SquidgeWorld Archive

Alan sat back in his chair, looking across the desk at his client. The young man was slightly built and thin, standing at least an inch taller than Alan. His short brown hair was mussed as though he'd just rolled out of bed, his hazel eyes glittering. But it was the clothing that startled Alan into his silent perusal of Sean Sanders. The dress-like button-up shirt was a pale palette of the entire color spectrum, the loosely-hung lavender tie was askance. And the bright white pants screamed to any and all that would listen that he was the queen of queens.

Alan had to laugh. He wondered what Denny would think of this one.

"Mr. Shore?" Sean said in that light, high voice he had gotten used to over the past hour. "Do I, ya know, have a good argument, or what?"

"Mr. Sanders," Alan said, rising and holding out his hand. "I believe you do indeed have a good argument and will be more than happy to defend you."

"Oh, goody, goody, goody!" Sean bounced to his feet and continued bouncing as he shook Alan's hand. Alan stifled his smile, not altogether successfully, as Sean turned and...literally...pranced out of the room. "Thank you, Mr. Shore, oh, thank you!"

Alan couldn't help but laugh as Sean very nearly ran into Denny, who was on his way into Alan's office. Sean fell all over himself apologizing. The words "Denny Crane" floated to his ears, but Alan all-out chortled when he heard Sean say quite brazenly, "Oo, Mr. Crane, aren't you just the cutest!"

A red-faced Denny entered the room, still turning and looking over his shoulder intermittently at Alan's departing client. "Is he prancing?" Denny asked.

"I think the more appropriate question would be: did he just hit on you?" Alan asked, eyes dancing in amusement.

"Nonsense. Is he a...I mean, is he...? He has to be."

"He certainly is, Denny. And he thinks you're cute."

Denny thought about that for a moment, his chest puffing ever so slightly, chin rising into the air. "Damn right. See, even the gays find me attractive. I've still got it. I'm Denny Crane."

"That you are," Alan replied with amusement.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

The next morning Alan arrived characteristically late to the daily round table in which all cases were discussed, updated and generally laid out so everyone knew where everyone else was.

"Mr. Shore, so glad you decided to join us," Paul said disapprovingly, his eyes shooting daggers. "Am I to understand you've taken on the defense of one," he perused the paper in front of him, "Sean Sanders?"

"Yes, you are to understand that," Alan replied, seating himself in the only empty seat between Shirley and Brad. He held up a red delicious and turned to Brad. "My, but this looks ripe and juicy today, doesn't it?"

Brad narrowed his eyes and made a face as he looked away.

"What, exactly, is the nature of this case?" Paul asked, trying desperately to keep the meeting moving along.

"My client was arrested for shooting an intruder in his home."

Paul frowned. "Well, you know that's against the law. What's your defensive strategy?"

"That he's gay," Denny chimed in from the opposite end of the table.

"What?" Shirley asked.

"Well, he is," Denny said.

"Precisely," Alan added.

"Your defense for him shooting instead of running is that he's gay," Shirley repeated.

"Yes," Alan said, swallowing the bite of apple he'd just chewed up and offering her the apple. "Fruit?"

"You aren't kidding." This from Denny.

Paul shook his head and rubbed his eyes as though a good-sized headache had already begun to set in. "Okay, then, Denny, I understand you've almost got Blackstone on board."

"Of course. Who wouldn't want to be represented by Denny Crane?"

Paul ignored him. "The good news, girls and boys, is that Blackstone Enterprises will represent upwards of $4.5 million per year if they choose to retain Crane, Poole and Schmidt as sole counsel." Denise whistled as she and Brad exchanged raised eyebrows. "The bad news is that quite recently, they were slapped with a class action lawsuit stemming from the manner in which their diamond mines are operated. If we do get them, we're going to need someone top-notch who can devote a lot of time to nursing them through the first year."

"I'd be happy to take it," Brad said.

Paul studied him for a moment, his thoughts interrupted by Denny. "If Blackstone comes on board, they're mine, Paul."

