Jonathan Brockton Hamilton III, Attorney-at-Law can't believe he's scraping dishes in a Waffle House restaurant, a place he'd never take rich friends or influential clients. He glared down at his grease-spattered clothes, new and his first purchase from a Walmart discount store.

His shoes looked ruined, though the label inside had said they could be cleaned with mild detergent. Maybe his mother's housekeeper would be able to take care of them.

He reached for another dish to scrape, jamming his finger. Damn, his manicure was a disgrace and he had dishpan hands.

He'd never worked so hard in his life or felt to out of his element. "I'll do my time for loosing the stupid bet," he muttered. "then I'll get even."

He turned at loud footsteps and a familiar hacking cough approaching.

"Wipe down the counter, boy," the bossy hag of a manager rasped. "When you finish you get to practice putting utensils, I mean silver on the tables."

She grinned her missing-tooth grin. "Oh, shucks, we're fresh out of cloth napkins and I can't fold these paper things into swans."

She didn't miss a chance to tease him about the designer clothes he'd worn to apply for this job only a two days ago. She thought he'd bought them at a second hand store.

"Yes, ma'am, Maggie," Brock grimaced. Sir would probably suit her better. She smelled of stale cigarette smoke and hairspray. He'd bet her fire-engine-red hair would give his mother's colorist hives.

"Git movin', sonny boy," Maggie reminded him. He failed to dodge the towel pop on his polyester clad behind. He'd call her on sexual harassment but she'd probably laugh at him. So many people yelled sexual harassment when none was intended that he wouldn't have bothered. He'd turned down several cases he considered more a case of tight-ass overreactions. Besides, "Sergeant Maggie" had no idea he was a lawyer. As if she'd care.

She'd be dangerous in a locker room full of naked jocks. She'd probably be in heaven, too, even if she had long since passed the half-century mark.

Brock gingerly wrung out a soggy towel and headed for the high counter, where three customers sat on orange plastic-covered stools. At twelve-thirty, in the longest night of his life, the long counter was half deserted, but that should change soon, according to his ageless mentor. The place would fill with late shift workers from the janitorial service responsible for cleaning the high rise office building across the street.

Maggie had promised she'd let him pour coffee for the men. Such a "thrill", since he'd get to keep the tips. Surely no one he knew or would care to know would visit this classy eating establishment.

No one, --- no one except the lovely creature who glanced up from the stack of papers spread over the table of the end booth. The lady was a vision of blonde beauty, with her flawless, alabaster skin. Her green eyes bottomless and her pink lips glistening as they moved. She was saying something to him and he hadn't heard a word.

"Huh?" Brock's usual eloquence deserted him. "You were saying?"

"May I have a refill, please?" Her luscious mouth smiled, questioning.

"Oh, yeah." Now was the time for his killer grin, the one he turned on when he wanted to make an I'm-a-good-guy impression. He reached for the glass she held toward him. Maggie was on her smoke break. He could do this alone.

Angela watched the nice looking man across the counter. His black hair was cut short on the sides and blown back wavy on top. Nice looking. Expensive haircut, for a fast food employee. His tan and muscular build suggested a lot of time spent outdoors. He was handsome, if a bit dopey looking. His smile was drop dead gorgeous but he seemed confused. Surely he could find the water spigot.

"Ohhh!" Angela jumped as the spray of water hit her face and hair, dripping onto the table. "Damn!" She heard in the background. Grabbing the dinky napkins she tried to rescue the files nearest her.

"Damn!" he said again. She glanced up to see the dangerous man starting around the counter, apparently to help because he waved a large cloth.

"So sorry! Wrong water handle. I'll help."

"No!" She shouted. "Stay where you are. Don't come any closer." She glanced up to reassure herself he was at a safe distance with the counter between them. He reminded her of a startled puppy. "I mean, I'll take care of it. It's not that bad."

"Let me get Maggie, she'll take care of you. I'm new, so..."

"No, thanks. I was ready to leave, anyway."

He'd never seen anyone gather so many papers so quickly. She threw five dollars on the table and bolted.

"Give this to Maggie."

Brock stood, too startled to move or respond. How could a man who argued and won cases in court be so speechless because of a beautiful woman? In his own world he was never clumsy.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw his warden saunter back from the "employees only" area.

"Well, handsome, get the counters all clean?" The red- head stopped and surveyed the damage. Hands on her skinny, uniformed hips she shook her head. "What didja do to Angie, she never leaves this early. She didn't even say goodbye."

