by Beth Orsoff
I’d passed out in the hotel bar, my butt still planted on the barstool, my head and arms sprawled out in front of me. Joe walks in and sees me. He calls my name, but I don’t answer. He shakes my shoulders, but he can’t rouse me. He slaps my face (gently, he’s not one of those guys that beats up on women) to try to wake me, but without success. He realizes the inevitable.
He pries me off the bar stool and cradles me in his arms. He carries me out to the elevators, staggering under the weight of both me and my bridesmaid dress. He makes it to the elevators, but just barely. He leans against the wall for support until the car arrives. When the door opens, he steps in and falls to his knees, dropping me on the floor. He pushes the button for the ninth floor. He thanks God for the elevator.
When the car stops at my floor he realizes that there’s no way he can make it to the end of the hall with me in his arms. He curses me for having a room so far from the elevators, then picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. When he reaches Room 923 he pulls my matching teal purse out of his jacket pocket with his right hand, balancing me on his shoulder with his left. He fumbles, but eventually finds the key. He swipes the key card and pushes the door open.
He walks inside and flips me onto the bed. I fall onto the blue and gold flowered spread with my arms outstretched, one leg falling to the floor. He pushes the fallen leg onto the bed, then notices the drool dribbling down the side of my face. “Why me?” he mumbles to himself before slamming the door shut behind him and heading back to the elevators.
I could never face this man again.
Chapter 15
Postmortem
Simone was walking towards the escalators when I pulled into the parking garage. When she spotted me, she stopped and waited for me to catch up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” I thought I’d fixed my makeup in the rearview mirror. Apparently not. Someday I’d remember to buy waterproof mascara.
“I’m serious. What happened?”
“Nothing.” She looked doubtful. “Really. It just didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.” My voice cracked and the tears started flowing again. We rode the escalator from the garage to the lobby, then I headed towards the elevator bank marked floors twenty-one through thirty-five.
“You’re not going to the office looking like that,” she said.
“What am I supposed to do? Take the rest of the day off?”
“That’s a great idea. Maybe I’ll join you.”
I smiled for the first time since I’d left Joe. “Rosenthal would love that.”
She pulled her cell phone from her purse. “Massage or facial? I have a twenty percent off coupon for the spa at the Century City Hotel.”
It sounded like heaven but, “I can’t. I have a meeting with Rosenthal at two-thirty and a conference call at three.”
“So cancel. Tell him you’re sick.”
I shook my head. “He knows I had a lunch date. He’d probably just think I got lucky and I’m off somewhere getting laid.”
“Not a chance. We all know how virginal you are.”
“Thanks, Simone.” She had a lot of admirable qualities, but compassion wasn’t one of them.
She looked at her watch. “It’s only two o’clock. Take a walk with me and I’ll buy you a chamomile tea.”
“I hate tea.”
“Then I’ll buy you a cup of coffee!”
Simone led me to the Coffee Bean in the lobby of our building, and ordered two vanilla lattes and a giant chocolate chip cookie. We sat down at a table for two with our sugar and steaming cups. I spilled my guts and Simone laughed out loud.
“You are totally overreacting.”
“No, I’m not. I was completely humiliated.”
“Some day you’re going to look back on this and laugh,” which just started her on another wave of giggles.
I told her I doubted it, but she was laughing so hard she didn’t hear me.
“Are you going to see him again?” she asked when her laughing fit had finally subsided.
“Did you listen to a word I said? That was the most humiliating experience of my life.” A slight exaggeration, but I was on a roll. “Every time I see him I will have to relive that nightmare. No, I’m definitely not seeing him again.”
“We’ll see.” She looked at her watch. “C’mon, let’s go fix your makeup. You don’t want to go upstairs looking like that. You know how nosy Rosenthal is. Although I’m sure he would get a kick out of this one.” This launched her into a whole new cycle of hysterics.
I kept telling Simone it wasn’t funny, but that just made her laugh harder. By the time we reached the thirty-second floor, even I was giggling.
* * *
I sank into Rosenthal’s black leather couch. He had the corner suite with views of both the mountains and the city.
“Did you have a nice lunch?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied for both our benefits. I was sure he didn’t really care, nor did I want to tell him. “How was yours?”
Rosenthal proceeded to bore me with every minute detail of his lunch hour. I nodded and occasionally commented just so he would think I was listening. After the lunch story, Rosenthal opined about lawyer-client relationships, the qualities needed for a successful television show, and the prospects for the Lakers in the upcoming season. There is no area in which Rosenthal does not consider himself an expert.
At five minutes to three, Rosenthal finally filled me in on the Rosebud Productions case. At three o’clock, he called Mark Parsons, Rosebud’s general counsel.
Mark’s voice boomed through the speaker phone. “Julie,” he asked, “has Bruce brought you up to speed?”
“I think so,” I said. “One of your production executives fired his assistant and she’s claiming sexual harassment.”
