The Second Doublewide on the Right, part 40

I’m Fixin’ To Present Part 40 of The Second Doublewide on the Right:

Judge Thurston J. Garfield, III, turned the class action law suit by the property owners’s association versus Rawlston Developments over and over in his mind during the remainder of his drive home, but no matter how he spun it, the evidence presented by the Plaintiffs was overwhelming in their favor.

He thought that he could recuse himself by claiming to know or be related to one of the litigants, but of course that would eliminate him from being a decision maker and thereby negate any reward from having rendered a decision in favor of the Defendant.

No, he had to read over the evidence both sides had presented again and find some way to keep Rawlston Developments from being liable for their shoddy work.

But heck, none of it mattered unless somebody approached him to request a judicial decision in their favor. That sorry no-account boy who owned Rawlston Developments’ brother-in-law was State Senator Percy Graham, who lived in his neighborhood and belonged to his golf club on the lake, but it had been two weeks since he had taken the case under advisement and so far he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from the senator.

The judge turned the Lexus off the interstate and drove the last few miles to his gated community. He almost wished he wasn’t there when he pushed the remote button over the visor to open his garage door, because he knew what lurked inside and he didn’t want to face her old wrinkled up self and listen to her harp about all the horse crap she always talked about.

He didn’t want to hear about her club’s latest project or about how the neighbors had just returned from a trip to Hilton Head or Biloxi. No, he didn’t want to see her or hear any of that stuff.

As he pulled into the garage he wondered where his Executive Assistant Florence was right now. It dawned on him that instead of coming home to his lovely and luxurious home, he had rather be coming to a home where Florence was waiting on him, even if it was to one of those trailers in that park behind Apt-To-Miss.

He consoled himself by thinking that after he got that appointment to the State Supreme Court he would get himself an apartment in Atlanta and take Florence along with him where she could continue her official duties as his personal assistant.

The judge’s wife’s name was Velma. She was 57 years old and had spent way too much time out in the sun. She had attempted to alleviate some of the damage through plastic surgery, but she was still wrinkled and dry, and so was her voice.

“Thurston, you’re late,” she snapped as soon as he walked in the door. “I hope you haven’t been drinking. We’re going to a dinner at Doctor Ned and Earlene’s house.”

The judge couldn’t get a word in edgewise as Velma continued, “Earlene’s going to serve this shrimp dish that she got the recipe for from the chef at the Ritz Carlton.”

The woman hadn’t even said hello, or asked how his day had been, she just started giving him orders. “You need to get yourself a quick shower and I want you to wear that new double-breasted blue blazer I bought for you at Belk’s.”

Thurston J wanted to tell her that he had already had a shower at his office, had one to wash away the sweet scent of Florence, and that he was sorry it was gone.

But he did as she bid him. He took another shower and as he was slipping on the new blazer her shrill voice called out, “It’s time to go!”

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he called down the hallway as he exited the bedroom and headed toward his office. He had a small fridge in his office and he kept a bottle of vodka and a shot glass in the freezer part. He quickly poured himself a shot of the thick liquid and tossed it down. Before he replaced the bottle he took a long swig from the icy courage directly from the bottle.

“Are you ready?” Velma squawked out from the kitchen. “We don’t want to be late. Earlene told me Senator Graham and his wife are going to be there.”

Those last words from his wife were the only ones he had cared about since he had arrived home. He was like a beagle dog who had heard someone yell “Rabbit,” when he heard her say Senator Graham was fixing to be there.