An Attorneys House Rules

All characters are 18 or older.

Summary:

A district attorney meets up with the black inner city boy she sent to prison 3 years earlier. The boy, now a young black man, is trying to turn his life around, and a chance encounter with the DA changes both their lives.

*******

"Your honor, I object. The evidence has no relevance."

"Sustained," the judge replied. "The defense must present relevant facts to this case."

The prosecutor, Debra Delaney, smirked. She was in control of this case and the courtroom. For the past 10 years, she had been prosecuting cases as a district attorney. Now 46 years old, she cut a commanding and statuesque figure in the courtroom with a 98% conviction rate. The defendant's shoulders slumped, as he realized his chances of being found innocent were torpedoed.

Jamal Parker was an 18-year-old inner city youth, the prototypical hard luck tale. A black youth in a tough neighborhood with a single mother and low prospects in life. He grew up on streets with dealers on every corner and went to schools with metal detectors and chained doors. His own mother struggled to support her 4 kids in a tiny one-bedroom apartment. His father ran off before he was even born, and Jamal dropped out of high school to help support his family. Surrounded by hard thugs, gangbangers, and harlots, he fell into the wrong crowd. The allure of the quick buck dealing offered beat the minimum wage at the fast food joints, and soon he was hustling on the streets. With a quick rise comes a quick fall, and he was arrested after trying to sell heroin to an undercover cop.

He stared steely eyed at the prosecutor. She was 5'8", almost 6' tall in high heels, with long, fit legs coated in black nylon stretching from her business skirt. She must have it all, he reasoned. Shoulder length brunette hair framing her strong nose and ocean blue eyes, her striking looks were both authoritative and mesmerizing.

And who was he? A nobody with no future. A nobody with no connections and no education, and now he'd have a felony that would almost assuredly keep him from ever succeeding in life. He was staring at years behind bars. He still felt like a kid, but he was charged as an adult. He wanted to hate the prosecutor, but he knew the game. He knew he wasn't supposed to be dealing drugs, and he knew what would happen if he was caught. It was her job to make him pay for his crimes. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath as his public defender offered up a meager defense.

After both the prosecution and defense rested, the jury deliberated for less than 15 minutes. "Guilty," they decreed.

The judge sentenced Jamal Parker to 5 years in state prison, and the bailiff came to take him away.

******

3 YEARS LATER

Finally, he's here, Debra Delaney thought to herself, as the plain white commercial service van pulled up into her circular drive, and the driver stepped out.

Jamal Parker recognized her right away. The prosecutor who had sent him away. She didn't appear to remember him. Then again, why should she? She probably prosecuted numerous cases every week. He was just another number in a file to her.

"This way, let me show you the rooms I need repainted," she commanded. "Then you can grab your supplies and set up."

The house was luxurious, practically a mansion. I guess being a high-profile DA pays ok, Jamal thought to himself. He followed her through the entryway and into a living room.

"I need you to repaint all the ceilings and walls in this room and the dining room next door," she continued. "Come on and follow me upstairs. I need you to paint the entire second floor. I paid extra for you to move the furniture and decorations out of the way, and you need to make sure nothing is damaged. I need a textured finish on all the walls, and I better not find any paint on the wood trim, electrical switches/ outlets, or the carpet, or else your office will be hearing from me, and you will be coming back to fix it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, you have a lot of work to do. You should get started."

Jamal made his way to his van to start staging his supplies. He had mixed emotions as he grabbed a ladder, some furniture movers, plastic sheeting and the blue tape he needed to starting prepping the rooms. This woman barked commands at him like a dog, but it wasn't any worse than taking orders from the prison guards. Part of him felt she shared some blame for not showing him any mercy 3 years ago, but he also knew it was his fault he was even in that courtroom to begin with.

He got to work prepping the living room. A lot of folks didn't realize that painting is the easy part. It's all the prep work that takes forever. Once all the items are placed out of the way, covered, or taped off, the painting can go fast. But sloppy tape work was how you ended up with paint streaks on wood trim and outlet covers, so he took extra time to get those items set just right.

