. He stood behind me and my two young boys, stood waiting for a seat-belted seat on the Star Trek Experience Borg Encounter. He wore expensive jeans, the kind a trophy wife buys for her rich hubby - butter soft, well-cut, delicately rimmed with subtle black stitching, a fancy name emblazoned above the left butt cheek. His blonde hair hung in careless ringlets and just brushed the collar of a dusty rose polo shirt. I wondered if his hair color was natural. His eyes said No, said Old, said Tired and Grumpy and Three Packs 'o Day of unfiltered cigarettes. He caught me staring and extended a manicured hand sporting a square-cut ruby set in solid gold on his pinky.

"Hi. My name is Jerry. You on vacation or you live here in Vegas?"

I grasped his hand and flinched at the cloud of smoker's breath that hung between us. He somehow slipped me a business card. I didn't see him pull one from a wallet, from a branded pocket. I grinned and looked at the card, expecting it to say Magician.

Jerry Doyle, Attorney at Law, Divorce and Family, Phoenix, Arizona.

"Hi. Uh, thanks. I think! My name's Birdie. I live in the other Vegas. You know? New Mexico. The original Las Vegas. I just moved there from So Cal. I'm not married, so I don't need a divorce lawyer, but thanks. I'll pass it along."

I looked sideways before he answered, tried to evade the onslaught of icky breath while pretending to see if the line had moved.

"Honey, honey, honey. Honey. Every woman needs a fucking divorce lawyer. You might not be married this moment, but hell, you're in Vegas. You might play footsie with a guy on the ride and get married tonight in the Elvis Chapel of Love."

A gray plastic box above us shook to life, and an electronic announcement told us the lunch buffet had begun, better get in line, then rolled through a litany of the Hilton's upcoming events. Even the speaker sounded like it exuded tobacco, like a stripper half-way through her final set, full of cocaine and forgotten promise, all air and silicone and jaded reassurance. My older son, 11, whipped his head around. He glanced at me, then glared at Jerry. He didn't speak until the box shook silent.

"No way. My mom can't get married unless I say so. She's not even dating anyone! Besides, swearing is not only offensive, it shows a lack of breeding and character."

I swallowed a laugh. A lack of breeding?! Where the hell did he get that?

His younger brother, 9, kept his eyes on the gate and his left hand near his gold-colored Star Trek communicator pin.

"They swear in Star Trek sometimes. Dammit, Jim, he's dead."

9 did his best "Bones" impression, one finger up his nose. He mined the area, swiped his finger on his adventure shorts. 11 sighed - loudly - as if perfect point were made. Jerry laughed

"Hell, you'd make a fine lawyer, son. What's your name?

11 didn't answer, didn't talk to the stranger. I stuck Jerry's card in my purse and rummaged around, looked for one of my own cards, but only found a sample of the Anew Clinical Eye Lift.

"Sorry Jerry, I'd offer you one of my cards, but I'm all out. I'm an Avon Lady, but I pretty much stay in my district. I don't get out to Arizona much. Here, have a sample. There's a sticker on the back with my name and number if you're desperate for some Avon. So. Are you a Trekkie?"

Half the line around us laughed. A middle-aged man in tight chinos and an ivory Bill Blass button-down shirt smirked. I could see his reflection in the television screens surrounding us, a wall of Trek Trivia, of Enterprise Excess, all the numbers and names and locations of Star Trek, as if we were in line for a visit to a futuristic Smithsonian Museum, a place where only the real and substantiated are catalogued. My boys and I stood in this line the night before, the night we arrived in Las Vegas, and though we were tired from our desert drive, we rode the Borg Encounter over and over, six times over, until the makeup started to cake and fade on the faces of the paid aliens.

One woman at the head of the line wore pointed Vulcan ears. They stuck out of a brunette bob in stark contrast to her conservative black business suit and patent leather pumps. She waved in our direction. Her voice betrayed her East Coast heritage - loud and fast and nasal.

"Jerry's the president of our divorce lawyer association, and he's also the biggest Trekkie you ever fucking met. He's practically William fucking Shatner."

Jerry shrugged his shoulders.

"I know as much about Trek as I do about law. And I'm the best fucking divorce lawyer in Arizona."

11 stuck his fingers in his ears.

