saulweissberg

[saulweissberg]

saul laughed at her save, partly to be polite but mostly because it was amusing. “i suppose if this event planner in question is feeling magnanimous, he’ll let the assumption slide.” he volleyed back, giving her a small smirk. saul wasn’t offended by it, anyway. event planning was simply in his blood, thanks to his mother who chaired the country club in his hometown for over twenty years. his twin brother levi wasn’t interested in it much, so she handed all her tips and tricks down to saul. fortunately, it came in clutch right when he least expected it.

when her chest prominently displayed, he got a better look at her gemstone necklace. saul didn’t know much about crystals or whatever it was, nor zodiac signs or planetary positions, writing it all off as woo-woo bullshit, but above all, saul was polite. he could feign interest in topics that he thought were silly easily, as it was all part of the game. not just playing host for charity luncheons, but attending them as a guest. he loved the politesse of it all; it was his three ex-wives that hated the pomp and circumstance. “interesting! did you wear that in honor of bringing good fortune to bright sparks, or is that for your own luck?” saul asked teasingly, bordering on harmless flirting.

huh, kind of funny how she was wearing a large gemstone and her name was a gemstone. saul figured that was probably intentional. he could respect that. “well, it’s nice to meet you, opal. welcome to blue harbor.” like playing host, he had no problem playing captain of the welcome wagon. “ah! am i really that obvious?” he asked, even though he knew that he was. despite having lived in blue harbor for three years now, almost four come january, he could never completely get rid of that east coast sheen. he didn’t want to. “i’m a new yorker, actually.” by way of connecticut, but he doubted opal cared. “i’ve lived here for a few years now. if you’re looking for any recommendations, i’m your man.” it was his turn to lean in conspiratorially, “or if you want some town gossip.”

"Oh." Opal looked sheepishly down at herself, as though she'd made a social blunder. "Whoops. Well. You know what they say about people who assume." Her voice turned playfully conspiratorial. "They lavish praise on the actual event planner in question and hope he can forgive them for their poor etiquette."

As his eyes drifted to her necklace, Opal subtly arched her back, encouraging him to look at the baited fish hook that rested yellow and gleaming against her chest. She reached up to finger the crystal, looking both pleased he'd noticed and a little shy to admit exactly what it was. "Thank you," she accepted with a nod, smiling demurely. "It's a citrine crystal. It's supposed to bring good fortune." She toyed with the crystal for a moment longer before letting it fall back to her chest. "Saul." She repeated his name, taking the moment to try the sound out in her mouth despite knowing he was very unlikely to push this little meeting past polite conversation.

That was fine. There were plenty of other options milling about.

"I'm Opal. I actually just moved here. Figured an event like this would be a good place to meet some new people. Get a pulse on the town, you know? What about you? Are you a lifer or a transplant? You're giving... fancy New York transplant, but you've surprised me once already."

[saulweissberg]

there was a lot riding on this luncheon. not only because saul had very little time to put it together, but his firm’s name, ergo his name, was front and center. if it failed, not only would his ego take a hit, but his professional reputation could be at stake. that was why everything had to be perfect. with emir at the helm, saul couldn’t see a single reason why it wouldn’t be. “awww, great! i’m so happy to hear it!” everything looked like it was coming together in the kitchen, but saul couldn’t pretend he knew what it took to cater such a large event. “i’ve seen a few cars pull up, but i don’t think they’re going to be opening up the banquet hall doors for another thirty minutes or so. i hope you’ll be able to enjoy the luncheon as my guest as well, not just my caterer.”

Emir loved the kitchen. If it were up to him, he would be getting his hands dirty with his staff. But he left it to the professionals and just made his way around to ensure that it was all going according to plan. This luncheon was going to be a big event and he wouldn't let any errors come from his staff. He was confident in his team, as he made sure to have only the best working for him. "Thank you." he smiled, turning his attention to Saul as he came into the kitchen. "I am very excited, actually. Everyone is putting in their best work. I think this luncheon is going to be great." the man said. The staff from both La Galleria and The Mango Tree were definitely on their A game. "How are things looking out there? Have people started coming in yet?" he asked, glancing down as his watch to check how they were on time.

[saulweissberg]

“hmm, maybe you have a point there.” though, if he was going to be honest, saul had sent plenty of intimate pictures in the last twenty-something years. these days, they were reserved for dilara, but he figured rachel wouldn’t want to know about that. despite their friendship, which he held dear to him, he didn’t divulge much about his current relationships, hookups, whatever he wanted to classify them as—he kept his anecdotes to his past relationships. perhaps out of privacy, perhaps out of respect for rachel and… whatever it was between them. he was fine to talk about his ex-wives and his many failures in each relationship, but when it came to mentioning how he had a loose arrangement with dilara, and had spent most of the summer hooking up with leon (before he ghosted him), saul kept quiet. “thank you. i kind of picked them on a whim, since it was so short notice, but i know they need the money.” he had been raised to be generous with his money, but bright sparks’ cause was especially important to him as a proudly bisexual man. saul laughed when she said he didn’t need to make a case, “rach, i’m a lawyer. i always have to make a case.” it came naturally to him and every other attorney he ever met. “i’m so glad you’ll come with me!” he said with genuine gratitude. it wouldn’t be an embarrassment to attend his own luncheon without a date, but it would certainly feel strange. “i probably won’t be able to pick you up, though, like a proper gentleman. i’ll have to head to the venue early to help set up and make sure all the ducks are in a row. you won’t hate me for that, right?”

Rachel gave an apologetic smile towards the people who were probably unsure as to why Saul was giving her this much attention instead of the game he was here for. She snickered at his commentary and added this fact, "Plus I'm not too sure if sending a photo of myself is anything I've ever done before. Feels like maybe something that is reserved for the generation after us." Rachel said even though technically she was a Millennial, it was at the start of the generation plus she felt more attuned to the generation before her. Listening to him, she let her fingers loop and hold onto the chain link fence. "Oh nice! I volunteer there! That's an awesome cause, Saul!" She shared excitedly, very much looking forward to RSVPing to this event. Though that train of thinking was quickly interrupted when it seemed like RSVPing would be unnecessary now. "Sure! You didn't need to make case, Saul. Of course I knew all of those things, I am honored you would want me to come with you." Rachel laughed in amusement, figuring the lawyer was just used to making arguments. It wasn't as if she was under any impression that Saul was asking her to be a date in any other way than platonic, and she didn't want him to think she was setting up any type of expectation of him. It would be a surprise to her if he meant anything other than that. A pleasant surprise of course, she thought to herself, then wondered why she had thought 'of course.' Rachel shook out of her own thoughts to smile at Saul. She knew she should be paying attention to the game going on behind her considering at any moment she could be up at bat, but she figured they'd call her if they needed her.

