could be a bit pushy sometimes.
Moments later there was a slight tap on the door and Yarni said, “Come in.” When it opened, she was impressed by how well Tangaleena looked out of the jail uniform.
A young lady with a bronze complexion, long auburn hair extensions that had been straightened out and a thin build, with some Marc Jacobs frames covering her eyes, walked into the office.
Yarni stood to shake her hand. “How are you, Ms. Londers?” Yarni smiled, then pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.” She then looked to her assistant. “Thank you, Layla,” signaling that it was okay for her to get back to work.
Tangaleena sat in the yellow leather chair. She removed her sunglasses and placed them in her Marc Jacobs bag. “First, let me say that I was very pleased with you today in court.”
“I’m glad it was to your satisfaction. Thank you very much.” But Yarni didn’t hesitate to get down to business. “So what exactly happened?” The fact that she’d planned to remove herself from the case was the last thing on Yarni’s mind. Tangaleena was shifting in the chair, which showed that she was a little uncomfortable. Yarni looked into her client’s eyes. “And I’d like to remind you that whatever you say here can’t and
won’t
be held against you, because of attorney/client privilege.”
“Well, since you put it like that.” Tangaleena looked down and was playing with her hands, but becoming a little more comfortable. “It’s sort of a long story.” She sighed. “I hope you have a minute.”
“I do,” Yarni told her, at this point glad that she had taken the break from the appeal she was working on. There was something about Tangaleena that she liked.
Leaning forward in the leather chair on the opposite side of the desk, the young woman still appeared nervous. Maybe it was more fear than nerves; the two emotions shared the same DNA. Tangaleena took a deep breath. “If I don’t beat this case, my life might as well be over,” she surmised.
“Why do you say that? The charges you have against you are serious but it’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, but things are really complicated. There’s more here than what’s seen on the surface.”
“Then help me see what you see.” Yarni gave Tangaleena her undivided attention.
“Well, I adopted a beautiful little girl three years ago. At the time she was one year old. Her mother was a straight crackhead.” She shook her head. “Just a no-good junkie.”
A slight smile spread across Yarni’s lips. Ignoring the last comment, she said, “Oh, how sweet. My sister did the same thing, she adopted a child too.” She let the girl continue telling her story.
“Well, maybe you can understand my plight, then.” She made eye contact with Yarni. “The baby’s father is my first cousin, we call ’im Shortee. He was sentenced to thirty years in prison for robbery the day Spumante was born. Spumante is the little girl.”
Yarni wanted to shake her head at the poor child’s name, but stayed focused on the topic at hand instead.
But Tangaleena must have read Yarni’s mind. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “The name, right? Her momma thought she was giving her a French name.”
Yarni remained silent. She’d learned over the years of being an attorney that the less she intervened, the more people tended to talk.
“Make no mistake about it; both of the parents are a hot ass mess. Matter of fact, the best thing that Shortee could have ever done in his miserable life was to give his sperm to create that child. But this ain’t about him; this here is about her crackhead carrier, Chiquita. Three days after delivering Monte, that’s what I call her, she figured out that she had no intention of raising ababy. So she brought Monte to my eighty-five-year-old grandmother’s house, supposedly went to the bathroom, and slipped out through the back door. The next time any of us heard from her, she showed up trying to sell us some baby clothes that she had
Moments later there was a slight tap on the door and Yarni said, “Come in.” When it opened, she was impressed by how well Tangaleena looked out of the jail uniform.
A young lady with a bronze complexion, long auburn hair extensions that had been straightened out and a thin build, with some Marc Jacobs frames covering her eyes, walked into the office.
Yarni stood to shake her hand. “How are you, Ms. Londers?” Yarni smiled, then pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.” She then looked to her assistant. “Thank you, Layla,” signaling that it was okay for her to get back to work.
Tangaleena sat in the yellow leather chair. She removed her sunglasses and placed them in her Marc Jacobs bag. “First, let me say that I was very pleased with you today in court.”
“I’m glad it was to your satisfaction. Thank you very much.” But Yarni didn’t hesitate to get down to business. “So what exactly happened?” The fact that she’d planned to remove herself from the case was the last thing on Yarni’s mind. Tangaleena was shifting in the chair, which showed that she was a little uncomfortable. Yarni looked into her client’s eyes. “And I’d like to remind you that whatever you say here can’t and
won’t
be held against you, because of attorney/client privilege.”
“Well, since you put it like that.” Tangaleena looked down and was playing with her hands, but becoming a little more comfortable. “It’s sort of a long story.” She sighed. “I hope you have a minute.”
“I do,” Yarni told her, at this point glad that she had taken the break from the appeal she was working on. There was something about Tangaleena that she liked.
Leaning forward in the leather chair on the opposite side of the desk, the young woman still appeared nervous. Maybe it was more fear than nerves; the two emotions shared the same DNA. Tangaleena took a deep breath. “If I don’t beat this case, my life might as well be over,” she surmised.
“Why do you say that? The charges you have against you are serious but it’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, but things are really complicated. There’s more here than what’s seen on the surface.”
“Then help me see what you see.” Yarni gave Tangaleena her undivided attention.
“Well, I adopted a beautiful little girl three years ago. At the time she was one year old. Her mother was a straight crackhead.” She shook her head. “Just a no-good junkie.”
A slight smile spread across Yarni’s lips. Ignoring the last comment, she said, “Oh, how sweet. My sister did the same thing, she adopted a child too.” She let the girl continue telling her story.
“Well, maybe you can understand my plight, then.” She made eye contact with Yarni. “The baby’s father is my first cousin, we call ’im Shortee. He was sentenced to thirty years in prison for robbery the day Spumante was born. Spumante is the little girl.”
Yarni wanted to shake her head at the poor child’s name, but stayed focused on the topic at hand instead.
But Tangaleena must have read Yarni’s mind. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “The name, right? Her momma thought she was giving her a French name.”
Yarni remained silent. She’d learned over the years of being an attorney that the less she intervened, the more people tended to talk.
“Make no mistake about it; both of the parents are a hot ass mess. Matter of fact, the best thing that Shortee could have ever done in his miserable life was to give his sperm to create that child. But this ain’t about him; this here is about her crackhead carrier, Chiquita. Three days after delivering Monte, that’s what I call her, she figured out that she had no intention of raising ababy. So she brought Monte to my eighty-five-year-old grandmother’s house, supposedly went to the bathroom, and slipped out through the back door. The next time any of us heard from her, she showed up trying to sell us some baby clothes that she had
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