Big Law (22 page)

“Hm. Hm. Hm.” I heard Rita pick up the paper and examine it. Swiftly, she moved behind my desk and slipped into my chair. “What’s ya password, hon?”

“Cupcake2013,” I answered obediently. I was so vulnerable at that point she could have asked me for my social security and credit card numbers and I would’ve given them to her, no questions asked.

“Cupcake?” Her mouth twitched with humor as she pecked at the keys. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

I felt a twinge of embarrassment, knowing that most people choose something dear to them for their password. Rita probably thought it was a pet name, but in reality, when I was prompted for a password, it was what came to mind.

A minute later my printer was whirring, spitting out a single page, which Rita pulled out and placed in front of her. “Gimme.” She gestured to the soiled page.

In a trance-like state, I slid it across the desk.

Rita studied it before scrolling swiftly but purposefully across the freshly printed page. She handed it to me with a triumphant expression. “Problem solved.” She crossed her arms over her chest and a wide grin spread across her face.

“But how did you …” I stared in awe at the exact replica of Stuart’s signature, minus the blood.

“Ya can’t grow up in Long Island without learnin’ to forge a signature, hon.”

My mind raced through my options for how to handle this. I could come clean, delaying the signing, possibly killing the deal, and most certainly killing my career or …

My phone blared, the caller ID flashing BEN GIRARDI.

Rita looked at me expectantly, pressing the speakerphone on.

Ben’s anxious voice filled the room. “Mackenzie, I have Highlander’s lawyers here in my office. Do you have Stuart’s signature with you?”

There were a few beats of heavy silence as both Ben and Rita waited on my answer.

“Yes,” I finally croaked, holding the paper up with trembling hands. “I have it right here.”

“Mackenzie, our fearless leader, here’s to you—the only female lawyer I can bear to be around!” Patrick boomed, holding his Stella high in the air. We were on our second round and the toasts were heading downhill.

“I don’t think I
should
, but I’ll take that as a compliment.” I clinked his glass. The Highlander purchase agreement was officially signed and a huge weight removed from my chest. I was one step closer to StarCorp. Gavin and Patrick had pressed me on my time at Bearhurst Lodge.
What does Stuart look like? How big is his house? Is his wife hot? Is he as weird as they say?
I’d answered the questions about his wealth, but was purposely vague about his personality. For some reason the short time I spent with Stuart felt … private. His peculiar behavior made him seem so vulnerable to me. As if by sitting in the same room with you and exposing his odd behavior, he was confiding in you. Sharing his secret. And, even with everything he had, all the possessions he’d accumulated and the power he’d amassed, I actually felt sorry for him. I didn’t want to add to the rumors.

Ben was positively gleeful that the deal hadn’t fallen apart. “Great work with Stuart,” he’d praised when he tracked me down in my office following the signature page exchange. “Take the juniors out to celebrate—firm treat.” I knew the hard work was far from over—a closing date had been set for May 15, so there were closing docu
ments to draft and regulatory approvals to gain, but I was trying to push that out of my mind. Tonight was about celebrating.

“It
is
a compliment!” Patrick gave me a hearty pat on the back. “That’s as good as it gets, Mac Lucky.”

I laughed, feeling pleasantly buzzed. I actually had an embarrassment of riches tonight. Sadir had updated me on “the latest” just before I left the office, which included the delightful nugget of information that Sarah had been staffed on a large IPO with Maxwell, which would essentially amount to her being exiled to the printers for an indeterminate amount of time. Not only did it mean that I wouldn’t have to see her smug face around the office, but it also meant she wasn’t working for Ben now. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Mac Lucky?” Kim looked at me inquisitively. Despite the last minute invite, Kim agreed to join us. “Well, I’d planned on watching a marathon of Girls, but I suppose that can wait for another day,” was her response when I gave the 5
P.M
. call. “But do we really have to hang out with a bunch of boring lawyers?” I gently explained to her that I couldn’t ditch my comrades tonight, so the evening would have to involve lawyers and possibly boring law talk. But it would also involve free drinks. “Well, twist my semi-alcoholic arm,” she’d joked.

