Lawfully Yours (10 page)

CHAPTER 15

It’s December
and time for the firm’s annual holiday party. The Goodwin Hotel is booked, a well-known establishment in Hartford. The hotel is old and prestigious, which is why the administration at Grovas thinks it’s the perfect fit. The party’s a big deal. Even though it’s held on a Thursday night, it’s a black tie affair. Attendance is mandatory but everyone would go anyway. The firm, though large, is fairly tight knit, which is probably the reason why the rumor mill’s so powerfully fueled. People are curious to see what their co-workers will be wearing, and if they’re single, who they’ll be showing up with.

The women will all leave work at around noon to do their hair and put on their gowns. The men will leave around four o’clock to put on their tuxedos and pick up their dates.

No one will be working anyway because they are all excited about the evening, not just for the party, but the fact that everyone will find out about their raise, bonus, and promotion. The air’s filled with a combination of eagerness and apprehension. I’m one of the calmer people. Thank God I already have a solid idea of what will be happening to me. But the anticipation of hearing the details is starting to make me a little crazy.

It’s Thursday morning and I’ve overslept, getting into the office after ten o’ clock. It’s odd to walk in so late. Fortunately, everyone else is so wrapped up in their own tension nobody notices. Distracted myself, I answer my phone without checking the ID, assuming it’s Leila wanting the latest gossip. “No Leila, I haven’t heard anything yet, I just walked in.”

“If you came down here, you would hear something.”

“Oh, sorry! Be right there.” Shit. A cold chill washes over me. It was Jordan on the line, not Leila. This is it. Now I can find out my fate and feel stupid for answering the phone the way I did. Why didn’t I bother to glance at the caller ID? This tension is making me crazy.

In his office, he motions for me to take a seat. I choose one of the gold fabric guest chairs and sit down.

“What do you think of your work performance over the past year?”

Both his voice and his expression are neutral. I highly doubt mine are the same, considering I’m fighting off a heart attack. I hate self-evaluation in general. Even more when my finances depend on my answer. “Fine, I guess,” I answer, voice meek.

“That’s it? That’s your answer?” he asks, eyes popped wide. He puts down the sheet of paper he’s holding. Then he tosses it into the garbage can. “Human Resources wanted every partner to go through this exercise with each associate. Let’s forget all that and have a real discussion. Okay?”

“Sure, fine by me.”

“Loosen up, Sue. You’re making me tense.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, don’t be sorry for your past performance here. I already told you that I, and several other partners, think you’re doing exceptionally well. I’ll get right to the bottom line. Your bonus is based on four categories. Your income to the firm by bringing in new business, your billable hours from doing the work we give you, the quality of your work product, and lastly, your attitude and effort. Everything but the new business aspect earned you a twenty-five thousand-dollar bonus. The new business you brought in gave you another sixteen thousand.”

He pauses. I’m trying desperately to take all this information in. What I’m absorbing is the fact I’ll be able to make a large additional payment on my student loan.

He continues, “You are promoted to third year status, skipping the firm’s second year pay scale. That’s because you’re working much more independently than even some of the third years. As for office space, they’re going to divide the conference room here so you can once again be a part of this wing. The conference room is too big for us as it is. Half of it will become your office, which will be larger than yours upstairs. We should still have enough space in the other half to hold client conferences. If not, we can always have Amber reserve us space in another conference room. Speaking of Amber, she will do all of your work at the pace you need. Anything else you need to know?”

Yes. When am I going to wake up? “No, I think that about covers it,” I squeak out. “Except thank you. Thank you for hiring me, and thank you for keeping me. Thank you for the money and the promotion.”

“A gentler, humbler Sue. It may take me time to adjust, but here’s to Sue Part Two.”

He reaches into his garbage pail and takes out the sheet from H.R., which now bears coffee stains. “Damn, I know there’s a part of the script they wanted me to end with. What was it? Oh, here it goes, ‘Congratulations, associate, on another year with the firm.’ Hmm. That definitely seemed worth reading. There you have it. I’ll see you tonight.” He goes back to his work. I turn to leave, but stop mid-turn.

I stand there hesitating. Is he watching me from his peripheral vision, wondering why I haven’t yet left the room? Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m heading back toward him. He’s engrossed with his computer screen but looks up as I walk over. Without saying a word I throw my arms around his neck and place a kiss on his cheek. His skin is soft, yielding in his surprise. Parts of me feel like yielding, too, which I do my best to ignore. I let go of him, now dying to get out of there and walk away. But my legs stay glued, stubbornly refusing to move as commanded.

