Hovelville

In the county of Clapstop, Illinois, deeply embedded in flyover territory, stood a tiny hamlet known locally as Hovelville, where everyone lived in a modest structure known as a hovel. These were not wealthy, well-connected citizens, with profitable vocations and exalted positions. The population was, in fact, composed of the relative dregs of the American Midwest. Included amongst their ranks were fry cooks, shampooers, dishwashers, dog walkers, childcare workers, convenience store cashiers, and maids.

Milos Benes, an immigrant from the Czech Republic, lived on Colostomy St. at the south end of town, with his two children. Milos's wife, the late Radka Benes, had tragically perished more than a year ago when the hydraulic arm on the side loader refuse truck on which she worked seized her from the ground and plunged her into the bin. There she was compacted to death amongst more than a ton of Municipal Solid Waste (MSW). Unable to identify her remains, the Medical Examiner indifferently released a one-gallon container of refuse to the funeral director. They had a closed casket.

Since Radka's untimely passing, Milos had been struggling to raise his two wildly precocious children, Christina,10, and Melody, 12, and to keep his family financially afloat. Milos's best friend, his neighbor Abu, encouraged him to take legal action against Leviathan Disposal, but Milos was uncertain. One evening, while dining on generic Spam for the fourth time that week, he made up his mind: he would take the recklessly negligent bastards to court.

Milos, who was employed at a local diner as a breakfast cook, had to beg his boss, Robb, for the morning off in order to keep his appointment with the attorney suggested by Abu. Robb, eating french fries from a gallon bucket and chewing loudly, reluctantly gave his permission. Although Robb was loath, by his very nature, to give anyone a break, Milos Benes had worked for him for eleven years and seemed content to earn much the same wage the entire time (the federal minimum wage had increased recently to $7.25 per hour, much to Robb’s chagrin).

"Okay, Milos," said Robb, smacking his lips on the greasy fries, "but you'll have to come in on your day off to paint the dining room." Milos readily agreed, aware that union painters in his state earned on average more than $21 per hour, whereas his pay rate as a cook was stuck at about a third of that. But, as Robb often told him, "Yeah, but you get free meals!"

---

Milos padded up the walk to the little clapboard house on the edge of town, which served as the legal office of S.P. Shyster, Esq, the lawyer recommended by Milos's friend Abu. There was an uneven spot in the concrete, and Milos stumbled and fell hard to his knees. A curtain flicked open, and a face peeped out. Immediately, the door opened, and a comely, 30-ish female who was dressed for success emerged and rushed to Milos.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked. "Do you need an ambulance? A doctor? A hospital? Do you need medical attention?"

Milos staggered to his feet, embarrassed.

"No, I'm alright. Thank you." He looked into her eyes, was instantly charmed by both her concern and her pretty face. It had been a long time since Radka.

"If you change your mind, let me know, okay?" said the woman. She placed her hand on Milos's arm. It felt warm where she touched and he couldn't help but smile.

"You're very kind," he told her.

She batted away the compliment. "Do you have an appointment to see Mr. Shyster?" she asked. Then the striking female identified herself as Maddie, Shyster's paralegal/secretary.

Milos admitted that he did. Following her inside, he was handed a lengthy questionaire, plus a mean little yellow pencil, without an eraser, and he bent to fill out the form. His hand cramped.

After Milos had returned the questionaire, Maddie perused it. "Oh!" she said. "You were born in the Czech Republic. You don't even have an accent; I never would've guessed."

Milos smiled again. He was finding more to like about Maddie at every turn.

"What did you do in the Czech Republic?" inquired Maddie.

"Computer programmer," he replied.

Maddie's mouth fell open a little. "It says here that you work as a cook at The Way Station restaurant in Hovelville, for minimum wage," she said. "Why aren't you working as a programmer here?" she wanted to know.

"I'm illegal, Miss," he said. "I didn’t have permission from America to come here. I don't want to get deported back to Brno," he added, citing his hometown.

"Your children were born in America, though, right?"

Milos nodded. "Yes, they're both citizens," he replied.

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you come here? You had a good job in the country where you were born."

"Radka," he answered, "was Romani, and the government wanted to sterilize her against her wishes. Against both our wishes. So we came here."

