OCTOBER 14, 2022 – Ever since I was a young kid, I’ve lived half my waking hours in imagined reality, as oxymoronic as that might seem. Today, I easily stepped into my “pretend world.” The prompt was pundit chatter over yesterday’s screening of The Godfather—and the Don’s rambling, unedited, 14-page rant-critique of the show.
In the relative comfort of a fashionable recliner in our living room, I imagined . . .
Given the mafioso’s checkered relationship with “legal talent,” he’d directed a lackey to find “a new lawyer who could ‘throw strikes.’” My website (I imagined), just happened to include the boast, “Mr. Nilsson is a lawyer who throws strikes.” Thanks to the Don’s explicit directive and the power of Google, Mr. Lackey struck pay dirt—for me, at least, assuming I could negotiate a hefty retainer.
I didn’t recognize the number on my iPhone screen, but there was no “Potential Scam” alert, so impulsive curiosity made me clear my throat and answer.
“Hi, Mr. Nilsson,” said the caller. “I’m Jason Klipperklapp calling on behalf of President Trump. How are you today?”
“Couldn’t be better. If you’re soliciting money, I’d like to know how I got on your list.”
“No, no, not at all, sir,” said the young-sounding Mr. Klapperklipp. “I’m calling to explore your interest in representing Mr. Trump.”
“Uh, um, gee, how did you find me?”
“Mr. Trump needs a new lawyer—one who can throw strikes, and according to your website, you’re a lawyer who throws strikes.”
“That would be me,” I said, obscuring the fact that until that very moment I’d long forgotten what my marketing consultant—a baseball fanatic—had developed “content” the year of yore when the Twins were in the playoffs.
“Great! Can we set up a meeting to get things rolling?”
“Zoom?”
“Well, no Mr. Trump is going to want to meet in person.”
“Down there in Florida?”
“Uh-huh.”
I hesitated. When had I last put on a suit? And what about my shoes? I’d need to have them shined.
“When?” I asked.
“As soon as you can get here,” said Klappersnapper—or was it Klippersnipper?
I realized the conversation was getting way ahead of me and my better judgment, but on the other hand, I told myself, think of this as a goldmine of writing material.
“Tell you what,” I said. “As soon as we get off the phone I’ll run a conflicts check. Assuming it’s clear, I’ll send you my standard retainer agreement, which will lay out my hourly rate, retainer and billing terms, plus scope of representation and general terms of engagement. By the way, what is the scope of engagement?
“Whatever it takes to prevent Mr. Trump from being perceived as a loser.”
“Okay . . . then. Have the—your boss,” I corrected myself, “sign digitally, then wire me the retainer. Meanwhile, I’ll alert my pilot.” I’d never flown on a private jet before, but there’s always a first time. I figure I’d Google, “private jet from Fleming Field St. Paul to airfield closest to Mar-A-Lago”—and bill the client. But imitation is the greatest form of flattery. In an arbitrage play that surely the Don would appreciate, I could fraudulently bill for the private jet ($30,803—I actually went so far as to get an estimate!) but fly commercial for only $308. (Call me a (stable) genius.) (Cont.)
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