Brock opened his mouth to explain. He waved the five dollar bill the beauty had left. He pointed to the place she'd vacated on the run.

"Never mind, I don't want to know. Just clean up the mess." Maggie shook her head. "It's a good thing you're a looker, boy."

"No ticket." He handed the money Angie left.

Maggie rolled her eyes and grinned. "I'll ring her up and give her the change tomorrow. Don't worry, you'll get the hang of things eventually."

Brock hesitated before asking Maggie the question hovering in the back of his mind. "Those people," he inclined his head toward two adults and a child entering quietly. They brought in cold air and an aura of despair. "They've been in several times tonight. Who are they?"

Maggie's expression was somber as she motioned Brock closer. "Billy Joe, the man, was on his way to a new job in Florida when their old car broke down. They had no money to fix the thing, so for the past week they've been sleeping in the car."

"In their car?" Brock stared at her. How could that be possible? "But it's too cold, nearly freezing outside. Can't they go to a shelter or something?"

"They won't. That's why we don't say anything when they come in to use our restrooms and stay inside to warm up. Billy Joe has swept up and cleaned restrooms every night to pay for their meals, just barely."

This should not be happening in a city like Atlanta. They could get traveler's aid or something. "We can help them repair their car so he can go on to the job." Brock offered. "I could lend them the money and let him send it back later."

"Nope. He said he missed the chance, the job's gone."

"Well, we could take up a collection." I could contribute enough to get the car repaired and send them somewhere warm to sleep. "Or even go to one of the churches for a warm place to sleep."

"Won't take charity. Now get ready, we're about to be mobbed."

And they were, until his quitting time.

Maggie and Brock walked out to the parking area used by employees. He figured he was walking Maggie out but she acted like he needed protecting. Daylight wasn't far behind them.

"See you tomorrow night, handsome. You'll get it right, eventually." Maggie waved as she left in her battle-scarred blue 1985 LTD. He cranked the rusty truck he'd borrowed from the family gardener. No way could he park his corvette here.

By eight o'clock the next morning Brock was the picture of a successful lawyer, wearing a gray, three piece suit and burgundy tie he'd donned in the restroom.

His partners had beaten him to the office. The nattily dressed Carter, who was already in the office, grinned. Brock tried to smile back as though he hadn't worked twenty hours straight.

Carter sniffed. "Like your new cologne, eau de Waffle House?"

"Very funny, Carter. I'm due in court in an hour. Where's our partner?"

"In his office, Drake was here ahead of me, as usual."

Carter and Brock turned toward their partner as he entered the sparsely furnished reception room. Drake looked as though he'd slept in his suit. Maybe he had.

There were times Carter and Brock thought their partner slept at the office to save money. They had offered him the use of some rooms they planned to renovate later for office space, but he said he'd rented a one-room apartment. He claimed it was all he needed for now, since it was only a block from a MARTA bus stop.

Drake looked up from the folder he was reading and smiled at Carter. "Looks like our partner had a long night. Circles under his eyes, skin's a little pasty, too."

"Shouldn't party so late, my man." Carter chuckled.

"Thanks." Brock didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm. He walked into his office and was out in five minutes, briefcase in hand, hair styled. He only smelled like he'd worked with fast food all night. No time for a shower, shampoo, and blow-dry styling.

Billy was sweeping the dining area of the Waffle House when Brock arrived for work shortly after ten that evening. A four-hour nap had recharged Brock's batteries.

The place looked different with snow dusted windows and fake poinsettias. In a back corner stood the tackiest Christmas tree he'd ever seen. Brock stopped to watch Billy's small daughter standing beside Maggie, smiling at the plastic monstrosity. Little Marie tapped Maggie who bent to the child's level. The girl cupped her hand beside her mouth to whisper in Maggie's ear.

Maggie laughed loudly. The child looked startled. "Course you can touch the decorations, Sugar." In that moment Brock almost forgot the fire-haired drill sergeant-tyrant from yesterday, almost.

"Well, boy, quit your gawkin? and get to work. You never seen a Christmas tree before?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He?d soon memorized the menu and was working on the terms which made no sense. Covered, smothered, etc. Why not just say with onions, sautªed, or otherwise, cheese, melted, tomatoes, diced or sliced. He could spout Latin terms and cite court decisions, but the list made his head swim.