“You’ve got the facts right, but the genders wrong. The executive is Rita Levin and her former assistant is Jared Kinelli.”
“That’s a new twist.”
“Unfortunately, not for Rita. She was involved in a similar suit when she worked at Worldwide. It settled out of court.”
“Confidentially, I hope.”
“Yes, but not before a complaint was filed, so its all public record.”
Not good. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to come in and interview Ms. Levin.” It was always best to get the facts in person. Besides, it was a good excuse to get out of the office for a few hours.
“I’ll have her assistant call you to set up a meeting.”
“She has a new assistant already?”
“He’s a temp.”
* * *
This case didn’t sound particularly exciting, but a new case I could throw myself into was just what I needed to forget about my date with Joe. I went back to my office and checked my voice mail. The first message was from my mother wanting to know if I was still alive. The second was from Kaitlyn wanting to know about the date. And the third was from Joe: “I just wanted to say again that I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I’d love to make it up to you. No surprises this time. I promise. Call me.”
I called my mother back first, before I forgot again. Luckily she wasn’t home, so I got away with just leaving a message that I’d talk to her over the weekend. Although that might seem like I merely put off the inevitable one more week, I’d actually accomplished something. My parents and I normally spoke once a week. By pushing off the conversation to the following weekend, I’d reduced the number of “When are you going to get married/You’re not getting any younger you know” phone calls per year from fifty-two (plus birthdays) to fifty-one (plus birthdays). When it comes to preserving sanity, every little bit helps.
Next I returned Kaitlyn’s call.
“I can’t believe you waited this long to call me back,” Kaitlyn shouted into the phone.
“I had a meeting right after lunch,” I said in my defense. “I do have to do some work you know.”
“All right, stop y
our whining and just tell me who he is already.”
I told her the whole story.
“Look at it this way,” Kaitlyn said, “at least you got your bra back.”
Only Kaitlyn could find the upside in that date.
“So when are you gonna call him back?”
“I’m not calling him back. He completely humiliated me.” Why did no one understand this?
“Perhaps wrapping your bra up like a present and giving it to you in the middle of a restaurant wasn’t the best idea he ever had, but he apologized. Besides, you have to call him back. There are too many unanswered questions.”
“Such as?”
“Such as does he live in Los Angeles? If you’re assuming he does, then why was he bartending in New Jersey? If not, then what’s he doing in L.A.?”
Good points, but not worth calling him back for. “I think he lives here. When I told him where to meet for lunch he didn’t ask for directions.”
“That doesn’t mean anything—guys never ask for directions. You also forgot to get his work story.”
That answer I already knew. “I’m sure he’s a wannabe. He’s good-looking, so he’s probably an actor. They’re the worst. Although he’s smart, so he could be a writer too.”
“What if he’s just a bartender?”
“Nobody in L.A. is just a bartender. They’re all wannabe somethings.”
“He could be the exception to the rule. The one bartender who’s just a bartender.”
“Then that’s just as bad.”
“Why?”
I couldn’t believe I had to explain this. “Bartenders aren’t husband material. Besides the fact that they work nights and weekends, the only time I’m free, what would I do with a bartender at all those ridiculous lawyer functions I have to go to?”
“He could mix drinks and get everyone drunk. He’d be a big hit.”
“Like you would ever marry a bartender. You won’t even go out with a guy if he doesn’t have a master’s degree.”
“That’s not true. When I started dating Billy he only had a bachelor’s.”
I was glad she’d brought Billy up. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. “Have you talked since you got back?”
“Briefly,” she said. “Last night.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He said he called to see how I was doing. I told him I missed him, but I was doing fine. He said the same, then his call waiting clicked in and we hung up.”
“Are you really fine?”
“Yes, I really am.”
She sounded okay, but I was still having a hard time believing it. “When Scumbag left I cried for three days.”
“I know, I was there. But this is different. Billy and I have mutually agreed to end the relationship.”
Scumbag and I had mutually agreed to end the relationship. Of course, that was after I found him in our bed with the actress from his TV show. I should’ve known the date with Joe wouldn’t work out. Me and wannabes never do.
Chapter 16
Tough All Over
The next morning I decided to treat myself to a few hours in the firm’s law library. As a junior lawyer, I’d spent so many hours in the library that the senior partners used to tease that they were going to make it my office. Unlike most of my counterparts, I love legal research. I’ve always thought of it as a treasure hunt for the perfect case. Similar to dating, but better. When you found a case you didn’t like, you just closed the book and moved on. Bad dates lasted longer and were harder to get rid of.
I’d just settled into a comfy chair with a casebook and my coffee, when I heard what sounded like an underwater chain saw coming from the other side of the room. Past the bookshelves, and on the other side of the partition, I found Greg. He was lying on Rosenthal’s worn, stained, former living room couch, snoring. His black lace-up shoes and yellow tie were lying on the floor next to him. His head was resting on a soft covered book and he was using his suit jacket for a blanket.