The Biglaw survival technique I was employing tonight: streamlining your social life. Free time is a limited resource in Biglaw, so when you get it you need to use it efficiently. Which means if you’re ever given time away from the office, you invite everyone in your contact list to join you. Sure, it can make for some strange co-mingling of worlds. Like maybe you’re doing shots with your cousin and your hairdresser, but at least you avoid the “it’s been six months since I’ve heard from you—are you still alive?” email.

“Has Mackenzie not filled you in on her gambling nickname?” Gavin put his hand on my shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “You gotta take this one to Vegas. She’s got a knack!”

“Is that so?” Kim said disinterestedly, clearly unhappy about being the odd man out of the inside joke.

“Here’s the story,” I started, hoping I could bring her in on the humor. “There’s this senior associate, Russ.”

“He’s a dick!” Gavin piped in.

“And he’s super cheap,” I continued. “So he’s always scrounging for food in the conference rooms. Every day at four o’clock he’d come by the war room.”

“War room?”

“Sorry, I mean the conference room. We call it ‘the war room’ because …” Why
did
we call it that anyway? “Whatever, it’s not important.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Anyway, we started to notice his pattern. He’d come into the conference room and immediately hit the tray of desserts left over from lunch. He’d pop all the leftover brownies in his mouth, one after the other.”

Patrick acted out Russ stuffing food into his mouth, as Gavin burst out laughing.

“We were bored one day, so we decided to make a game of it. We took bets to see how many brownies Russ would stuff into his mouth in one sitting. And the winner was yours truly.” I took a mini bow.

“How many did he eat?” Kim looked horrified rather than amused.

“Eight!”

“Ew, gross.”

“Oh, but the funniest part was, right before Russ came in we called Sheldon, another associate on the deal, to ask him if he wanted in on the bet. He says …” I paused, snickering, as Kim looked at me expectantly. “‘No, but I’d like to come
watch
.’”

Patrick, Gavin, and I dissolved into laughter, as Kim turned her gaze to the TV behind the bar, ignoring us.

Maybe I mistakenly left out some of the funny bits because Kim was failing to see the humor in the story. What was with her tonight?

“Hey, have you guys seen the new
X-Men
?” Kim asked, changing topics. “A-maze-ing. I mean, I don’t usually like the whole superhero thing, but in 3D …” She trailed off awkwardly, reading our blank faces.

“We’ve kind of been living in a conference room.” I explained. “We haven’t had any time to see movies, but it
looks
really good.”

Streamlining my social life was clearly not working tonight. Bringing Kim here reminded me of the time when Mom made me invite the French exchange student to my sleepover in the fifth grade.
It was a disaster—she had no idea who the Backstreet Boys were and the best question she could come up with for Truth or Dare was “do you like your teachers?” Granted, it was probably the only English she knew, but still. Kim might as well have just asked us if we liked our teachers.

“Another round?” Patrick offered, but Kim politely declined, grabbing her coat and mumbling something about needing to get up early.

“I promise, when this deal is over we’ll go out for a girls’ night,” I said, giving her a quick hug goodbye.

“Sounds good. Lemme know when it’s done.”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she called out over her shoulder, but I had already turned my attention back to the group.

I
PULLED THE LATEST
copy of the closing checklist off the printer and flipped through the pages, feeling light. I’d been working around the clock for the past eight weeks to meet the implausible timetable for closing, and finally the end was here. The regulatory approvals were in hand, all transaction documents were signed, and, through the magic of wire transfers, Pegasus Partners would become the proud owner of Highlander Hotels today.

Alex poked his head into my office. “Big day! Has it closed yet?”

I shook my head. “The funds are set to move at noon.”

