Romantically Challenged (33 page)

“He was his usual non-committal self,” Greg said, “but thought it would be at least another year or two.”

“And when was he planning on telling us this?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Greg said. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

I didn’t need to ask. I knew if I did, he’d come up with some lame excuse and then try to placate me by assuring me that income partnership was just the first step towards equity partnership. Then he’d tell me that, in the meantime, I should be patient and develop business on my own. As if I would stick around working for him if I had lots of my own clients. Fuck that! I would take the Rosebud job and tell Rosenthal to shove his income partnership right up his ass.

Career Crossroads

I tried to calm myself while I perused the menu at The Barn. Mark Parsons showed up ten minutes late in his Friday casual khakis and black turtleneck. I’d changed out of my jeans and into my black pants suit before I’d left the office. Originally, I’d planned on changing in the ladies room in the lobby, but I was so angry at Rosenthal that I didn’t care if everyone in the office saw me in my suit on a Friday and assumed I had a job interview.

We ordered salads and entrees, then Mark opened with personal questions. He asked about Noah and I told him that was over. When he asked why, I deflected. Then he asked if I’d had any other interesting dates lately. I told him none worth mentioning. I wanted this to be a professional relationship. I didn’t want to set bad precedent by sharing personal stories with my future boss. Besides, I had no good stories to tell.

I reciprocated by asking Mark about his wife, his new baby and his trip to Africa. He told me his wife and child were fine, then regaled me for the rest of the meal with tales from his safari. When we’d finished our entrees and Mark still hadn’t mentioned the job, I started to worry. I stopped worrying when he ordered coffee and dessert.

“Did I tell you how great you looked on
Hollywood Tonight
?” Mark said.

“No,” I replied. I wasn’t sure which part was more disturbing—that he saw me on
Hollywood Tonight
or that he said it like he was hitting on me.

“Not that you don’t look great in person,” he added.

I gave him a halfhearted smile. “Thanks. Does that conclude the business part of our lunch?” I knew I was being rude, but he was making me uncomfortable.

He continued unruffled. “No, it’s just the beginning.” He took a bite of the chocolate cake the waiter had left in the center of the table. “You should try the soufflé cake. It’s delicious.”

He was right. I ate while he talked.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said. “As you may know, up to this point Rosebud has primarily been a film production company. But recently we’ve decided to expand into television.”

Here it comes. He wants me to be their television lawyer. I would’ve preferred film, but I’d take TV. I could always move over to the film side later.

“We’re always looking for good material,” Mark said, “and we think you’re it.”

They must really want me. I should milk this. “I’m flattered Mark. I really am. But before you say anything else, I think you should know that Rosenthal just made me a partner.”

“Congratulations! You should’ve told me sooner, I would’ve ordered champagne.”

Why was he so happy about it? Didn’t he know that meant he would have to pay me more money?

Mark insisted we toast. “To your continued success,” he said and clinked his coffee cup against mine. “I guess you’ll be making so much money now that you won’t need ours.”

Oh shit, I’d overplayed my hand. Now he thinks I don’t want the job. “For me, it’s not just about the money. It’s about personal satisfaction too.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “So let’s get down to it. What are you looking for?”

“That depends on what you’re offering.” I knew better than to start the negotiation.

He gave me a knowing smile. “We were thinking $50,000 plus five percent of net.”

Was he nuts? I knew his offer would be low, but I didn’t think it would be that low. My base salary was more than double that figure. And what was this five percent of net? Company profit sharing? I tried to keep my expression neutral when I said, “That’s kind of low.”

“Have you had higher offers?”

“Well, I haven’t really been looking.”

“Maybe I can get them up to seventy-five thousand, but that’s as high as I can go up front. I might be able to work with you on the back end.”

Back end? Was that supposed to mean bonus? “Mark, first year lawyers make more than that.”

“I’m not hiring a first year lawyer, Julie, I’m buying the rights to your story.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Rosebud wants to buy your life story rights.”

At first I was too stunned to speak. Then I had to laugh. Before long I was hysterical.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked.