“Just when I think I have you figured out,” he says. “What was that for?”

“For being someone I can count on.” Suddenly, my legs have strength. I hightail it back to my office.

The kiss was a fast one, but has a strong effect on me. It’s barely 10:30 a.m. I’ve been at work less than half an hour, but I don’t care. I’m going home. I have to get ready for the party.

CHAPTER 16

Sophisticated Clothing has become my closet annex. I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time here over the past few weeks selecting the perfect gown. I want to be noticed, but not wearing something screaming—look at me! Too bad for the store’s owners, friends or no friends. Their entire inventory was turned upside down in my quest. I’m actually glad the dress I chose was expensive. It makes up for the time they spent.

What was finally selected is black, floor length, and sleek. The dress cinches at the waist, holds tight by the butt, and then cascades downward. The top of the dress is the interesting part, a halter-top with a plunging neckline. Too plunging. I had the store alter it a little so it isn’t so revealing. Even with the alteration the plunge will still be there, giving shape to my ordinary, average bust. It’s simple, elegant, and true to the store’s name, sophisticated.

“Sue, you look beautiful!” one of the shop owners exclaimed. In fact, while looking in their dressing room mirror, I felt beautiful for the first time in my life.

I had Mrs. Nang do a special job on my nails and bought black satin shoes with rhinestones accentuating the very high heels.

Now with the holiday party only a few hours away, I have almost everything together. The dress and shoes are laid out on my bed. My nails still look good. All I need to do is my hair. Sophisticated Clothing had me book an appointment with a salon they know. I grab my keys.

The salon is much fancier than any I’d been to before. Fighting off heart flutters, me, Queen Susan, is whisked away to the sink, and then to the stylist, and then offered a cup of cappuccino along the way. An elaborate up-do is coiffed. They swirl my hair into curls mostly piled up with some hanging down. Rhinestone clips are nestled. Then the makeup artist takes over. My eyes are outlined in a smoky hue, my brown irises looking bigger than I’ve ever seen. The foundation and bronze powder I’m given bestow my face with a bright, healthy and flawless glow. The salon’s work is done but I don’t want to leave. I want to stare in the mirror. Narcissus Unbound.

The best part is that I don’t even look like me. Never having been to any weddings or other formal affairs, I’ve never seen myself so done up. My reflection is both startling and intriguing.

My confidence is blossoming. Still a tiny bud, it’s a small delicate flower that
I’m desperate to grow. But I must be getting there because I actually think I look better than Melba. In fact, I hope I see her tonight. I’m going to fight her for Jordan. She’ll be no match for me. She’ll be toast.

Back at home, I do my best to kill an hour until it’s time to get dressed. I take a walk, stop by a Rite-Aid, and buy two trashy magazines to distract myself. But the off-screen antics of celebrities aren’t doing it for me. Mindlessly turning the pages, I’m unable to focus on anything more than photos of starlets. Tonight, I look every bit as good as them.

I want to look cool and confident. I figure the best way to do this will be showing up a half-hour late. Stalling my progress as much as I can, I drive slower than the speed limit but arrive only five minutes late. Horrified by how early I am, I duck into the bathroom furthest from the ballroom. Reapplying my lipstick and puffing my hair for the umpteenth time brings me another ten-minute delay. Sweaty hands finally open the door. My tiled safety zone is abandoned. Better they think I’m an over-eager partier than a hermit with a plumbing fixation.

The cocktail hour is more lavish than I even imagined. An enormous bar is completely surrounded by people. Six rectangular food stations run parallel. I sample them all, relishing each taste. My favorite is established quickly, and I close my eyes in bliss as I savor the sushi. The carving station isn’t bad either and people line up for the slices of turkey and prime rib. Some waiters pass around platters filled with lamb chops or shrimp cocktail, while others are passing salmon and cream cheese on toast. Still more platters bear Chinese food, mainly dim sum and egg rolls. In the middle of the room there is the largest station, a round table with a smaller circular tier. On it are warming trays with hot pastas.

The cocktail room is pretty packed. Still attempting to look cool, I try surreptitiously to scan the room for Jordan. He’s nowhere to be found. I do find Leila and Marcus along with some of the other associates and join them.

Suddenly, Allen arrives with Rochelle on his arm. Jordan walks by me a few moments later, Melba giddy beside him. This is turning into a bad movie. A double feature presentation.