"Oh, my God," whispered Maddie. "I had no idea."

Suddenly, a chime emanated from Maddie's phone, and she picked up the receiver. After a moment, she turned to Milos and said, "Mr. Shyster will see you now, Mr. Benes." Instantly, the door to the sanctum sanctorum opened, and the lawyer, tall and dark and nondescript, materialized.

"C'mon back, Mr. Benes. Can I call you Milos? Thank you. Have a seat, please.

---

"Milos, you missed a spot," said Robb fussily, pointing to the wall in The Way Station dining room that Milos was painting the following Monday. In Hovelville, all restaurants were closed on Monday.

Milos checked his Timex and said, “It's after noon; I think I'll grab something to eat." He started to dismount the ladder.

"Hold up there, cowboy," said Robb. "You're not cooking today, so you don't get a free meal. Besides, I'm paying you extra to work as a painter."

Milos only nodded, and Robb grinned evilly. In fact, the restaurant owner was paying his employee a bounteous $8 per hour.

God, thought Robb with a chuckle, this guy was such a miserable jerk.

The phone on the kitchen wall shrilled, and Robb promptly snatched it up. He returned to the dining room with a heavy frown and told Milos, "It's for you."

Milos took up the receiver and spoke for a few moments before he handed it back to Robb.

"You know I don't appreciate personal phone calls on the job,"  Robb rumbled unhappily.

"Hadda take the call, boss," replied Milos. "That was my lawyer's office."

"Lawyer?" exclaimed Robb. "You didn't get busted for crack, did you?" he asked, only half in jest. He knew how members of these ethnic subcultures were.

Milos shook his head. "No. I'm suing the waste disposal company that killed my wife."

"How can you afford a lawyer on what I pay you?" asked Robb.

"He's taking the case on a contingency basis," explained Milos. "I only owe him a fee if he wins."

"How much is he seeking in the settlement?" Robb asked nosily.

"$2 million," replied Milos.

Rob's mouth dropped open, and Milos thought he looked like a wide-mouth bass.

"Say, Milos," said Robb cautiously, "I had a year of law school, you know..."

But Milos cut him off with a curt shake of his head. "Thanks, Robb, but I signed a contract."

Rob nodded glumly, his visions of grandeur exploded. He walked from the restaurant. "I'm going to lunch," he said.

---

"Chris, Mel," Milos addressed his children that evening at home. "You're gonna have to testify in court, in the case I brought over the death of your mom. I told you I filed a lawsuit," he reminded them.

"How much will we get, Dad?" asked Chris, a short blonde bundle of energy, 10 years of age.

"Mr. Shyster is gonna ask for $2 million," replied her father.

"How much will we get to keep?" shrewdly asked Melody, 12 and redheaded and infinitely more worldly than her sister.

"60%," said Milos.

"Why does he get 40% -- $800,000?" she asked, doing the math instantly. "We lost somebody, not him."

"Yeah," said Milos. "I know how you feel, but he's got the legal smarts and he's doin' all the work. He's takin' a chance; if he loses, he don't get nothin' either."

The girls thought about this for a moment, and Chris said, "I guess that's fair."

Melody nodded her red head in agreement. "You know what this could mean, don't you, Dad?" she asked winsomely.

"Umm?"

"No. More. Spam."

"Yay!" the three chorused.

---

"Hi, Maddie," said Milos, entering the office and walking boldly up to her desk. Clad in a form-fitting skirt and fashionable top, she looked fetching, thought Milos for the umpteenth time.

"Hi, Mr. Benes," Maddie greeted him in turn. "How are you doing?" She checked her appointment book. "You don't have a meeting scheduled for today, do you?" she asked.

"I came in to talk to you," Milos informed her. "I need to ask you two questions.”

She narrowed her eyes at him a bit and said, "Okay, shoot."

"First, could you call me Milos?"

Maddie seemed relieved. "Sure. Milos, it is. What's your other question?"

"Would you have lunch with me?"

Very surprised indeed, Maddie hesitated for only a moment. "I'd like that...Milos." She checked her watch. "I don't take lunch till 12:30, is that okay?"

Milos nodded and smiled. Telling her he'd be back in three hours, he departed. At a quarter after twelve, Milos reappeared, bearing a wicker basket. Maddie blinked at it.