“Congrats. I’m sure you’ll be happy to put this monster deal behind you.” He came in and closed the door. “Have you heard anything about the secondment yet?”

“Nope. But Sadir regaled me with ‘the latest’ this morning and supposedly Ben makes the announcement after Memorial Day weekend every year. So, I should know in a few weeks.”

I didn’t mention that after Sadir had passed on that tidbit of information, I’d high-tailed to the bathroom to practice my best surprised face in the mirror.
You’re choosing ME for the secondment? The one that assures me I’m on partnership track?
Palms to the face, like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone — too theatrical. Hand covering mouth, Miss America style—too dramatic. Tiny grin, Mona Lisa style—too aloof. I’d settled on charmingly surprised à la Jennifer Lawrence at the Oscars.

“Well, there’s no better authority than Sadir.” Alex snickered. He picked up a book from my shelf and began flipping through it absentmindedly, before his facial expression changed. “And no word on the other …” He trailed off without looking up.

“No word.” I shook my head.

It was the first time either of us had brought up the insider trading investigation since that night at the bar. Even now, Alex was choosing his words carefully enough to avoid being implicated. I’d think he was overly paranoid, if I hadn’t already torn my office apart to ensure it wasn’t bugged. Clearly, we’d both seen Homeland too many times.

“Well, no news is good news.” He returned the book to the shelf, like he no longer needed the shield. “Want to grab a drink after the closing dinner tonight?” His jovial tone had returned. “I’ve got some work to do for Russ, but it shouldn’t keep me here past nine. We can celebrate the end of the Highlander deal and your impending good news.”

“Don’t say that!” I scolded. “You’ll jinx it. Ben could give the secondment to
anyone
.”

“Oh, come on, Mac. The biggest deal in the firm right now is about to close and you’re the reason. You’ve got to be feeling pretty confident.”

He was right. I was.

Ding, ding, ding—Vincent clinked on his wineglass, pushed back his chair, and stood up.

A team of white-shirt clad wait staff descended upon our table, placing massive porterhouse steaks in front of each of us. What I really craved was a fresh salad packed with all the vitamins and minerals I was certain my body was crying out for, but lawyers always celebrate accomplishments with red meat. Like it will somehow make everyone feel like a successful hunter instead of some robotic paper pusher.

Glancing around the table, I subconsciously took inventory—nineteen men, one woman. The mixture of pride and discomfort
was a feeling I’d grown familiar with, but never got used to. I tugged at the hem of my skirt, wishing I’d worn pants instead.

“I just want to welcome everyone and tell you how impressed I am with all of your hard work on this transaction.” Vincent paused for applause. “A deal of this magnitude takes a lot of ground soldiers on the battlefields. Each one of you is responsible for getting the ball across the finish line.” I fought the urge to laugh. He’d managed to check off lawyers’ two favorite metaphors—war and sports.

“For that I am eternally grateful.” Another pause to look around at each of us, hoping individual eye contact properly conveyed his sincerity. “This transaction will probably be known as the ‘deal of the decade.’ It was the most complex deal I’ve worked on in my career.”

Hyperbole—check!

“You should all consider yourselves very lucky—you will be better lawyers for having been on it.”

There was the “giving up the last six months of your life to fill the firm’s coffers was really for YOUR benefit.” Check!

He cleared his throat. “And, while I hope this isn’t the most high-profile deal you work on in your careers, I suspect it will be.”

Ah, good old fashioned arrogance. The Biglaw congratulatory toast checklist was complete. Hear, hear.

“Let’s just drink the fucking wine, for Christ’s sake!” Anton Waldorf bellowed from the other side of the table, tossing a dinner roll at Vincent. “At the rate you’re going with this toast we’ll all finish this night fucking sober.”

“You’ve never been sober a day in your life, Waldo!”

“And fuck if I want to start tonight!”