Billy Joe and his family disappeared again and within minutes Brock missed them. The kid was a cute little mite, shy like her nearly invisible mother, Sue. Sue was looking peaked Maggie had talked her into drinking an extra glass of orange juice. He hoped they weren't too cold. Everything they owned was in a car that wouldn't run.

There had to be something he could do to help these people. His mother would know where to get them clothes, a house, food, or whatever they needed, but she had no idea he was working here. Besides she?d have overwhelmed the shy people. He should know how to help this family and others like them.

"Maggie," he leaned over to speak quietly to his favorite Hitler. "Why don't you hire Billy Joe and Sue as regular workers. They seem honest and willing. How will they get on with their lives with him just sweeping floors?"

She put a tray of salt shakers in front of him and showed him how to use the large salt contained to fill them.

"Well, you see, neither of 'em can read enough. We give Billy Joe the cleaning materials he needs and tell him what he needs to know about how to use each one. They can't exactly afford daycare for little Marie. Sue washed dishes yesterday but I made her rest today. Can't have her handling things if she's sick."

"Maggie, do you usually hire people to clean?"

She laughed her from-the-gut laugh. "Son, when Billy Joe doesn't show up, you get to sweep and clean and wash all your own dishes.

By the time he finished them she placed another tray with peppershakers and a large pepper can. The new rush of customers came in as Brock filled the last shaker. Everyone stayed too busy to talk about Billy Joe's family, but Brock couldn't keep them from his thoughts.

There must be something he could do without giving away his identity and welching on his punishment for making the foolish bet. He'd be done with his sentence in less than four weeks. He couldn't wait for his day off from here. There were no days off from his growing law practice.

It was almost the end of Brock's shift when Billy Joe and his little family entered quietly and moved toward the restrooms. Poor Sue was dragging. Brock had removed his apron, ready to leave, when Marie walked to him and reached for his hand. One free hand clutched the rag doll she dragged each time he saw her. She tugged his hand but said nothing.

Squatting, he still had to lean forward to hear her whisper. Nodding, he picked her up and walked toward the garish tree. Marie reached out to touch the blinking star on top. Her warm, thin body trembled in excitement. He needed a free hand to wipe moisture gathering in his eyes but blinked instead. His throat constricted when she hugged him and kissed his stubble-roughened cheek.

"Thank you, Mister," she said clearly.

Reluctantly he allowed the sweet child to stand, but not 'til he'd hugged her back.

Lawyer by day, Waffle House employee by night. Leading a double life was wearing Brock down. He'd even dreamed about the family. They had stood outside windows looking in, like the girl in a movie he remembered from childhood, The Little Match girl. He'd yelled to them to stay awake, as they'd curled up and lain in each other's arms, freezing in the snow. He'd been annoyed at himself for not being able to get them to come inside and warm at his fireplace.

Living out of a car was wearing Billy Joe's wife down. Sue was looking sicker each day. There had to be a way to get past Billy Joe's pride. The first priority was help for Sue. The second would be a place to keep his family safe and the third would be a job for a man who couldn't read. Marie would have a tree of her own this Christmas and gifts. Then Billy Joe and Sue needed to learn to read.

Brock finally had a night off and what was he planning? Not Christmas partying or shopping for family or friends. He'd planned a quiet night in his apartment. A couple of glasses of wine and a quiet gourmet supper, prepared by his housekeeper. He might watch a little television. He'd surely rest and relax, maybe zone out in his recliner, then sack out in bed.

He left the office planning to go home but he just couldn't. Instead, he made a U-turn only blocks from the office, then headed back to the big house he and Carter had bought to renovate as an office building. As usual, he admired the tasteful white sign identifying the place as Hamilton, Johnson, & Bronson, Inc, Attorneys at Law.

He soon strode down the wide hall into Drake's office. "Come with me, ole buddy. I need you to help me do something to help the homeless family hanging around the Waffle House."

When Drake just stared up at him, Brook ran an impatient hand through his hair. "I told you and Carter about them. Maybe you can help me get through to Billy Joe. You sure know about pride." Brock was going to spend his free night at the Waffle House. How crazy was that?

Drake seemed thoughtful before he answered. "I'll go if our pal Carter will go, too. Get him."

Brook turned and headed toward Carter's office. "Carter, get your coat," he yelled. "Supper's on me."

