One more down, wrapped up and sealed away, she thought as she collected her belongings. The Weedgrass trial had seemed interminable and her hands were achy from constant typing. That woman never seemed to shut up.
She checked her watch. It was nearly 5 pm and she needed to get home before the rest of the family. It was rare that she ever got peace and quiet anymore. It seemed there was just enough time to transcribe the trial file and take her own copy home.
Ms. Burgess is a young woman, taking college classes in hopes of one day becoming a paralegal or with good fortune, a lawyer. "It's damn near insulting to have to be a court recorder when all the yuppies are making twice as much doing less work and they don't even know how difficult life really is," she often was heard muttering.
She took this job about six months ago. She started keeping her own copies of court proceedings two months in - to be in the know. She only wanted to learn things, after all.
As she exited the courthouse, Ms. Burgess glanced across the street and noticed the woman who had been wearing the hat in court. A sense of familiarity struck her. "I know that woman," she breathed.
Frustration and irritation seemed to flood over her senses as she watched the skirt and heels smoothly glide away from the courthouse. She wanted to follow her, check her out, but stood motionless with the shock of having seen her nemesis right here in her home town.
Gripping her files and recorder, she started for her car, hoping to follow her down the block. She had to know where she was going and why she was again in the picture.
No comments:
Post a Comment