J'adore New York (10 page)

Relieved, I exit Scott’s office as Roxanne smirks while typing away at her computer.

Rikash was right.
She. Is. Nasty.

T
here are two types of people that work in law firms: those who get stomach ulcers and those who give them. As Rikash hands me a memo I prepared for Bonnie yesterday, it’s obvious that she falls into the latter category. Scribbled on the front page is a handwritten note:

This is NOT what I was looking for. It needs a LOT more work. Please see me to discuss.

An entire afternoon and evening of legal research and drafting wasted. Rikash was obviously right that Bonnie was extremely difficult about reviewing associates’ legal research. She had won some writing competition in law school, was the co-editor in chief of the
Columbia Business Law Review,
and graduated in the top five percent of her class. She prided herself on her ability to dictate a faultless memo in record time and was quick to provide painfully detailed criticism of everyone
else’s legal writing. I wonder whether she engages in this type of critique with Harry behind bedroom doors?

Just as I was fantasizing about throwing her note into my wastebasket, the phone rings.

“Catherine, when can I expect your revised memo?”

I take a deep breath. I had been hoping to leave the office early to change before meeting Jeffrey for dinner but was clearly having a delusional moment.

“I’m working on a few deadlines for the Browser deal. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

I’m not sure why I even bothered asking since I already knew the answer to the question.

“No, I need this now.”

“Right.”

“And when I say now, I mean right now so you better get on it. This is a major antitrust case involving one of my biggest clients.”

I dash to the firm library to ask for help locating a few books that were missing from the library shelves yesterday.

“Sorry, Catherine, they’re still out,” the librarian shrugs.

This must be karmic payback for the time I hid a treatise on Maritime law from a colleague who was desperately searching for it at two in the morning because he had badmouthed me to my boss. I immediately dispatch a paralegal to search every lawyer’s office for the books I need for Bonnie’s memo, and I ask her to start in Nathan’s office.

The plaintiff is a large maker of computer hardware parts that believes our client secretly agreed with others in that industry
to raise prices in violation of competition laws. I jump onto the LexisNexis and Westlaw research services to find additional precedents for similar cases. After printing out every commission decision, statute, press release, and article ever written on the subject of antitrust violations, I sprawl myself out over three tables, pull my hair into a messy bun, and kick off my heels. I index each document with Post-it Notes to classify my research. My motto:
Fail to prepare and prepare to fail.

I concentrate for at least five hours without taking any breaks. I quickly synthesize my findings and furiously scribble notes in the margins of the first memo so that I can delegate the typing of my revisions while I continue doing some final research.

By the time I’ve finished reading all the precedents and rewriting the memo, Bonnie struts into the library.

“Catherine, are you still working on that memo?”

“Of course.”

“Didn’t you hear the news? We settled right after lunch.”

I want to throw my stack of research in her face but storm out of the library shoeless instead.

“So where’s he taking you for dinner?” Rikash asks as he hands me some new files.

“Per Se.”

“How very sophisticated. It’s one of the best restaurants in the city.”

“Promise me you’ll keep my dinner plans quiet. Even though it’s a client event that Scott asked me to attend and even though the dinner is billable, I don’t want anyone in the office to know that I’m going out, given the Mel Johnson incident.”

“Of course, dah-ling, your secret is safe with me.”

At four thirty, I make a mental checklist of the things that need to get done before I go: call the printers, contact the SEC to make sure they received the draft Browser documents, return phone calls. I quickly work through my list and prepare to leave the office.

At five thirty, the phone rings. Rikash picks up and buzzes me on the intercom: “It’s Phil calling from California, he sounds very agitated. Do you want to take it?”

“Sure, put him through.” I take the call, assuming it’s my last task of the day.

“Catherine, it’s Phil Purcell from American Bank. We’re at the printers and we need the document tonight.”

“Hi, Phil, the document is almost ready, but you told me that you weren’t going to print until tomorrow. Can I send it to you first thing in the morning?”

“No, I need it now.”

