by Beth Orsoff
“No, just 401(k).”
“With company matching?”
“Nope.” Maybe if I gave him one word answers he would take the hint.
“Too bad,” he said. “But most women end up relying on their husband’s savings for retirement anyway, so it’s not as bad for you as it is for the men in your firm.”
I thought my eyes were going to bug out of my head. He must’ve noticed because he quickly added, “I know you career women don’t like to hear that, but statistically, it’s true.”
“I’m sure that was true in my grandmother’s generation. It’s probably even true for my mother’s generation. But that can’t be true for my generation.”
“No, it’s true. We’ve done a lot of research in this area. Most women, even you professional women, get married and have babies, then you either cut back your hours or quit your jobs altogether. In either case, you’re not saving for retirement as much as your male counterparts and end up relying on your spouse’s savings.”
“What about women who never get married and have kids on their own?”
“That phenomenon is too new for us to have viable statistical data. But don’t worry,” he added. “I’m sure that won’t be your situation.”
“Really, why?”
“Because you’re too pretty to end up alone.”
I knew he meant it as a compliment, but I still wanted to pick up my plate and shove it in his face. “So you think only ugly women have babies on their own?”
“No, but I just don’t see you as one of those women who never gets married.”
“You’re basing that on what exactly?” Didn’t he realize he’d been the only one talking for the last forty-five minutes? He knew absolutely nothing about me except that I had a 401(k) plan with no company match.
“Well, you joined Just A Date, so you must be looking.”
“Of course I’d like to meet someone,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I will. And even if I do, and I have a kid some day, I still wouldn’t quit my job.”
“That’s what all women say until they actually have a child. Then all they want to do is stay home with them.”
“That’s not true. I know plenty of women who have kids and still work.” Actually, I only knew two. But that’s just because most of my friends hadn’t had children yet.
“Well many women do continue working because they need the money. But polls show that if they could afford not to work, they wouldn’t.”
“I’m sure if you polled men and told them to assume money was no object and then asked them if they’d rather stay home or work, they’d all rather stay home too.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever taken that poll, but I doubt that’s true. As a whole, men are much more competitive and career-oriented than women. Women can be satisfied just taking care of their families. Most men need something more. Outside validation.”
There was no point in continuing the argument. “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” I said and changed the subject to sailing. I needed a non-controversial topic upon which Ronald could opine and that would require no input from me. I didn’t know if I could be civil any more.
I wolfed down the rest of my steak and begged off on coffee and dessert. I wanted the evening to end as soon as possible. Ronald paid the check and walked me to my car.
“So what are the odds of me getting your phone number?” he asked.
Zero! But I didn’t say it. I’d recovered my composure and didn’t want to be that rude. “I’m surprised you even want it.”
“Of course I want it. I love feisty women. They’re so much fun to tame.” He was smiling, but I didn’t think he was joking.
“Ronald, you’re one of a kind. Or at least I hope you are. But you’re definitely not the one for me.”
Chapter 31
An Exceptionally Bad Start
I didn’t have much time to fret about Ronald. My parents were arriving the next day, I had no food in the house, and I was desperately trying to settle the Rosebud case before Mark Parsons left for a three-week photo safari in Kenya.
“Mark, I’ve got them down to $25,000 from half a million. I really think you should take it.”
“Why should we pay anything?” He was shouting again. “The sex was consensual, and Rita got him on tape practically admitting that he made the whole thing up just to bribe her into a promotion. I think we should send it to the D.A. and file criminal charges.”
I sighed. Since Rita’s post-firing sex tape had surfaced, we’d had this conversation nearly every other day. “Mark, you’re thinking like a defendant again. I need you to think like a lawyer. Jared didn’t actually admit that he lied. He merely implied it.”
“You’re splitting hairs Julie.”
“Yes, and so will the D.A. They’re not going to prosecute, which means that the tape would be inadmissible in the civil trial. Based on the evidence, it’s still a he said/she said and Rita’s got a bad track record.”
“I know.” He was calmer now. “It just pisses me off that we have to pay this guy anything. I’d really love to take it to trial and see him get nothing.”
“It will cost you half a million dollars to go to trial. You can settle it for $25,000.”
“It just irks me, that’s all.”
“If it will make you feel any better, his attorney told me that his costs and fees are already up to $15,000. Jared will only get $10,000, and that’s before taxes. In the end, he’ll clear maybe $6000.”
“Yeah, that makes me feel a little bit better.”
“Good. Then you’ll agree to settle for $25,000?” Please, please, please say yes.
“I guess so. Just draw up the papers fast before I change my mind. If we’re going to settle, then I want it taken care of before I leave for vacation. I doubt there will be a fax machine out in the bush.”
“Consider it done.”
* * *
So I thought. I sent Steve Rogers a standard settlement agreement, which he insisted on revising. We spent Thursday evening and Friday morning hammering out the language. By one o’clock Friday afternoon, I’d made copies of the final version and called a messenger service.
