Big Law (9 page)

“I
COME BEARING CAFFEINE
.” Alex stepped into my office, two Venti sized Starbucks cups in hand. “I figured you weren’t going to feel up to our daily Starbucks exodus today.” He handed me a cup and flopped down on the chair across from mine.

“You could hear the bloodbath all the way down in your office?” I wrapped my hands around the hot cup, savoring the feeling of comfort. I’d made good use of the makeshift medicine cabinet stashed in my drawers—a few drops of Visine in my red-rimmed eyes, concealer on my blotchy cheeks, two Advil for my aching head—so I was at least looking okay on the outside.

“Well, I heard the word ‘fuckwits’ being thrown around. Fuckwits is never a good sign. It probably went something like this.” He put down his cup, mussed his hair, and proceeded to do a spot-on impression of Saul’s deranged rant, complete with the scrunched-up, constipated look on his face.

“You are getting way too good at that,” I giggled. And just like that, the giant knot in my stomach dissolved. Thank God for Alex. In the sea of crazy that was the corporate department, he was a life vest.

“I’ve had plenty of exposure to my subject,” he reminded me.

“Lucky you.” I sighed. “Hey, did you get a text from my phone on Friday night?” I asked in a tone that I hoped sounded casual.

“Uhhh … no. Should I have?”

“No, I was just wondering.” I shook my head, suppressing a flutter of unease. “Forget it. Long story.” I took a gulp of my latte. “Hey, what’s in this? It’s delicious.”

“Two shakes of vanilla powder, one shake cinnamon, and a half a packet of Sugar in the Raw. It’s my secret recipe.” He looked pleased with himself.

I raised my eyebrows.

“What?”

“I have a hunch you’re taking the credit for someone else’s handiwork.” I pointed to the name “Jessica” scrolled across the cup above a phone number and “call me!”

Alex waved his hand, but I noticed the faintest blush. “I perfected that deliciousness myself. I happen to have been a barista in college, Little Miss Skeptic. Some of us had to work in school, you know.”

“I was one of those someones too, don’t forget.”

“Yah, I always forget you don’t have a trust fund. You’re just gonna marry one.”

“Hey!” I flicked the rubber band I’d been fiddling with at him.

“Hey yourself.” He ducked, laughing. “You and Jason will have adorable little trust fund babies.” He took a long gulp of his latte. “You want my advice?”

“On marrying into Jason’s trust fund?” I eyeballed him over my cup.

“No, on Saul.”

“Well, I’ve already learned the value of the ‘sticks and stones’ tip, so shoot.”

“Here’s what you have to do. Treat these Monday morning meetings like a tornado watch. Get in a crouched position with your head down and shield your head with your arms.” He bent his arms over his head as if shielding himself from a punch.

I laughed as he bobbed back and forth like a boxer. It felt so good to laugh about Saul’s rage rather than cry.

“No, seriously! It’s the only way to deal with him.”

I leaned back in my chair. “You think his next step is physical violence?”

“No, no, no. Listen, it’s your
optimism
that’s making you miserable. You’re always
expecting
things to go well. It’s sweet, Mac, but it’s a mistake. When I work for Saul I just
assume
that any time I have any interaction with him it will result in him loudly berating me. That way, when he doesn’t, I feel relieved and grateful. Happy, even. You need to stop thinking that you might actually get out of those meetings without abuse. Go into them anticipating the worst and maybe you’ll feel thankful from time to time when you manage to avoid any carnage.”

I nodded slowly and considered that for a minute. “That’s actually good advice,” I said. “Depressing … but good.”

“It’s the Tao of Alex.” He grinned, lifting his coffee cup to toast me.

On Friday I was enjoying a rare moment of reprieve and doing some online shopping, wondering if I could find a good pair of work shoes that doubled as going out shoes. I hated wasting time going home to change. Not that I was actually doing a lot of going out lately, but, like a Biglaw Boy Scout, I wanted to be prepared. After Saul’s diatribe in the Monday morning meeting, things started looking up. With Patrick, Gavin, and Sheldon ripping through the due diligence, we were reviewing the documents faster than Highlander was providing them. This meant I could stay on top of Saul’s daily demands. I didn’t dare expect a Saturday off—that would be the old, foolishly optimistic me—but I was getting some free time, allowing me to slowly recover emotionally. I’d even managed to return to my routine of grabbing lunch with Jason and Alex. They’d welcomed me back to the land of lunch outside the office by treating me at my favorite sushi hole in the wall. We’d stuffed our faces with spicy tuna rolls and the large knot in my stomach uncoiled just a little bit. All I needed now was some retail therapy and I would feel like myself again.

I was idly scrolling through Saks’ new arrivals, wondering whether I could justify spending six hundred dollars on a pair of shoes, when a voice interrupted my thoughts.

“We need you in Dallas.”

I looked up and saw Sarah hovering in my doorway. “We need you in Dallas,” she repeated casually, as if the task was routine. “How soon can you get there?”

I gazed at her like a deer caught in headlights, leaving the Saks website open on my screen. “Um … Dallas? What do you mean?”

“What I
mean
is how soon can you get to the airport and fly to Dallas?” she asked impatiently. “It turns out the target company has a bunch of highly confidential documents we haven’t seen. Apparently they think they’re too voluminous to copy or make available online.” She paused briefly to roll her eyes at the apparent ignorance. “So someone will have to go to Dallas to review them. That someone is you, Mackenzie.” She pointed at me with both hands like I’d won a prize.