“But—”

“No buts, Catherine, we need it tonight. We’ve been cooped up in here for the last forty-eight hours, and this is the last piece before we can go to print and go home.”

Crap. What do I do? I don’t want to seem like I’m blowing off work, but I can’t exactly ditch my biggest client either. I hesitate for a moment before rushing out of my office and down the hallway to see if someone can cover for me. “Where’s Antoine?”

“He’s out at a client meeting.”

Every other lawyer in the office is either on the phone or has their door shut.

“Ah, merde!
I’m going to be late!”

Rikash walks into my office. “What’s wrong? Can I help?”

“I have to leave right away otherwise I’ll be late and I need to send a document to the printer in San Francisco.”

“Is it ready? I can send it for you.”

Given my recent run-in with Antoine about delegating work to secretaries, I hesitate for a moment before handing over the file to Rikash. If I prepare and review everything in advance, nothing can go wrong, right? Besides, I trust Rikash. I quickly make some final changes and email him the file along with the working group list, a detailed compilation of everyone’s contact information.

“Okay, I’m leaving—you’re sure you’re on top of it?”

“Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty. Go on, muffin, have a blast.”

After repeating my detailed instructions twenty-three times, and double-checking my BlackBerry battery, I dash out the door.

“Catherine!” A voice calls out from the bar.

“Jeffrey, hi. So sorry about being late. A client called at the last minute.”

“No problem. Shall we sit and have a bite?”

He points to a cozy table next to a roaring fireplace with breathtaking views of Central Park.

“Hope you like my choice,” he says as we take our seats.

I raise my eyebrows exaggeratedly in response.

“Are you kidding? This is one of the best restaurants in the city.”

“It’s one of my favourites,” he responds while putting his Boss suit jacket on the back of his chair.

“So you eat here regularly?”

“Yes. The chef is known for his Napa Valley restaurant and I used to take clients there when I lived in California.”

“And apparently his butter-poached lobster is to die for.”

“How did you know?”

“You don’t expect to take a lawyer out for dinner without her doing a bit of research in advance, do you?”

“No, of course not. Especially a newly transferred lawyer from the Paris office of Edwards.”

“How d’you know?”

“You don’t expect to have dinner with a CFO whose company is about to go public without him doing some research on the lawyer he’s just hired, do you?”

“Touché. Of course not.”

“We better order right away—the tasting menus run several courses.”

“I’ll let you pick since you’re the regular.”

“A lawyer giving up decision-making power. I’m really flattered.” He signals the waiter to our table.

“We’ll have the chef’s tasting menu with a bottle of that red I had last week. It was outstanding.”

The waiter nods, geisha-like, and gracefully takes our menus away.

“I hope they’re serving the peach Melba tonight. It’s really incredible. Foie gras with pickled white peaches in a sauce that—”

I start to giggle before he finishes his sentence.

“What’s wrong? Please don’t tell me you don’t like foie gras or that you’re a vegetarian, I’ll cry.”

“No, it’s actually my favourite. It just makes me laugh that Americans love it so much. It just seems like you can find more foie gras in New York than in all of Paris.”

“And I hope it stays that way.” He smiles warmly and places his serviette on his lap. “So how are you enjoying New York so far?”

“I love it. It’s so exciting. The energy here is really intoxicating.”

“It really is, although some of the excitement will eventually wear off.”

“I have a hard time believing that. There’s so much going on in this city. I wish I had more free time.”

“You’re a corporate lawyer in New York. What do you expect? I’m lucky Scott let you out tonight.”

“He didn’t really let me out. He forced me out!” I joke.

“Ah, I see. Well, good for me then.”

“Seriously, I was delighted when he asked me to join you. I haven’t seen a concert in ages and I’m dying to hear some live music.”

“So you like music, huh?”

“Yes, love it.”

“What kind?”

“All kinds, really. I like to unwind to classical music after work, but jazz is my favourite.”

His face brightens.

“Really? You like jazz?”

“Yes,
j’adore
”.

The waiter brings our first course, a cappuccino of forest mushrooms.

“Bon appétit.”