The plan was that the messenger would pick up the documents from my office and take them to Mark Parsons’ home in Malibu. The messenger would wait while Mark signed the agreements and Mark would give him the $25,000 check. Then the messenger would return the signed agreements and the check to me that afternoon.
At the same time, Steve Rogers would have his client sign a second set of documents. Then Steve and I would meet later that afternoon to exchange signed copies and I would give him the check. The case would be closed by the end of the day.
When the messenger picked up the package at 1:30 p.m., I was already the last person in the office. It was the Friday before Labor Day weekend and Rosenthal had announced at noon that we could all leave at one o’clock. It figured the one time he decided to be a nice guy I got stuck working anyway. With any luck, I’d be out by three-thirty, maybe four o’clock at the latest. Which would give me just enough time to get home, clean my apartment, and pick up some groceries before my parents arrived that evening.
The phone interrupted my planning.
“Julia, it’s Mommy.”
“Where are you?” It sounded like she was calling from inside a tunnel.
“We’re on the 405 Freeway. We just passed La Jolla.”
“What are you doing in La Jolla?” They were supposed to be at the San Diego Zoo all afternoon.
“We decided to skip the zoo. We went the last time we were here and figured the traffic would be bad, so we should get an early start.”
“But I thought you weren’t coming until tonight. I told you I had to work today.”
“I’m sure we won’t be up there before five. You’ll be home by then won’t you?”
“I doubt it. I don’t usually get home before seven at the earliest.”
“Can’t you leave a little early? We’re driving all the w
ay up just for you.”
“I don’t know, Mom. I’ll see what I can do.”
This was all I needed today! I called the messenger service to check on their progress. The receptionist told me the messenger was stuck in traffic too. I called again at two-thirty and three o’clock. He was still stuck in traffic. Apparently there’d been an accident, and Pacific Coast Highway was down to one lane which was being used alternately for both directions.
Mark Parsons called me at 3:15 p.m.
“Julie, the messenger just got here and I’m signing the papers.”
Thank you God.
“But I have some bad news. I left the settlement check back at the office. I asked my assistant to copy it and she must’ve forgotten to put it back in my briefcase.”
Don’t panic. Stay calm. This could still work out. “That’s okay. Just call her and have her messenger it over to me.”
“I tried, but she’s already left for the day. We closed early for the holiday weekend.”
Now would be a good time to panic.
“But there’s still one thing we can try,” he said. “The security guard will be there until six o’clock. I can call him and tell him to let someone from your office in to pick up the check. But it can’t be a messenger. It has to be someone you trust. Whoever it is will need to go through my desk.”
“Everyone here is gone for the day. I’m the only one left.”
“Can you do it then?”
Like I had a choice. “Sure, Mark. Just put the signed agreements in an envelope with my name on it. Tell the messenger if he makes it back to my office before I do, to leave the envelope downstairs with our security guard.”
“Great. I’ll call Christian and tell him to be on the look out for a cute brunette.”
“Who’s Christian?”
“Our security guard. You’ll like him. He looks like the guy in the Calvin Klein ads.”
* * *
I ran downstairs and pulled my car into Friday afternoon gridlock. It should’ve taken me twenty minutes to get to Rosebud’s offices. It took me almost an hour. When I got there, the entrance doors were locked. I put my face up to the tinted glass and peeked inside. The security desk was empty. I pounded on the door for ten minutes until someone emerged.
“Christian, right?” I asked the twenty-two-year-old model look-alike when he cracked open the door. He wasn’t wearing a badge on his white T-shirt, but those hideous blue polyester pants had to be part of a uniform. He had a waffle pattern rubbed into one side of his face and crusty yellow gunk in the corner of his eye. I must’ve interrupted his afternoon nap.
“Yeah,” he said and yawned. “What do you want?”
“I’m Julie Burns. The one Mark Parsons told you to look out for.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady, everyone’s gone for the day.”
This was not happening. “Mark Parsons, the general counsel of Rosebud. You know who he is right?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t he call you earlier and tell you that he would be sending someone down here to pick up a check from his office?”
“No,” he said. “I haven’t seen him all week.”
This had to be a bad dream. I pulled out my cell phone to call Mark and realized that I hadn’t taken his home phone number with me. There was no one to call at my office, so I dialed directory assistance. The operator told me there was no listing for a Mark Parsons in Malibu. He must have an unlisted phone number.
I wanted to slit my wrists, but instead I said, “Do you have a contact list for Rosebud?”
“A what?”
“A list of home phone numbers for all of the employees.”
“No.”
