Big Law (17 page)

“Just talked to him last night, actually. Do you know what Amelia is doing these days?” He pointed the spatula at me. Amelia had always been the rebel of the family, much to the chagrin of her conservative father. When she was seventeen she’d announced that she wasn’t going to college because she was going to travel around with her boyfriend’s band and play the tambourine. Her parents were distraught and did everything they could to persuade her to go to college, including telling her that they would cut her off financially if she didn’t. That didn’t sway Amelia, and she spent the next eighteen months on the road with the band until her relationship with the drummer ended and she had to come back to her parents’ house, broke. Since then, she’d had about thirteen different jobs, from professional protester to balloon animal artist.

“Joined the circus?” I joked.

“She got a job as a
secretary
for an accountant out in Portland. Can you believe it?
Amelia
working in an office?” He shook his head in disbelief and turned back towards the griddle to flip the pancakes. “Apparently the guy she’s working for is a real nut too. He offered to pay well over the market salary for a secretary and he still had the damnedest time filling the position. No one wants to work for him! Which explains why Amelia was able to get the job, I guess.” He smiled and piled up four pancakes onto a plate. “The way Uncle Mike explained it, the guy sounds awful. He actually made Amelia work on Christmas Day for absolutely no reason. The guy has no family and nothing better to do.”

I pictured my once free-spirited cousin holed up in some dingy office, at the mercy of the ridiculous demands of a Ben clone.

“Anyway, Amelia said she just sat there twiddling her thumbs
all
day. The only thing she did was send a couple faxes. He didn’t even need her to be there! Can you believe that? The guy made her miss Christmas with her family when it wasn’t even necessary.” He shook his head and set the plate of pancakes down in front of me. “Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll talk to her. Trust me, she and I are thrilled that you’ve always been so driven. We know how lucky we are,” he said, patting me on the back. “Our daughters will never have to work for a jerk like that.”

I nodded, poking at the pancakes with my fork. Suddenly I wasn’t very hungry.

I
WALKED INTO
V
INCENT’S
office clutching a fresh legal pad and an expanding file pocket bursting with Highlander transaction documents. Back to life, back to reality. It was a relief to be back in New York after my disheartening trip home. It had been upsetting not to be able to give my family anything they wanted—not my attention, my time, or even a decent gift. At least when I was in New York, I was far away from Mom’s concerned looks and my nephews’ disappointed faces. I didn’t have to expend my energy pretending that work wasn’t first and foremost in my mind—here, it was and it was expected to be.

Vincent nodded a greeting in my direction, eyes fixed on his computer screen, as I took a seat on the plush couch off to the side of his desk. It was December 30th and he’d just returned from Mexico. He’d urgently requested a status meeting before he departed for his annual New Year’s ski trip to Aspen. God forbid he waste a second of time during his twenty-four hour layover in New York.

Vincent’s office was in the opposite corner of the building from Saul’s and the interior of his office reflected their differences. Family pictures set in Tiffany platinum frames of various sizes were arranged on the large mahogany book shelf against the far wall: one of a teenage boy with sharp features, pictured at the beach, surf board in hand; a school picture of a girl with braces, with a smile that looked just like her father’s; another of Vincent and his wife, dressed up in black tie garb, posing in front of a grand staircase. A mug boasting
“World’s Best Dad” sat next to an autographed baseball on the window sill. There was proof of life outside the office—something completely lacking in Saul’s office. But, despite the smiling faces staring back at me from the frames, I wasn’t fooled.

Every secretary at F&D worked for two lawyers. Rita worked for me and Vincent and, as his secretary, she had to vet every email he received and flag the important ones for him. And not just the work-related emails—EVERY email. “You wouldn’t
believe
some of the stuff I’ve read,” she’d whispered to me, after swearing me to secrecy. “Like crazy personal stuff.” She went on to tell me that Vincent’s current wife, Lynn, was his third wife, but started off as his mistress when he was still married to his second wife, Tina. Apparently Lynn ruthlessly pursued Vincent while he was still married and then made her presence known to Tina at a black tie charity function.

“Can you believe that bitch? Confronting Tina in front of all’ah her friends? I’dah clocked her!” Rita exclaimed while balling her hand into a fist and giving a phantom punch. “Tina got the bet-tah of Vincent, though.” Rita gave a wry chuckle. “Couplah months after the divorce was final she sent Vincent an email saying she was screwin’ his best friend and now she finally knows what a REAL orgasm feels like! I flagged the email for Vincent. Figured he should know,” she added with a wicked smile.

