"This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with
great force." - Dorothy Parker

***

Los Angeles, November 1996

Lilah Morgan sighed and tugged at a stray thread on her cheap
designer-imitation suit, waiting for the elevator to go 'ping!' and announce
it had reached the fourth floor and the offices of the scummy law firm she
was working for.

She hated her job. Divorce attorney in a cheap, nasty partnership where
there was little prospect of promotion for a woman and the cases were all
crap, boring, boring, boring. Wronged wives and chauvinistic husbands,
fighting over their cars, houses and dogs. But soon she would find a firm
worthy of her talents, which would give her a chance to *go* somewhere.
Until then . . . ping!

The doors slid arthritically aside to allow her entry to the lobby, the
frosted glass of the door to the firm's offices in front of her, emblazoned
with 'Pig, Pig and Bastard'. Sorry; 'Rigg, Rigg and Lester'.

Steeling herself for a new day, she opened the door, and strode up the
fading carpet to where Melba, the secretary from hell, squatted behind her
desk, clouded in foul perfume and an equally pissy attitude.

Melba afforded Lilah a look of contempt. "Good morning, Ms. Morgan. Only
12 minutes late today, I see."

Lilah set her jaw, and ignored the troll. "Has my first client arrived?"

"She's been here for half an hour. I put her in your office with some - "
here Melba made air quotation marks - "coffee. Told her you were usually
tardy, so she shouldn't be too offended."

Without a trace of sincerity Lilah snarled, "Thanks." Melba just curled her
lip and returned to the newspaper she was reading.

Lilah stopped briefly at the elderly percolator to grab a cup of "coffee"
and stalked into her office - thanking the gods that one of the few saving
graces of this dump was that she had an office to herself.

Her client for that morning sat, as so many did, looking forlorn and
pathetic, with red-eyes and crumpled clothes. Some of them looked like that
before the divorces, it was true, but she didn't think this one was one of
them.

The woman looked up at Lilah as the lawyer entered, a watery smile quavering
on her features. "Hi."

"Good morning. I'm very sorry I'm late. Obviously we won't charge you from
9am." Lilah grinned her most shit-eating grin.

"It's fine, really, I - I don't mind."

"Thank you for your understanding. I'm Lilah Morgan, I'm the attorney
assigned to your case." She extended a hand, hoping the woman wouldn't
notice her nails and wishing for the third time that day that she could
afford a decent manicure. Damn all those student loans.

The woman took the proffered hand, and shook it lightly. "Joyce Summers.
Pleased to meet you."

Placing her briefcase on the desk, Lilah moved round and perched on the end
of her faux leather office chair, a useless piece of shit that couldn't spin
round because the whole damn thing had seized up.

"So . . ." She examined the papers. "You're seeking a divorce from your
husband for infidelity?"

Mrs. Summers looked like she was about to cry again. Lilah mentally made a
face. Not another one of the weepy squad, surely. No, she's regained
control. Just.

"Yes, yes. He - he's been having an affair with his secretary . . ."

Just when Lilah thought that the woman was about to burst into tears, a look
of sheer fury spread across Joyce Summers' features. "I want to squeeze
every penny I can from that bastard." She slammed her palm down on the
desk, shaking the poorly made furniture and raising one of Lilah's eyebrows.
"I want *everything*."

A smile tugged at one side of Lilah's mouth. At least this was going to be
fun. She liked a gal with spirit. Just beyond the scope of Lilah's
attention, Joyce was still going into the dull details of her husband's
indiscretion. Meanwhile, Lilah was appraising more than Joyce's likelihood
of success. The woman was older by, what? 10 years? But she was still a
good-looking woman. She had a waistline, and, sure, the hair desperately
needed work, and that blouse . . . but . . .

"Mrs. Summers?"

"Yes?"

"We'll go into the details of your case in a while. But first . . . I want
to understand how you're feeling." Lilah affected a sympathetic expression.

"Oh. Oh, well, I'm angry, I guess."

Lilah nodded sagely. "Yes, of course. It must make you question so many
things."

Joyce nodded quickly back. "Absolutely. I've been reading a lot of books
about self-healing, and . . . and I just think that . . . I mean, they say
that a divorce . . . it should be a time for renewal. But all I can do is
wonder what I did wrong. Why doesn't he love me anymore."

"I think, Joyce - can I call you Joyce? - I think that so many men don't
realise when they have a beautiful and loving woman already - they seem to
need to go and screw the first blonde tart that comes into view."

Lilah's monologue had got somewhat bitter towards its end, and Joyce looked
a little scared. Unknown to her, Lilah was thinking about her last
girlfriend, Bitchface, otherwise known as Belinda. The lawyer neutralised
her expression once more.

"So, men, they aren't what you're looking for right now." A statement, not
a question.

Joyce's face was sad. "No, I just don't know when I'll be able to trust
another man again."

Lilah moved round the desk and leaned against its edge, taking Joyce's hand
in to hers. "I know exactly how you feel. I went through a nasty break up
myself recently. I share your pain."

Joyce wore a slightly confused smile. "Thanks."

Lilah looked deep into Joyce's eyes. "Have you just done your hair?"

Joyce's eyes widened in surprise. "Not really."

The lawyer suddenly looked away, feigning sorrow. "You know, I wish I could
have your strength. I was such a mess when I found out . . ."

Joyce leaned forward towards Lilah. "You were cheated on, too? Oh . . .
well, I have these books you could borrow . . ."

A strangled sob issued from Lilah's lips. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, now don't get upset," Joyce cooed, putting an arm around Lilah's waist,
trying to comfort the other woman.

"I still love Belinda so much . . ."

"Belinda? She was a . . . oh."

Lilah turned to face Joyce, wiping away a crocodile tear. "You're such a
compassionate woman, Joyce. Thank you."

"I guess, I . . ." Joyce was cut off by Lilah's mouth suddenly covering her
own, a tongue entering her mouth before she could stop it, and hands roaming
up and down her back, caressing her through the thin material.

Lilah broke off the clinch as suddenly as it started, rising in a smooth
movement and to the windows shutting the blinds.

Joyce sat in shock in the seat. Lilah pressed her advantage. "Joyce, you
are such a beautiful woman. Forgive me, I just couldn't help myself." And
besides, Lilah thought, this will be a boring morning if I don't get some.

"It's very unexpected, I've never . . . I mean, I've read stories in
'Cosmopolitan', but . . ." Lilah placed a finger to Joyce's lips.

"Hush, sweet Joyce. I'm going to help you get over your husband."

With that she covered Joyce's lips in another passionate kiss. Of course,
Melba would have been watching before the blinds were closed. That made
this all the more fun.

***

Los Angeles, December 1996

Joyce beamed at Lilah as they walked out of the courtroom. "I can't believe
you got me the jeep as well."

"Of course Joyce, you're one of my favourite clients." Lilah flashed a
dazzling smile.

The paused before they went their separate ways. Joyce extended a hand.
"Thank you again. It's been . . . enlightening."

The lawyer took the hand and squeezed it. "If I'm ever in Sunnydale I'll
look you up. It'd be nice to do it in your bed again."

Joyce reddened a little. "I'd . . . I'd like that."

Lilah grinned again, and began to walk away. As she did she turned to Joyce
and with an exaggerated wink, breathed, "oh, I'm sure you would."

***