“I’m a lawyer,” I said. “And I have a client who sends me a Valentine’s Day card every year.”
It was early February, and I was at Surry Hills library introducing myself to the group at a ‘Crafty Evening’. The invitation promised “an evening of red hearts, cherubs and love song dedications” and everything crafty needed to make a Valentine’s Day card “for that special someone”.
The special someone I had in mind was my (fictional) client.
“This year,” I explained, “I want to make a Valentine’s Day card for her.”
There were about a dozen attendees – mostly women – and the librarian was facilitating introductions.
“You’ll have to tell us more about this client later,” she said, moving the introductions along.
Hardly anyone else had a ‘special someone’ in mind for their Valentine’s Day card. It was all about the craft, not the love. For the women anyway.
“My name’s Frank,” said the only other guy in the room. “And I’m here because my girlfriend made me come with her.” (Good intentions, but it earned him an elbow in the ribs.)
“Okay, first up,” said the librarian. “We’re going to make some love hearts.”
On my table were two women. One was an elderly Chinese woman who taught calligraphy – and she was something of a gun at origami as well. As quickly as we’d been taught how to make a heart, she’d produced three.
“So, this client,” she said as she folded up heart number four. “She must be something special.”
“She sure is,” I said, fumbling away at my own heart. “She’s a widow with a soft spot for me. Virtually pays me just to open her mail.”
I was making it up, but the truth is – to help me keep my story straight – I was basing my imaginary client on a real one I once had.
Her name was Mrs McGinty. She was a widow. And though she didn’t actually pay me to open her mail, every few weeks she would rush into my office waving an envelope, freshly torn open, containing the makings of a nice new matter for me.
“Oh, she’s an older lady?” said the other woman on my table (who had introduced herself as a lover, and keeper, of rabbits). “Thank goodness for that. Here I was thinking that you might be taking advantage of this client of yours.”
No, I would never do that. Dear old Mrs McGinty was just a ‘good’ client – regularly presenting with new matters, and always paying her bills on time.
“I’m not taking advantage,” I said. “She started it. She made the first move, with her correspondence … her Valentine’s Day cards.”
One night, Mrs McGinty even had me over to her place. I was there with an acoustic engineer to listen in on the nightclub next door. I went to that nightclub one night as well. Kissed another woman there, in fact. Felt terribly guilty about it at the time, and even more so later when Mrs McGinty and I fronted the nightclub owner together in court.
My Valentine’s Day card was done. It was a bonanza of colour and sparkles and love hearts – each one twinkling like a pretty little exploded fiduciary duty.
“I can’t send this much love to a client,” I said. “Might have to send this card to my mother, or myself.”
“What about a fortune cookie?” said the Chinese woman. “I can show you how to make one.”
“Now there’s an idea,” I said. “I could staple it to the front of a card.”
So together we embarked on an origami fortune cookie. I wasn’t much good at it, but was helped by the calligrapher and keeper of rabbits until I had a bright red card with a fortune cookie glued to the front – a Valentine’s Day card suitable for any client. Even the librarian was impressed.
“Beautiful,” she said. “Now you just have to decide what to put inside.”
“Easy,” I said. “Her next invoice of course.”