And it wasn’t only Vincent’s marriages that were in constant trouble—so were his children. His son, who looked so innocent, tanned, and healthy in the picture in Vincent’s office, had recently checked into rehab for cocaine. He was only eighteen and in his first year of college. “The weekend Vincent went ta Vermont to pick ’im up from college and check ’im in, Rhonda, his first wife and the kid’s mothah, couldn’t pry Vincent away from his BlackBerry. He spent the whole time on the phone doin’ conference calls—barely even left his hotel room. What kinda fathah is that? I mean, no wondah the kid has a problem, ya know?”

His daughter, Emma, was in high school now and battling bulimia, Rita explained. Apparently Vincent had emailed Rhonda that Emma must get that from her. “‘You never could pass up a donut and now neither can your daughter.’ That’s what that asshole said to the
mothah of his children,” Rita said, shaking her head in disgust. “Can you believe that? Deserves to rot in hell.” She pantomimed strangling herself with both hands, sticking out her tongue and bugging out her eyes. “Nobody around him is evah happy,” she said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t take his life for awwwwll the money in the world. It’s not worth it.”

“Okay,” Vincent said, turning his attention away from his computer and towards Ben, who was sitting in one of the two chairs facing Vincent’s desk. The other chair was occupied by a partner in the Finance department. I made myself stop staring at the pictures and gripped my pen, readying myself to take notes. Vincent lifted a paperweight with the words “Trust But Verify” written on it off a pile of papers, picked up the top page, peered at it, frowning, before setting it down in another pile and replacing the paperweight. He clasped his hands and leaned forward on his elbows. “Where are we at?” He looked back and forth at Ben and the finance partner.

“Well, we’ve got our diligence team plugging away. No deal breakers there.” Ben glanced down at the memo I’d painstakingly prepared before shooting me a confirmatory look, as if to say “jump in if I’m wrong.” I nodded assent, but couldn’t help but wonder if he’d bothered to read my memo. “We are just waiting for your sign-off on latest version of the purchase agreement and we can get that off.”

“When did you send me that?” Vincent interrupted, grabbing his mouse and squinting over his glasses at the computer monitor.

“Mackenzie faxed it to you in Mexico.” Ben looked over at me again for confirmation and I nodded in agreement.

Vincent scrunched up his face, seemingly trying to bring it to mind, which made me wonder how many faxes he’d made unfortunate junior associates send. “Oh, that?” He chuckled. “I tossed that in the garbage. The ink was too light to read in the sun.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Oh, okay.” Ben shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly annoyed by Vincent’s ambivalence. “Mackenzie, do you have the latest draft there?” He gestured towards my pile of documents.

“Right here.” I withdrew the document out of the file I’d been clutching and stood up to hand it to Vincent, who peered down at it.

“I’ll review this before I head out today. What else?” He turned his attention to the finance partner as I returned to my seat, fuming.

I could hear Dad’s voice reverberating in my head.
Our daughters will never have to work for a jerk like that.

At 8:30
P.M
. on New Year’s Eve, I was hunkered down at my desk, poking at my tepid lasagna from Seamless when my email pinged.

Jason had survived his Kermode family Christmas duties in Los Angeles and had texted yesterday to let me know he was headed down to La Jolla to surf. “You have to join me next year,” he’d texted. “Next year,” I’d promised.

I reread Jason’s email three times before I clicked on the picture attached. Jason was standing barefoot on golden sand, blue sea behind him, beach umbrellas billowing in the breeze. It was a postcard setting, but he was giving a thumbs down, jutting his lower lip out in a pout. I smiled in spite of myself. His sun-kissed skin accentuated his toned arms and comfortingly broad shoulders; the saltwater had given his hair a sexy surfer-style wave; and the sunset backdrop somehow made his eyes shine even brighter.
I should be there with him
, my mind whimpered.
Sharing a secluded hammock, his arm wrapped around me as I curl up onto his chest watching the sunset.
I sent back a quick “I miss you too. I’ll be in my new home—call me there (aka my office)” then sunk down into my seat miserably.

“I’m kidnapping you, Mackenzie,” a voice said, interrupting my pity party.

I looked up to see Alex standing in my doorway. He was wearing dark jeans and a silk and cashmere John Varvatos V-neck. His three quarter length charcoal Hugo Boss wool jacket and beige cashmere scarf completed the outfit. Once again, Alex had nailed the “I’m too cool to put too much thought into what I wear” look perfectly. I noticed the faintest smell of cologne, which meant his New Year’s plans certainly did not involve spending the night at the office.

