The Stiletto Vote

THE PASTURE

The pine-tree lined shores of Lake Sebago, Maine greeted Lawrence James “Mac” Cain’s eyes as he drove languidly over the black asphalt road leading around the five-mile-long resort area. He stopped his gray Mercedes L-Class car as he studied the scribbled directions to find the hamlet of Sebago Woods.

“You’ll love it there, Mac,” his Philadelphia friend told him. “You need to get away from the rat race for a while and this is the place to do it.”

At the age of fifty-three, Mac was burned out from thirty years of tort lawyering in a large legal law firm in his native City of Brotherly Love. After his second heart attack in five years, his doctor recommended a leave of absence and as less stress as possible. Since Mac recently divorced wife number two, a long-legged, brunette narcissist named Helen, he felt it was time for a change. He took the letter from his doctor and requested a year-long leave of absence from the most senior partner of the legal firm of Georges, Whitson, and Thomas.

Surprisingly, the senior partners agreed with the doctor and wished Mac well. “You haven’t had a vacation in a long time, Mac. We all here appreciate the great work you have done here for the better part of three decades. Come back and ready to work,” top legal eagle and general partner Daniel Whitson advised him.

The firm even found and bought a quiet brown-shingle, one-story cabin in Sebago Woods. It was complete with a porch, a well-appointed interior, and a complete lack of modern electronics such as an internet connection, although cable TV was included.

The kitchen was an old-fashioned one with light walnut panels and a three-seat dining table. The picture presented to Mac was very pleasant and intrigued the city-born and raised lawyer.

Mac was grateful for the chance to get away from the lawyer rat-race of Philadelphia. The longer he drove through Massachusetts and into Maine the better the decision to take life a little easy seemed to him. Since the day Mac graduated summa cum laude with a Jurisprudence Degree from Cornell University, Mac’s first love was the law.

He especially loved suing companies and their smug barristers for product poisoning. His specialty targets were the pharmaceutical companies of the world.

The veteran attorney of so many cases over the years saw himself as a champion of the afflicted through the promises and hope of pills over reality. In so many cases, Big Pharma tested the potions for all sorts of ailments – some petty, some serious – overseas with populations not inclined to sue for a few hundred dollars of American cash. Years later when side effects became well known, Mac’s patients found their way to Mac’s law firm and looked to him and his compatriots for an amount of relief.

Over the years, Mac earned millions of dollars for himself and his firm. Like all lawyers, he justified his high fees because without guardians of the victims like him, the big companies would take advantage of their patients and produce their noxious products with impunity.

But such success came at a serious cost and in Mac’s case it came with a price tag of two failed marriages and two adult children who barely spoke to him if at all. The heart attacks came from extreme stress of fighting government regulations written with Big Pharma political donors in mind, distracted judges, and obtuse opposing attorneys.

But like all tort lawyers, Mac quickly learned the art of saying the right thing to his juries, who invariably agreed with Mac and his cohorts to the sum of millions of dollars in damages, both punitive and otherwise.

Mac turned off the main road onto a small dirt road and searched for a mailbox nailed to a tree. ‘701 Old Sebago Road’ it read. “Home sweet home,” he mused aloud.

After unpacking some personal items, Mac walked through the cabin and found the picture presented to him did not do this rustic place real justice. The brown suede-leather couch in the living room was spacious enough to stretch out for an afternoon nap. The kitchen was rustic-functional, and Mac was pleased to see the stove and oven were gas-powered. The small bathroom and shower had a pleasant beige pastel pattern on the walls and the bedroom was large enough for a King-sized bed and a large bureau of drawers and closet.

An ash blonde Ikea eating table with four chairs completed the dining area. Lounging on the walls were tasteful settings and art from local Maine artists, none of whom were famous and in two cases, very, very dead.

But it was the view from the front porch that captivated Mac. It opened onto a beautiful view of the trees and the clear Sebago Lake, which barely rippled with any activity. A small footpath led to the lake barely a hundred yards away and Mac also spied a small boat with an outboard motor alongside a small pier. He was reasonably sure a small shed held various fishing gear.

The weather was slightly humid but not an uncomfortable 70 degrees as the wind wafted off the lake was with a pine-scented smell and wore a slightly sweet ozone odor and did not smell like a major city. Mac breathed deeply and smiled at the difference.

Mac realized this would be a perfect place to relax and recharge his mental batteries after his divorce and last heart attack. He changed into shorts, a t-shirt, and some sandals as he strode to the pier. It would be sundown soon and Mac wanted to take all the beauty in during his first day in this lake paradise.

As Mac investigated the off-murky lake, he saw his reflection and was not entirely pleased with the figure staring back at him. At barely five-feet, eight inches feet tall and a still-full head of hair, the middle-age Legal Beagle bulge around his stomach showed more than he liked. In his younger years, Mac could work and eat like a maniac without putting on a pound. He resolved to take long walks and exercise around this beautiful lake and learn how to take life easy.

The only connection to the outside world was a sophisticated cell phone but only four people had Mac’s telephone number and he liked it that way. All in all, Mac was happy with his new surroundings and would adapt one way or another.

After a dinner of steak, mashed red potatoes, mushrooms and a salad with vinaigrette dressing, Mac sat on the porch and listened to the sounds of the lake in twilight with his favorite nighttime beverage of Amaretto and Gevalia Swedish coffee.