Big Easy Bonanza

attractive to her friends and loved ones, and now she’s not, or at least so she feels. The disfigurement of her complexion is obvious to anyone, Judge. Maybe she can perform for Mr. Guyoz’s ‘freaks,’ but she wanted more from life than that. She…”
    “I see what your case will be, Mr. Dubonnet,” the judge said. “Okay, let’s see where we are. Mr. Guyoz, you heard Mr. Dubonnet suggest that his case is worth more than three million dollars. What do you say to that?”
    “I think fifteen thousand dollars is more like it, Judge, and that’s just to get rid of it.”
    “That’s a big gap. Eddie, do you have anything to add?”
    Eddie Rodrigue had been sitting quietly, bobbing his head in apparent agreement to everything anybody said.
    “It seems to me, Judge, that this is a real tough case from all points of view, but I don’t think the claims are big enough to touch my client, so like my daddy said I’m gonna ‘zip da lip.’”
    “Your father was a wise man, Mr. Rodrigue.” Judge Maselli closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and said, “It seems to me that both sides here have a problem. You have a problem, Mr. Guyoz, because the disfigurement is apparent. You have a problem, Mr. Dubonnet, because we don’t know what value a jury might place on lost love in a case of this sort. Go out in the hall. If you work anything out, let me know. If you don’t, be here at eight-thirty Thursday-a-week for jury selection.”
    “Thank you, Judge,” all three said in unison.
    The talk in the hall did not amount to much. Guyoz said he still thought Shandell’s case stunk, and Tubby said he was going to be surprised how sweet it smelled to a jury.
    “We’re going to get a jury of the kind of people who understand a guy like Sandy,” Tubby told him. “They’re going to understand how he’s been damaged, and let me tell you, if you don’t know it, that you’ve got another big problem. There is no way that Dr. Feingold can’t look rich and conceited. He is rich and conceited, and the man is no actor. The jury will have no pity on him. Plus he knows he botched this up, and he feels sorry for Sandy. That’s going to come through to the jury loud and clear.”
    “So what are we talking about here, Dubonnet? Fifty thousand dollars? Seventy-five thousand?”
    “A lot more, Guyoz. Think three hundred thousand as a settlement amount. I believe a jury will give me a lot more.”
    “I’d send my son to Southern before I’d recommend paying that much to Sandy Shandell.”
    “That stuff doesn’t work in Orleans Parish, man. You might as well get your checkbook ready. And you’re not doing Dr. Feingold any good. The jury is going to hurt you so bad you’ll probably cancel his insurance.”
    “Like I told you before, you want to talk to Feingold and try to work something out, be my guest,” Guyoz said. “He’s got a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deductible to be concerned about. What I’m concerned about is the Goodhealth Insurance Company, and they’re not paying two hundred seventy-five thousand to a male stripper with adjustable boobs. You can tell that to Mr. Shandell, and he can stuff it wherever it feels good.”
    Guyoz twisted his mustache menacingly. He stuck his briefcase under his arm and marched away.
    “That man needs to learn to lighten up,” said Eddie.
    “He’s a prick,” Tubby said. Tubby tried to maintain an attitude that any opponent who did not wish to settle with him was a prick, but he thought Guyoz probably really was a prick. And he had hair growing out of his ears. Fuck him.
    Tubby made himself a quick salad at a little place near the courthouse that charged you by the ounce. He stared discontentedly at his nutritious plate and thought of finer things. He conjured up sautéed shrimp with roasted peppers and bright little roma tomatoes, and some pasta with a light buttery sauce, like he could be eating at Romairs if the world were just a little less imperfect and there were just a bit more time in the day. Surely, however, there was nothing better for the soul than lettuce, cucumbers, and sweet onions. Feeling pure of heart, Tubby hurried on his way.
    Back at the office he scooped his messages from the clip on Cherrylynn’s desk. He flipped through a couple. There was one to call Clifford Banks. He went to sit at his desk. Cherrylynn had moved in one of the chairs from the conference room while Tubby’s leather chair was at the shop. He drummed his fingers