All eyes at the table turned back to Paul except Alan's. He cocked his head at his friend. Denny tried to look sure of himself.

"Let's just see if you can get them. We'll worry about permanent representation later. Okay, I think that wraps it up. Back to work."

Everyone stood except Alan, who was thoroughly enjoying eating through the rest of his apple. He watched Denny get up and sidle over toward him.

"You think that gay guy really thought I was cute?" he asked.

"Denny, Paul Lewiston just basically told you that you aren't going to be allowed to represent a multi-million-dollar client that you're responsible for bringing in, and you're worried about Sean Sanders thinking you're cute?"

Denny shrugged. "I can handle Paul."

"Ah. But you can't handle another man telling you that you're cute."

"It disturbs me."

"Denny, you are disturbed."

"Mm." There were a few moments of silence in which Alan finished his apple and rose to throw the core in the trash can. He rolled his eyes when Denny asked, "Did he say you were cute?"

"No, but that goes without saying, don't you think?"

Denny eyed him critically. "I'm not sure I'd call you cute, exactly."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Then what...exactly...would you call me?"

"I wouldn't call you anything. Now stop trying to get me to sleep with you."

Alan grinned as they left the conference room.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Alan couldn't resist. The temptation was simply too great. His first appearance with Sean Sanders in court was tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, and Sanders was coming in this afternoon to go over the questions Alan would be asking him on the witness stand. However, Alan was planning on turning it into much more than just a simple meeting with a client.

"Ah, Mr. Sanders, welcome," Alan said, rising and shaking his client's hand. "Glad you could make it."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this. It's important to prepare."

"Yes," Alan said, noting with great amusement that Sean's attire was even more flamboyant than the last time they'd met. This time he wore a white shirt with ruffles all the way down the front, and ruffles at the ends of the sleeves. His jeans were light pink, light lime and white pinstripes and Alan would swear the man was wearing eye shadow.

Oh, this was too perfect.

Alan was running through the questions he would ask, coaching Sean as to how best to answer them, and had been at it with him for over half-an-hour by the time the knock came at his door. "Excuse me," he said, getting up and crossing to the door. He opened it. "Why, Denny, what a pleasant surprise."

"Surprise?" Denny queried, striding into the room. "You invited me. In fact, you very specifically said I had to be here at four-thirty."

"So I did. Denny," Alan said, stepping out of the way and gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk, "I'd like you to meet Sean Sanders. Mr. Sanders, this is Denny Crane."

"Oo, I remember you!" Sean nearly squealed, bouncing to his feet. He seemed oblivious to the look of horror on Denny's face as he moved forward and gently took one of Denny's hands in both of his own. "You're the cute one I ran into a few weeks back!" Sean leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind, you know."

Denny just stared at him with wide eyes, then shot a pleading look at Alan. For his part, Alan just stood there looking as smug as ever.

"I mean, the way you dress powerhouse with this suit," Sean said, running his hand over Denny's lapel, "and this tie...well, it's in poor taste, but it's oh, so distinguished," he finished, running a finger all the way up to the knot. "And your eyes, they're on fire," he breathed while Denny stood frozen to the spot. Sean moved slowly in a circle around him. "Take my stick shift for a test drive?"

Denny looked as though he might faint at any moment.

"My God, you just ooze manliness, Mr. Crane. I don't suppose you're available for dinner tonight."

Denny looked at Alan again. "I thought you and I were having dinner tonight."

Sean's face fell. "Oh, my, my, my, what a tragedy. I had no idea you were already taken," he pouted, hand on Denny's arm.

"Taken?" Denny repeated.

Sean looked from one to the other and sighed loudly. "Yes, I should've seen it before," he said, his eyes landing on Alan. "The way you look at him...I can feel the love." Sean wrapped himself in a hug. "And you," he turned to face Denny. "Well, who wouldn't be able to tell how preoccupied you are. I mean, if my charms can't get at you, someone else obviously already has."