With that, hearty guffaws were exchanged around the table as everyone raised their glass and the evening descended into a buzz of ego, testosterone, and meat eating.

The next two hours continued in this vein, as we made our way through four courses and countless bottles of wine, with the conversations headed downward as rapidly as the wine.

“Vinny and I started our careers at a firm called Nixon Weiss,” Anton slurred, holding the attention of the entire table. “I was a third year associate and Vinny was just a fresh first year associate. We had
some good times. Good times,” he repeated, looking reflective. “But definitely the thing that sticks out most in my mind has to be the morning that my secretary arrived at work and announced, ‘I fucked Vincent Krieder last night.’” Everyone at the table roared with laughter and hoots. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and grabbed my wineglass, wanting to disappear into it. My God, these guys were so vile. Did they even notice I was here? Worse, did they think I found it
funny
? I half expected them to shout “yee haw” and lasso a calf or whatever it is that good ol’ boys do.

“Don’t crucify me for that one!” Vincent exclaimed, pointing his finger at Anton. “I was BETWEEN wives at the time. Besides, your secretary was hot!” More guffaws. “Not like your secretary NOW.”

“Well, YOUR secretary has fucked so many lawyers on that floor that they should name it after her,” Anton retorted. Now poor Rita was being dragged into this drunken debacle.

“Yeah, first name TRAILER last name TRASH,” Vincent quipped. There was a burst of laughter and everyone swilled back more wine. I’m sure Vincent would be surprised to know that Rita expressed pity for him, rather than admiration. Even more surprised to know that his inabilities in the bedroom with his ex-wife were a source of comedy for her (and most likely the countless people she’s confided in). If this was the direction of the conversation, maybe I should just bring up the whole no orgasm thing. It would serve him right.

While I contemplated the idea, Ben piped up from the other side of the table. “Did you hear Fox Paper is finally going to file tomorrow?” He’d been silent most of the evening. Given the woman he’s married to, he must be used to taking a backseat to the drunk and disorderly. My ears perked up for the first time all night. Fox Paper was the IPO that Sarah was working on with Maxwell, the one responsible for her being banished to the printer for the past eight weeks. If it was going to file tomorrow that meant Sarah’s ugly mug would be back haunting the halls of F&D.

“We’ve racked up so many fucking hours on that—it’s going to make Maxwell’s fucking year,” Vincent bellowed. “Well, hall-a-fucking-lu-jah, it’s finally going to file. Hear, hear.” Glasses clinked all around, as I plotted how best to avoid the Ice Queen. With Ben’s
StarCorp announcement around the corner, I didn’t want anything getting in the way.

Walking into the Pig ’n’ Whistle minutes after I’d ducked out unnoticed from the drunken closing dinner, I felt my shoulders start to relax. A drink with Alex was just what I needed to unwind after that shameless display of swagger. I gave my name to the hostess and attempted to stand off to the side, avoiding the jostling from all sides by eager patrons.

“Excuse me.” I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Have you put your name in yet?”

“Uh huh,” I answered, my eyes fixed on my BlackBerry as I scrolled down an email from Alex saying he was going to be late due to Russ’s need to be kept company at the office, rather than any actual work that needed to be done. “Jackass,” I muttered out loud to no one in particular.

“Hey, it was just an innocent question! It doesn’t make me a jackass!”

“No, it’s my friend—I mean, not my friend, a guy he’s working for …” I looked up from my BlackBerry and the most gorgeous brown eyes were smiling back at me.

Staring at me, actually. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He chuckled, looking sheepish.

“Umm … refresh my memory,” I hedged.

“From the plane?”

The plane? My mind started to race like a slot machine until it landed on … oh … my … God. The guy from the flight to Dallas. The guy I fell asleep on.

