I was forced to agree. "Yes, I think so."

The judge took my arm as we walked the few remaining blocks back to the chambers. "Harve is going to bring the car around to my spot, Brian. I've got that shrub in the back. You'll be there to help him get it into his car?"

"Certainly," I replied. "It was nice that her family could come."

"Well, Harve is retired himself now, so his days are fairly open. When Ilene leaves us next month, they plan to move to the shore to enjoy themselves in retirement."

"Did they find a house? I knew they were looking."

"Well, they're having one built. The shrub is for their new yard."

"Your toast was very thoughtful, Judge."

"Oh, and your speech was, um, memorable also, Brian."

"How long has she been working for you? Fifteen years?"

"Seventeen years." The judge had a faraway look in her eyes.

"Well, Ilene is such a wonderful person. I hope she's satisfied with her luncheon. I think we pulled it off for her."

The judge pulled out a cigarette and used me as a shield from the wind while she lit it. "Ilene is absolutely wonderful, I agree, there's no denying. Just wonderful. And how a sweet, lovely person like that could simultaneously be the most incompetent shmendrik I've ever hired is just�well, it's just staggering."

We finished our short walk to the chambers in silence. For Judge Selma the silence was a direct result of having nothing further to say; as for me, the judge's uninhibited honesty had struck me dumb. It was a remarkable sensation.

It was a hot day.

~~~~~~

"Uh-oh! Whatcha got there, Ilene! Uh-oh!" The Princess was exuberant and bouncy.

Ilene appeared in our door way with a tape deck and three unmarked cassette tapes. "Just wait until you see what I brought for you!" There was a musical lilt to her voice.

"What is it? What is it? Whatisitwhatisitwhatisit?!?!?!" The Princess could barely contain herself.

"These are tapes of my daughter. Singing! My daughter singing!"

I choked on my coffee.

"Now, where is a plug. I just need to plug this in. Where is�? I've got to just plug this in."

"Ilene, is your daughter a singer?" I asked.

"No, she's a waitress. Do you mind, just plugging this in behind you, dear?"

"Oh. Sure. Let me get that. Ok. We're all set."

"Now," Ilene centered herself and lowered her voice dramatically. "What I have here are thr-r-ree examples of my daughter's voice." The drama was intensified by the rolled r. "She could have been a professional singer if she'd gotten into this at a younger age. Professional, Brian."

"Three?" I asked nervously.

"What? You want more? I have more in the car. I can get you more, Brian."

"No! No, no no. No, I'm fine. Play the tape, Ilene."

The opening strains of the song were familiar, but it wasn't until the singing began that I knew what I was hearing. "Where was this recorded, Ilene?"

"At a karaoke place."

We listened for another minute before Ilene began dancing. And singing along. She raised her hands above her head and closed her eyes and just let go in a slow spin. "Gloria Gloria, I think they got your number Gloria. I think they got the alias Gloria!"

I, on the other hand, was having an out of body experience.

"Are the voices in your head calling Gloria?" Ilene sang along with her daughter's disembodied voice.

When the song was over, Ilene rewound the tape and put the next one in the machine. "Now, I'm going to play one where she doesn't sound very good because she can't really hit the high notes. The high notes give her problems, you know. She sings very low."

~~~~~~

"Ilene, what's the matter? Why do you have your head down like that? What has you upset?"

"Oh, Brian." Ilene sighed heavily. "I'm very worried. I'm just so worried."

"Worried?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Brian. I just�I just want everything to be so perfect." She sobbed a little.

"Ilene! What is it? Tell me what's wrong?"

"Ok. Well, as you know, Ellen is planning my retirement luncheon."

"Yes, I know that."

"Well, she just came up here to ask about possible dates."

"Ok. Did you find a date that you like?"

"Well, yes, we talked about two or three dates. She said she was going to check the schedules of the judges and pick the best one."

"Great. It should be a very nice party."

"Well, yes, but I'm worried, Brian. I'm worried. What if Ellen decides to surprise me and has my luncheon on a day other than the ones we discussed? What if that happens? I have to know when it will be ahead of time so I can dress and I want to get my hair done and if she has it on a day when my hair is just hanging limp like this, or on a day when I am not dressed for it, I'll die! Brian, I'll die!"

"Wait, did she give you any indication she was going to spring this on you?"

"No."

"Did the word surprise ever come up?"

"No."

"Oh."

"So, you can see why I'm worried, can't you? You can see that, right?"

"Well..."

"I mean, I would die if they had a surprise retirement luncheon. Die."

