Destination D by Lori Beard-Daily Page A

sound of her voice had become an art form for Amanda. She knew that her boss would go on and on until she felt like she had pummeled Amanda's self-esteem into the ground. Amanda had gotten to the point where she could read her lips without listening to her. Sometimes, she made a game of it by starting the second hand on her watch and checking to see how many seconds it would take her to finish her insults. So far, it had been only thirty seconds, but Pam was just getting started.
    â€œAmanda, you knew about this case several weeks ago, and today you had a hard time making a decision as to whether or not you would give me the information that I needed. In this business, things are always subject to change. We have to go with the flow whether we like it or not. Understand?”
    Amanda nodded like a child who had just been reprimanded as Pam continued her rant.
    â€œI think it's only fair to tell you that I'm going to report your insubordination to Pete and let him make the decision on how to handle this. After all, since it appears that you'd rather work for the big boys anyway, perhaps he can find you a place with one of them. Of course, I doubt very seriously that they would put up with your antics as much as I have. As a matter of fact, I know they wouldn't, and you do too, which is why I don't understand why you are not more grateful and solicitous to me.”
    Amanda paused. “I'd like to say something, if you've finished.”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact, I do believe I am,” she retorted arrogantly as she held her hands out and stared at her nails, debating whether or not she needed a manicure.
    Amanda took a deep breath before she spoke. She didn't know exactly what she was going to say, but whatever it was, it was long overdue.
    â€œFirst of all, I find it very insulting that you can sit across that desk and talk to me like I'm a nine-year-old child. I realize I was a little hesitant at first, but I did stay. It seems to me like you have forgotten about all the other times I have spent nights with you until 9:00 and 10:00 assisting you with other cases. Have you ever taken a look around you and noticed that you are the only attorney who takes twelve cases at a time? I am the only paralegal who works sixty or more hours each week.”
    â€œI see.” Pam folded her arms deliberately across her chest and leaned back in her chair.
    â€œMost of the attorneys around here at your level are only assigned five or six caseloads, and their paralegals work only fifty hours or so—if that! Why do you always get overloaded? Please don't misunderstand me. You are an excellent attorney, but you just take on more and more and they just keep giving it to you. You stay here all hours of the night while everyone else goes home. I've been here and listened to the other lawyers talk about you.”
    Pam raised her eyebrows at Amanda's comment. “Really, now. And what are these other lawyers, saying?” She couldn't have cared less if she were the talk of the entire Bar Association. The bottom line was this: She was there to win cases and get paid—period!
    â€œThey say, ‘When they don't want to do something, they just turn it over to the black girl. She'll do anything. You know how they are. Always trying to prove something.’ I've heard them over and over again, laughing at the many hours you put in. Even though you make six figures, you are still underpaid in comparison to them. They work fewer hours than you do, bill fewer hours, and still make more money. Even with all of the brains you have and the legal finesse you possess, it will never be enough for any of them to respect you.”
    Pam moved forward over her desk. It took everything in her to not reach across and grab Amanda by her throat. She held back her comments in reserve and kept what was really on her mind to herself.
    How stupid does she really think I am? And who in the hell does Amanda think she is, coming into my