"You're absolutely right," Alan said, his face completely serious as he moved to Denny's side and put his arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Sean, but Denny is most definitely taken."

Sean shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, lucky, lucky man," he intoned before uttering yet another dismal sigh. "Ah, well. Such is a queen's lot in life," he smiled good-naturedly.

"It's okay, Sean, you can go. I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow."

Sean nodded, but before leaving he put his lips to Denny's ear. "Just because you're taken doesn't mean I can't dream."

Alan stood there with his arm comfortably draped over Denny's shoulders while Denny reeled in shock from the encounter. It was a full five minutes before he could even move. When he did, he shrugged Alan's arm off.

"That was deliberate."

"It was."

"You invited me here on purpose because you knew that...that..."

"Homosexual?"

"Homosexual...would be here."

"I did."

"Why? You enjoy making me uncomfortable?"

"I live for it."

"Well, now he thinks we're a couple!"

"Aren't we?"

Denny scowled. "You know damn well I don't drive that kind of car."

Alan opened his office door. "Then perhaps it's time you traded for a newer model."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"And so you see that it's quite simple." Charles Grace stood in front of the jury, leaning against the wooden wall that separated the jury box from the open floor. "Sean Sanders shot a man in his home. The law clearly states that engaging in such activity is illegal. Sean Sanders broke the law. Sean Sanders needs to pay for his crime."

Alan frowned at Grace as the older man took his place behind his table. For a few seconds, Alan didn't move.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is Alan Shore." He rose from the wood chair and smoothly buttoned his jacket. "Two months ago, my client, Sean Sanders, was spending a comfortable Boston summer evening in his ground floor apartment curled up on the sofa with a good book. I'm sure some of you know how it is, you find a good book, it's a warm, relaxing night, and with your glass of iced tea or hard lemonade in hand, you sit down intent on enjoying the magic of the written word."

He stopped right in front of the jury box.

"But instead of the nice, quiet evening my client had planned, he found himself to be on the wrong end of a gun. A gun being pointed at him by Carl Aiken, who picked the lock on his front door and entered Mr. Sanders' apartment with malice aforethought. Even the State doesn't question this sequence of events. But what they," he gestured toward the plaintiff table, "would have you believe is that instead of running into his bedroom and pulling his own gun out of the night stand after Mr. Aiken made it clear what his intentions toward Mr. Sanders were, Mr. Sanders should simply have tried to escape. Even though his windows are barred. Even though the intruder and potential rapist was between him and his front door. Even though his life was at stake."

Alan walked back and forth in front of the jury, reveling in the knowledge that all twelve pairs of eyes were on him.

"What we'll prove, ladies and gentlemen, is that the law which allowed Mr. Sanders to be arrested, the law which allowed us to be here before you today, is not only discriminatory, but indeed threatens the lives of every man in the State of Massachusetts, myself included. Chapter 278, Section 8A, was amended not one year ago, amended to match seventeen other states. We contend that amendment was a mistake. We'll show that while yes, Mr. Sanders did indeed shoot Mr. Aiken, it was in self-defense, and that no amount of playing to obscure laws that aren't befitting of the great state of Massachusetts can change the fact that if my client hadn't tried to defend himself, in his own home, you might very well be attending his funeral today instead of this court proceeding." He paused for dramatic effect. "Thank you."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"It's a very simple question, Mr. Aiken," Alan said as he approached the witness stand. "Did you or did you not specifically state to the defendant why you were in his home?"

"You will answer the question," Judge Bishop said pointedly.

"All right, yes, I did."

"And what, exactly, did you tell him?"

"I told him I'd heard down at Rocky's that he was..."

"Yes?"

"Good and tight."

Alan rested his elbow in one hand, the other hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I assume by 'good and tight' that you didn't mean he was cheap."

"No."

Alan looked at Aiken's arm, which was hanging in a sling from his shoulder. "Your shoulder," he said seriously, waving toward the wounded area, "does it hurt?"