"I thought we'd have a picnic," Milos informed her.

It was Maddie's turn to smile.

---

Milos and Maddie walked from the legal office to the park, which was but a block away. As they walked through a brisk spring wind, errant plastic grocery bags brushed against their ankles, and aluminum cans were swept noisily along. Spent cigarette butts littered the ground.

"Nice day," remarked Milos hopefully, the picnic basket swinging on his arm.

"Wouldn't kill the town council to pick up the trash," muttered Maddie. Milos shrugged. "What'd you get us to eat, Milos?" asked Maddie.

"Chicken pot pie," he replied. "With potato salad and cole slaw."

"Did you go to KFC?" she inquired.

"No!" He feigned injury. "You know I'm a cook."

"But you're a breakfast cook," she reminded him. "That means you prepare what? Biscuits and gravy, eggs over-easy, hash browns...?" Milos frowned until he realized that Maddie was only ribbing him, and then he laughed.

The picnic was a success. So much so that, for the remainder of spring and into the summer, Milos and Maddie had a regular date for a picnic every Monday, on his day off from the diner.

One afternoon, as they noshed on chicken that Milos had fried himself, he asked Maddie, "Have they set a trial date yet?"

Maddie shook her head no. "They're still doing discovery," she said, then added that "Mr. Shyster says they may have a date for the end of November."

Milos pondered this information. November was several months away. "How long would the trial take?" he asked.

"It varies, Milos," said Maddie. "It might be over in two days, but it could take as long as six weeks. It depends on how many witnesses get called. Don't let this get out," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "but Mr. Shyster found out that Leviathan has been sued twice before over similar complaints."

"Really?" asked Milos. "Were there deaths involved?"

She nodded. "Yes, in both cases. There was the same freak malfunction of the hydraulic arm, and two others died.”

Milos suddenly grew melancholy. Here he was, alive and well, and having a picnic with a beautiful woman that he was growing closer to. And his poor wife, the mother of his two wonderful daughters, had paid the ultimate price of her victimization. A tear seeped out of his eye.

"I'm sorry, Milos," said Maddie consolingly. She laid her fingers against his arm. His flesh burned where she touched him.

"No," he said, feeling a maelstrom of mixed emotions. "It's nothing you did. I had to find out eventually. Thank you for telling me,” he said softly. Before he knew what was happening, Maddie leaned into him, and her lips were soft on his own.

---

“How’s the litigation coming along, Milos?” asked Rob one day as Milos worked the grill, the fryer and the steam table simultaneously. He was, thought Robb, like a conductor leading an orchestra; the movements the man made were at once deft and discrete and fluid and purposeful. Milos poured out pancake batter into perfect circles, flipped eggs, and rolled up an omelet. He upended rashers of bacon and placed the bacon press atop the sizzling slices of pork. He snatched slices of browned bread from a toaster and brushed them with melted butter with a pastry brush. He plated a breakfast steak, sausage patties, and then everything else. Milos wiped his spatula clean on a wet towel, then turned to his boss.

“Pretty good, I guess, Robb,” replied Milos. “We go to trial in six weeks. I’ll need to have time off on the 23rd and 24th of November; that’s the days my lawyer has scheduled my testimony. Is that okay?’ he asked.

Robb grimaced. He rarely cooked anymore. But, if he were going to stay on Milos’s good side and perhaps inveigle him into investing his settlement money in his restaurant, maybe even buying him out at inflated prices, then he had to play his cards right. “Sure, Milos, take all the time you need.”

Milos grinned. “Thanks, boss.”

---

“I’m bringing a lady home for dinner tonight, girls,” Milos told his daughters.

Chris and Melody shared a glance.

“What’s that?” asked Milos, catching the exchange.

“Is this the same chick you picnicked with all summer?” asked Melody.

“How’d you know about that?” he asked. He thought he had been discreet.

“Dad, we’re not children. We saw you pack the picnic basket every Monday, and you didn’t pack it with Spam, either,” Melody said pointedly. Milos flushed.

“We followed you one day and saw you in the park with this cute girl. Is that your lawyer’s secretary?” asked Chris, “the one that’s always calling you?”