Having come to this party anticipative, I am now going to leave it agitated. I was feeling beautiful only moments ago. Now I feel silly. Who am I impressing? What was I thinking? It’s only forty minutes in, yet I want to make my exit. I already hid in the bathroom, I can’t do that again. Not knowing what to do, I stand there feeling wooden, stiff, weighted down. I desperately rack my mind for a plausible excuse to walk away.

How about I gotta go walk my St. Bernard? No, I’m pretty sure I’ve told them about my dog allergy. Damn it, I need something good. Hmmmm, maybe I can get away with,
My extremely handsome, totally hot date just called to tell me has a flat tire
.
He’s waiting for me to pick him up at a gas station in Fairfield
.
Yeah, that’s right, all the way down in Fairfield. Too bad we won’t make it back before this terrific party ends. Bummer. Have a nice night though.

I could go with that, if I got drunk enough. No, that wouldn’t work either because then people will think I drive drunk. Well, screw ‘em. I flag down the bartender and order a glass of liquid relief. Since I’m stuck here in hell I might as well enjoy the destination.

Glass of merlot in hand, I turn to leave when I spot Jordan at the bar. I hate to admit it, but he looks good in a tuxedo. Great, in fact. Bond. James Bond. He orders two drinks and I know who the second one is for. I want to spit in it. No, I want to spit in both of their drinks. I wish I were the bartender. Two hemlock martinis, coming right up! Hadn’t Jordan told me he was not dating Melba? That he had no intentions of dating Melba? Was he lying to me, or just able to make U-turns faster than a racecar driver?

I realize I’m staring at him and quickly look down. He hasn’t noticed me, but Melba, who I now see standing behind him, obviously has. She’s in a golden strapless gown. They must be made for each other—she matches his office décor.

“Oh, hi! Sarah, isn’t it?” she calls out from across the bar.

Reluctantly, I walk over. “It’s Susan. Nice to see you again, Melba.”

“Oh, sorry. Well, we’re off to get more of these great appetizers. We’ll see you around, Sarah.” She takes Jordan by the arm and pulls him away. “Thank you for my drink, Jordan,” I hear her purr. “I hope the alcohol doesn’t make me overly susceptible to having a real good time. Unless, of course, a real good time is what you want to have.” The steam coming out my ears mercifully blocks me from hearing anything else.

Jordan obviously saw me but said nothing. I had thought maybe a strange expression flashed across his face at first, but if it did, it disappeared as suddenly as it came. I wonder for a few minutes if I imagined it before I decide that I did.

I make my way back to my group which, for the time being, is without Allen and Rochelle. But several minutes later Allen rejoins, though by himself. I wait for people to be conversationally engaged and then glance around the room for Ms. Van Haughty. But the room is too crowded so I give up. Haughty could be just about anywhere, including the ladies room. I’m about to turn my attention back to the group when I catch a glimpse of her. I do a double take. Why is Rochelle talking to Jordan? They are looking pretty intimate by themselves in a (relatively) quiet corner. Where is Melba? I look around again.

Leila breaks my concentration. She places her hand lightly on my arm and says in a soft voice, “Sue, are you okay? You look uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine. Just seeing who else is here.”

“I’ll make it easy for you. The whole firm is going to show up. Now you don’t need to spend so much time looking.” She seems satisfied this information will cure my apparent curiosity. To show her she’s right I delve into the conversation, but excuse myself when I get the chance by saying I need another drink.

Instead I head in the direction opposite the bar, where Jordan is now standing alone. I figure Melba will be re-joining him in a matter of minutes. “I just wanted to say hello,” I say, “since I didn’t have the chance at the bar.”

“Hello, Sue. You look unbelievably beautiful tonight. Or am I not supposed to say that?”

I give a thin smile. “The comment’s appreciated as long as it’s not overheard by either of your dates.”

“You’re not going to start in again about my dating Melba, are you? I already told you it’s a business relationship with mild friendship thrown in. Uh, out of curiosity, who is my other date?”

“Rochelle, obviously.”

“Rochelle? Who told you I was dating Rochelle?” His eyes narrow to little slits. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” I’m starting to feel silly and want to back away from this conversation. Literally. I start inching my left foot behind me, poising myself for a reverse Olympic sprint.

“From that response, if you can call it a response, I gather you’ve heard everything,” he says, voice steely. “Yes, Rochelle wanted more than a business relationship. I didn’t.”

“That was back then. What about now?”