[saulweissberg]

SAUL: You're welcome. SAUL: La Galleria is my go-to but maybe The Silk Road or Tres Amigos would be nice? It's your birthday LOL SAUL: We can drive up to Chicago too if you want, I won't mind the drive. SAUL: Did Ravi go home?

MICAH: Thanks Dad

MICAH: What friends No not really

MICAH: Sure we can do dinner

MICAH: Where?

[saulweissberg]

it was almost too much to bear. his son, just slightly taller than himself, almost limp in his hands. deflated. his poor, poor boy. saul had missed so much of micah’s life. he was around for the good times, he loved to be there for those, but that left him unaware of just how much micah was suffering. he knew things could get bad for him sometimes, but saul had no idea the extent of his pain. his own fault, of course, for not being there for his son. for not being around to notice, or to help him through it. how much help could he have been, though, if terry was there every day and couldn’t ease micah’s pain? would saul just have made it worse? questions that couldn’t be answered. time was so fucking finite.

just as easily as he embraced micah, his son easily unfurled himself from saul’s grasp. he tried not to feel offended, like micah was slipping away again. maybe this time for good. his hands dropped down to his side, but he moved a half-step forward and kept silent as micah began to talk. “the weaver inn.” saul parroted, unable to keep the dissatisfaction out of his voice completely. no one ever had any good things to say about the local motel, and he had a spare bedroom ready to be occupied. someone needed to bring some warmth to saul’s home, and the cats would be so excited to see micah, perhaps enough to get their lazy asses off of the couch. still, he had to remember not to smother micah, lest he escape again. however… “well, you can always come stay with me, if you ever want to. you and ravi.” it wasn’t bad to at least offer up his spare room, was it? saul wasn’t going to force him to stay with him, but it felt important to offer.

i'm, uh... sorry i didn't tell you i was leaving. and for not taking your calls. i'm…

“it’s—” okay? no, it wasn’t okay. saul was sick with worry for weeks on end, that was not okay. saul had to learn just how traumatized his son was from someone else, not even a blood relative, that wasn’t okay. saul realized—finally, truly realized—just how badly he failed his son. that was not okay. “—not important right now.” plenty of time for apologies on both their parts later. if micah didn’t disappear again, that is. “yeah, ravi told me some.” not everything, though. there had been some things that ravi refused to tell him and terry, unwilling to betray micah’s confidence fully. some things that only micah could divulge, and only if he wanted. saul hated the crypticness, but respected ravi’s loyalty. “we don’t have to talk about that now. just… just promise that you’ll tell me next time before you decide to leave, okay?” a not-so-simple ask for micah, maybe, but it might be the only thing that would keep saul from diving over the edge of anxiety next time. “now do you need a ride or anything? i think i saw ravi wander off with a waitress earlier.”

‎ he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers grasping around the fabric of his father's jacket—likely bought just for this event, if not kept in perfect condition for special occasions, though it begs the question of what saul weissberg must consider special, and he doesn't care that he's probably ruining it now—keeps himself embedded against the glass window of this moment like a handprint, banking the feeling away in case this never happens again.

then he peels himself off from his father's embrace, but the proximity remains as saul continues to hold him, keeps him steady like he's afraid he might drift away or perish into a million flecks of ash, carried by a gust of wind to be everywhere, all at once, never to be held down, never to be captured. he keeps his head down, his eyes not quite meeting his father's gaze. sniffling as a child would after staying out too long in the cold (and it is cold, it's almost fucking october!), he nods and shakes his head simultaneously, unsure of which question to answer or what the answers are at all.

"yeah," he mumbles, vaguely, eyes darting to meet his father's much bluer ones, then grazes over his strong features: the low set of his brows, the prominent arch of his nose, his weissbergian chin. and he steps back, forcing his father's grip on his arms to loosen some more, affording both men a little bit more space for the air to pass through. "i'm staying with ravi. at the weaver inn." he nods, surer now, at least, that this is a question he can answer more objectively. and then there's not much more to that. in a few weeks, maybe the next, ravi will leave, and that'll beg an entirely different question on his living situation. he sniffles again, fidgets with his cigarette, fighting the urge to take a puff when he remembers it still smoldering between his fingers. "i'm, uh... sorry i didn't tell you i was leaving. and for not taking your calls. i'm..." and he chuckles, abruptly, like he's getting ahead of a silly inside joke he shares with himself, swinging his head to the side as he runs the back of the hand holding the cigarette under his nose. instinctively, he takes a short drag, blows the smoke away before crushing the cigarette on the pavement, letting the unfinished thought cling to the smoke and away into the invisible pollution. newly freed hands are shoved into his pockets and he nods at his father. "ravi told you stuff, yeah?" he says with a slight wince, still unsure how much his friend had told his family.

[saulweissberg]

um...yes...i didn't realize that he was back.

“yeah, neither did i.” saul replied with a deep sigh. that seemed to be his son’s modus operandi: disappear and show up again on a breeze. no warning, no hello or goodbye. after thirty years of saul coming in and out of his life on a whim, could micah really be blamed? all the advice he begrudgingly took on giving micah space and letting him come back on his own apparently wasn’t misguided. saul still hadn’t liked hearing it, though. even if micah was back, it seemed he had no intention of announcing his presence—perhaps he was waiting for some grand entrance, to make a big show of ruining the luncheon with some soap opera dramatics. though, on second thought, micah wasn’t the scheming type. not in the way that saul could be, at least. let micah come to me, he reminded himself and brought his attention back to his date.

he didn’t verbally respond to the offer to talk about it later, instead lightly squeezing her bicep affectionately, but he appreciated the offer nonetheless. “hm, good. i do have a reputation as a gentleman, y’know.” he was joking… mostly. when the subject changed to golf, saul scrunched his nose. “putt-putt’s fun for about ten minutes.” saul opined. he knew most people thought golf was boring, and he could concede watching other people play it was like watching paint dry, but actively engaging in the leisure sport was different. especially with a drink in hand. “hey, if you want me to, all you’ve got to do is ask. ‘sides, how else are you going to learn if i don’t help you with your swing? there’s no better way to show you.” saul gave her a quick wink, though again, he was joking. mostly. 

to her question, saul knew a club would be too hokey of an answer, but he couldn’t think of much else. partying and having a good time wasn’t the only facet of his personality as well—the other half of him would want a second office, which would be impractical for a country club. “a meeting room.” saul finally answered, nodding in thought. “a place where deals are made, that’s my room.” if he couldn’t have his name attached to a den of debauchery, then he’d take something related to his professional life. with rachel now on his arm, saul led her over to the bar on the side of the banquet hall and subsequently ordered them both another drink. before long, he was called over by another luncheon guest and left rachel with a parting kiss on her cheek at the bar.