“Yeah, busted,” said Milos, humbled. “I kinda like her, you know?”

The two girls stared at him.

“This doesn’t mean I don’t still love your mom,” he went on. “But...”

“But mom’s not here anymore. We know you’ll always love her,” said Melody. “That’s no reason for you to be lonely. We were kinda wondering when you’d find a new girlfriend. We had a bet on when,” she said.

Milos’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “Who won?” he asked.

“Well,” said Chris, “let’s just say that I’m shoveling the walk this winter.”

---

Dinner was a success, more or less. Having learned all about her boyfriend’s children, Maddie greeted them by name on sight. Immediately, the girls exchanged “that look.” Maddie seemed not to notice. After steaks--a rarity in the Benes household--plus all the trimmings, Milos produced a freshly baked apple pie.

“My,” said Maddie effusively. “I can gain 5 pounds by just staring at it."

The girls rolled their eyes in unison. Maddie was anything but obese.

During dinner, Maddie and Milos chattered freely, but the girls had little to say. At length, Milos had had enough of it. He laid his napkin aside and said, “Chris, Mel, Maddie, here is my girlfriend. She's a part of my life now, and I want you to get to know her. Don’t you have anything to say to her?”

The girls sat stiff as planks.

“Ask me anything you like, girls,” invited Maddie. She smiled.

“Okay,” said Chris. “Are you two doing it yet?”

“Chris!” said Milos, “that’s impolite.”

“It’s alright, Milos,” said Maddie. “It’s a natural question. And the answer,” she began, and she had everyone’s rapt attention, “is none of your business.”

Milos seemed relieved, and the girls looked deflated.

Melody piped up with, “Are you glomming onto my dad because you know he’s gonna win a couple million bucks?”

Maddie sat mutely, blinking at them.

“Mel!” scolded Milos. “That’s not nice!”

“I think it’s a natural question,” mocked Chris.

“That’s alright, Milos,” said Maddie again, touching his arm. “Girls, I happen to like your dad very much. He’s a fine man and there’s a lot to him. I’m frankly surprised that his own daughters don’t think enough of their father to imagine that a woman, any woman, could find him attractive and good company.” She forked up a bite of pie and chewed furiously.

“Whoa,” said Melody breathlessly. “Good one!”

---

Shyster proved to be a better lawyer than he’d thought. The jury found Milos’s case so compelling that they awarded actual damages of $1 million, as requested in the suit, but quadrupled the punitive damages of $1 million that the attorney had asked for. The upshot was that Milos received 60% of a settlement of $5 million. The award made all the news media, and Milos was flooded with requests for money, unsolicited advice on how to invest his fortune, and random, aimless peddlers and miscreants trying to get rich quick.

Milos handled it all in stride. After all, he was an immigrant from a repressive society who had lived for 15 years as an illegal in the land he had chosen as his home. Curiously, the issue of his legality never arose. Still, Milos contacted an immigration attorney and embarked on a route to citizenship.

Maddie, Milos, and the girls sat around the dinner table two days following the court’s ruling, after the Thanksgiving meal, discussing their future. Receiving an advance on his judgment from his attorney, Milos had retired at long last from the food service industry, but with no regrets. He had other things to consider.

“Are we gonna move out of Hovelville now, Dad?’ asked Chris nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” said Melody wistfully. “We could move to Beverly Hills now if we wanted to.”

Milos was bemused. “I suppose an upgrade is not out of the question,” he said. He looked fondly across the table at Maddie. “But Hovelville has its good points too.”

Maddie smiled sadly. “Are you going to move, Milos? The schools in Hovelville aren’t the greatest. The girls deserve better.”

“We all deserve better,” said Milos. “You told me you want to finish law school. With this money, you can do that.”

“That’s your money, Milos, and the girls’,” said Maddie. “I can’t take it. It’s not mine. I didn’t start dating you in hopes of striking a payday.”

“You don’t need to prove anything, Maddie,” said Milos. “You’re part of ‘we’ now. “We all love you.”

“That’s right, Maddie,” said Melody. The woman looked at the girl. “And we know you two are doing it now,” she added.

Maddie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“We may be young,” added Chris with a grin, “but we ain’t deaf.”