"Like hell. Oh," Aiken said, turning toward the judge, "sorry, your Honor."

"It hurts like hell."

"Yes."

"And how do you think Mr. Sanders' buttocks would've felt once you finished what you intended to do?"

"Objection, calls for speculation."

"Your Honor, I don't think it takes any great stretch of the imagination to speculate as to exactly what part of my client would have been injured were Mr. Aiken to have been allowed to complete his task of raping him."

Judge Bishop frowned. "Overruled. Answer the question."

"It probably would've hurt."

"As badly as your shoulder hurts?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know." Alan walked away, then whirled on him. "Do you care?"

Aiken shrugged with his one good shoulder. "I wasn't thinking about it at the time."

"So you broke into Mr. Sanders' apartment specifically because you'd been told he was 'good and tight,' and you planned to find that out for yourself by taking advantage of him. By raping him."

"Objection, the witness is not on trial here, your Honor."

"The witness is the man my client was arrested for shooting, your Honor. He's as much a part of this case as the State of Massachusetts."

"I'll let it go this time, Mr. Shore, but instead of formulating your own opinions, you will stick to only asking questions."

"Thank you, your Honor. I have only one last question for Mr. Aiken. If you were sitting alone in your home, and someone broke in waving a gun in your face and telling you he was going to forcibly insert his penis into your rear end, what would you do?"

"Objection--!"

"No further questions."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"Mr. Sanders, would you be so kind as tell the court how you felt when Mr. Aiken appeared in your living room." Alan noted with no small measure of satisfaction that, as he'd requested, Sean had fully dressed the part of queen. He was wearing a suit, but it was a pearly pink suit with a white silk blouse underneath, and looked for all the world like it had actually been made for a woman.

"Well, you know, I mean, I was sitting there reading this book, oh, it was a good one, I was halfway through already, and I hear this noise and I look up, and there is this huge, scary man with these...big, bulging muscles and he's...he's just standing there with this gun pointed at me. Well," Sean fanned his face with his hand. "I was so scared I could've made a mess on myself, I thought, Oh, my God, I'm going to die!"

"And would you please tell me what Mr. Aiken said to you?"

"Well, he said he'd heard I was 'good and tight' from the guys down at Rocky's, you know, it's a gay bar I go to sometimes." Sean blushed and ducked his head. "Actually, I'm pretty famous around Rocky's. Anyway, after he said that, he told me he wanted to find out for himself just how tight I was."

"Did you say anything to him?"

"Well, yeah, I told him I didn't want him to, I was so scared, Mr. Shore, honest to God, I thought I was going to die. I begged him not to hurt me, begged him to leave, but he just kept coming nearer and nearer and said after he...well, he said the f word...he said after that he was going to kill me because little faggot queens like me don't deserve to live anyway."

"What happened then?"

"I knew I had that gun my brother had given me, God bless him, he's a military man you know." Sean looked heavenward. "You've gotta love a man in uniform. But anyway, I knew I had that and I thought, well, if he's going to kill me anyway, I might as well try to save my own ass. Literally and figuratively, of course."

Someone in the audience snickered, much to Alan's satisfaction. "So what did you do?"

"Well, I bolted off the couch and into my room, I got the gun and when I turned around he was standing there pointing his gun at me. He said, 'You better not even think about it, Queer,' and I saw his finger squeeze the trigger. So, I...I fired. I didn't want to die, Mr. Shore. I love my life. I love being a flaming homosexual."

The laughter was much more pronounced this time, forcing Judge Bishop to bang his gavel and ask for order in his court.

"One more question, Mr. Sanders. Were you aware of the Massachusetts State Law that forbids you from defending yourself or your home within the walls of your dwelling unless your wife or other female is present?"

"Are you kidding? Who ever heard of not being able to defend yourself when someone's waving a gun at you? Besides," Sean finished, coolly inspecting his fingernails, "if anyone's going to be a wife in any situation, it's me."

Alan saw one of the female jurors smile and try to hide it behind her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Sanders. No further questions, Your Honor."

