Richard & Richard's biggest case was an environmental degradation lawsuit filed on behalf of the residents of Clear River, a town located downstream from a large chemical plant. While establishing liability and damages would be difficult, the potential award was in the hundreds of millions of dollars. The firm, unfortunately, had bad luck with the judge assigned to the matter.
Annette Bush was in her mid-forties. At thirty-five she married a man ten years her senior. He was well off, politically influential, and had gotten his wife elected judge. She had the worst record on appeal of any judge on her court and her demeanor on the bench was unpredictable, swinging from pleasant to ornery without explanation. Although not completely biased, she was from and had married into money; she had no natural affinity for either our case or its low-income plaintiffs. The case would be heard by a jury. Judge Bush would influence, but not control, the final decision.
Six weeks before the trial I sat down with Ron and Michelle.
"The Clear River trial is set to start on the twentieth of next month. If this case hits, Ron and I will shut down the practice. There is a piece of property on a mountain in Hawaii we've been eyeing for years. If we get the verdict we want, that's where we're heading. Don't worry, you and Denise will be set for life.
"I've asked Regina to assist us and any extra time you can spend in the office will be appreciated. However, that's not your most important job."
She paused to organize her thoughts. "This is what we know and what we think. Judge Bush's husband is gay; she's a beard. How much of that she understands I'm not sure. I suspect she gets it at some level, but is doing her best to live in denial.
"I strongly suspect - to the point of near certainty - that Judge Bush is gay. Her dating history before she married is almost nil. At conventions she gets a few drinks in her and starts flirting with the girls, especially the young ones. It's nothing she can't excuse as alcohol-induced, but it's real.
"She prefers them young and sweet. A friend in the Sheriff's Office who provides courtroom security checked the history on her personal computer: she has a taste for schoolgirl lesbian porn. For the past few years she's volunteered to act as a judge at the local Catholic girl's high school moot court competition. When there her eyes linger on the cute girls in school uniforms.
"How aware she is of her own predilection or whether she's ever fully ventured out of the closet is unknown, but if its happened I can't find out anything about it, which means it probably hasn't.
"Her rudeness and volatility in the courtroom, and especially the way she picks on young lawyers, confirms what is evident in even short meetings with her: she has a weak personality. The strong ones don't need temper tantrums to get their way.
"Briefs in the case are due tomorrow. You will file the originals with the clerk and bring her copies. If you just beat the 5:00 o'clock deadline with the clerk you should be in her office just after her staff leaves. Your assignment: make Judge Bush your pet."
The three of us adjourned to the private room at our favorite Italian restaurant for an evening of brainstorming.
The next day at 4:55 P.M. I filed pleadings in the clerk's office. I was wearing a red plaid skirt that came below my knees and a pink button down shirt. It matched my pink head band. My hair was straight and pulled back in pig tails. I wore yellow ballet flats. My make up was minimal, my fingernails pink, and I wore small girlish earrings. I was not a naughty school girl, I was an innocent one.
I grabbed one of the lollipops the in-take clerk kept in a bowl by her desk and headed upstairs. It was a few minutes after 5:00; the Judge's staff was leaving. I buzzed. A cranky voice asked, "What is it?"
"I'm from Richard & Richard with your pleadings."
"They were supposed to be here by 5:00. Wait, I'm coming."
Judge Bush opened her door to a sweet young thing with tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry Judge, there was a long line downstairs. At the office they told me to make sure I got here by 5:00. It's my fault. Please don't tell on me."
The Judge's eyes took a bit longer to drink in my form than they should. She grasped my hand in hers. The handshake lasted a bit too long.
"I apologize, it's been a long day. Please come in."
I followed the Judge to her office and, at her invitation, sat down. She was not an unattractive woman, but invested almost nothing in her personal appearance. She wore flat shoes and dowdy clothes. I handed her the papers. She put the envelope on her desk and asked if she could get me something to drink. I asked for milk. She didn't have any, so I accepted a cola. When she left I evaluated her office. Judges were responsible for buying their own furniture and decorations; her expensive antiques and original art work confirmed her wealth.
She returned with the drink. I slipped a straw into the can and sipped politely. The Judge opened the envelope and asked me my name.
"Amber."
"It's very nice to meet you Amber. Have you been in a judge's office before?"
"No ma'am."
She began an open ended conversation. I let her know I had time to kill. My delivery to her was the last of the day. I didn't need to rush anywhere. I said I still lived at home with my Mom (I made that up) and I didn't have a boyfriend or anything. When the Judge expressed surprise that a girl like me didn't have a guy I said, "You know, they're all interested in only one thing." She nodded in sage agreement.
I was energetic and peppy. I was optimistic and positive. I told her how much I admired successful woman like her; how I couldn't wait until I graduated from college and got a real grown-up job. I mentioned that my Mom helped me land the job at Richard & Richard, talked about going to an all girls high school (I also made that up), and told her I was an excellent student, and how romantic I thought the Twilight books were. The Judge's eyes shimmered with desire. Michelle had her pegged just right; her secret, only half-understood fantasy, was sitting across the desk from her.