Okay. Remain calm. “Christian, I have to pick up a check from Mark Parson’s office. It is extremely important that I get this check today. I understand that you can’t let me do that without Mr. Parsons’ authorization.” I stopped for a breath and continued. “I know he’s at home because I spoke to him an hour ago. Unfortunately, I don’t have his home phone number with me, but I’m sure his assistant must have it in her Rolodex.” Another breath. “Why don’t we go up to his office together. I’ll find the number, call Mr. Parsons, and he can give you authorization. Then I’ll leave with the check and I promise never to bother you again.”
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t let anyone inside without authorization.”
If he wasn’t twice my size, I would’ve had my hands around his throat. “I understand that, Christian. I really do. But can’t we make an exception this one time?”
“I’m sorry, but I could lose my job for something like that.”
Still a no, but he was softening. “Do you know which office is Mr. Parsons?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know where his assistant’s desk is at?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you could go up there and look in her Rolodex yourself? You can lock the door and I’ll wait outside.” I gave him the pleading, wide-eyed innocent look.
He thought about it for a few seconds and agreed. He locked the door and disappeared into the cool air-conditioned building. I sat down on the 110 degree sidewalk in front of the door and waited.
I looked at my watch. It was now 4:30 p.m. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my office voicemail. I had three messages.
“Julia, it’s Mommy. It’s about 3:30 and we just passed Newport Beach. Call us back on Dad’s cell.”
I deleted my mother’s message and heard a second voice. “Julie, it’s Steve Rogers. Jared signed the agreement and we’re both very anxious to wrap this up today. Call me as soon as you get this message.”
I deleted again and a third voice came on the line. “Hi Julie, it’s Mark. I’ve been trying to reach Christian but he’s not answering the phone. When you get there, tell him to call me at home. You know the number.”
“Grrrrr! Do you think I have it memorized!”
Christian unlocked the door. “Are you okay? I thought I heard someone scream.”
“I’m fine. Did you find the number?”
“No. I didn’t see any Rolodex. Maybe she keeps it all on her computer.”
I had no alternative. It was my only option. I started to cry.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Please don’t.”
I let the tears roll down my cheeks unabated.
He sighed and pushed the door open wider. “Come on. We’ll figure something out.”
I played Mark’s voicemail message for Christian. That, and the tears, were enough to get me up to Mark’s office. I searched Mark’s assistant’s workspace myself, but Christian was right. There was no Rolodex. But even people who use electronic phone books keep at least some hard copy backups. Mark’s assistant was too efficient not to have all of his numbers somewhere.
I opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a stack of papers. I’d been hoping to find an employee phone list. There wasn’t one. But taped to the bottom of the drawer was an index card with all of Mark’s phone and fax numbers.
“Julie, where are you?” Mark asked when he picked up the line. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know, I got your message. I’m in your office with Christian. I’m going to put him on.”
Christian nodded a few times and said “okay sir.” Then he handed the phone back to me.
“You’re set,” Mark said. “Thanks for going down there and taking care of this.”
“No problem. Have a good trip.” What else could I say? He was still a client.
Christian unlocked Mark’s office door and it took me all of five seconds to find the check sitting on top of a stack of papers in his in-box. I stuffed it in my purse, thanked Christian, and left. I tried to call my parents and Steve Rogers from the car, but my cell phone battery was now dead.
By the time I got back to my office at 5:30 p.m. I had six new messages on my voicemail. Thre
e were from Steve Rogers. The other three were from my mother. Both of them wanted to know where I was and why I hadn’t called them back.
I called Steve first. He picked up on the first ring.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for two hours.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to drive over to Rosebud’s offices to pick up the check, and the place was locked, and the security guard didn’t want to let me in, and…just trust me, it was a nightmare.”
“But you have the check now, right?”
“Yes. Why don’t you come up to my office now so we can exchange documents and both get the hell out of here.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
* * *
Five minutes later Steve Rogers sat down in my guest chair. He handed me two copies of the settlement agreement signed by his client and I handed him two copies signed by Mark, plus the check. “We’re done,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied with obvious relief. “Not that it hasn’t been a pleasure working with you.”
“Same here.” Normally, I hated opposing counsel by the end of a case, but these negotiations had been shorter and less contentious than most. There’d even been moments over the last couple of weeks when I thought Steve Rogers was a nice guy.
“Maybe we can grab a beer some time,” he added. “Exchange war stories.”
“Sure.” I assumed it was one of those “let’s do lunch” lines that people say but never mean.
“Great. How about one night next week? Maybe Friday?”
Hold on a second. Was this a date? I looked at Steve Rogers in his casual Friday outfit—khakis, deck shoes, and a plaid short sleeve shirt with a white T-shirt underneath. Way too preppie for me. And he definitely needed to update those horn-rimmed glasses. But I was too tired to come up with an excuse. What little energy I had left I needed to save for my parents. “Sure, Steve, Friday sounds good.”
“Then I’ll see you next week.” He smiled at me and stood up. “Have a great weekend.”
“You too.” I knew my weekend would be anything but great.
Chapter 32
Fun with Mom and Dad
When I was alone again, I called my parents back.