“Are you training for a position with the CIA, or do you just find interrogation a fun little hobby? May I remind you of your comment that my romantic life isn’t any of your business?” Then he stops and looks at me. Pausing for a few seconds, it seems he’s trying to read me. A sly smile slowly spreads across his face. “Unless, of course, you’re now saying it is your business. Do you think my romantic life is your business, Sue?”

“Oh look, Melba is coming back for you. I’m sure she suffered severe pain from the five-minute separation. Well, have a good evening with her.” With that, I pull the ol’ walking away trick. I know Jordan can’t come after me, he can’t leave Melba standing there.

The hotel staff suddenly rings little bells to alert everyone dinner is now being served. Everybody exits the cocktail room and heads for the main part of the ballroom. When I see the room, I gasp. So beautifully done up for the holidays, all the decorations are in red, green, and gold. Poinsettias surround glowing tapered candles on each dinner table. Organza table linens give off an ethereal glow. Gold cane-backed chairs reflect the gold of the linens, casting a warm radiance. The only presence of silver is a mirrored disco ball in the middle of the ceiling. It shines above a wooden dance floor.

When people bump into me, I realize I’m blocking traffic. It’s time to find my table. Seeing my group already gathered, I walk over. My high heels sink into the plush velvety carpet. I sit down at the only space left, which is one seat away from Allen and Rochelle and three seats from Leila. It’s just my luck I can’t have this arrangement in reverse.

Throughout dinner I make small talk with Brad, a second year associate who is nice but I don’t really know. It’s hard to be too animated or interested in what he’s saying. On my other side is a girl I know
even less. I’m glad when halfway through the entrée the head partner walks to the center of the dance floor and takes the microphone.

“Good evening, everyone. For the benefit of the spouses and dates here tonight, let me introduce myself. I am Larry McMullen, head partner of Grovas & Cleval. On behalf of the firm, welcome to our annual holiday party.”

Applause and hoots come from the audience. Either they really like the speech so far or the result of an open-bar cocktail hour has finally manifested. I know which one I’m betting my five bucks on.

“It’s a tradition we like to keep,” McMullen continues smoothly, “because it shows you, the people who work here, how important and appreciated all of you are. A law firm is nothing without its people.”

More hoots and hollers.

“So with that in mind, I would like to present these awards as tokens of our extra special thanks. Most of you know that every year these go to the firms’ newcomers, the first and second year pool. The partners do not get awards. God knows we make enough money and we don’t need any more accolades than that.” Everybody laughs, and the head partner continues when the noise quiets down. “The first award is for pro bono work. This award goes to the associate who spent the most hours on his or her own time performing legal public service to Hartford’s neediest. And the award goes to. . . Jennifer Chen! Congratulations, Jenny!” Jenny comes up, smiles, thanks everyone, and then goes back to her seat.

“The next award is called the ‘Young Associate of the Year.’”

I bite the inside of my lower lip. It helps clamp down the stomach acid threatening to come up. Why am I so nervous? This award has to be for me. I’ve brought in a lot of new clients, and I’ve worked more hours than anyone I know. Even Leila thinks I should get it. I subconsciously decide not to wait for the name to be called, starting to get up without realizing what I’m doing. My butt’s at least six inches up in the air when I hear, “Jack Johnson! Come on up here, Jack!”

What? They must be confused, because my name is Sue, not Jack. You mean I didn’t get it? Oh God, I’m not going to cry am I? No, I’m not. I’m going to be a good sport. Jack, go on up there. Far away from the projectile vomit that’s about to engulf the festivities.

Has anyone noticed my standing gaff? Or stomach clutching? To cover up my actions, I start coughing, almost too loudly. If people weren’t looking at me before, they certainly will be now. Brad’s standing up too, offering me a glass of water. I drink it to calm myself.

“I must have swallowed the wrong way,” I whisper hurriedly. No one but Brad though is paying attention. They’re watching Jack’s acceptance speech. It’s something I don’t care to see. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Brad and walk off to my plumbing sanctuary. A few feet away from the table, I hear the partner come back to the microphone to continue his blather.

My God, that man likes to yammer on. Ignoring my silent plea to shut up, McMullen continues, “This year, however, we do have an additional award in this category, sort of a ‘runner up,’ if you will. We do this periodically, but not too often. In fact, I had my secretary look in the firm’s archives to see the last time we gave out one of these, and she tells me the date was 1972. So, here it goes, this award goes to Susan Linkovitch for bringing in an impressive amount of business during her very first year here. She’s also getting this award due to all the assistance she gave others while still managing to excel in her own work. Sue, come up and say a few words.”