I gave the Judge a chance to show off. I said I'd thought about becoming a lawyer, but I didn't like mean people. "I just hate it when people are rude." The Judge related a few stories about how she dealt with dishonest people while remaining a lady. The Judge, who had at first resisted the urge to openly check me out, was also getting lazy. She, more and more brazenly, drank in my looks. It was fifteen minutes to six. She had swallowed the hook; it was time to reel her in.
In a childlike tone I said, "Judge, do you think I'm pretty?"
"Yes." She hesitated, "Why do you ask?"
"Well, the way you look at me, it reminds me of the way some of my high school teachers looked at me. They would tell me I was pretty."
"Your teachers were right, you are very pretty."
"Thank you Judge, it makes me feel good when a smart woman like you thinks I'm pretty. When the lady teachers at school told me how pretty I was they'd ask to see more of me. I wasn't sure if I should, but they were the teachers. You're lots more important than a teacher. Are you like them? Would you like to see more?"
Judge Bush's mouth was open. She was staring at me, not sure what to say; her face a mixture of confusion and lust: too scared to move forward, too entranced to step back. The best she could do was punt. "What, what do you mean?"
"They'd ask me to show them," I dropped my voice a tone, glanced around the empty office, and then whispering as if in embarrassment, " my breasts. Lots of girls like to show theirs off in tight clothes and low necklines, but I don't. But still, I think they're pretty. Would you like to see my breasts? I mean we couldn't tell anyone, but I'd like to know if you think they're pretty. "
Eyes fixed on my chest, mouth open, she nodded.
I undid my shirt, fumbling with the buttons, advertising nervousness and inexperience. When done I stood, pulled the shirt from my skirt, and undid the front clasp of my lacy pink bra.
"What do you think Judge, are they pretty?"
The Judge stared, but said nothing.
"I guess you can't see from over there. I'll come closer." I walked around her desk and stood before her.
"Well, do you think their pretty."
Unconsciously she licked her lips and croaked out, "They're beautiful."
"You're so sweet. I'll tell you another thing. Sometimes the teachers kissed them. They said it was okay because they were teachers and were way smarter than me. I guess you're even smarter than they are. Would you like to kiss them?"
Her resistance collapsed. The Judge lunged at me, desperately sucking a dark brown areola and nipple into her mouth. I felt it stiffen and held her head.
"That feels so nice, even better then when my teachers did it."
And then, on time, the security deputy buzzed the office to let himself in. The Judge's frantic eyes darted around the room. I, calmly and carefully, snapped my bra back into place, buttoned up my shirt, and tucked it in. The deputy walked in.
The Judge, feeling guilty, felt a need to explain. "Hello officer, this young lady delivered some pleadings to my office. She was just about to leave."
"Yes Judge. I enjoyed meeting you so much, it was so interesting. I hope I'll get to see you again."
The deputy offered to walk me to the courthouse door, but I hung back to tell the Judge one last thing. "Don't worry, our secret."
* * * *
It was 4:00 P.M. the following day and we had not heard from Judge Bush. Even unflappable Ron seemed worried. Michelle was sanguine. "Don't worry, she'll call."
At 4:15 Denise answered the phone.
"Richard & Richard."
"This is Judge Bush, may I speak to Michelle."
Michelle picked up.
"Good afternoon Judge."
"Good afternoon. I left one of the memoranda you filed yesterday at home, the one addressing the evidentiary issues. My computer is on the fritz, I can't receive e-mails or faxes. Do you mind dropping off a copy."
"Not at all, I can bring it myself."
"You don't need to go to that trouble, you can send the girl you sent yesterday."
"I'm sorry Judge, but she's on another assignment. She won't be back till 6:30."
"That's fine, I'm planning to work late anyway."
She gave Michelle her cell phone number and said I should call when I arrived; the Judge would let me in.
* * * *
The me the Judge met at the door was a vastly different creature than the me she had seen the day before. I was dressed to the max: I was wearing a white turtleneck and a small black leather jacket with an Isabeli Fontana Leather maxi leather skirt and Stuart Weitzman dress boots, which featured a two inch platform and narrow six inch heels. I towered over the Judge. I had straightened my hair; it ran past my shoulders. In place of my pink short fingernails were long ones of an opulent deep red. I carried an expensive leather satchel and wore an understated wide gold bracelet. The Judge was speechless.
I winked, "You miss me, pet. No cops to bother us this time."
"No, I just need the papers."
"Of course, pet. I've never seen your courtroom, let's take a look."
I strode past her. She hurried to catch up. The click of my boots on the marble floor echoed in the empty building, contrasting nicely with the silence of the Judge's sensible shoes. The elevator was waiting for us. She followed me in; I hit the button for her floor.
I pushed her against the wall and kissed her. The kiss was not gentle: I violated her mouth, mauled her, my tongue went where it wanted, taking control. When the elevator door opened, I stepped away. The Judge took half a step forward. Her tongue came through her open mouth, flopping around, searching for mine.
"Come with me pet."
I walked down the hall to her office suite. She scurried behind. "Which is the door to the courtroom?"
She pointed to it.
"Come."
She followed.
I walked up the steps of the podium on which her chair, the seat of her power, was stationed. I undid the buckles of my skirt, letting it fall the floor. I was wearing a strap-on dildo.
She started, "I'm not sure..."