“Oh … uh …” My face reddened. “It’s … you … I mean, we uhh … right … we met on the plane.” I suppose “met” was a bit of a stretch, but saying, “Oh, you’re the guy I drooled on and ranted to about not showering” seemed somehow inappropriate. Standing up, this guy was even cuter than I remembered. He had the body of a swimmer—tall, muscular without being obnoxiously big, wide shoulders, and a chiseled stomach. “Sorry, I … uh … never got your name.”

“It’s Lawrence,” he chuckled, “but you can just call me jackass.” He smiled and I noticed the adorable dimple he had on one cheek.

“Oh, sorry about that.” Flustered, I waved towards my BlackBerry and started to explain. “My friend was supposed to meet me …”

“Mackenzie for two,” the hostess called out, thankfully interrupting my stumbling attempt at an explanation.

“That’s me.” I stepped forward.

“Is your whole party here?” she bellowed. I hate that question in a restaurant. New York seems to be the only place in the world where they refuse to seat you unless everyone is present and accounted for. Do they think you’re lying to them in a sordid attempt to get a table for four when you’re only a party of two? You just want the extra space?

“Oh, he’ll be …”

“Right here!” Lawrence stepped forward. “Just go with it,” he whispered, giving me a quick wink.

Walking over to our table I was suddenly aware of how dowdy my black Theory suit looked in a bar. I felt like Hillary Clinton at a frat party. I wriggled out of my blazer and hung it over the back of the chair, thankful that I had a silk camisole on underneath rather than a boxy blouse.

“What can I get for you?”

“Heineken for me and …” He gestured to me.

“Same,” I nodded, looking around the bar, trying to hide the fact that I was replaying our previous encounter and cringing inside at the things I’d revealed. Maybe he’d forgot.

“Soooo, last we spoke you were miserable and unshowered,” he said, a half smile playing at his mouth.

“I was kinda hoping you forgot about all that.” I grimaced and blushed at the same time. “Let’s just say that wasn’t exactly my finest hour. I was working really long hours, for a crazy person … and well, yeah …” I trailed off, deciding I’d better just cut the explanation short at that for fear of descending into the TMI abyss again.

“Hey, I’m just hoping things have improved. It looks like you’re clean at least.” He flashed another smile and looked me over teasingly.

“Yes, yes, I have showered today.” I held my hands up in mock triumph.

“And have things improved?”

Good question. Would catching your boyfriend cheating on you with the person you dislike the most in this world be considered an improvement? But, then again, sitting here chatting with a cute guy, with the weight of the Highlander deal off my back and the secondment ahead of me, I felt like things
had
improved. Maybe it wasn’t just the Highlander deal that had caused the crushing stress, maybe trying to hold together a stagnant relationship had something to do with it too. “Well, I guess that depends on your definition of ‘improved,’” I answered, smiling mysteriously.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow and cocked his head.
Ohhhh … he can do the sexy one eyebrow lift.
I’ve always been a sucker for the sexy one eyebrow lift.

I shook my head and laughed. “You don’t wanna know—trust me. And I’d have to be a lot drunker to get into it anyway.”

“Waiter!” He raised his hand. “We’re going to need a round of shots here,” he called out. I laughed and felt my tension melting away.

“So, what led you to working at a big law firm?” He took a long first gulp of beer.

“Well, my uncle is a lawyer and I’ve always looked up to him. He’s just—” I paused, realizing I hadn’t made a trip out to see Uncle Nigel since his retirement party, over five months ago. I vaguely remembered that he’d emailed a few times, but I couldn’t recollect if I’d ever responded. Uncle Nigel had always been there for me, helping guide me towards my goals. And he’d given me the incredible memento from the World Trade Center. Now he was retired and could probably use the company. I silently hoped I’d at least shown him the courtesy of a response. “He’s just someone I really look up to.” I swallowed hard. “But why a big firm in particular?” I shrugged, staring into my glass. “Maybe it’s just the whole overachiever thing gone awry. And, of course, once you look at your loan repayment schedule, your options start to narrow significantly. The hours are long, but, well … you just get used to it, I guess.”