END SCENE.

"Pendente lite. Copy." Rachel shared with a nod as she didn't see why that would come into conversation, unless he was talking to fellow lawyer or client or someone else in the legal system that was telling an anecdote of some kind. She shooed those scenarios out of her mind, however she was thrown off at the way Saul looked at her when she mentioned his son. "Um...yes...I didn't realize that he was back." She studied his face, unsure if she should have told him that right now. Well, she figured he would want to know that he was here, so she couldn't imagine hiding that from him even if it was to protect him.

When he mentioned that his second ex-wife was back in New York, she gave a slow nod. Rachel could believe it being a long story. Having an ex-spouse of her own, she for sure could understand complicated and long stories. She also understood multiple sides to stories and perspective being something that could be skewed in many ways. "We can talk about it later...or not." She gave a shrug towards Saul, not wanting him to think he needed to explain himself to her unless he just felt like it. Giving a scrunch of her nose in return, she let her face relax and shook her head. "It was my pleasure to be your plus one, Mr. Weissberg." Rachel gave a little bow of her head.

She let out a small sigh as he reassured her yet again he wasn't going to just ditch her. "I know, I know Saul. I was just messing with you, I promise. I don't think you would just leave me out in the cold." Rachel didn't quite know that for sure, it wasn't anything against Saul, but even as trusting she could be of others and liked to give pretty much everyone the benefit of the doubt, there were few people she could count on for anything. She could see herself getting to that point where she could trust Saul for anything, but she also didn't feel like he owed her anything.

Rachel laughed softly at his shock, shaking her head. "Nope, unless we're counting the putt-putt or mini golf variety." She admitted, though her parents had both successful careers that brought in quite a bit of money they didn't have much time to go golfing. They had barely even enjoyed tennis enough to keep up with it. She raised her brow at Saul's offer. "Are you going to be my instructor? Try to do that move where you stand behind me?" Rachel smirked a bit, teasing him as she knew that was such a classic move. "A whole room named after you? What type of room would you want it to be?" She pondered aloud as she figured that someone would have some say in the matter as to what room their name would be, usually it was the one they donated to build or something. Certainly there was a specific amount one would have to give for that situation. Rachel let the thoughts slip away as she smiled as she looped her arm through Saul's and gave his arm muscle a small squeeze before placing his hand in the crook of his elbow. "Oh yes let's!"

[saulweissberg]

if it wasn’t for the fact that he had already made plans to come over to dee’s after the luncheon, saul would’ve backed out. during the event, it was easy for him to keep his mind only in the present and focus only on the task at hand. after it, however, he was left to replay the whole day over and over in his head. if he wasn’t exhausted enough, the mental replay was about to push him over the edge. dee’s couch was entirely too comfortable and if she hadn’t come back into the living room after toiling around the kitchen, he promptly would have fallen asleep. that, and the delicious aroma floating in the air kept him from completely dozing off. he had dropped micah off at his mother’s home, and dee’s proximity to terry’s helped in decision not to back out of their plans—just another example of how intertwined his life was with his many ex-wives, it was almost suffocating how everything always came back to one, if not more, of them. even dee wasn’t completely without her ties to one of his ex-wives, being neighbors with his first; that was easier to swallow than his kinda-sorta boyfriend of the whole summer being fuckin’ high school sweethearts with his third ex-wife. saul would have welcomed a distraction, but dilara entered the room and sat down beside him to ask about the whole thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. he tried not to groan. “oh, they sure did.” saul sighed tiredly. he didn’t know where exactly to begin. “my son’s back. unannounced, just as he left last month.” in front of his son earlier, he was all about understanding and forgiveness, but irritation was finally starting to settle in. “and i got into a fight with my ex-wife. screamed at her, actually. not my finest moment.” he ran a hand over his face, as if to wipe off the shame. there was no point in mentioning his little argument with terry, the first mrs. weissberg, because all of their conversations were little arguments. “but we did exceed our goal for donations! and everyone seemingly had a great time, so all in all, it was a success.” something he had to be grateful for; even when his personal life was shit, he still knew how to throw a party. “how was your afternoon?”

Closed Starter:  @saulweissberg at Dee’s home

Having had left work early that day, and since they weren’t able to meet the night of the luncheon, Dilara invited Saul over for some dinner. It’d definitely been a couple of weeks since she cooked a proper meal so she took the liberty of doing so for them that night. Most of it was already done, lasagna off in the oven as well as the garlic bread she had struggled to replicate from her mother’s recipe. Dee was often too heavy handed when it came to garlic, loved the taste so much that she overdid it, but - with a heavy heart - for once she had followed the instructions as written. Taking one last look in the oven, Dee put a timer for the garlic breads and quickly returned to his side. “Alright,” she said, reaching to grab her glass of champagne before sliding beside him on the couch. “While we still have some time before dinner, tell me it all. How did it go? I heard a lot of people showed up.” She had done her best to wait, wanted to give them until after dinner, but her curiosity got the best of her. Dee figured it would be a hit - if not for the charity itself, then for the need to dress up and mingle - but she hoped it was a successful evening all around. And because she couldn't help herself she added yet another question to the pile, “Were you guys able to meet donations?”

[saulweissberg]

* 📱 → Mikey

friday, october 25th, 2024 at 7:30 am / @micahweissberg

SAUL: Happy Birthday Micah! SAUL: Do you have any plans with your friends tonight? SAUL: I can take you out for dinner tonight if you'd like. Or maybe breakfast tomorrow if you're busy? My treat.

[saulweissberg]

[ 08/26/2024 ] SAUL: I had a good time too. I'll see if I have room in my schedule. [ 08/31/2024 ] READ [ 09/6/2024 ] READ [ 09/12/2024 ] READ [ 09/30/2024 ] SAUL: Were you ever going to fucking tell me that you were in love with my ex-wife? SAUL: You never thought to mention Thalia? Terry was a weird but genuine coincidence, but Thalia being your high school girlfriend?? This is seriously fucked up.

[ 10/02/2024 ] SAUL: I don't know, Leon. SAUL: Did we ever really start?

📲 TO: S. WEISSBERG

@saulweissberg

[ aug 26, 2024 ]

leon: listen, about terry — if i had known i would have told u about it, but i really didnt know. just hope it wont make things awkward?