By mid morning, Debra saw that he was working hard, and her mood softened a bit.

"So, what's your name?" she asked.

"Jamal."

"You can call me Deb. Are you from around here?"

"I grew up in the city on the southeast side," he replied.

"Some of those areas are kind of rough."

"Yeah, I guess. It's all I've ever known."

They continued with small talk for a while, and then she left him to continue working. He finished working downstairs and headed up to start prepping there, as well. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door to start moving furniture and wall hangings.

"AHHHH!" she screamed in surprise. She was dressed in only panties, quickly raising her arms to cover her breasts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he quickly apologized before darting away. He ran back downstairs, unsure if he should just pack up all his supplies and leave.

A few minutes later Deb, now fully dressed in slacks and a blouse, rushed downstairs with a stern look on her face. Jamal turned and looked in her direction, but faced his head downward, unsure of himself.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I'd finished prepping downstairs. I just went up to begin prepping there next. I approached the first room and the door was ajar, so I pushed it open, not thinking you'd be, you'd be -- " his voice trailed off and his eyes faced the floor.

He saw her measure him for a moment with squinted eyes, and then her face softened just a bit.

"Maybe I should have closed and locked the door," she admitted, her voice still stern, but her tone not quite as angry. She could see the rooms downstairs had been fully prepped. "Maybe you were only trying to do your job. Let's not speak of this. Go on back upstairs and continue working."

Jamal quickly snapped to his feet and returned upstairs to prep those rooms.

He seems honest enough, she thought. Maybe it was just an innocent mistake, after all. She was a single woman who lived alone, but she knew how to take care of herself. She'd had relationships over the years, but none that ended in marriage. Her striking looks attracted suitors, but either the men were jerks or the relationship detracted from her work. She knew that was the price she paid for her career. She didn't take crap from anyone; she would never have risen so far in her profession if she settled. She learned to be direct and demanding. If you don't ask for something, you'll never get it, and she lived by that mantra. She worked hard and expected to be rewarded for her hard work, not taking no for an answer.

As a district attorney, she enjoyed making a difference in society. The appreciation from victim's families when she sent a rapist or murderer away to prison kept the streets a little safer and fueled her drive. She respected the law and those who played by the rules, working to make their lives better. She didn't know anything about this painter, but he already seemed better than so many of the other contractors she had hired over the years.

As Jamal worked upstairs, his job seemingly safe for the moment, he started to think about what he had seen. He didn't know her age, but he was sure she looked incredible whatever her age. Long fit legs on a body that was around 3 inches taller than his own 5'5" frame. Her long legs led up to a flat stomach and well-toned arms attesting to her frequent use of the home gym downstairs. He had a glimpse of her tits before she covered them. Not large, but still well formed with small erect nipples. He had only been with a few girls, and never with a white girl, let alone with a woman. She intimidated him. The girls he knew weren't strong women like Deb. The girls he knew were bitches to cover for the fact there was nothing special about them. Deb was bitchy because she knew she was better than most other folks, and there's a difference there, as he saw it.

Getting close to noon, he returned downstairs to take lunch in his van. Deb saw him out there and decided to invite him inside to eat lunch with her. Jamal was still unsure of himself, but he knew how to follow orders.

"How long have you been working as a painter?" she asked.

"Not long. Just a month or so. Truth be told, I spent the previous 3 years in prison." He figured honesty was the best policy here. This was not a woman to try to BS.

She was startled a little bit. She had let a criminal into her home. Could she have had a hand in sending him away? Did he know who she was? Was this part of some evil plot?

"Why were you sentenced to prison?" she asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

He smiled shyly. He sensed her worry. "You were there when I was sentenced to 5 years in state prison. They let me out after 3 years on good behavior. I got out just last month, and the owner of this painting company gave me a chance. I did my time. I know what I did was wrong, and I'm not mad about it or anything. At you or anyone else. I did what I did, and I've accepted that. I just want a chance to set my life back straight."

