“Wait, what was that?” Pulling out the earbuds, Gina looked over her shoulder where the sound came from.

“Can you please move?” The woman was wearing sunglasses inside, which was the first thing Gina noticed. Second were the extravagant pearls hanging from her neck. Gina saw lots of women wearing pearls in southern California. But these? These were the biggest she’d ever seen before.

“Move? I’m standing in a line, waiting to order.” Gina gestured to the six people in front of her.

“Right. And I need you,” the well-dressed woman wearing pearls pointed at Gina, “to move. Please.” She emphasized the please, as though Gina would be more likely to move after saying it politely. Pushing Gina out of the way, she continued edging through the line without regard for anyone else. “Excuse me,” she nudged a young man dressed in a ripped Blink-182 t-shirt, torn jeans, black combat boots, laces undone at the top, and multiple piercings. His hair was jet black, shoulder-length, and shaved at one side. The few visible tattoos were bright and colorful. This was not the guy to push in line at a coffee shop. Gina waited to see what pearls would do when he wouldn’t move. Gina suspected the t-shirt guy wouldn’t move. She really hoped that he would stand up to her. Gina decided to give her a piece of hers if he didn’t.

He didn’t say a word but put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and guided her to the back of the line. Pearls started to protest. T-shirt put a stop to that. “There. You belong, right,” he pushed her back a little more, just behind the last person in line, “here. Try that again, Pearls, and I won’t be as nice. See all these nice people here? They are waiting patiently for their drinks, and you think that because you are wearing pearls, you are entitled to waltz up and pass up those of us who have been waiting? Or because I dress like this,” he pointed at his t-shirt and boots, “I don’t have the same money or power you do?”

“You can’t touch me!” pearls protested.

“I can. And I did. And, if you’d like, feel free to sue me. I doubt that you’d win, but you could try.” He handed her a business card.

“This isn’t a real business card,” she sneered. “And you aren’t an attorney.”

The young man laughed. “I get that a lot. Especially from those I defend in civil suits, like the one you will most assuredly attempt to file. My name is recognized by most of the courts in Los Angeles and Orange County. Call your attorney. He or she can tell you. And I am also certain he or she will overcharge you just to make that call. But right now,” he said, watching the line move up to the register, “if you’ll excuse me, I’m next.”

Pearls held her phone up to her ear, staring at the business card. To Gina, she thought pearls would stare holes through the business card! “Yes, Ms. Jennifer Standoval, for Brian Powell.” Pearls stood at the back of the line, moving when everyone else did. T-shirt ordered, paid for his drink, and made his way to the end of the counter, waiting for his drink. “Hello, Brian. Drop everything you are doing. I need to file a civil suit against,” she glanced down at the card, “against Jordan T. Louis.” Jordan stood at the end of the bar, looking back down at Jennifer. Gina made a mental note of her name. It sounded familiar. “What do you mean? It’s my money! I can do what I like with it.” Jordan chuckled. Gina had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. “I see. How many cases? Over 700? Mhmm. And one loss? Who was that against? Oh. He settled.”

“Not exactly a loss,” Jordan whispered, loud enough for her to hear at the back of the line. Gina chuckled a little, still trying to contain her mirth.

“No, Brian. That’s not good enough. What do you mean you won’t take on a civil case against him? Of course, you will!” Jennifer started tapping her foot. “Because I pay you $750 an hour, that’s why!” Jordan picked up his drink walking up to Gina. “See,” he whispered to Gina, “he’s overcharging. I’d do it for $300 an hour.” Jordan winked at Gina. Before he left, he handed her a business card. “Call me if you’d like to go out sometime. Something tells me we’ve got a lot in common.” Gina smiled, nodding.

“Ms. Jennifer Standoval, just to show you there are no hard feelings, I did pay for your drink.”

Gina watched Jordan walk out of the café, listening to the sound of the chain connecting his wallet to a loop on his jeans. She smiled, playing with the business card. She’d never dated a lawyer before. The cashier waited for her to place her order.

“I’d like a vanilla latte with oat milk and two extra shots, please.”