Smiling, I put my fork down, crossed my arms over my chest, and cocked my head inquisitively. “Kidnapping me?”

“I was on my way to a party in the Village when I thought about you sitting here all lonely and mopey in the office. I just couldn’t let you wither away here on New Year’s Eve. I know you’re snowed under”—he gestured towards the pile of documents on my desk—“but I figured you could duck out for a drink. I’ll bring you back in an hour—promise.” He crossed his heart, flashing an impish grin.

I glanced down at the time, wondering if I would miss Jason’s call.

“ONE drink,” I emphasized, thankful that I had chosen to wear my skinny jeans to the office today instead of my Lululemon yoga pants. Office dress codes don’t apply on weekends and holidays, but I’d decided that stretchy pants would only invite me to stuff myself with candy from the dish on Rita’s desk all night. Better to have my skinny jeans on to keep me in check. “But if anyone sees me on the way out I’ll have to abort the mission.” I grabbed my coat from behind the door, craftily leaving my spare coat on the back of my chair just in case.

“Deal, Captain,” he said, giving a salute.

Second Avenue was dense with revelers ringing in the New Year early, so we ducked into the first bar that had an open table and flagged the waitress. Precious moments away from the office had to be used efficiently. Alex ordered a bottle of champagne before I could protest. “You said ‘one drink.’ Technically that’s one drink.”

“Only another lawyer would parse the phrase ‘one drink.’” I smiled wryly, checking my BlackBerry for the deadly “ASAP” email. Finding none, I positioned it visibly on the table.

“A toast …” he said, after the waitress had returned. He picked up his champagne flute, but I was way ahead of him, having already gulped down half the glass.

I involuntarily let out a satisfied “Ahhhhhh.” Alex was right—a drink was exactly what I needed right now. Or seven.

He regarded me with amusement. “Easy there, Mac. You’re not going to go all ‘Leaving Las Vegas’ on me tonight, are you?”

“Very funny. I seriously think this job is turning me into an alcoholic. I’m now incapable of drinking slowly. Incapable. And no addiction hotline is going to help me, either. Someone is going to have to come here and pry my fingers off this bottle.”

“Well, consider me your enabler then.” He grinned and refilled my glass.

I picked up the stem of the glass, studying the bubbles rising to the top and bursting. Somewhere, Kim was karaoke-ing her way into 2016. Margaret was tucking the twins in early and having a quiet night watching the ball drop with Luke, toasting their good fortune. Jason was paddling out to a burgeoning wave. Maybe there really was something to what Eddie had said. “Do you ever think that there’s gotta be an easier way?”

Alex smiled, studying me. “Sure. All the time. You?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Lately I’ve been wondering.”

“Well, if you figure it out, let me know.”

The sound of whoops and hollers outside got louder, reminding me that the last few moments of 2015 were ticking away. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to be going out with uh …” I grasped for the name of Alex’s New Year’s date. I remembered they’d gone out a couple times, but trying to learn the names of Alex’s girlfriends would be an exercise in futility.

“Pammy?”

“Please tell me she doesn’t actually refer to herself that way.”

“Hey, Pammy happens to be a lawyer,” he said. “And no, I’m not supposed to be going out with her tonight.”

“Was it the name that ended it?” I grinned.

“You’re relentless.” He wagged his finger at me. “Nah, I made the mistake of asking her what she wanted out of life.”

“Let me guess. World peace?”

“Worse. Her life goal is to meet Beyoncé.”

“Noooo!” I slapped the table.

“I kid you not.”

“Well, it’s good to have a goal.” I took a long gulp of champagne. “So how would you answer the same question?”

“Me?” He gave a half smile and, meeting my eyes, opened his mouth, then hesitated. After a beat of silence, his serious expression broke into a sly smile. “You know, just what every guy wants out of life—models and bottles.”

“You did NOT just say ‘models and bottles.’” I laughed and slapped his arm. “Well, then you and Pammy deserve each other.”

“Hey.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve tried to find the right woman. But you’re living proof that all the good ones are taken.”

The champagne must have really been hitting me, because, for a brief moment, the air around us felt charged and I flashed on what it would feel like to kiss Alex. Blushing, I looked down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Seeing my BlackBerry blinking, I picked it up, my heart quickening when I saw an email from Jason. I felt a shot of guilt, like I was doing something wrong and he’d caught me. I reminded myself it was just a drink with a friend, one who happened to flirt reflexively.