I just shook my head yes and continued laughing. Then he started laughing too. After I’d calmed down enough to speak I said, “I thought you were offering me a job.”

That made Mark laugh even harder, which sobered me up quick. That part wasn’t funny. Corporations hire their outside counsel to be in-house lawyers all the time.

When Mark noticed I wasn’t laughing anymore he said, “It’s not that I wouldn’t offer you a position if I had one, I just don’t have an opening right now. But I’ll certainly keep you in mind if anything becomes available.”

“That’s okay.” I was still offended that he would laugh at the notion of hiring me.

“So everyone at Rosebud loved you on
Hollywood Tonight
,” he continued. “We think your story has real potential.”

“As what?”

“A series. Or possibly a made-for-TV movie. We haven’t decided yet.”

Were they all crazy? “I don’t see it. My life is pretty dull.”

“On the contrary,” he said, and raised his hands in the air as if he were placing the words on an imaginary billboard. “Romantically challenged single serial dates L.A.” He lowered his hands and reached for his coffee cup. “That’s good stuff.”

“They exaggerated that part. I’m not romantically challenged, and I’m certainly not a serial dater. I’m just a lawyer that happens to do a fair amount of dating.”

“It sounds like a hit to me.”

“What are you thinking?
Sex in the City
without the sex?”

“No, we have to have sex.”

“Well there wasn’t any. There were only dates.”

“Then we’ll have to change that part. Otherwise no one would watch.”

It’s All in The Attitude

I spent the weekend celebrating my partnership. After my initial anger at being duped subsided, I wasn’t that upset. I never believed Rosenthal would make me a partner a year early anyway, so I decided to take the income partnership as a compliment. It was at least partial validation. It would do. For now at least.

Greg felt differently. He couldn’t get past feeling like he’d been slapped in the face. We went out for drinks Friday night, ostensibly to celebrate, but mainly I just listened to Greg bemoan his fate. Somehow it made me feel better. I just hoped that didn’t mean that deep down inside I was a terrible person. It was bad enough being a lawyer, I didn’t want to be a terrible person too.

Saturday was better. I met Simone at the bridal store to offer advice on her last fitting. I’d been a bridesmaid seven times. I knew about fittings. Afterwards, we treated ourselves to a champagne lunch. Simone’s attitude about partnership was closer to mine than to Greg’s. She hadn’t expected to be made a full partner, so she wasn’t devastated by the idea of income partnership.

“Besides,” Simone said after her second glass, “I was planning on having kids soon anyway.”

“So? You can have kids and still be a partner.”

“Not if I want to work part-time.” In her best Rosenthal imitation, including admiring her reflection in the window and fingering her hair, Simone said, “That’s a luxury only afforded lawyers who aren’t serious about their profession.”

We both knew it was only a matter of time before those words came out of Rosenthal’s mouth.

* * *

Saturday night I met Kaitlyn and Steve for a celebratory dinner. They came as a package now, at least on weekends. Luckily, I liked Steve. He cracked up laughing when I told him about my lunch with Mark Parsons. Kaitlyn didn’t think it was quite as funny since she was the one who was sure Mark was going to offer me a job.

“So are you going to sell him your life story rights?” Steve asked.

“Of course not,” I replied. “Do you think I want to be known as a romantically challenged serial dater for the rest of my life?”

“Why not?” Kaitlyn said. “If it will make you rich and famous.”

“It’s not going to make me rich. They offered me at most seventy-five thousand dollars, which after taxes will be forty thousand.”

“Don’t forget the five percent of net profits,” Steve said and started laughing again.

Everyone knows there’s no such thing as net profits.

“You can still be famous,” Kaitlyn offered. “I’ve never known anyone famous before.”

“And you’re not going to, so get used to it. I just want this whole
Hollywood Tonight
thing to be forgotten so I can start dating again.”

As my mother likes to remind me, I’m not getting any younger.

* * *

After drinking all day Saturday, I had to spend all day Sunday lying on the couch with Elmo, recovering from a massive hangover. That’s another down side of getting older—the hangovers are worse.

