a bullhorn the morning after an opening night gala sponsored by Dom Perignon, Jack Daniels, and a half dozen other purveyors of alcoholic temptation. “I’m right here,” she croaked. “No need to shout.”
As she groaned, the flames on her wrist stood out even more sharply than they had before. Mystified, I reached toward her, more than a little worried that my simply repeating her name had caused her such distress. As soon as I opened my hand, though, revealing the marks on my own fingertips, Teel’s tattoo faded back to its original compelling glint. Unable to resist a little test, I clenched my fingers together again, watching the parallel marks on the genie’s wrist surge back to full brilliance. I managed, however, to squelch the impulse to say her name out loud. Better not to cripple my genie with a permanent migraine before I even learned what this strange magic was all about.
Eyeing me balefully, Teel swallowed hard, grimacing like a person knocking back a fistful of aspirin. Then, she reached for her briefcase. “Well,” she said, her efficient smile turned brittle, “I usually end a first session by telling people how to get my attention. At least we have that all taken care of.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to force a bit of meek apology past my fascination.
“Why don’t we just go through the paperwork?” She flourished her extensive set of documents. “You’ll find everything’s in order—the newest boilerplate is already incorporated.”
“Boilerplate?” I felt like I was scrambling a few steps behind as Teel led me along some tangled forest path. One part of my brain was frantically fighting to catch up, to accept that a creature had just coalesced out of fog in the middle of my office, a magical being who seemed intent on handing me a ream of paper that was thicker than most scripts that I read. Another part of my brain had already accepted what was going on here—after all, I’d absorbed more shocks in this one day than I’d ever thought possible, going from beloved, financially secure, well-housed theater professional to a jilted, broke, homeless…theater professional.
I still had my life as a dramaturg.
Dean couldn’t take that away from me.
“Boilerplate,” Teel repeated, as if I hadn’t just lost myself in further contemplation of my disastrous morning. “Legal terms that are standard for all contracts. Term and termination. Choice of law. Blah-de-blah-de-blah and all the rest of the boring stuff.” She yawned.
Okay. Maybe she wasn’t actually the severe lawyer that she appeared to be. I didn’t think that Bill Rodriguez, the attorney who had crushed my morning in the conference room, would yawn as he quoted chapter and verse at me. I took Teel’s stack of paper and started glancing through the pages.
Every single sheet was crammed with tiny writing. The minute text was broken up with bold face headings and with outlined indents that led to paragraph numbers like V.A.iii.h.(iv).(q). The more that I examined the words, the more they danced before my eyes.
I blinked hard, then tried again. The words stayed stable this time, but I still didn’t understand them. One passage, printed in bold, stated: “Where any wisher stands to be seized, or at any time hereafter shall happen to be seized, of any lands, tenements, rents, services, reversions, remainders, or other hereditaments, to the use, confidence, or trust of any other person or persons, or any body politic, by reason of any conveyance, contract, agreement, will or otherwise…”
I dropped the pages onto my desk. “This doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Teel sniffed in annoyance. “Nineteen out of twenty wishers said the exact same thing. That’s why we simplified the terms. We’ve just completed our review of all the paperwork. It’s much more basic now than if you’d summoned me a month ago.”
“‘We’ reviewed the paperwork?” I couldn’t smother my suspicious tone. “Who’s we?”
As she groaned, the flames on her wrist stood out even more sharply than they had before. Mystified, I reached toward her, more than a little worried that my simply repeating her name had caused her such distress. As soon as I opened my hand, though, revealing the marks on my own fingertips, Teel’s tattoo faded back to its original compelling glint. Unable to resist a little test, I clenched my fingers together again, watching the parallel marks on the genie’s wrist surge back to full brilliance. I managed, however, to squelch the impulse to say her name out loud. Better not to cripple my genie with a permanent migraine before I even learned what this strange magic was all about.
Eyeing me balefully, Teel swallowed hard, grimacing like a person knocking back a fistful of aspirin. Then, she reached for her briefcase. “Well,” she said, her efficient smile turned brittle, “I usually end a first session by telling people how to get my attention. At least we have that all taken care of.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to force a bit of meek apology past my fascination.
“Why don’t we just go through the paperwork?” She flourished her extensive set of documents. “You’ll find everything’s in order—the newest boilerplate is already incorporated.”
“Boilerplate?” I felt like I was scrambling a few steps behind as Teel led me along some tangled forest path. One part of my brain was frantically fighting to catch up, to accept that a creature had just coalesced out of fog in the middle of my office, a magical being who seemed intent on handing me a ream of paper that was thicker than most scripts that I read. Another part of my brain had already accepted what was going on here—after all, I’d absorbed more shocks in this one day than I’d ever thought possible, going from beloved, financially secure, well-housed theater professional to a jilted, broke, homeless…theater professional.
I still had my life as a dramaturg.
Dean couldn’t take that away from me.
“Boilerplate,” Teel repeated, as if I hadn’t just lost myself in further contemplation of my disastrous morning. “Legal terms that are standard for all contracts. Term and termination. Choice of law. Blah-de-blah-de-blah and all the rest of the boring stuff.” She yawned.
Okay. Maybe she wasn’t actually the severe lawyer that she appeared to be. I didn’t think that Bill Rodriguez, the attorney who had crushed my morning in the conference room, would yawn as he quoted chapter and verse at me. I took Teel’s stack of paper and started glancing through the pages.
Every single sheet was crammed with tiny writing. The minute text was broken up with bold face headings and with outlined indents that led to paragraph numbers like V.A.iii.h.(iv).(q). The more that I examined the words, the more they danced before my eyes.
I blinked hard, then tried again. The words stayed stable this time, but I still didn’t understand them. One passage, printed in bold, stated: “Where any wisher stands to be seized, or at any time hereafter shall happen to be seized, of any lands, tenements, rents, services, reversions, remainders, or other hereditaments, to the use, confidence, or trust of any other person or persons, or any body politic, by reason of any conveyance, contract, agreement, will or otherwise…”
I dropped the pages onto my desk. “This doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Teel sniffed in annoyance. “Nineteen out of twenty wishers said the exact same thing. That’s why we simplified the terms. We’ve just completed our review of all the paperwork. It’s much more basic now than if you’d summoned me a month ago.”
“‘We’ reviewed the paperwork?” I couldn’t smother my suspicious tone. “Who’s we?”
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