The New Judge

by Kass


Written for hi_falutin as part of Purimgifts 2008 / 5768.

Michael Bluth took a deep breath, steeling himself, and opened the door to his mother's condo. "Mom. You wanted to see me?"

"Michael! How...are you?" His mother batted her eyelashes and made a weird little grimace which was apparently -- God help them all -- supposed to be a smile.

"Your show of concern for my wellbeing looks very genuine," he said, not rolling his eyes but really wanting to.

"Does it? Oh, good," she said, and took a delicate sip of her martini. "Can I offer you a drink? The bottle's already open..." She gestured loosely to the kitchen.

"Still trying to convince yourself it goes bad if you don't drink it within a day of opening it, huh."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Just like that, her whole demeanor changed; her eyes were narrowed and her tone was sharp enough to cut stone.

"There's the mother we all know and love," Michael said, and sat down at the far end of the couch. "So. What do you need."

"Are you suggesting I only call you when I need something?" She took a deep breath, obviously about to put on her affronted face, but Michael held up a hand and she sighed, deflated. "Fine. It's about your father's case. It's landed on the desk of a new judge."


"She likes her men pretty and young," Lucille said, her eyes raking Michael from head to foot. "You're not exactly either one, but you're the closest we've got."

Michael blinked. "I think I will have that drink, thanks."

His mother's voice followed him to the kitchen where he poured himself two fingers of scotch.

"You'll have to pretend you're an orphan," she called. "You can't tell her you're a Bluth."

"I can't believe you're suggesting this," Michael said, tossing back half of his drink in a single gulp.

"Once you worm your way into her good graces, none of us will be able to contact you," Lucille said thoughtfully. "We can disguise your Uncle Oscar and send him to you if we have messages. You can say he's the closest thing you have to a father."

"Father?" Buster echoed, quizzically, coming out of Lucille's bedroom.

"Yes?" Oscar sing-songed, emerging from the bathroom. He was waggling his eyebrows in a truly disturbing way; Michael averted his eyes.

"You're all insane," Michael said.

"And then on the eve of the trial, you reveal yourself," his mother said, gesturing so animatedly that her martini almost sloshed over the rim of the glass, "and fall on your knees and beg her to save your family! Use your...charms."

Michael yanked a hand over his eyes. "You know, I might actually consider doing this if you swear you'll never make that face at me again."

"Oh, come on," Lucille said. "You never do anything for this family."

"I'm leaving," Michael announced, standing up.

"Your brother likes older women," Lucille tried.

"Get him to do it, then."

"And cheat on Lucille Austero?!" Buster looked horrified. "How could you ask that?"

"Really, you might show a little consideration," Lucille said. "Buster's very committed."

"I thought you said he ought to be committed," Michael muttered.

"What?!" Buster gaped at both of them.

"You know Mother would never say anything of the sort," Lucille simpered. "Here, go refill my glass; you can pour a drop in your hot chocolate if you want to."

"Ooh," Buster said, beaming, and took her martini glass into the kitchen.

"I am not sacrificing my body to some hag just on the off-chance it might get Dad out of jail," Michael said firmly.

"It's not like you're getting laid now," his mother objected. Michael opened his mouth, closed it, and turned on his heel to walk out the door.


"Who is that," Michael breathed. Long legs, tasteful business suit with just a hint of cleavage showing, talking animatedly with the bartender.

"That's my date," GOB said, gliding up beside Michael on his Segway. "Hot stuff, isn't she? She has a PhD from Stanford, but I can overlook that."

"Your date," Michael repeated, stupidly. "How'd you --"

"Mom said she tried to set you up with her, but you said no," GOB said, and offered him a palm to high-five. "Thanks, buddy."

"I've made a terrible mistake," Michael muttered, and put his head in his hands.

The End