Shockingly, the bright spot of my day was when my parents called. They were ecstatic when I told them that Rosenthal had made me a partner. Even my explanation that I was only an income partner, which wasn’t really a partner at all, didn’t dampen their enthusiasm. They could still brag to all of their friends that I was a partner in a prestigious Los Angeles law firm. Appearances would be upheld.

“Naturally I would’ve preferred you called me and told me you were getting married,” my mother said. “But this is good too,” she added before I could object.

My father just congratulated me and wanted to know how much money I would make. I didn’t want to burst his bubble, so I told him I didn’t know yet because my new status wouldn’t take effect until the following year. After lecturing me about tax consequences and the benefits of saving early for retirement, he put my mother back on the phone. It was the longest phone conversation I’d had with them in years.

* * *

Despite my new status, the moment I pulled into the office parking garage Monday morning I was overcome with depression. Nothing had changed. Rosenthal could call me a partner, but I was still a worker bee and he was still the queen.

After checking my e-mail, playing on the internet, and reading the trades, I made my first call of the day to Mark Parsons. I told him again that I appreciated the offer, but my answer was still no. He said he was disappointed, but that he understood. He also told me they were thinking of calling Susan, the other woman from
Hollywood Tonight
, to see if she was interested in selling her story. I wished him luck with a pang of jealousy. I hadn’t changed my mind, I just didn’t like the idea of being so easily replaced.

* * *

I made it through the rest of the week without incident. No dates, no crises, just work. By Friday afternoon I was practically wishing for a minor calamity just to break up the monotony.

 My big event for the weekend was taking Kaitlyn and Steve to the airport. Kaitlyn was flying home with Steve for Christmas to meet his family. The first stop on the road to marriage. I knew the ring was coming. It was only a matter of time.

They’d probably thank me at the wedding. Steve would make a toast and tell everyone that if he’d been interested in another date with me, he never would’ve met Kaitlyn. All the guests would laugh and I would stand there, embarrassed, in another hideous bridesmaid dress. It would be my eighth. Maybe I should start looking for a date now.

Since our Christmas bonuses were less than everyone had hoped, Rosenthal attempted to short circuit a mutiny with extra days off on Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve. I spent my Christmas Eve at home with Elmo. We read back issues of
People
magazine, ate not quite stale Christmas cookies, and watched
How The Grinch Stole Christmas
three times in a row on television. Actually, I was the only one who ate the cookies. Elmo just read over my shoulder and watched TV.

New Year’s Eve day I decided to treat myself to a few hours of pampering at one of those fancy salons in Beverly Hills where all the celebrities go. I wanted to start the New Year looking my best and in better spirits. A day of beauty was the quickest way to a positive attitude, at least according to
Singles
magazine.

I left with manicured nails, pedicured toes, and a new hair style. I wanted a facial too, but all the facialists were booked, so I bought some overpriced creams and scrubs and figured I would try it myself at home.

I came home to one message on my answering machine. “Julia, it’s Mommy.” I hit STOP. Last New Year’s Eve my mother left me a message saying that her New Year’s Resolution for me was that next year I wouldn’t be alone. I’d just spent $300 improving my attitude; I didn’t want it destroyed by a ten-second phone message.

I let my finger hover over the DELETE button, but eventually I hit PLAY again. Even with my new attitude, I wasn’t one of those people who could just delete a message without listening to it, no matter how much I wanted to. “I called to wish you a Happy and Healthy New Year,” my mother’s voice continued, “and to tell you to have a good time at the wedding.”

Maybe she’d spent $300 improving her attitude too. A good omen for the New Year.

That night, after two hundred crunches so my stomach would be flat in my gown that night, I slipped an Andre Bocelli CD onto the stereo, lit an aromatherapy candle, and soaked myself in a bubble bath. After I’d loofahed every dead skin cell off my body, I started on my face. I wrapped myself in my fuzzy blue moon and stars bathrobe, covered my hair with a shower cap to keep it clean, and lathered on my new facial goo.