[ pause of 10 minutes ]

leon: but this weekend was good, really good

leon: maybe we can see each other again next week?

[ aug 31, 2024 ]

leon: r we good?

[ sept 6, 2024 ]

leon: hey

leon: can we talk?

leon: y the fuck arent u replying

[ sept 8, 2024 ]

leon: can u tell me atleast what idid

[ sept 12, 2024 ]

leon: hope everythings fine, dont hesitate to come by if u need to talk

[ sept 30, 2024 ]

leon: so u and thalia?

leon: u could have told me

leon: idk what u fucking want from me

leon: ill b @ the pub if u wanna talk

[ oct 2, 2024 ; 1:00am ]

leon: so, r we done or smth

[saulweissberg]

saul burst out with a laugh that surprised himself. though he had been teasing, he hadn’t expected leon to react with such offense. “cool, minty cigarettes? just seemed like your vibe.” the wall behind him was the only thing keeping his body from overheating, the chill of the air not enough to stave off the blush that was blooming against his collarbone. saul naturally ran hot, but the nearness of leon made his skin burn, tantalizingly close yet still so far away. he tempered the impulse to throw him against the wall and cut the coy bullshit, but he didn’t want to scare leon by being too eager. 

“fine, i’ll play nice.” saul responded softly, though the mischievous glint in his eye betrayed him. the tension was nigh unbearable as he felt leon’s gaze pierce through him, plucking out a cigarette from the proffered pack. their fingers brushed when he gave the pack back to him and saul might’ve shuddered. his lips encircled the cigarette, the other end of it catching fire quickly from leon’s lighter. the familiar taste of nicotine, something he tried hard to limit himself to now that he was on the other side of fifty, filtered down into his lungs comfortably. almost like slipping into a warm bath. saul sighed around the smoke that pushed out of his mouth as he exhaled.

then a new source of heat: leon’s hand against his hip. he tried not to press harder into his grip, aching to have him move his hand further over to the front of his jeans. saul lolled his head back, crown of his skull roughly colliding with the wall behind them. it was too much to take and they had barely even fucking touched each other. he took another long drag off of his cigarette, just to occupy himself. almost missing leon’s question, too distracted, he shrugged limply in response before leon continued on and made a crack about his age. that earned a narrow of his eyes. “you’re not too far behind me, y’know.” eleven or twelve years, if he remembered correctly. “it happens sooner than you think—getting old.” and saul felt that every moment of every day.

“i have to give it up sometime.” saul then answered seriously. the clock was ticking down, and while saul felt the process of aging every day in his body, mentally he still felt like a young man. sometimes, he could trick his body into feeling young again, but usually paid for it with a hangover or soreness in his bones the next day. eventually, the merry-go-round had to stop. saul dreaded the day, and hoped he’d still be active long into his eighties. to live twice as long as his father did. fuck, how did they get onto such a bummer topic anyway? saul smiled. “i’m going to be honest with you, lee, i don’t really want to look at any more art tonight.”

“fuck off,” leon scoffed, already reaching to take back the pack of marlboros he’d handed to saul. “what does that even mean, menthols?” he muttered, his own cigarette still unlit between his lips. he knew saul was just trying to get under his skin, and it was working. sure, nicotine was bad for the taste buds, but leon had never managed to quit. smoking meant breaks, and during brutal shifts, nothing felt as good as a cigarette in the alleyway behind the restaurant.

so, fine—it was a nasty habit, but at least he wasn’t smoking menthols. “don’t insult the guy providing your nicotine fix, weissberg.” leon waited until saul took the cigarette, then shoved the crumpled pack back into his pocket. he flicked his lighter open and leaned in close, shielding both their cigarettes from the wind as he lit them up. he lingered, eyes on saul’s, searching his expression the same way he had at the pub weeks ago.

he was looking for any hint of disgust, fear, or judgment—anything that might prove all his worries weren’t just in his head.

leon wasn’t entirely sure saul would even accept the physical contact if he acted on his impulse. the urge to pull saul close, to close that small distance between them, pulsed through him in uncertain waves. leon didn’t care much anymore what others—especially strangers in chicago—thought of him, but saul was different. saul had a reputation, a polished one. so when leon’s hand settled on saul’s waist, it was a test, a way to gauge if saul would pull away and leave him even more unsure of whatever this thing between them was.

because, honestly, being this close to saul—catching the scent of his cologne, feeling the heat of his smirk, enduring his playful teasing—it was driving leon crazy, in the best way. he felt giddy, like a teenager waiting for the inevitable fallout, like he was daring fate to punish him for whatever line he was crossing.

his hand tugged at the soft fabric of saul’s shirt, a playful gesture that betrayed his nerves. he hadn’t lasted more than two minutes without touching him. “are you really trying to quit, though?” leon asked, his voice low. cutting back to one a day wasn’t exactly quitting, but he knew enough people trying to beat their nicotine addiction to recognize the effort. “that’s good for your health… considering your age and all.”

[saulweissberg]

a monopoly on charm. funny, that was exactly what saul thought he had. “okay, fine.” he relented, unwilling to argue about it any further. there was a part of him that wanted so badly to make a crack about them taking hansen watch shopping, but he’d rather the topic die between them on the cement patio. he was fighting the urge to slip into old habits: cutting barbs traded outside of a parent-teacher conference; cold silences trading micah off at each other’s residences; the instinct to never lose an argument, even to the detriment of their co-parenting relationship. he felt twenty-six again, so young to be divorced, too emotional to realize he was cutting off his nose to spite his own face.

from the flex of terry’s jaw, it seemed they were fighting off the same urge. perhaps saul should’ve felt like they were too grown now, in the latter half of middle age—just two to three years off for a senior discount, the horror!—to have such impulses, such petty arguments, but he was a career divorce lawyer. he knew that people, especially divorced couples, never really grew up. no one was as mature as they thought they were, and backsliding was incredibly common. expected, even.

they didn’t know how to speak to micah? then how the fuck did they live for twenty-nine years together? terry was the one that had him for all that time, and it was saul that didn’t know how to connect with micah. not since their boy was in middle school and suddenly he became aware of how terrible of a father saul was. he didn’t recall when exactly it happened, but he remembered the first wounded look and cold shoulder of the adolescent micah. when the imago finally cracked, and micah realized his father was flawed. his parents were flawed. he supposed it would’ve happened eventually for his own father, gideon, if he hadn’t died so young. the grace of death was that it mythologized the dead; all sins forgotten, unable to be atoned for, as if they hadn’t happened in the first place. saul didn’t have that grace. neither did terry, for that matter.

we talked and we just ended up arguing.