I called his name, but he didn’t answer. When I shook his shoulder, he opened his eyes, but stared at me without recognition. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine-thirty,” I said. “You better get up. Rosenthal’s going to be in any minute.”
He sat upright and reached for his tie. “What’s today?”
“Thursday.”
He laid back down. “Then I’ve got time. Rosenthal goes for acupuncture treatments at nine. He won’t be in before ten.”
“How long has this been going on?” And why was I always the last to know?
“Just a few weeks. I overheard Rosenthal and Parker talking about it in the men’s room. Parker told him he’d read somewhere that acupuncture prevented hair loss.”
“Is that true?” If it was, my dad would want to know.
“I doubt it. Actually, I think Parker made it up just to get Rosenthal out of the office more. But it worked, so I’m not complaining.”
“And when were you going to share this information with your comrades?”
“Sorry, I forgot. I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”
I wanted to know if it had anything to do with why he was sleeping on the couch in the library, but I didn’t want to pry. That was Rosenthal’s territory.
I turned to leave when Greg blurted out, “Samantha left me.”
I sat down on the edge of the couch. “I’m so sorry Greg.” I knew that was a lame response, but I didn’t know what else to say. “Maybe it’s just temporary,” I added. “Maybe the two of you can work it out.”
“No, it’s permanent. I went home last night and all her stuff was gone. That’s why I came back here. I couldn’t stand to be alone in the house.”
“That’s awful.” I knew it was. I’d felt the same when Scumbag left. Although I spent the night at Kaitlyn’s, not the office.
“Fucking bitch didn’t even have the guts to tell me in person. She left me a goddamn message.”
“Did you call her back?”
“She said not to, that she’d be in touch. I’m supposed to just sit home and wait for my fucking wife to call me and tell me my marriage is over?”
“I’m really sorry, Greg.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s your wife’s loss.”
I’d planned on extolling Greg’s virtues, but before I could begin, he said, “I completely agree.” At least the break-up of his marriage hadn’t shattered his self-confidence.
When I asked if he needed anything, he told me just a shower and a change of clothes. “Will you cover for me if Rosenthal starts nosing around?”
“Sure, just tell me what you want me to say.”
“I don’t know, make something up.”
“How about I tell him that I saw you this morning and you were just leaving for a court appearance downtown. That should buy you a couple of hours.”
Greg tied his shoes and stood up. “That’s what I love about you Burns—you can lie with the best of them.”
“Only when necessary, and even then I don’t really like it.”
“You’re too good at it not to like it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m trying to be nice to the guy and this is the gratitude I get.
“You’re a lawyer, Burns. You’re paid to lie.” Then he put his hand on my shoulder. For a moment I thought he was going to hug me. Instead, he just gave me that reptilian smile again and left.
Despite what Greg thought, I am not a good liar and I don’t particularly like doing it. Nor do I agree with Greg’s view of our job. Representing clients didn’t mean lying for them. They did that on their own.
Chapter 17
Clients, the Joy of Every Lawyers Life
On Friday afternoon I drove out to Rosebud Productions’ offices to meet with Rita Levin. I was waiting for her in the reception area when Mark Parsons arrived. He told me Rita was running late and asked me to come down to his office to talk. I was
hoping that meant he wanted to tell me about a new case. I wasn’t up for partnership until the following year, but as Rosenthal constantly reminded me, it was never too early to start bringing in business. Not that I wanted to spend the rest of my life working for Rosenthal; I didn’t. I just wanted to make partner so I could leave with the title and get a better job somewhere else.
I followed Mark up the stairs and down the hall to his cavernous office. I sat down on the short side of the L-shaped sofa with my pad and pen in hand. Mark shut the door and sat down next to me in the corner of the “L.” Our knees were practically touching.
“You’re not going to need that,” he said, motioning to my pad and pen.
“No, I do. I have a terrible memory.”
“This isn’t about the case. I just wanted to talk to you.”
The general counsel just wants to chat? “About what?”
“About you. I like to get to know my lawyers.”
I shifted my sitting position so it wasn’t as obvious that I was moving further away. “What would you like to know?”
“Just tell me a little bit about yourself.”
I hated questions like that. I never knew the right answer. “Like what? Where I went to law school?”
“I don’t give a shit where you went to school. I want to know if you’re married? Single? Do you have any kids?”
“Good thing this isn’t an interview,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “You know you’re not allowed to ask those questions.”
“I know.”
I didn’t see any diplomatic way out of it, so I said, “Single, no children.”
“Boyfriend?”
It was no wonder their executives were being sued for sexual harassment. Even their general counsel was doing it.
“Just dating,” I told him. Then I asked him about his wife. If we were going to get personal, I preferred to be the one asking the questions rather than the one answering them. I also wanted to remind him that he was married.
