Double Mother Trouble

On your way back to your dorm, you get an unexpected text.

Hey Alex, I heard you were thinking about taking on the case. Sometimes, putting a face to a name can be helpful. I’m Rosalyn Walker. Let me know if there’s anything that I can do to help you make up your mind. And I do mean anything ;)

You stare at the message, and then stare at the photo that she sends a second later.

Rosalyn Walker

So this is Charmaine’s mom. You have to admit, she is… pretty damn foxy. There aren’t many women her age who catch your eye, but this woman... She’s different. Even though the photo reveals nothing untoward, there’s something about the way that she looks into the camera that gets your heart going. Or maybe it’s just her last sentence. That’s got to be some kind of innuendo, right?

You tap out a reply, feeling bold.

Thanks Rosalyn, you write. I’m on the fence. I’ve heard that the way a lawyer looks in a courtroom can make or break a case. Can you show me a little more, to convince me that I’m going to make the right decision?

Of course, Alex, you deserve to know what you’re working with, comes the reply a couple seconds later.

The photo that she sends a second later has you glancing over your shoulder to make sure that you’re not being overlooked. It’s a professional studio portrait, immediately identifiable by the background of generic swirly grays. In it, Rosalyn’s wearing a blazer, and nothing else. You see the jacket straining to cover the deep valleys of her cleavage, the lines of her still fit body on clear display. She’s smirking into the camera, well aware of how hot she looks, and just a tantalizing glimpse of her waistline is exposed before the photo cuts off, leaving you to wonder if she’s wearing anything beneath it.

You power-walk straight ahead, unable to believe it. You thought that this woman was being flirty in a kinda casual way, but this… this is something altogether different.

That’s a very convincing case that you make, you text. I can see why your clients like you.

It’s enough to make you re-evaluate Charmaine, too. If this is how she’s going to look in twenty-some years, she is going to age very nicely. In fact, it makes you wonder just what she might look like in a similar state of undress. Then, the idea of seeing both mother and daughter together slips into your head. It’s an image that you’re not going to be able to shake for quite some time.

Oh, I never leave a client unsatisfied, she writes back. Then, a couple seconds later. Have you made up your mind?

You walk for a minute, letting Charmaine’s mom stew for a bit. You’re sure you can leverage this situation to your advantage. As you enter East Hall, you reply with a carefully crafted message.

Not yet, you say. I need to be sure that you can deliver the goods. If you can only take me halfway there, then why should I bother?

You smirk, wondering what kind of a response that might elicit. The response is immediate.

Hold on a minute. I need to get somewhere… more private. To discuss matters more… sensitive with you. Will you be available for a video call?

Ah. There we go.

Since you insist, you write.

You make your way up towards your room. Something tells you that you’re not going to want to be in public for whatever comes next. But when you get to your door, you find an unfamiliar woman carrying a basket there. She looks to be in her mid-forties, but you feel like you must have suddenly aged up two decades, because once again, you find her to be a fine looking woman. She’s wearing a fairly simple white dress, nothing crazy, but it’s clear that she’s a woman who has taken care of herself over the years. There’s hardly a wrinkle on her face, and she still’s sporting an hourglass figure that most girls your age would kill for. Then, there’s the basket on her arm… the smells coming out of it are fucking pungent. It’s like KFC on steroids, and your mind is taken back to a day not so long ago, right before you were due to start college…

“Mrs. Crawford?” you say, catching her attention.

Cynthia Crawford

“Oh, you must be Alex!” she says, her voice sounding almost too cheery. “It’s so lovely to meet you! I wanted to stop by and just drop off a little something for you. After all, we feel terrible about what happened. So here, have a basket of our special fried crawfish, made just for you.”

“Why thank you very much,” you smile, graciously accepting the basket. “Is that all?”

You see the smile on her face quaver, as if she’s uncertain about something. She laughs nervously.

“We just… we wanted to make sure that you’re happy with our service,” she says, clasping her hands together. “Because, um… we heard about some of the things that your family is considering, and… well, we’d really like to avoid getting into a mess that neither of us actually wants to get involved in, right?”

You smile and nod.

“Of course,” you say. “That would be terrible. But you have to understand, I was really put through the ringer for a week because of your restaurant. The scare to my health, the massive hospital bills, missing one of the biggest weeks of my life…” You look down at the basket. “I mean, this is a nice gesture, but I’m afraid it’s just not the same thing.”

“I understand. We’re deeply, deeply sorry. Please, there must be something that we can do to figure out a… mutually agreeable solution,” Mrs. Crawford says, her hands now put together in a prayer sign.

You tilt your head to the side, contemplating the possibilities, just as your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. Oh shit. That must be Mrs. Walker. You realize that you have a split second to make a decision. Are you going to pick up the phone and leave Mrs. Crawford to hang? Or do you want to apply more pressure on Lucille’s mom? Or is this all just way over your head?

Crawford +10
Walker +10