“They’re willing to keep their offices open all weekend so if you work efficiently you’ll be back in time for the Monday morning meeting. I’m sure Saul will want a status update about your review. I’d go, but someone’s gotta stay here and man the fort.” She paused just long enough for me to see she wasn’t even trying to suppress her smile. She was clearly delighted that I was the one who would have to provide all the information to Saul. I was the messenger and everyone knows what happens to the messenger. “Anyway, it looks like you have plenty of time on your hands.” She motioned to my computer screen, displaying a pair of red patent peep toe Jil Sander shoes. Price tag: $579. “Those look really cheap by the way.” She turned on her heel and sauntered away.

I sat still in my chair, a string of expletives lodged in my throat. My dislike for Sarah had evolved into full blown loathing. I hated everything about her. I hated the wisp of bangs that fell over her eyebrows, the overly shiny gloss she smeared on her lips, how tightly she cinched her pants with her belt. There really was no giving this woman the benefit of the doubt—she was a total bitch. Maintaining the sanity to restrain myself from running down to her office, throwing myself across her desk, and grabbing her skinny little neck might just require full blown therapy—forget
retail
.

“Riiiita,” I whined as I approached her cubicle, using the same tone as I did with my mother when I needed help with a problem. Rita
might as well have been my mom given how much time we spent together lately. And, like Mom, she was always telling me I needed to get more sleep … or wear more under-eye concealer. “You look like ya’ have two black eyes,” she’d say. “You’re the post-ah child for why they make conceal-ah!”

She couldn’t understand that no amount of makeup was going to camouflage the dark bags I was carrying around these days, but she was my sounding board when I needed to complain about the lawyers I was working for. She’d murmur, “What an asshole!” and I’d return the favor by listening to her complain about her latest dead-beat boyfriend, giving an equally emphatic, “What an asshole!”

Rita had two children, by two different fathers. She claimed she wanted to settle down, but that all the good ones were taken. That didn’t stop her from continuously looking, though. Singles events, night clubs, bars—all the worst places in New York to find men—Rita was there. “My son’s fath-ah looked just like Mario Lopez,” she’d say as she pointed to her little boy’s school picture pinned up on the wall of her cubicle. “I want to find a guy that looks just like him who isn’t such an asshole.” Looks didn’t appear to be a big factor in her selection process, though. She’d hooked up with Freddie Pearson, the partner with the gross habit of picking his nose whenever he was nervous (which was anytime a member of the opposite sex was around). “He took me back to his place, which was HUGE! And right on Pawwk Avenue,” she’d told me the day after their first hookup. “Terrible in bed, but I could put up with that if I got to live in that apawt-ment.” Unfortunately for Rita (or fortunately), things never progressed any further than that. “Guess he just doesn’t think I’m ‘marriage material’” she’d said with air quotes, without the slightest bit of self-pity in her voice.

“Yeeeess, hon?” Rita responded as she continued filing her nails. She was starting her Friday afternoon beauty routine early, which included doing her nails, putting her hair in large rollers and applying her “going out” makeup, all while simultaneously answering the phone and typing up documents. All this in preparation for another Friday night out with her sister, both of them hunting for a husband.

The first time I saw her sitting at her desk with pink foam rollers in her hair I did a double-take, but now it was just a reminder that it
was Friday afternoon. Even Sadir knew the beauty routine. “Geez, is it Friday already?” he’d ask on his way into our office, passing Rita’s desk, noting the one indicator we both had that the weekend was upon us. There was a certain comfort for us in the routine.

I glanced down at the color of polish she was applying today—
Burlesque Show, Red
. She only wore that color when it had been a long dry spell. Poor Rita. “Pretty.” I gestured to the bottle of nail polish.

“Yah—cross your fing-ahs it works and gets me some action. What can I do for ya?” Rita cut to the chase.

“I need to go to Dallas. Apparently, ASAP.” I let out a big, exhausted sigh. “Can you find me a flight? It’s for Project Montauk.”

“Working all weekend again?” She shook her head in disbelief. No matter how long Rita worked at F&D she was always surprised that lawyers had to work on the weekends. “Lemme guess …” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “The Ice Queen?”

I nodded, looking over my shoulder, hoping people walking by didn’t overhear our conversation.

She scrunched up her face in disgust. “That bitch! Someone really needs to dislodge that huge stick up her butt. Maybe get her laid or somethin’.” Rita cackled at her own joke. Now I
really
hoped nobody could hear our conversation. “Leeeet’s see …” She turned her attention to her computer screen and clicked away with her mouse. “First class, I assume?”

I nodded. Hell, why not? If I had to get on a plane today I might as well be offered something more than peanuts to eat.

“Hm. Hm. Hm.” She clicked the keys with her long fingernails “Okay, there’s a flight in an hour and a half out of LaGuardia and the next available one isn’t until 6
A.M
. tomorrow. Which one you want?”

The flight gods were shining on me—I couldn’t pack and get out to LaGuardia that quickly, which meant I wasn’t going to be able to get to Dallas tonight. “Just a sec. Be right back.” I scurried down the hall to Sarah’s office to break the news.

“What don’t you understand about the word TODAY?” she hissed when I finished the run-down of the flight schedule.

“No, I know, listen—the only available flight today is in an hour and a half, sooo …”

“And?” She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“Aaand that wouldn’t give me enough time to pack and make it out to the airport,” I reasoned.

She took a deep, exaggerated breath, like I was trying her patience. “Mackenzie, I really don’t have time for this amateur act. It’s not rocket science—leave now, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.” She waved her hand at me dismissively.