Charles Grace rose and walked about halfway to the witness stand. "Mr. Sanders, did you truly feel that your life was in danger?"

"Well, sure, I mean, the big brute told me he was going to kill me. I'm not capable of beating someone like that off me."

"Did Mr. Aiken actually touch you?"

"No."

"Did Mr. Aiken get close to you at all?"

"No."

"Did Mr. Aiken take his shirt, or his pants off?"

"No."

"Do you really think he was there to rape you and then kill you?"

"Well, that's what he said. And he was waving the gun around."

"What if I told you, Mr. Sanders, that the gun Mr. Aiken was 'waving around' at you wasn't even loaded at the time?"

Sean's eyes widened as he looked to Alan, who'd risen to his feet. "Your Honor, may we approach?"

Judge Bishop nodded, and Charles Grace walked up to the judge's bench with Alan.

"Your Honor, I don't know what the counselor is trying to pull here, but there was never any mention in any of our discovery of the gun not being loaded at the time of the attack."

"Counselor?"

"Your Honor," Mr. Grace said huffily, "I didn't say the gun wasn't loaded at the time, I merely said what if I told him the gun wasn't loaded."

"Mr. Grace, you will not pull any shenanigans in this courtroom."

"Your Honor, with all due respect, this line of questioning is both relevant and necessary to establish the fact that Mr. Sanders made no attempt to find out whether or not he was truly in any danger when he so flippantly shot Mr. Aiken."

Alan turned to the older attorney. "You mean to say you wanted Mr. Sanders to wait until he was being raped or until a bullet had already ripped through his body before he fired his gun?"

"Your client shouldn't have done anything but try to get out of that house."

Alan shook his head and turned back to face the judge, who carefully considered them for a moment. "I will allow you to try and establish what Mr. Sanders did or did not do prior to shooting Mr. Aiken, but I will not allow guerilla tactics to accomplish it."

Both men nodded, and Alan returned to his seat as Grace began to speak. "Mr. Sanders, did, in fact, Mr. Aiken do anything other than verbally threaten you that night in your apartment two months ago?"

Sean thought for a moment before replying, "No."

"Thank you, I have no further questions."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"Ladies and gentlemen, the defendant would have you believe that because he's a homosexual man, he is somehow above the law. For years we've heard about the fight for gay rights. Well, what about the fight for the law? It doesn't matter whether you're gay or straight, what matters is that you are upheld to the same standards as the rest of society. And in the state of Massachusetts, you cannot injure anyone within the confines of your home. That law was enacted a hundred years ago, yes, but it was enacted for a very good reason: to keep neighbor from hurting neighbor. One hundred years later, we shouldn't allow Mr. Sanders and his attorney to convince us that it's okay to break the law just because you think something bad is going to happen. He tried to kill Carl Aiken. And he should be punished for it. Thank you."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"I object to Mr. Shore using his client's sexual orientation in his closing argument! This is about the fact that he broke a law!"

"Your Honor, my client is a flaming homosexual! He couldn't defend himself against a big, burly, Hulk Hogan-like intruder if you handed him a sword, an AK-47 and a pipe bomb!"

"Mister Shore, you will refrain from characterizing your client in this manner. I will instruct the jury to disregard Mr. Shore's words."

Alan pursed his lips, staring first at the judge and then at the men and women of the jury.

"Then I ask you this, ladies and gentlemen: why is it all right for the State of Massachusetts to characterize my client as capable of defending himself to the point that he has to leave his home, his possessions, everything he holds dear in the one place that is supposed to be his sanctuary, simply because his gender is male? And yet when I use my client's own words to describe himself to you, I'm told I can't?"

Alan shot a look at the judge, who shot the look right back. "You're walking on thin ice, Mr. Shore."

