That was mildly surprising; one event at the Silver Panther conference didn’t seem worth reporting, particularly as it had nothing to do with the agenda they had just discussed over the phone. “Oh, yeah? What are they saying?”
“That it was a good tactical move by Masters, preempting the incumbent and the independent. Which reminds me—we’ve got a tight schedule of statewide fundraisers coming up, with a really big one between a couple of candidate forums. We’ll send the stuff to you and Tom this week!’
“Okay,” Matt said, and had hardly hung up when Harold ushered in two new potential clients. Matt greeted the Dennards, who were both beaming, helped them to a seat, then asked what he could do to help them.
“I’ve got an invention,” Mr. Dennard said. “It’s going to make millions when I get it marketed and produced. It’s a shoe insert that actually helps you walk and won’t let your arches down.”
“He’s real smart with his hands,” Mrs. Dennard said proudly.
“I see,” Matt said carefully. “And why do you think you need a lawyer, Mr. Dennard?”
“Why, for a patent, of course! And I have to get one right away, because the minute some of them big company fellas see this, they’re going to try and steal my idea. That happened to a golfing buddy of mine.”
“I don’t do patent law, Mr. Dennard. Did someone tell you I did?”
“Well, no . . . we just asked for a lawyer,” Mrs. Dennard said.
“Mind if I ask who referred me?” Matt asked.
“Rebecca Lear!” they both chimed at the same moment.
“Ah,” Matt said, nodding, silently wondering how many more ways the woman could possibly complicate his life. “I’ll have to thank her,” he said, and began to explain to the Dennards what they probably would have to do to get a patent, and the name of another lawyer who might be able to help them. It took a full, unbillable hour before Matt was confident that the Dennards understood what they needed to do.
The next afternoon, Matt finally found the time to get by the campaign offices, and when he did, Angie was out front, manning phones. She had tipped her hair in green this week, which Matt thought a much better color for her than the pink of last week. “Yo, Ang,” he said, strolling through.
“Matt!” she all but shouted, jumping up from her chair before he could manage to squeeze through the tiny entry. “Hey, listen—can you do me a favor? Can you watch him? I’ve got to get to the post office before it closes, and they’ve been behind closed doors a lot longer than I thought,” she said, motioning toward the back.
Matt stopped, confused. “Watch who?”
Angie pointed beneath her desk. Matt bent over, saw Grayson sitting in the little cubbyhole of the desk. “Hi, Matt,” he said solemnly.
“Hi, Grayson. What are you doing under there?”
“Reading,” he said, and held up a book, My Best Dog Friend.
“You like dogs?”
“I have three. Frank and Bean and Tater.”
Matt and Angie looked at each other. Angie shrugged. “So? Will you watch him? He’s really no trouble, but if I don’t leave right now—”
“So what’s the big meeting about?”
Angie was scraping stuff off the desk into a green canvas backpack. “I don’t know. Some fundraiser or something like that.” She dipped down on her haunches, peered under the desk. “Grayson, will you let Matt watch you? Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Matt echoed, “but how long?” he asked, following Angie as she threw the backpack over her shoulder and stuffed a box of campaign letters under her arm (all hand-addressed in perfect calligraphy, naturally. God forbid someone should feel like they weren’t personally involved in Tom’s campaign).
“I don’t know. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Pat’s coming later—if you have to take off, hand him over to her.” She pushed the glass door open. “Bye!” she yelled, and was outside before Matt could say anything else.
Grayson crawled out from beneath the desk. He was wearing khaki cargo pants that pooled around his ankles. On his feet were some sneakers that looked disproportionately enormous. His polo shirt hung to his knees, and the kid’s hair . . . man. That was some bad hair, no two ways about it, poor kid.
“Wanna play something?” Grayson asked.
Matt sighed, started toward the back. “Like what?” he asked over his shoulder with Grayson following solemnly behind.
“I don’t know.”