The three lawyers sat in a booth at a Waffle House nowhere near their apartment. All wore jeans and sweatshirts instead of their usual Lawyers-R-Us suits and ties. When Drake introduced his partners to the other employees, he neglected to mention their law partnership.

Maggie was there, as usual, sporting her pins for her achievements during her years at the Waffle House. She grinned as she approached her employees' booth.

"Night out on the town?" she asked. "I'm glad you brought your buddies along. What'll you have?" She handed each a menu, knowing Brock didn't need one.

Under his breath Carter made a comment about the plastic Christmas tree Brock had begun to like. Drake gave his partner a look, then said, "My mother had a tree like that, except ours had homemade decorations and every single one we'd made in school or Sunday School. It was some tree. I might just unpack it and put it up at work, since I bought her a pink tinsel one."

"You wouldn't?" Carter asked.

"I would."

"You should," Brock said.

Both men stared at him as though he had grown a second head. He had shocked himself with that comment. The partners had already turned down offers of decorators hired by Brock's mother or Carter's.

Billy Joe's family entered the crowded diner as usual. Billy was soon behind the counter washing dishes. Sue wrapped in her tattered coat, huddled in a corner. Brock wanted to go to her, but Drake must have sensed his intentions because he grabbed his arm to stop him.

Brock sensed when Marie spotted him, she ran to be scooped up, as had become their habit.

"Hi, Punkin," he said as he tossed her above his head. She giggled. "How's your mama?"

She stopped giggling. "She's sick, real sick. Can you make her all better?" Her little face scrunched up as she touched his face. "Daddy tried, but we got no medicine and he got no money for a doctor."

He felt an overwhelming need to justify her trust in him. "Oh, Sugar, I'm gonna try." He looked to his friend who was most likely to understand her daddy's mindset.

Drake nodded. He rose from his seat, grabbed his jacket, and moved to the corner where Sue huddled, shivering. He draped his jacket around her, over her own coat, and knelt to talk to her. They looked like old friends having a pleasant conversation. Billy Joe left his post at the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he joined them.

Brock held his breath, sensing that Carter did the same. The child uttered not a word. "You can do it, partner," Brock muttered.

At first Billy Joe seemed angry. He straightened his thin shoulders, fisted his hands, at his sides, and took several steps away. Then he bowed his head as if in resignation, then nodded. All the starch seemed to drain from his stance.

Billy Joe walked as though he each step took all the strength he could muster. He finally made his way to the booth where Brock still held Marie. "Your friend says he can get my Sue help. She's awful sick." The man's voice cracked. "He said you need carpenter work done. I can't read much but I'm good with my hands."

Carter's expression was one of shock. Brock grinned. "Yes, a friend of mine started remodeling his offices in an old house. He has an extra room where a night watchman could stay. There's a kitchen and real bathrooms." Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell one person the truth about the attorney who worked at the Waffle House to learn about humility and caring.

Tears shown in Billy Joe's eyes as he nodded in acceptance. "Thanks," his voice was gravely, thick.

Drake came even with Billy Joe. His arm was around Sue. "Keep her warm. Wanna get our car and bring it around?" he asked Carter.

"Sure." Carter hurried out.

"Can we go get some things from our car?" Sue asked. "Everything we own is in that car."

"Yes, Ma'am, I got a friend with a tow truck. He'll bring it to my friend's office. Called him already and we just need to meet him so he'll get the right one." He whipped out his cell phone and dialed. To Billy Joe he said, "Tell him where and we'll leave as soon as my pal gets back with our warmed car."

Thirty minutes later Billy Joe's family entered the house that housed their law offices. By the time the disabled car was sheltered in the garage, Sue was in the room which would serve as a bedroom. It contained the pullout sofa from Brock's office and Brock's family physician was examining her. Carter had volunteered his coffee table, a gift from his mother. He hated it.

Marie slept in Brock's arms as he sat in his own office waiting room. "How did you get past Billy Joe's pride?" Brock asked.

Drake shrugged. "He was almost ready to give up. I just asked him if he remembered the story behind Christmas. He said of course. I asked him if he remembered where the Son of God was born. He said, in a stable, of course. He was giving me some hard looks, like he thought I figured he was stupid. I asked if his family was too good to let someone help them. If the Son of God was born in a barn where his family accepted charity, then could Billy Joe let his family freeze and be homeless when three men, wise or not, wanted to help his daughter and save his wife's health?

And here they are.