"No, your Honor, I am, in fact, skating on it." He turned back to the jury. "The State of Massachusetts says if you're a man, and you're home alone, and someone breaks into your house, you have to leave. If you defend yourself, you're the one under arrest. Never mind that it's your house to begin with. Never mind that the guy broke in." He held his hands up in the air, incredulous. "So basically, I can come over to your house tonight, sir," he gestured to the male foreman, "break down your door and start stealing your DVDs and your wife's jewelry, but unless your wife is actually home, you aren't allowed to defend your home or your personal property."

Alan walked back over to the plaintiff's table and held his hand out toward Sean. "I'm telling you that by even existing, this law is discriminatory in nature for two reasons. First, my client can't try to defend himself against an intruder because he's a man. If he'd been a woman, and had shot Mr. Aiken, the intruder, he'd have gotten away with it. It's what we used to call reverse discrimination. Second, the State assumes my client should fear less for his life when faced down by a loaded rifle than a woman should in the exact same position."

He paced back out to the middle of the courtroom, right in front of the judge, and looked to the jury one final time.

"All I ask is that you take into consideration the fact that my client is a homosexual man who tried to keep from getting killed in his own home. If he were a straight man, we'd still be standing before you, yes. But because he's gay, he will never have a wife living with him. And so for his entire life, my client will never have the right to stand up to anyone who tries to rob him, rape him...or even kill him. Instead he's expected to try and get away, to try and get out of the house. Even if those actions cost him his life." Alan paused, making eye contact with three jurors in succession. "I ask that you not support a law which makes it more important to be a macho, Marlboro manly-man than it does to live."

Alan nodded and sat down as the jurors looked at one another. He felt Sean's hand on his arm, looked at him and smiled.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"Mister Foreman, have you reached a unanimous verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor," the juror replied, handing a folded piece of paper to the bailiff. He took it to Judge Bishop, who read it, nodded and returned it.

"What say you?"

"In the case of the State of Massachusetts vs. Sean Sanders, on the count of violating Chapter 278 Section 8A of the Massachusetts General Laws, we find the defendant, Sean Sanders, not guilty."

Alan turned to Sean and was barely on his feet before Sean was wrapping his arms around him in a big bear hug. "Thank you, Mr. Shore, thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome, Sean," he grinned as he hugged him in return.

"Uh..."

"What is it?"

"You, uh...I mean, are you really involved with that Denny Crane?"

Alan looked at him for a moment. "Yes," he said. "I am. Sorry, Sean."

Sean's face puckered. "Oh, well. You know what they say. Anyway, I'm back on the market now without this threat of jail hanging over my head, so I might find my own Denny Crane."

Alan chuckled as Sean headed out of the courtroom. He was never going to let Denny live this down.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"I'm not sure why it makes me so uncomfortable to be honest." Denny silently contemplated the amber liquid in his glass. "It's kind of like...those car ads you see on TV."

Alan's brow puckered as he turned to regard his friend. "In what way?"

"Well...you know," Denny waved his hand in the air. "They show this beautiful, perfect, arousing car in the ad. It's going fast, it's...taking curves...it's perfect. Thrilling to drive. Everything you want as a man."

Alan waited as Denny looked thoughtfully into the distance.

"But then you...go to the dealership. You say, I want that one. She looks just as good as she did in the commercial. You get behind the wheel to take her for a test drive. And suddenly when you get out on the open road you realize...it's the same as...every other car you've ever driven."

"So what you're saying, if I may paraphrase, is that you can't judge a book by its cover."

"I liked my analogy better."

"Any idea what kind of vehicle would thrill you?"

"Well, not that stick shift client of yours." Denny took a drink. "There's only one kind of car I've never driven that even has the appearance of being appealing."

Alan smirked. "Foreign?"

"In many ways...yes. But it's definitely a domestic model."

Rising to his feet, smug look still upon his face, Alan buttoned his suit jacket. "I think I know just the vehicle you're looking for. Care to take a test drive? It's an automatic."

Denny, too, rose. "All right. Just remember who's in the driver's seat." With that, he left the terrace.

Alan grinned. "Just remember whose tank it is."