was that not how every conversation ended between saul and micah? between saul and terry? the great orator, saul weissberg, could not communicate with his son or his ex-wife. any of his ex-wives, truthfully. even tamara, who looked most favorably upon him, had almost a decade of transgressions to weapon against him in the rare moments that they fought post-divorce. long ago, he had learned to expect anger from any wife or his one child any time he spoke to them. he deserved their ire. usually.

because you weren’t there. that’s what it always came back to. his neglect of their son, all the broken promises in his wake. the origin of demise, the crack where the rot set in. micah was nearly thirty fucking years old, when was he going to take responsibility for himself? when would his feet be held to the fire? a question that saul couldn’t answer, since he was already trying to come up with an excuse for micah’s inability to talk with his mother, for his untimely absence. maybe it was the only way he could think to make up for missing so much of his life, to give him grace and forgiveness that terry wouldn’t.

saul inhaled deeply. “our son’s come home.” his tone was passionate, despite the simple statement. “we have him back, katie.” for how long, though? how long until micah couldn’t face himself and he ran away again? wherever you go, there you are. he knew that micah couldn’t hear that advice, and maybe it was the wrong one to give, but it was all saul had. “i can’t force him to come home to me, but if he wants me, i’ll be there.” a delicate balance, he was realizing, to be there for someone without smothering them. saul still hadn't figured it out. “he’ll want you eventually, y’know. you’re his mother, he surely misses you.” a man of fifty-two, sometimes all he wanted was his mother. and his father, always.

Tee time with Handsome Hansen at the Cantwell Country Club. That should’ve been the end of it—but something about his tone irked them that they’d felt the strange impulse to double down. “Weissberg, you don’t have the monopoly on charm,” they rolled their eyes, “Just leave it to me, alright?” Saul may have clung onto his charm as if it were a bespoke suit, but Terry had worn it like armor, their first line of defense against situations that were impossible to navigate with their way of seeing the world.

And Dr. Hansen had liked watches, hadn’t he? He might appreciate their watch—brand new, but far more understated, its lacquer dial the only hint towards some gimmick—so that was a starting point. A battle, however small, however petty, that they’d like to win. 

A little busy. Sure, because what was a little luncheon to the return of your troubled child? They fought the urge to scoff, biting the inside of their cheek with such force that any second longer they might find themselves drawing blood. Over the decades, they had played the part of provocateuse against his provocateur adeptly—but they’d been so good recently. No more drawn-out fights, no petty squabbles, had even approached something like understanding. But their silences were always short-lived and punctured by some frazzled quality, like balls of lint forming against the fabric, a constant reminder of their relationship’s decades-long wear and tear. 

It was a little curious that Saul should stop short of mentioning Terry’s name in this litany of people who’d given him grief for wanting to talk with their son. “Okay,” they said, simply. Trying to diffuse the tension, maybe. Or trying to pacify them. Or just not wanting to invite any further provocation. Whatever it was or intended to be, it felt like some kindness. 

And when the question was redirected to them, well—“Because I don’t know how to.” It was almost childlike, crossing their arms tighter and wishing no more than to embed themselves against the derivative brickwork. “He wanted to speak with me. That last night. He came to my house and I made shakshuka. We talked and we just ended up arguing.”

Arguing about you, they would have liked to append, but what was the fucking point? They’d recalled their first trip with Micah in Forest Lake, at the solitary wood thrush, how the conversation drifted back to Saul’s ghost. How Terry thought it might be easier for Saul to fall dead for her and Micah’s sake. They didn’t care when or how it happened—though all that sex, drugs, and drinking would come back to bite him sooner than later—only that visiting his grave and asking Micah to find a stone to put atop it each year would surely be much less difficult than having to do this exercise, over and over, until one of them would exit from the other’s life, for good. 

But who would she talk to about Micah, then? And when they’d only just started?

“I can’t tell you how often our discussions start and end like that. You don’t know how hard it is to speak to him because you weren’t there,” they said. No tone, no cadence, no judgment. “And you know how I’m like...” They hated this incautious intimacy that came with the simple act of telling the truth. “I try not to push too far with him. Shield him from all this fucking frustration, and anger, and—” they inhaled, sharply, “—God, Saul, you were always the one better with words.” 

Terry glanced downward, at the concave shape of the nailbed, attention now drawn to the steel-colored nail polish, faded, but still lingering on the edges of their thumbnails.

“It should be you that he comes home to,” they began, lifting their gaze upward. Should’ve been you. Not me. “Can you do that?” This time. Just this once.

[saulweissberg]

“okay, point taken.” his hands lifted in the universal sign of surrender, though his teasing smirk remained. it wasn’t as if saul was ever unaware of the economical differences between them, though the last thirty years had certainly shortened that gap with their dual professional successes. he knew from a young age that the weissbergs were different, that more was expected of them. even though he attended a private school and everyone he knew could brag about their family’s net worth, his mother never let saul and levi go on without acknowledging their blessings in life—she, like terry, had come from a lower income family in the city, while their respective husbands had grown up in the safe bubble of generational wealth. coming of age in the dawn of the yuppie, saul had never hidden his family name, or pretended to be from some humble, working class family in the heartland. 

at the time, he thought that was partly why terry had ever been attracted to him in the first place: dating him, marrying him, was a taste of riches that, while the lowensteins had come into their own money with their kosher butchery, would never rival the net worth of the collective weissbergs. maybe the novelty of being with a jewish kennedy only lasted for so long—saul had three divorces to show for it. not to mention a long, long dating history that ranged from one-night-stands with models and a long-term relationship with another lawyer at wlrk. they always left in the end.

saul had half-expected them to refuse, or send a donation in their stead. not only because he figured that terry would rather marry him again than attend a luncheon held by their ex-husband of all people, but rubbing elbows with the elite had never been their preference. he was pleasantly surprised by their acceptance, casual as it was. “alright!” his voice almost sounded chipper, too harsh for the mood of the night and their surroundings. it was a bit of good news, was it not? after the dinner full of hellish revelations, he’d gratefully take any moment of levity. 

