A Good Attorney…

***

We didn’t leave the room for days. Partly because we were working through glitches and returning thousands of begging, complaining emails about who we’d chosen as our leading man and contestants, but also, we were too recognizable on campus. Our identities had spread so quickly that even the Doordash delivery folks tried to snap quick pics when we cracked the door. Wes and my clip had been copied and pasted all over the place. From David Muir to TMZ, we had officially entered the zeitgeist. The ringer to my phone startled me, and I watched it vibrate off the side of the coffee table.

“Your mom again?” asked Iris. “Just pick up. You’ll have to do it eventually.”

I shrugged, knowing she was correct, but I didn’t know if my sisters told her every detail or was she simply going from the ABC news snippets. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid of my mother. She stood on her own with such power that she’d become an impenetrable statue of a woman to me, and I didn’t know how to disappoint her properly.

“She’s right, you know?” Deacon agreed. “In a few days she’ll catch a flight and knock on that door like the police.”

“Do it when you’re ready,” Wesley said, avoiding eye contact but looking surprisingly handsome in his fuzzy, vintage Harvard sweater. “We’re technically adults, guys. We should be able to ignore whatever calls we like at this point.”

I lifted the phone from the floor after it stopped ringing. “Later,” I said. “I’ll call her later…”

Then, the phone rang again. It wasn’t my mother.

“Caller ID says Comtel,” I told them. “What could they want?

Deacon snatched the phone from my hands and swiped to answer. “Who is this?” he asked in the tone he’d used when I first met him – much like a snapping turtle. “We are not interested.”

“Put it on speaker,” Wes whispered, and Deacon quickly obliged.

“We at Comtel are no longer interested in your application,” said a male voice nearly as robotic as Sari, the last attorney we’d talked to. “We are now suing you based on the breakage of your CEO’s verbal agreement. Due to this unfortunate turn of events, we will require 50% stake in your application, and we will send divestment papers to be signed and notarized within the week or we will take this matter to court. Thank you for your understanding and communication on this matter. And in advance, thank you for signing these documents without incident. Since, as you well know, Comtel has access to the best, most powerful legal team in the nation and internationally. Good day to you and all listening.”

The phone went dead, and then, immediately lit up with messages from news outlets, followed by Iris’, Deacon’s, and Wesley’s phones as well.

“They can’t do this,” said Wesley. “You didn’t sign anything. It’s a bluff, that’s all.”

“No way,” Iris agreed. “We should let this die. They’re desperate.

“They can,” Deacon closed his eyes and leaned his head all the way back. “And will. Enough lobbying money can do anything. They’re clearly using their media contacts, too, because how has everyone already gotten our numbers? They’ll bury us, and they know it. We should have taken the money.”

“No.” I stood over them and threw my hands up. “No.”

I sat back down and pulled up Sari Hood’s contact.

Looking over my shoulder, Iris saw who I was reaching out to. “How do you know she isn’t in on it?”

“It’s a risk, yes, but we need an attorney,” I told them. “She quit a little over a week ago for an honest mistake. She may well be disgruntled. Anybody have any better ideas?”

“My dad has a fleet of attorneys,” Deacon said.

“Yes, but how do you know that they aren’t in with the lobbyists you brought up before?” Iris asked.

“And Sari could have a bone to pick as a woman scorned,” I said. “Also, this may sound strange, but when I spoke to her, I felt her loyalties leaning our way. She didn’t want to lie to me. She could have, but she didn’t, and it got her ousted. And still, she gave me her info.”

“Doesn’t sound strange,” said Wesley, finally looking straight into my eyes. His were smiling, tilted up at the edges with eyelashes following behind. “Call her.”

I nodded to him and dialed.

“How may I help you?”

“Comtel is trying to sue based on breach of verbal agreement…”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “This is why I shared my information with you, Ms. Nobles. Is your entire team alongside?”

“Yes.”

“Pennypacker, 5th floor?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to speak in person,” she said. “I can be there in 45 minutes. In the meantime, keep your mouths shut. No cell phone usage. No emails. No comms about this situation, understand? See you all within the hour.”

She hung up.

“This feels like a novel,” said Iris.

“I think it is,” replied Wes.

“Okay, but it’s also an App that needs it’s numbers updated in 45 short minutes,” Deacon said going into developer mode. “Iris, can you design a visual for the daily contestants update screen. Wes, review and approve their submitted videos. And Soph, we need a crew to scout locations on campus and film dates. I thought we could do this, but we can barely leave the dorm without being mauled. Someone who would do it for free until we can get them paid.”

“That’s the first time you called me Soph,” I told Deacon smiling. “And I have just the crew.”

I quickly Googled Boston Community College’s touring troop to find their number. I called and a familiar, chipper voice answered. “BCC,” she answered in singsong.

“Hi, this is Sophia Nobles, not sure if you remember me from Talk of Bos…”

“Do I remember you?” she sang. “Of course! You’re like everywhere now! I cannot believe you remember me!”

“Yes, yes, well, I have a favor to ask…”

“Anything!”

“Would you and your crew come to Pennypacker dorm to work on scouting locals and filming dates for the Flavor of Harvard application? We can’t pay. Not yet at least, but you can sing if you want. The theme song. And I’m sure there will be on-camera opportunities for all of you during on-scene dating situations. I’d need quite a bit of creativity on your part working alongside out executive designer, Iris, of course. But you’ll have to work independently as well since we are all stretched thin here with staying on top of the app itself. Well, can you all take this on?”

Silence on the other end of the phone made me nervous I’d asked too much, and I opened my mouth to say more.

“Sophia,” she sniffled.

“Yes?”

“Did you just say I could sing the theme song?” she asked outwardly crying. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that we would be honored to join your team. When can we start?”

“Is tomorrow morning too soon?” I asked. “8AM for a meeting and noon to meet the contestants and the Cowboy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She spoke. “BCC Troop will not let you down, Ma’am.”

We hung up and got to work emailing the talent for a noon meeting at Pennypacker.

“Can she even sing?” asked Deacon.

“There’s no way in hell she can sing,” I replied feeling strangely endeared to Deacon now. “But free is free.”