Two actors in Star Trek Voyager science officer uniforms unlatched the gate and began swiping tickets under a hazy red laser. Vulcan Divorce Lawyer held the line as she ran her hands through her suit jacket pockets in search of her admission. Chino Divorce Lawyer handed one of the actors - a young woman with zits across her forehead in the same shape as the Big Dipper - his business card.

"They got marriage in Star Trek? Call me when it goes bust."

11 turned to 9 and whispered sotto voce.

"What do you think is more annoying? These divorce lawyers or the drunk guy who barfed on the last ride of the night?"

I gave 11 a good elbow in the ribs. We filed inside the first part of the ride - a quiet hallway designed to look like a starship corridor. By now I knew the routine, knew actors would rush the set as dry ice explosions and flashing lights encased us in full-glass fantasy. The lawyers became passengers, too, screamed with shiver and delight as one Borg, then two, then five cornered us, forced us into the shuttle bay. I forgot about those divorce lawyers, to tell the truth. The ride spit us back onto the slot machine-laden sidewalk and my boys and I retraced our steps, back into line, back into the belly of one-armed beasts.

Six months later Jerry called. I didn't recognize his name at first, his voice.

"I'm sorry, Jerry? I don't remember who you are. Can you refresh my memory?"

He laughed, then did his best Captain Picard.

"Engage..."

Ah! Jerry the Arizona Divorce Lawyer. I pictured him in the endless Hilton line, my small sample in his bejewled hand. I grabbed my order pad, ready to take down what was sure to be a huge order. Why else would he call?

"Birdie, the reason I'm calling you isn't to ask if you've gotten married yet. Ha ha ha."

He chuckled, low and ready.

"You're not going to believe what I'm about to say."

I waited. Jerry breathed into the phone then cleared his throat. I couldn't imagine what he was about to do - order a case of Eye Lift? Invite me to the next Divorce Lawyer Association Convention in Vegas? Tell me he quit being a Trekkie and now follows Battlestar Galactica?

"I gave up cussing. I thought about it a lot after seeing your boy's reaction. Now, you tell him I did this, OK?"

I promised Jerry I would pass along his news and tried not to swear myself.

"So Jerry, that's such a great, positive step! I bet it's helped you with your business. Now. How did you like the sample I gave you? Would you care to place an order for a full-sized tub?"

I mentally patted myself on the back for such a suave segue from morality to commerce.

"Sure, I'd be happy to place an order. Maybe some men's cologne or something. But not that eye cream. That stuff didn't do shit."

Comments

[Carroll]

"Suave segue" indeed, Birdie. What a riot. I swear (well, but not very often -- honest) your boys are going to be world famous ambassadors someday. Give those two a big hug from me, OK -- and have a super duper holiday weekend!!

[Virginia DeBolt]

Damn funny!

[moi]

hoho, is this the same lawyer that 11 derided for his inability to open the bronzing powder pot? if it is, i take it mr. lawyer didn't disappear from your lives after this incident, eh?

[Birdie]

Carroll - hugs have been given! And to 19, too, who is home for the holidays!

Virginia - damn straight! ha ha ha!

Moi - nah, it's a different lawyer... the one who couldn't open the pot actually reads this blog so I can't tell stories about him! But I wish I could!!! I have a coupla good ones!!! (Art, uh, you didn't read that...)

[moi]

oh.. right.. ART. jerry. silly me. i've been making a lot of dumb mistakes lately- not sure what's happened to my brain cells!

well, maybe if u asked nicely, art would be gracious enough to allow us to enjoy your stories bout him.. it'll make him a STAR! :)

[missy]

lol, I did Birdie, I laughed out loud at the end, spontaneously...thank you

[Wandering Willow]

GREAT story!! I had to reread the engine-cooking road-food story, too. I hope Mr. Very Seriously Annoying Divorce Lawyer ordered a big honkin' load of goodies!

P.S. More photos of Birdie and her Birdie over at Wandering Willow today!!

[Terri]

Thanks for the laugh, Birdie! Your 11 and my 11 are so much alike. We have to get them together one day.

[Rick]

I imagine that the people who looked at that mountain-bound desert and said, “Not only will we build a city here, but people will come to the city from all over the world and give us all their money,” had Borgs in their master plan. Borgs and Schmemborgs.

[Anne]

Hi Birdie, nice story. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it!

By the way, if you ever run out of business cards again, you can get some free printable business cards here:

free printable business cards