"Ok, I tell you what, Ilene. How about this. I make this promise to you. Every time I hear anything about your luncheon, whether it be the public plans, or the non-existent surprise plans, I'll run out here and give you the scoop. I will risk the wrath of Ellen to keep you in the know. In fact, I'm going to go back there right now and tell her, 'you better not surprise Ilene, because that's not cool!' How about that?"

"Oh, Brian," said Ilene,"you really understand me, don't you."

God help me.

~~~~~~

"Oh, Brian! I've got something for you!" Ilene appeared to be holding a large shopping bag behind her back.

"Oh, God," I sighed.

"Do you want to guess? Do you want to guess what it is?"

"Ilene, I'm at a loss. I can't even imagine what it might be."

"Well," she began, "last night I was at 'The Source' which is otherwise known as Fortunoffs, and I saw there, a CrockPot which I absolutely must have. It was 8 quarts, stainless, removable crock, alternating temperature control, and a, get this, built in timer for perfect slow cooking! I mean�" She stood there trembling with her mouth open and her eyes wide and her hands uplifted.

"Wow, Ilene," I said.

Ilene was still trembling at the CrockPot thought. Then she came crashing down. "But as you know, Harve will absolutely have a fit if I bring one more thing into that kitchen. He has forbidden me from buying a CrockPot. Forbidden."

"Oh. I'm sorry," I consoled.

"Yes, well, that is why I have brought you this, my dear."

I opened the shopping bag and removed an elaborate pot with a great many accessories. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's a Turbo Cooker from Chef Randall!"

In the bag was a large, oddly shaped pot, with an enormous domed lid, a spring form pan, and two steaming racks. I really didn't know what to say.

"Now I can get my CrockPot," exclaimed Ilene.

"What?"

"Don't you see, Brian? I'm going to tell Harve that I sold this to you, but I'm really giving it to you. Then I'll tell him that I used the money you paid me, but you're not really going to have to give me any money, for the CrockPot. And that way, I'm switching it out, and not buying something new. See?"

"Yes, but what am I supposed to do with this?" I held up the Turbo Cooker and it emitted an electronic beep in protest.

"You like to cook, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, now you can Turbo Cook! There are recipe cards!"

I wanted to object. To tell her I didn't need the Turbo Cooker, but she was already skipping back to her desk, her head awash in CrockPot delirium.

~~~~~~

What follows is the text of the speech I gave at Ilene's retirement luncheon, complete with stage directions.

If I may, I've been asked to say a few words today on behalf of this year's clerks, and I suppose all the clerks with which Ilene has served in years past. You know, as I was thinking about what I would like to say today, I couldn't help but notice that this entire event seemed to be all about Ilene.

So in an effort to draw some of that attention to myself, I have prepared a musical number. If we could just have Apollo start the tape, please.

Long, uncomfortable beat.

Yes, if we could just have the music, please, Apollo. Yes. Please. Start the tape. What? This is unbelievable. It's what? Well, is there anyone in the back that can play the piano? No?

Yes, well, there seem to be technical difficulties, which I'm sure will work themselves out. So, while we're waiting for the music to begin on my dazzling rendition of the incomparable "Wind Beneath My Wings," let me just say a few words about the first time I met Ilene.

It was, as was the case for most all of the clerks, the day I came to interview with the judge. I remember sitting in reception with my coat and tie and my empty brief case, which I carried as a prop to make me look more professional. I remember engaging in a bit of very pleasant idle chatter with Ilene. And I remember that Ilene very discretely passed me a mint.

Beat.

And while that was the first time she made an inroad into the very often complicated realm of caring for me, it was not the last. The clerks have saddled her with the unofficial title "den mother" and I can't imagine a more fitting appellation. Her graciousness, her generosity, her unflinchingly cheery disposition have made every day a delight.

We, the clerks, have only worked with Ilene for this short time, but our lives have unquestionably been touched by the exposure. So as the term ends and Ilene leaves her post at the appellate division at roughly the same time we are sent out into the hateful Bush economy in an increasingly desperate search for jobs that no longer exist, we'd like to thank Ilene for her wonderfully encouraging spirit and her dedication. We also feel it only fitting that we adopt her into our class, our den mother to the end.

So, on behalf of the clerks, and everyone else here gathered, Ilene, we wish you happiness, success, and health. And if your retirement brings to you even half of the joy you've brought to us, then you should take some of that joy and trade it in for a boat, because, girl, I think you'd look fine with a fishing rod.

Raise eyebrows lasciviously.

Ok, well, Apollo is giving me the signal, so I guess the music is ready. If I could get all of you to sort of put your tilapia in your laps. That's right Judge. Off the table. Yes, I'm serious. Yeah, my dance number is going to take me over the top and down the entire length. And also under, but only briefly under.

Posted at 4:35 p.m.

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