View Full Version : Shelly's evening


Oscar Smith
05-29-09, 08:20 PM
Hi, I'm Mike, really, but would I like to be like Oscar. Oh yes, I would.

Here's this evenings write. Do you want to hear more, or not? Am I missing anything, except tomorrow's next episode?

Shelley Weng was as she knew a genius journalist, or at least would be if only her boss would give her a chance. But she didn't allow such set backs to get her down. At night, or days she wasn't working for the Trumpet, Shelley was out looking for the big scoop, the one with which to impress her boss. One evening she crept into the Chancery Lane Starbucks almost unnoticed, ears wide open. She wanted to be a court reporter for some experience, then move on to other investigative work.


Her ears happened upon two men at the next table, smartly dressed with confident, public school accents and sonorous voices, these guys just had to be lawyers. “I hear you've got Crown v Templer tomorrow, James, lucky you.”


“So I have, Nigel and who do you think is the Counsel for the Prosecution?” James said it with a slight frown, brushing an imaginary fly off his sleeve.


“Not, no, not the Old Bailey's wonderkinder.” Nigel couldn't help grinning.


“Nigel, this is serious, he's winning cases, sees holes in evidence which others miss, and seems to be one step ahead of the game all the time.”


“Come on now James, you are one of our top Q.C.'s, and I bet you earn ten times as much as the boy.”


“Oh, yes, all of that, Nigel. Oscar Smith gets a paupers wages from the Crown Prosecution Service and wins cases against top barristers.”


Shelley could hardly keep her hands off her notebook. Instead she casually picked up her mobile phone and typed the name in. She'd get Oscar's phone number soon enough, she'd set her heart on it.


She listened to James and Nigel discussing plans for the defence, with an appraisal of Oscar Smith's likely tactics.


Then quite suddenly the two mouths issuing forth words of great import shut like clams. James and Nigel rose from their seat, “Oscar, old man, we were just leaving. See you tomorrow,” James spewed it out through clenched teeth.


Oscar just waved as if it didn't matter and went to the counter to order his coffee.


Shelley noticed he was tall, over six feet, athletic looking but not over built like a weight lifter. His dark suit was equally as well cut as that of the two men who had just left, so maybe not quite so much of a pauper, not like a cub reporter anyway. And what was ten times comfortably off she wondered. Those guys must be millionaires she thought. It struck her how he was talking to the girl at the counter as an equal, without a trace of snobbery. His voice was quiet, yet she thought it held a kind of, how could she describe it, authority didn't seem right, but maybe power residing in some deeper place if he chose to use it. His face was not of film star good looks but somehow nice, almost boyish. So this is what a wonderkinder looks like.


He came over to the table where James and Nigel had been sitting. He was facing her, smiling. It's funny, Shelly thought, he must have awesome self confidence in court yet that smile seems so shy. Oh, he is so nice. She smiled back, “I just heard those two men talking about you.”


“They would be,” the shyness seemed to disappear for a moment, his mouth was moving about with mirth until it broke out into a broad grin. “So that old fox John Grimes has sent an exquisite young Chinese girl out to appeal to my better nature and get the scoop.”


Shelley's jaw dropped and she said, “Oh!”


He sat perfectly relaxed, laughing to himself. “You've got journalist written all over you. Under that sweet petal like voice do I not hear the aggressive determination of a hunter out for the kill.”


“Then do you mind if I join you.” Jenny got up and sat opposite him at the same table. She had learnt fast that journalists never wait to be asked. He's really laid back, Shelley thought, not the slightest bit like those other men.


“Well,” he spread his hands out still smiling. “What can I tell you? Nothing covered by client privilege of course and nothing about tomorrow's case, unless its strictly off the record.”


Shelley was almost shaking with excitement. This was the great Oscar Smith she'd heard her boss talking about at meetings, the man they could never nail down, the one who avoided the press like the plague and he was asking her what she wanted to know, and oh, he was so nice.