Love Story: In The Web of Life by Ken Renshaw (most motivational books txt) 📗

"He wants to be my client in some strange aliensort of way. He says my reward will be learning something valuableand having dreams-come-true." I said.

"Dreams-come-true is not all that bad," Shesaid as she seemed to blush a little bit. "What dreams do youhave?"

"I have to admit I don't have a big list now."I replied. "Everything seems good. Oh, win this big patent case Ihave been working on for a year and work the way up the letterheadof the firm. I have still to make that ultimate soaring flight.That kind of stuff. How about you?"

She looked a little embarrassed or maybedisappointed and said, "I love to teach. That is my dream. BeverlyHills is a good, safe school."

"Safe?" I asked.

"In many schools in LA, women teachers are atrisk. The only problem I have ever had was with a husky rich kidfrom a Middle Eastern country, where his family was the rulingclass and don't think much of women's rights. He accosted me in astairwell, before another teacher came along and broke up what thekid called a 'party.' I am more careful now, but anyway, that wasthree years ago, not the sort of thing that happens at thatschool."

"I do love teaching. Also, I like to exploremany new ideas, learn the secrets of life. There is a spiritualthing there. Maybe, there is a vine covered cottage with a picketfence and a golden retriever out there somewhere."

I silently observed that neither one of usmentioned anything about a relationship.

"I'm not too sure how a spiritual entity for aclient fits in all that," I said. "I'm not ready to take that upwith a Senior Partner yet."

She seemed to sense my sudden shift in mood andsaid, "I saw an Antelope Jack Rabbit today. They're bigger than aregular Jack Rabbit and have giant ears."

She looked at me inquisitively and said, "Youwant to talk about your Uriel friend?"

"I am a little shaken by the experience," Ireplied. "It doesn't seem as if I am hallucinating. It seems tooreal to be a dream. There is no logical or scientific explanationfor it. Do you have any explanation for it?"

She replied, "I have a metaphysical bent. Youmust suspect with my meditating. I have avoided talking about itbecause the subject seems to upset you, and I really enjoy beingwith you. But, I have been to channeling sessions and have afriend, Elise, who is doing a dissertation on the study of peoplewho channel. Your contact with Uriel seems to be some kind ofchanneling, maybe you are the channel."

"I guess I'm not ready for any of this yet,I'll have to find out about this later," I replied with kind of astiff tone.

"I thought so," she said looking away. "Whenyou are ready...I know some people."

"Thanks," I said glancing at my watch. Inoticed she had lost that beautiful glow.

After a long and somewhat awkward silence shesaid, "Maybe we could get back early. I really could use some moretime to prepare for next weeks teaching. Tomorrow is another schoolday," she said in a sort of stiff tone of voice.

We finished our lunch, without muchconversation, loaded the car a drove to LA. She slept most of theway.

****

ChapterTwo

BEING ALAWYER

Monday traffic was normal on Santa MonicaBoulevard, typical of LA, everyone hectically driving above thespeed limit of 45 with only a few car lengths between them, whileconducting important business on cell phones. I wanted silence thismorning.

I turned into the driveway of the Century Citybuilding, drove down two floors to my parking spot, took theelevator to the lobby, and joined the rush into the elevators tothe upper floors. At my floor, I exited the elevator and walkeddown the hall to our office door. The spacious lobby had a modernfeel, with large black leather and chrome chairs, large tan ceramicplanters with well-tended plants, and a large mahogany facedcounter, behind which sat Carolyn, a blond who wore makeup like aprofessional model, and today, a navy blue business suit and acrimson scarf tied loosely around her neck.

"Good morning Mr. Willard!" said Carolyncheerfully as she covertly buzzed my secretary's phone to warn ofmy arrival and gave me her "your the most interesting person...andI'm available" smile.

"Good morning!" I replied as I walked past herdown the hall to my office. The mahogany–walled suite had twooffices, in front of which the secretary, Zaza, sat at a chrome andebony desk. Her desk, as usual, was clear except for a wirelesskeyboard and mouse, and display, and the single pile of papers shewas typing from. She wore an almost invisible telephoneheadset.

Zaza Green, whose real name was Zahavia, is inher late forties, plump in a post-menopausal way, with grey hair ina perm style that she was probably married in. Her skin is sallowand wrinkled as it would be for a formerly pack-a-day smoker whohad almost quit. Her blouse exposed some of her abundant cleavageof the type I really don't want to see. Her manner ran frombusinesslike to covertly hostile, and I usually got the latter. Shewouldn't have been my choice as a secretary, but she came with theoffice. Someone had informed me she had earned a special "in" withone of the partners a long time ago.

"Good morning," she said in two descendingtones. "How was your weekend in the desert? Did Flopsy go withyou?"

"Tina Quail," I corrected.

"Flopsy, Popsy or Cotton Tail, I can't keepyour desert rabbits straight," replied Zaza. "Are flowers inorder?"

I thought for a second and replied, "Yes thatwould be a good idea. Send her a bouquet of daisies or somethingcheerful like that. On the card say, 'for a delightfulpicnic.'"

Zaza replied with slight scorn, "Popsy usuallygot roses. I have Tina's address."

I went into my office, and started goingthrough my email. After a while, Zaza buzzed my phone, and said,"George Downey has arrived and is in the conferenceroom."

"OK," I replied.

I was grateful that scheduled visitors werecharmed by Carolyn and then shown to the conference room. I didn'tlike Zaza representing me.

George is one of the technical experts we oftenuse in our patent trials. He has two PhDs