She could see the genuineness in his eyes, and it set her back at ease.

"If you're uncomfortable with me here, I understand, ma'am. I can have the owner send someone else out - "

"No, no need for that," she interrupted. "It sounds like you've paid your debt to society. I always hope that folks come back from prison having learned their lesson. Too many seem to walk away bitter or blaming everyone else. It's to be admired, you owning up to your transgressions."

Jamal was relieved. That seemed to break the tension between them.

"Where did you go when you got out of prison? Back to your parents?" she then asked.

"I did for a bit. But my mom's got a man... he and me don't see eye to eye. Thought I was a bad influence for the family. "

"So now where do you live?"

A long second passed. "Ain't got nowhere," he admitted sheepishly.

"What do you mean?" she pressed.

After another long second, he explained, "Well, I've been living out of that van parked in your driveway the past week. It's temporary. Just till I get a little saved up and can rent a room somewhere," his eyes pointed back downward in shame.

She looked at him intently but didn't say anything.

"Anyway, it's been awful nice of you to invite me in to eat, but I should get back to work. Still a lot left to do."

******

While Jamal continued working upstairs, Deb was taking stock of everything. She went to her laptop and searched through her case files from about 3 years ago, looking for information from Jamal's case. A few minutes later, she found it and scoured over the case details. Then she looked up the online prison records. Everything matched up with his account. He was released 2 years early for good behavior with a note that he was a model prisoner.

She knew she was a hard ass - some would say a bitch - most of the time. She did well for herself, although, if all she wanted was money, she would've been a defense attorney chasing after wealthy high profile clients. She became a district attorney because she believed in law and justice. But once someone paid for their crimes, they also deserved to resume their lives.

Jamal seemed genuinely honest and sincere. So many others got caught in a cycle of crime and prison, or ended up dead dealing with the criminal elements. Jamal seemed to be trying to break that cycle, and that was to be commended. What was she thinking? Was she sure about it? There's living your ideals, and then there's just plain foolishness. She had to decide where she stood.

******

It was almost 5 PM. Jamal had finished prepping all the rooms, but there was still a day of painting to go. The prep work had gone slowly with so many items to move, sheet over, and trim/ outlets to tape off. He would have to come back tomorrow. He gathered up his materials and loaded them back in his van. As he finished loading, he heard Deb calling out to him.

"Wait, do you really not have a bed to sleep in tonight?" she asked, leaning out the front door.

"Only the front seat of this van reclined back. Ain't gonna lie; it ain't exactly doing wonders for my back," he confessed.

"I have spare rooms. I can let you stay here just till you get back on your feet. I don't do charity, though. I'll give you a bed, but there are rules. Are you interested?"

He stood in shock, finally nodding his head slowly as he started taking steps back toward her.

"I believe in second chances. Especially for those trying to make the most of a second chance. I think that's you. I have extra space. But you'll have to tend to the yard and landscaping. No drinking. No drugs. No loud music. Home by 9 pm every day. If you can't live by that, don't even bother," she dictated.

Still in shock, Jamal thought it over a few seconds before nodding his acceptance. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything -- just don't make me regret this," she countered.

******

Jamal came into the house, grateful for the act of kindness. She led him to a spare bedroom. A room all his own. Not a room shared with a sibling (or inmate). And not a couch to crash on. He was speechless. The bed and coverings looked almost new, barely used. He always talked about how the other half lived, but he never had a real sense of it till now.

He finished the paint job on Deb's house the next day, and he made sure it was perfect, as she requested, with no sloppy work. He wanted to change his life, and he dutifully followed the rules Deb set forth. Separated from the bad influences in his life, he was surprised how easy it was to follow a good routine when surrounded by others doing the right thing.

He tended to her landscaping and yardwork daily. Pulling weeds, trimming the hedges and edging the yard. He observed how she woke up early every day and went into work, often coming back late from the office. He noted the pride and dedication she took in her work and took in how she always carried herself, so self-assured and commanding. She seemed to know how to take charge of any situation.