“hm, is that we’re calling this?” saul teased again. it was the first time they had been so civil with each other in decades, that was true, but peace was always temporary with them. it was why saul had to appreciate it for as long as he was allowed, because soon he’d piss them off somehow and they’d be back at each other’s throats. settling deeper into the couch, his head lolled back onto the headrest—less evident of a growing comfort in terry’s home, more that he was just so exhausted lately. he was a lifelong go-getter, always thinking about the next case, the next party, that exhaustion came randomly, its grip fickle yet unyielding. he fought off a yawn. 

the tableau, from outside the window, probably looked cozier than it was. a formerly married couple on the couch late at night; drinks in hand; lights low; a slight autumnal chill howling outside. a path to reconciliation, maybe, late in life and after many heartaches. two souls finding each other again after an acrimonious divorce. he could see them in a movie, maybe played by meryl streep and steve martin, though both were decades older than themselves, saul just didn’t keep up to date with movies after earning his law degree. 

point being: from the outside, it might have looked like there was still love there. but there wasn’t—the love that had once held them together only existed in the corporeal form of their son.

he laughed softly, the rise of his chest disturbing his glass of whiskey that he held on top of his stomach with interlocked fingers. “some rich kids are late bloomers, i guess.” though his flippant mirth faded away as they spoke of their father. it was, if nothing else, the way he could relate to terry. his own father’s death was approaching forty years ago, but the pain of it, that absence, hurt just as much as it did when he was a teenager. terry may have gotten more time with daniel, but he supposed that was an agony in its own class—to have your father for so long, just to lose him anyway. “it’s a beautiful place.” saul commented quietly, eyes scanning over the mantel as terry’s had. another thing in common: his own home had been decorated with a few choice family pictures. despite their divorce, the framed picture of terry and saul holding baby micah moments after birth in the hospital remained on his bedside table. 

“i have never once accused you of being tacky.” though some members of their community referred to them as the lowlysteins, that had never once been used by saul or any of his immediate family. (he could testify on the behalf of his many other extended relatives.) “if anything, you’re annoyingly classy.” there, the teasing mirth returned. at the offer, saul began to sit up from the couch and placed his half-consumed drink on the coffee table. “sure, i’d love one.” he had to assume there was something they wanted to show him, just by offering a tour, so he was in no position to refuse.

“Saul, I headed an architecture firm for close to fifteen years. I would be bad at my job if I hadn’t graduated from my first duplex unit in Maple Avenue.” Before that, a studio co-op unit in Franklin Avenue, with peeling paint and the makings of mold on the walls; their brother Abe’s home in Manhattan, for a brief few weeks; in their parents’ Harlem apartment, where they’d settled days after the separation, with a mother who’d greeted them with open arms and a father who’d sported only a disapproving stare, his last judgment onto Terry resounding amid the confines of the first home they’d ever known—“This is only commensurate.” 

Strange, how they’d been so committed to the role of a lone caretaker for so long that they’d failed to ask the father of their child for help at all. It had never really occurred to them—for relying on herself, rather than on him, so chronically absent and an insurmountable distance away, almost provoked an odd sort of peace. Saul wouldn’t hear her. Or, if he did, he wouldn’t respond. That made the arrangement quite simple.

Terry figured he should’ve at least been interested in knowing what his son’s room might have looked like, how they’d given him the room with the west-facing windows so that the golden light bathed his room with warmth in the late afternoon. But he had never asked. They didn’t know when he stopped asking, or when they stopped caring, and the rift widened over the decades that the point soon grew moot, academic, losing the justiciability. 

And, anyway, it wasn’t like they were particularly keen on knowing Saul’s living arrangements. Tamara had certainly offered an abundance of those stories. Had sat on this couch, multiple times over, trading anecdotes about her life in Manhattan, about her and Saul’s Midtown apartment, even as her words were punctured with a shared loneliness that came with marrying someone so obsessed with his light that he’d failed to see what was lurking in the shadows. On some occasions, she’d asked for advice on how to decorate her and Saul’s own home, on Lex and East 50th: what color of walls would work against the warmer, honeyed tones of the wood; which subtle patterns could be added without overwhelming the space; which accents could best complement the paneling, wainscoting, and staircase banisters.

Terry never really found out if Tamara had entertained, let alone acted on, their advice. Or if their fire-kissed successor had merely been polite, softening the boundaries between her and the mother of his only child, whose presence so burned him that he’d deliberately withheld bringing another Weissberg to life. And if Tamara had acted on it, well, they weren’t sure if Saul even noticed. But it was easy to indulge in the thought of that apartment decorated with Terry’s keen insights, at once a presence and an absence. They could never quite muster the jealousy appropriate in those years, they thought, in knowing that Saul was slowly building a life independent of her and Micah, so much as they’d pictured being in his position. A thriving career, an apartment in Midtown, a son to come home to, and a wife to call her own… Tamara to call her own… 

That was so long ago now. They willed themselves back into the conversation, taking a sip of the whiskey they had poured for themselves, savoring the fire, as Saul talked about a charity luncheon to support a queer youth organization. “Sure, why not?” As far as causes go, they couldn’t think of anything more appropriate. Oddly fitting in the irony. “I’ll quite literally be in the neighborhood, anyway.” They added, with a hint of a smile, though it didn’t quite reach their eyes. 

“Well, luncheons aren’t my favorite. But I can play nice. Is this not a case in point?” They gestured around the room. The nightcap. The drinks. The living room lit just right. The shared company. Yet even in a scene as constructed as this, silences with Saul Weissberg were never comfortable. Not when their brand of normalcy was characterized by noise. Even their silences were never just that. It was piercing, harsh, guttural. And the year—no, the months—before their son? Well, it wasn’t as if either of them had done much talking. 

Their gaze drifted to the mantle, at the yahrzeit candle waiting to be lit tomorrow evening, flanked between the portrait of her and Micah—taken after one of his stand-up routines, an evening where he had pulled her into crowd work and made crude jokes about NPR tote bags, college kids in NYU sweatshirts, and the RMS Titanic—and their father, all three wearing three rare smiles, moments caught in the amber of memory, developed from film. 

The thought of their father brought Terry back to Saul’s earlier comment. “Fine, Weissberg. I might be a rich kid, after all. My father did help with the financing,” they admitted, the words dragged out of them with a small, almost amused, tug of their lips. They let out a soft sigh and took another sip of the whiskey, “It’s a lot of space, I know. It wasn’t always this… populated.” It was easier, again, to talk about a building—form, movement, and color. “Three bedrooms, three bathrooms. A pool. Papa was imagining this to be a bit of our family home, I think. We never had…” The thought trailing off, Terry instead leaned back into the couch, their posture stiffening just slightly. 

Memories flickered like half-lit rooms, doors left ajar. And among them, one of the more painful recalls, for invoking their father’s memory resurfaced his last words to her for years, the day she had announced the quick work of their marriage: You’re not naïve, Ketzi, Katie, Terry, whoever you are now. You never were. You’re diving headfirst into a man you’ll outgrow before you’ve even settled in. It’s not romance, it’s sabotage, you’re in freefall and you’ll hit rock bottom soon enough. 

Funny, they thought, they couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t falling.

