to be happy. But if this guy is no good, I want to prove it to her. To save her from heartache further down the road." He struggled momentarily with his next line. And then finally, "Can you help me?"
I agreed to meet with him so that I could gather some more information. I rarely accept assignments over the phone. I insist on meeting face-to-face first so I can get a better feel for the person who's hiring me and what the assignment would entail.
THAT PHONE call was two days ago. So today, after leaving Anne Jacobs's house, I drove back to Los Angeles to meet with Roger Ireland at his office in Century City. I arrived at the twenty-story building on Avenue of the Stars and rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor where a sign read LAW OFFICES OF IRELAND, HAMMERL AND WELCH.
The receptionist smiled cordially upon hearing the name Ashlyn and led me right into his office.
Roger Ireland was a pleasant-looking man, with gray hair and tired eyes, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. His large corner office was filled with a combination of dark wood furniture and brown cardboard boxes. "I'm retiring in a few weeks," he said, after shaking my hand and motioning toward the boxes and random piles of clutter.
I smiled. "Congratulations."
He pointed at a chocolate-colored leather couch by the window, and we sat down. I pulled out my black Louis Vuitton portfolio and flipped it open to an empty page.
"So let me just start by asking you some questions, and then I'll determine whether or not I can take on your case."
Roger nodded, seemingly relieved that I had been the one to initiate the dialogue. I'm sure he was wondering how one would even begin a conversation like this. "So, you're gonna try to have sex with my future son-in-law?"
I started by asking him the usual opening questions. The easy stuff. The subject's name, occupation, hobbies, and interests if he knew of any.
The fiancé's name was Parker Colman, a risk management adviser for LDS Securities. He had asked Lauren Ireland to marry him approximately nine months earlier. The elaborate $100,000 wedding was in three weeks, and the bachelor party was scheduled for a week from tomorrow in the land of bachelor parties: Las Vegas, Nevada. I had personally been there at least twenty times since starting this job.
As far as Mr. Ireland knew, Parker liked basketball, poker, BBQs, boozing, and, from what he suspected, women.
"And how does your daughter feel about the bachelor party?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they can be tricky," I explained. "Some women believe that anything goes at the bachelor party. Last final fling type of stuff, just don't tell me about it. Is Lauren like that?"
Roger shook his head. "Oh, no," he replied without reservation. "I know she's been pretty on edge about it. According to my wife, she only agreed to the whole thing because he promised not to go to any strip clubs. And of course, not to...you know, be with any other girls."
"Okay, then, it sounds like the bachelor party is the best place to conduct the inspection," I stated, jotting down a few details in my portfolio.
Roger agreed with a nod of his head. It's rare for a client to argue with one of my location suggestions. Kind of like how you don't argue with a doctor when he prescribes you medication; you trust that they know what they're doing. A "Yeah, whatever, just do your job so it stops itching" kind of thing.
"Does your daughter play poker?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "Not that I'm aware of. The gambling gene has never really been in the Ireland family."
I made a note and then looked up again. "What about confidence level? Is your daughter the shy type or the confident type?"
Mr. Ireland thought about his response before he spoke. He was taking all of my questions very seriously, and I appreciated his effort. But then again, for the money he was going to be paying me, this wasn't exactly the time to start filling in the multiple-choice bubbles randomly.
I agreed to meet with him so that I could gather some more information. I rarely accept assignments over the phone. I insist on meeting face-to-face first so I can get a better feel for the person who's hiring me and what the assignment would entail.
THAT PHONE call was two days ago. So today, after leaving Anne Jacobs's house, I drove back to Los Angeles to meet with Roger Ireland at his office in Century City. I arrived at the twenty-story building on Avenue of the Stars and rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor where a sign read LAW OFFICES OF IRELAND, HAMMERL AND WELCH.
The receptionist smiled cordially upon hearing the name Ashlyn and led me right into his office.
Roger Ireland was a pleasant-looking man, with gray hair and tired eyes, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. His large corner office was filled with a combination of dark wood furniture and brown cardboard boxes. "I'm retiring in a few weeks," he said, after shaking my hand and motioning toward the boxes and random piles of clutter.
I smiled. "Congratulations."
He pointed at a chocolate-colored leather couch by the window, and we sat down. I pulled out my black Louis Vuitton portfolio and flipped it open to an empty page.
"So let me just start by asking you some questions, and then I'll determine whether or not I can take on your case."
Roger nodded, seemingly relieved that I had been the one to initiate the dialogue. I'm sure he was wondering how one would even begin a conversation like this. "So, you're gonna try to have sex with my future son-in-law?"
I started by asking him the usual opening questions. The easy stuff. The subject's name, occupation, hobbies, and interests if he knew of any.
The fiancé's name was Parker Colman, a risk management adviser for LDS Securities. He had asked Lauren Ireland to marry him approximately nine months earlier. The elaborate $100,000 wedding was in three weeks, and the bachelor party was scheduled for a week from tomorrow in the land of bachelor parties: Las Vegas, Nevada. I had personally been there at least twenty times since starting this job.
As far as Mr. Ireland knew, Parker liked basketball, poker, BBQs, boozing, and, from what he suspected, women.
"And how does your daughter feel about the bachelor party?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they can be tricky," I explained. "Some women believe that anything goes at the bachelor party. Last final fling type of stuff, just don't tell me about it. Is Lauren like that?"
Roger shook his head. "Oh, no," he replied without reservation. "I know she's been pretty on edge about it. According to my wife, she only agreed to the whole thing because he promised not to go to any strip clubs. And of course, not to...you know, be with any other girls."
"Okay, then, it sounds like the bachelor party is the best place to conduct the inspection," I stated, jotting down a few details in my portfolio.
Roger agreed with a nod of his head. It's rare for a client to argue with one of my location suggestions. Kind of like how you don't argue with a doctor when he prescribes you medication; you trust that they know what they're doing. A "Yeah, whatever, just do your job so it stops itching" kind of thing.
"Does your daughter play poker?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "Not that I'm aware of. The gambling gene has never really been in the Ireland family."
I made a note and then looked up again. "What about confidence level? Is your daughter the shy type or the confident type?"
Mr. Ireland thought about his response before he spoke. He was taking all of my questions very seriously, and I appreciated his effort. But then again, for the money he was going to be paying me, this wasn't exactly the time to start filling in the multiple-choice bubbles randomly.
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