Jamal became more comfortable around Deb, finally starting to believe that maybe he wasn't bound to screw up his good fortune. He observed how she worked out daily. He started to work out himself. He was amazed that a 49-year-old woman could out work him on exercises. They were becoming closer, yet she remained almost like a goddess to him. Even as an older woman, she was lean and fit, her tall frame towering over him. He watched her leave for work and then come back home again in her stockings and heels, marveling as the heels lightly clicked across the tiles. And when she'd slide off her heels, and lounge around after work, he found her stocking clad feet incredibly sexy and alluring.

He's a good kid, Deb thought to herself. She would be turning 50 in a few weeks. She never had kids, but she almost felt a motherly connection to him. Maybe this was filling a void in her life she didn't even realize she had. Maybe Jamal was actually helping her as much as she was helping him. It was nice having him around the house to take care of the manual labor, she mused. Often, she came home exhausted from long days at the office. Her work life was hard on relationships, but Jamal was patient with her, seemingly doing little things to make her days easier without asking.

Jamal started to see the softer side to Deb. While at home, she relaxed the hard façade she maintained all day. The hard, stern face she kept in public melted away to reveal a tired and vulnerable side. It must be exhausting to take all that charge and responsibility, Jamal reasoned.

One night, they were seated in the living room, watching a cable movie. She was still dressed in her business skirt and white blouse, but she was exhausted after a long week at work and started dozing off. As she nodded off, her head fell onto Jamal's shoulders. In that moment, he froze. Was this appropriate? He remembered how she freaked out when he saw her naked on that first day. But the scent of her perfume was reaching him, and he looked down, able to see down her blouse.

In that moment, that goddess was irresistible to him, and he leaned in to kiss her neck. At first just a peck and then a longer kiss on her neck, under her ear. She let out a soft moan, as he became bolder and wrapped an arm around her. He felt her arm reflexively start to reach around him as well. Then he looked up from her neck to her soft lips. And he went for it. The next thing he knew, they were locked in a long slow kiss. And she was kissing him back.

After they broke the kiss, she opened her eyes, and he saw a startled look of realization overcome her.

"Jamal, what happened?" she asked incredulously.

"I -- I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me --" he stammered.

She pulled back from the embrace, her head dizzying in thought. She got up, saying "I'm sorry, I need to go to bed," and then walked out. Jamal, never a gifted speaker, was at a loss for words. He cursed himself thinking he had messed up the best thing that ever happened in his life.

That night Deb laid awake thinking about their kiss. About their relationship and what it all meant. He's a good kid; she was sure of that. Maybe it was the combination of his age and smaller stature, but she had never considered him romantically. The age gap, cultural gap, education gap, and earning gaps all worked against them. On top of all that, she was a state district attorney. She couldn't be in a relationship with a boy less than half her age. Let alone one she had previously convicted. That could be career suicide. And yet it had been several years since she'd had a relationship of any kind. She was at an age where all the good ones were taken. She did enjoy Jamal's company. But could she really give herself to him in that way?

That night Jamal laid awake thinking about their kiss. About their relationship and what it all meant. He felt like he'd come a long way since that day in court when they first met 3 years earlier. Surviving prison, and then getting a job and somehow sleeping in the home of this goddess. Why couldn't he be satisfied with that? He had to try to take the next step, and now he was likely going to get kicked out of her house. At least he had some money saved up now and could afford a place, but he couldn't help but feel he had messed up the best thing to ever happen to him. How foolish was he to think she could ever find him attractive? He treated her like a subordinate, and that's probably all he'd ever be to her.

In the morning, they both tried to act as if nothing happened. Although there was a palpable awkwardness, they finished breakfast and then left to go to their jobs.

That night, as soon as she got home, Deb called out, "Jamal, come out, we need to talk."

He stepped into the living room where she waited. She pointed to the loveseat opposite the sofa where she sat, and he took a seat.