“Well, you know my family’s history. I guess the extravagance all rings to you as a bit tacky.” They tilted their head toward him, an invitation hanging in the air. “Did you want a tour of the house?”

[saulweissberg]

maybe it wasn’t a surprise, seeing as he had three ex-wives behind him, but saul liked to play the hero occasionally. it appealed to his genteel nature as a man from a long line of blue blooded professionals. saul held on dutifully as she situated herself, shrugging off her embarrassment. “don’t worry about it. at least i was here to catch you, right?” better than the alternative, he thought, of falling down onto the pavement. contrary to her current predicament, he thought she seemed rather graceful. perhaps it was just the accent. and the clothes, noticeably designer-made like his own. when she asked after his name, he canted his head again towards the sign hanging above the door that proudly read: the weissberg law firm. “weissberg. saul weissberg.” saul e. weissberg, esquire, he neglected the impulse to finish off his full title.

“c’mon, i’ll help you in.” he moved in a half-turn to reach behind him and open the front door with his unoccupied hand. inside, there was a small bench beyond the doorway and a coat rack alongside it, before it was closed off by another set of doors that opened up to the lobby and receptionist’s desk. all decorated by one of the finest interior designers he knew, flown out of manhattan to specifically makeover the building that had once been a bank. gingerly, he helped the damsel into the doorway and directed her towards the bench. “i have a great shoe guy in chicago, i can give you his name if you’d like.” saul closed the front door behind him. “you mind if i take a look?” he asked, pointing at the offending shoe.

Grace’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she straightened herself, still holding on to the man’s arm for support. Of all the ways to make an impression, tumbling into someone like this was not even on her list. Her eyes darted from the broken heel to the stranger’s face – thankfully, he seemed more amused than annoyed. “I’m fine, just mortified,” Grace admitted with a breathy laugh, her composure slowly returning as she brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen out of place. “I was balancing too many things at once, and my heel decided it had had enough of today’s adventures. I’m not normally this clumsy, I swear.” The man’s offer for her to sit had her glancing down at her dangling heel, and then up at the building he gestured toward, her gaze flickering with interest when he mentioned owning it. A law firm, no less. At least she didn’t trip into someone unimportant. Grace sighed softly, shifting her weight slightly to ease the discomfort of standing in her broken designer heels. “That’s very kind of you, Mr…?” she paused, raising a brow as if to coax his name from him, her tone pleasant and gracious. Grace flashed him a small smile, her charm slipping effortlessly back into place. “I might need to take you up on that. This shoe is beyond saving and I would hate to make an even bigger spectacle of myself out here.”

[saulweissberg]

his son was far away now, run off into the night like a thief, and perhaps micah had taken saul’s heart with him when he left for new york. life still went on, though, and saul really should have been used to it, because he did the same to micah for twenty-odd years. enter his life, just to exit just as fast. it was why it was easier to step into that paternal role with nate. he didn’t have a history of disappointing nate like he had micah. he had yet to see that specific sort of heartbreak in nate’s eyes, the hurt and anger of a parent’s betrayal—not a betrayal on saul’s part, at least. right now, all he saw in their eyes was slight concern. “oh…” he said quietly, snapping his file shut with one hand. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to ignore you, my mind’s just…” saul trailed off, glancing out the window. a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t last. “you’re always fantastic in my eyes.” he placed the file on his desk and then leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “i could do with some coffee, though. i think i’m just tired—putting together a luncheon in two weeks isn’t for the faint of heart.”

awkwardly, although they had gone way beyond the point of being awkward with each other in truth, nate shuffled from his toes to heels, shifting weight as he waited for saul's attention. look, nate was not the best when it came to reading; he often ended up staring out the window, or swivelling in his chair. but saul? reading in the same way he was? he wrapped one hand around the door ledge, and drummed his fingers. knuckle tattoos spelled out LOVE LOSE. at the time, he thought it was clever. ( he still did. ) "i'm not staring at you on purpose. if i was, it would totally be an accident. i definitely didn't ask if you wanted a coffee run for the fourth time or anything." saul — yoohoo, saul! — hello? earth to weissberg! — to nothing but static. rolling lips between his teeth. "uh, you sure? 'cause you can so be not fantastic. i'm rarely fantastic. you know this." nate figured it was the luncheon getting him down. but similar to a son, shy and uncertain in the face of his father, whether asking would get disapproval or not, he hesitated to give that voice.

[saulweissberg]

it seemed recognition hit them both finally, and rory was reeled back into saul’s orbit. despite wanting to hit on the carpenter, he wouldn’t force the man to be in his company if he didn’t want to be, and he’d be fine to let the conversation die before it even started. besides, as rory’s (future) client, he supposed it was best to put his libido to the side and treat the other man a little more neutrally… unless rory wanted to fuck him, too, then all bets were off. try as he might have throughout his thirty year long career, saul had crossed the ethical line of sleeping with a client more than a few times—usually after their divorce had been settled, however. he wouldn’t sacrifice all of his morals to get his dick wet. just most of them. saul threw his head back slightly with a laugh. “that’s me, apparently. i’m considering renting it out to some bhu film majors to use for their student projects if you can’t help me.” he joked good-naturedly. 

saul followed his gesture towards the banquet hall, lips pressing together in a firm line. “i’m required to—my firm is hosting the whole thing.” attaching his name to the event had been a decision he wrestled with briefly. he wanted the focus to be on bright sparks, but he had been the one to throw everything together in a short amount of time. the effort it took to change a birthday party into a charity luncheon was enough to justify his firm’s name being front and center. as long as the money went to bright sparks, then who really cared, anyway? still, he needed a moment away from all the chaos. even a hyperactive man such as himself needed a little peace now and then. “oh, la galleria’s great. the food’s amazing.” he knew the yilmaz family well, and the head chef was his client, but he decided that wasn’t pertinent information for rory to know. lest he sound boastful, and of course saul would never want that! “surely you can sneak away from your work and have a taste? it’s just a fifteen dollar buy-in and you can have whatever you want from the buffet. if they give you shit, tell ‘em saul weissberg said it was alright. they owe me, don’t worry.”

He’s stopped in his tracks by the other man’s recognition of him, and Rory turns to look at him slightly in surprise. Right. “Saul Weissberg,” he recalls, nodding his head slowly. Can’t really be abrupt and leave now, Rory supposes, since the man’s a client. He takes a couple of steps back toward the bench, offering the man a small smirk. “The man who lives on a film set. I remember.” Truthfully, he’d been relieved the other man had canceled — postponed — after his week had gotten far busier than he’d thought he’d be able to handle, and once his Thursday had opened up for a couple of hours, he’d spent it taking a long, comfortable, near-fatal nap. 