“Bon appétit,”
he responds after loosening the knot of his tie and flipping it over his shoulder. “Who’s your favourite musician?”

“I have several, but Wynton and Ella are my favourites.”

“You’re definitely in the right building then.”

“How so?”

“The Jazz at Lincoln Center Concert Hall is right here in the Time Warner building and this is Mr. Marsalis’s home base.”

“I’d love to see him play in New York. The last time I saw him play live was at the Montreal Jazz Festival. I was lucky enough to meet him backstage because of a close friend who knows him. He gave us a private concert. I’ll remember it forever.”

“That must have been amazing! I’m assuming you’ve been to the Marciac festival then?”

“Of course, it’s fantastic.”

“I’d love to go, especially in the company of a beautiful French woman.”

Slightly taken aback, I continue our conversation like nothing happened. After all, it seems like harmless flirting. And it’s billable.

“So you like jazz too?”

“Love it.”

“Who’s your favourite musician?”

“Miles. I think he’s the greatest musician of our time. I’m also a big fan of Dave Holland and Charlie Mingus.”

Pleasantly surprised by his level of musical appreciation, I smile before responding. “I just finished reading Miles’s biography. He led a really tragic life.”

“Didn’t they all? When do you find the time to read with such a busy legal practice?”

“Mostly on weekends, but I try to read before I go to sleep every night. Although I haven’t read anything other than the Securities Act these past few weeks.”

“You mean that brick that sits on a shelf in my office? I don’t think I’ve opened it more than twice.”

“Lucky you,” I say jokingly.

“Lucky me for having someone like you to read it for me.” He smiles in a way that emphasizes his dimples.

I feel my cheeks becoming as deep a red as our wine. Although it’s getting more difficult by the second, I try to keep
the conversation purely professional. Reminding myself of what just happened with Mel helps. A bit.

“I can’t wait to read something non-legal, but I guess it won’t be for a while, given this IPO.”

“No, we won’t be reading novels anytime soon. Too much of that legal mumbo jumbo to get through. I get so exhausted after reading that stuff. It puts me right to sleep.”

“I know what you mean.”

“But this is what you do for a living. Don’t you get tired of it?”

“It can be exhausting. That’s why I keep a membership at Starbucks. I have my espresso injected intravenously.”

“Don’t tell me a French woman buys her coffee at Starbucks? Isn’t that a bit sacrilegious?”

“It is. But there’s one downstairs from my office. I guess I’m becoming a real New Yorker. I put convenience first!”

“I know a place in Midtown that makes great coffee. We should meet there next time. I need my jolt of coffee too these days; I’m travelling too much, and it’s getting tiring.”

“You travel a lot?”

“Back and forth between New York and San Francisco every week but now that the office has moved here, it should get better.”

“Travelling for business isn’t what it used to be. Those security lineups are ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it. I got stuck in security at an airport in Arizona for at least an hour last week.”

“Try getting through security in high heels with a French passport.”

“No thanks, not interested. At least not in the heels. I wouldn’t mind the French passport though.”

“Oh?” I wonder why he would say something so odd.

“Because I could follow you back to France in case you decide to leave the country.”

I sit up nervously, unsure how to react. He clearly has moved into full-blown pickup mode. Not wanting to be caught in another Mel Johnson–type situation, I try bringing the conversation back to the IPO.

“The public offering is looking very exciting, isn’t it?”

“It is. I hope it isn’t making your workload too heavy?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll manage.”

“Are there any developments I should be aware of?” he asks after the waiter serves us our second course.

“Everything is on track so far. We filed the necessary paperwork with the SEC on Friday and we’re on target for the start of the due diligence process.”

“What about the directed share program? Is everything okay on that front?” he asks with intensity. “We have a lot of key business partners who we want to offer shares to, so I want everything to go smoothly.”

I’m a bit surprised he wants to get into this much detail—but then, this is a working dinner. A directed share program allows company officers, employees, and their customers and vendors to purchase shares as part of the public offering. My mind races through the quantities of stocks we’ve set aside for their partners and buyers, and the paperwork that has been filed with regulators.