Michelle Gillen, RIP

 So today I read about the death, at 66, of local and one time national reporter, Michelle Gillen. It brought back a memory and cute tale about her.

It must have been the late 90s, and Paul and I and our firm were flying high. We were plowing through large cases, and settling them well. I wasn't yet 40 and Paul wasn't yet 50. We were at the height of our now greatly diminished powers. We had a credo, "Whatever it takes," and we lived that.

If there was a case we wanted, and had to compete with larger firms for it, we nearly always won -- whether it was Paul's role as alpha male lawyer, or my subtler, firm but gentle and intellectual appeal. Ah -- they were heady days.

We also had tons of fun, and this is what led to the Michelle story.

It was before Valentine's Day, and Wifey had gone back to work in the flower industry -- three days per week. She did marketing consulting for a company that had sprung from a company where she started in the industry -- as a telemarketer of cut flowers from South America. Now she did marketing plans -- and enjoyed getting out of the full time Mom role, but with enough free time to be there for the Ds, who were in grade and middle school.

Paul got a fun idea. Why didn't we buy a TON of fresh roses from Wifey's company, which was out in Doral, and have some of our "little girls" make bouquets of them and deliver them to friends and clients of the firm -- including our mothers, who both lived in Delray. Paul's friend and now mine, Lou, would be the delivery guy.

So we got into my green Jaguar XJ 6, both in our lawyer suits, and drove out to Equaflor. We bought several boxes of roses -- fresh from Ecuador, and joked around with Wifey and her co-workers, many of whom twitted about whether my very single partner might be free to go on dates. I remember wearing my wayfarers, and taking on the persona of a Blues Brother -- feigning the seriousness of our mission.

The flowers were in the trunk, and I headed back to Brickell. Right before the Palmetto, we spotted a Mercedes convertible, hood open, with a thin, tall attractive woman standing next to it. I did my best Jake Elwood: "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?

We pulled over, and learned it was Michelle Gillen, already a well known reporter. "Damn car died, and I have to be at my station to do the noon news!" Paul and I offered her a ride.

After a nervous joke or two about Ted Bundy, she got in the back, and we chatted. We told her we were NOT serial killers, but rather, as Paul said "extremely successful, powerful attorneys." Paul never said "lawyer"  - I did. We chatted, and she was very nice and smart. She was also a good reporter -- she soon learned that I was married and Paul was single. She gave HIM her card -- maybe they could meet sometime -- she lived near Aventura, as I recall.

We pulled up at the station, and she thanked us. "Wait, " I said, "we're not done here yet." I went to the trunk and took out 2 dozen of the beautiful long stemmed roses, and said "Happy Valentine's Day."

She smiled. "So let me get this straight. Two handsome, well dressed men drive around Miami  in a shiny Jaguar looking to rescue damsels in distress, which they do, and then they send us on our way with beautiful roses?"

"Yes, ma'am," I responded, now switching more to Joe Friday than Jake Ellwood. "That's exactly right."

She walked away with the roses. Paul never called her -- back then his taste was to a different demographic -- much younger than Michelle, who was about 5 years his junior.

But whenever I'd see her on TV, I'd smile.

The most chilling thing about the obit is that it said she was 66 and died "of natural causes." I guess I have to get used to that. We're still awaiting the autopsy report on our dear friend Elizabeth, who was 63. I guess it'll be "natural," too.

But I thank Michelle for the memory, and hope the Big Man watches over her soul. May she find more roses in that great TV studio in the sky...