He gestures toward the entrance of the banquet hall curiously. “Having a good time in there?” he asks, more out of politeness than anything else. He figures he owes the man a conversation, at least until he’s properly dismissed. He’d rather not lose the prospect of more work as it is — he needs the money. Annie’s started joining more and more after school clubs, and he hardly wants to discourage his daughter from being so — adventurous, but Christ, it’s fucking expensive to be so extroverted, isn’t it? He would never have known, considering he’s anything but. “Never had food from La Galleria before, but I’ve only ever heard good things.” He eyes the cigarette in the other man’s hand — his expression, his demeanor. He looks less like he’s having a good time and more like he’s trying to calm himself down some, which is interesting. Wonders what his role is, here. At the luncheon. Looks like a man who’d be stressed about something, anyway, but he supposes most solicitors usually look that way to Rory. 

[saulweissberg]

it may have been conceited to say that saul was an experienced lover, but it wouldn’t make it any less true. in other, less polite terms, he was a whore. from the moment he became aware of his body in high school, he had developed an expansive taste. any gender, any race, any religion, any body type, it didn’t matter as long as they wanted him as much as he wanted them. he thought of himself as a genuine aesthete—he had known beauty in art and in people when he saw it. particularly when he was younger, when someone caught his eye in the bar or the grocery store or even in the courtroom, saul did everything in his power to get close enough to see if they were interested. if they were ready, so was he.

and was dilara ready. now, and when they first started sleeping together. in his expansive taste, there had always been a part of him that had a special fondness for redheads. dilara was objectively beautiful, and a truly kind person. probably too kind to be with someone like him, honestly. there was something sort of… pristine about her. just at first. saul knew his way around a woman’s body, but the way dee reacted to his touch those first few weeks was like he was opening a whole new world for her, teaching her something she hadn’t learned before him.

no, not just the first few weeks. even now, she reacted to his touch like it was the very first time, and g-ddamn was it encouraging every single time. the very concept of breakfast left both of their minds like it had never existed in the first place. with her hand stroking the outline of his stiffening cock and his bottom lip between her teeth, saul had no reservations on taking what he wanted. the feeling of palm was not quite enough pressure, so he pressed his hips into hers to trap her hand between their bodies. a low groan rumbled through his chest, and he carded one hand through her bright red hair at the nape of her neck to pull her head back for just a moment. saul laughed softly. “hi, baby.” he whispered before he dove back in, his other hand moving down to slip around her wrist to find the gathering wetness between her legs.

Dilara giggled at his words, though her thoughts hadn’t been too far off either. With the way he was wrapped around her she couldn’t care if he took her right up against the glass at that very moment. The likelihood of it happening sent shivers down her spine. For someone who put so much thought into her every move daily, Dee loved the moments where she could simply take a step back and enjoy the scene. Forget about everything and let someone else take the reins. She bit her lip at the groan that escaped him, seemingly becoming lightheaded with desire as if they hadn’t spent the entirety of the night exploring each other’s bodies. But still she craved his touch.  It was crazy looking back at it now, having gone almost eight years without being touched - aside from her own hands, of course. Seemed ludicrous since she did quite enjoy the intimacy that came along with sex, but her body had only known one and giving herself to another felt wrong. Made her insides clench with guilt as it cemented the end to a relationship she dreamed of since her early youth. Her first crush, first kiss, first love… first time. He had been everything she had wanted and more. Even throughout the years they grew apart as teenagers, he had been all she thought about. As if she’d been specially crafted for him. Giving her body away, even if her heart still remained with him, was traitorous in her mind. Luckily, she had outgrew those pestering thoughts.  Her hands purposely made their way around his waist and up his back, clawing at the soft flesh as if their bodies could merge into one. It wasn’t until meeting Saul that they thought about having something so enjoyably carnal with someone else. She was old schooled, her mother liked to point out, Dee liked the idea of falling in love and being with that person for her entire life just like her parents had found each other. But that life wasn’t for her past Leon, and she refused to give others a fighting chance. It certainly helped that the lawyer could talk sweet nothings into her ears which left her panting for a taste. She did try not to fall for the words, but after weeks of sensual tension and tightened nipples, she welcomed his touch.  Nodding her head as he spoke, Dee did her best to focus on anything but the moisture gathering at her core. She had forgone underwear upon leaving the bedroom and the heat of his body was doing far more than just tempting her at this point. Clashing her lips back to his, Dee had to refrain from climbing him like a tree. “Mhmm.” was all she replied, breakfast was the last thing on her mind by this point. She couldn’t remember having been hungry for it to begin with. Her teeth clamped onto the soft skin of his bottom lip as she moved her hand to caress his bulge. Working her hand along his length in slow delicate movements while he continued to grow against her stomach.

[saulweissberg]

“you can say that again, kid.” the past two weeks had somehow felt like an eternity and a blink of the eye simultaneously, and he had been incredibly stressed by the undertaking. fortunately, like any lawyer, he thrived under pressure, and saul had learned at a young age how to get what he wanted. the luncheon was slapdash, but—at least in his opinion—no one would be able to tell. the power of persuasion and perseverance prevailed! however, he never wanted to put together an event like this in such a short span of time ever again. or maybe he did, saul wouldn’t be able to think about that for at least another week. if it wasn’t for his caseload, he’d probably take a long vacation just to sleep. when nilay hesitated, saul glanced down and gave her another soft squeeze into his side. “are you sure? heller and fatima were expecting you to warm up the crowd for them.” he teased lightly, then grew serious. “are you feeling up to it? i won’t make you speak if you don’t want to, or maybe i can go on for you.”

@doctornilaybailey

Now, Nilay knew how stressful running an entire event must be for the man. Having to run all over the place and ensuring that everything was in place, that nothing was going wrong. So she knew to expect him to possibly look a little frazzled. Seeing him for the first time since she and Eli arrived, though... There was a ping in her gut that something was wrong. Yet, she tried to smile warmly as she wrapped her free arm around him. "Only two weeks? I think you've set the record," she teased warmly. In spite of the two week limit, the luncheon was incredible. The cause was wonderful and was fortunately receiving a hefty amount of donations; The venue looked stunning; The food and drinks were delicious; And the host wasn't too bad either. Her smile drooped as he asked about her speech. "Uh..." She swallowed a thick lump in her throat before taking another drink of her martini. "You know what? I was thinking that maybe Dr. Heller should go on before me. I heard a bit of his speech earlier and it sounded incredible. Same with Fatima, her speech is truly inspiring."

📜@saulweissberg