by Hoff, Stacy
After two months and several cocktail parties under my belt, I’m in Jordan’s office once again, asking him about an assignment. But he is more interested in my outside projects.
“So, I hear you have a dual life. Are you Batman or Robin?”
“What?” I blink in confusion.
“Well, you’re obviously a superhero in disguise. Lawyer by day, super client chaser by night.”
“Oh. You heard. I’m trying to expand my client base. Isn’t that what you partners do?”
“Yes, but you entry-level associates are supposed to be so busy with the amount of work we chuck at you that you’re oblivious to all that. The odd thing about you is that you can keep up with your work and still keep your eyes on the prize. You seem to get the bottom line, that it’s all about the firm’s bottom line. Keep it up, Sue. In a few weeks it will be the holiday party. Grovas gives out its bonuses and gives a special award to someone in its young lawyer section. Someone who was able to hit the ground running.”
“You mean I have a shot at that?” I stammer.
“Yes, there’s been talk that you’re up for it. I shouldn’t tell you, but Bill Lipman has been advocating for you ever since you helped Leila out with that trial she was working on.”
“That is so nice of him. I guess he meant what he said.”
“Sue, for the record, I’m the one who submitted your name to the committee in the first place.”
“You did?” My mouth, a great open cavern. Entre vou, spelunkeans.
“Yes. Not bad for a guy who never lets you know where you stand, huh?”
“Oh,” I squeak out.
“Your silence is underwhelming. Well, let’s just leave it this way, then. Like your friend Bill, I meant what I said to you, too.”
Not knowing what else to do, I take my usual approach—I leave his office. What did he mean by, “What he had said to me?” Was he referring to the part where I deserved an award, or the part where he implied he still likes me? I’d assume the latter if I hadn’t seen him hand-in-hand with Melba.
Meanwhile, I have my own would-be romantic entanglement. A few times already I’ve gotten a call from Jerry Spalone, Junior. The most recent voice mail message he leaves is representative of his bluntness. “Hey, Sue, this is Jerry. If you’ve broken up with your boyfriend, give me a call. If you haven’t broken up with him, give me a call. My middle name is discreet.” I’m annoyed with myself that I’m actually flattered by this obnoxious playboy. I’m not calling him back.
CHAPTER 12
A little bit of business is starting to drift in because of David’s parties. Two people from the same company asked me if Grovas handles planning and zoning matters. They have a Farmington development deal they need someone to handle, so I had them make appointments with Jordan and myself. By the time they left Grovas & Cleval, the firm held a heck of a lot of money in retainer. Although it seems their project is not going to generate a lot of billable hours past the retainer amount, it could open doors for me in terms of handling the legal issues of David’s clients.
I still don’t know whether to be impressed with myself or scared when David’s cocktail attendees call me. I’m impressed with myself that I can convince a total stranger I’m an expert in my field. But I’m scared I’ll have to start buying into this persona. It seems that no matter how much work I do, how many compliments I get, how many successful leases I hammer out, I still have the nagging feeling my lawyer persona is a mere façade. After all, if I’m really all that good at being a lawyer, why did my job at Stone & Sommers bomb so badly? And if I’m so charming that I can woo clients, how come I can’t open up on personal a level? I’m performing a masquerade. My costume is a knee-length tailored black cocktail dress.
David’s parties do have me financially flourishing though. He isn’t hurting from doing business with me either. Sophisticated Clothing sent me their friend. I was to help them get a lease from a proposed landlord who’d turned hostile. When my negotiations broke down, I sent them to David to find a new landlord. He wound up leasing them premium space in a strip mall, making out nicely on the deal. Of course, I got to bill the client too for their lease with the strip mall, and that isn’t going to hurt in terms of establishing my year-end bonus. Maybe Jordan is right. Maybe I really am off and running.
There are, however, still speed bumps along my path to success. I share my new secretary, Cathy, with Leila and a guy named Jack. Cathy is nice, certainly more accommodating than Amber, but starting to complain she can’t handle the volume of work I give her. Opting for a passive-aggressive solution, she slows down her turn-around time. Unfortunately, her tactic works. I’ve tried placating her by leaving cups of coffee from Java Lava on her desk. I bring her cookies from the downstairs break-room anytime I can grab them. Apparently, the way to her heart isn’t through her stomach.
I need to do something different to address the situation. Once again, I go downstairs to see Jordan. “I already know,” he says. “The staff gripes your work takes up too much of their time. And they don’t like your office being such a mess—they don’t want to file for you anymore.”
“In a way, they’re right,” I say through clenched teeth. “I need more filing cabinets. I need a secretary who can be dedicated to my workload so they’re not overwhelmed. I need—”
“Bigger office space. I know.”
“You know?” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.
“Yeah. Just how unobservant do you think I am?”
“Uhhh . . .”
“Right,” he says, barely hiding his exasperation as he spits out his words. “After the first of the year you’re getting your own secretary, although that person may also do some overflow work for somebody else. You’ll also get a bigger office, but we’re not sure where yet. Space is always tight, and I’m trying to keep you somewhere close to this wing. We’ll work it out.”
Just then a swirl of long blonde hair breezes in. “Of course it can be worked out, Jordan can work out anything.”
“Why hello, Melba,” Jordan says with the broadest smile. “You’re early.”
“I know. I hope you don’t mind,” she purrs.
“Seeing you is always a pleasure.”
With that, I excuse myself and go back upstairs where I belong.
Allen asking me to join the gang at the pub that night is a relief. Being surrounded by people will force me out of my bad mood. But I show up to see only one person there—Allen.
“Where is everybody?” I shout over the bar’s blaring television sets.
“I wanted to get to know you better,” he shouts back. “So I told everyone we were all meeting half an hour from now. Besides, when they walk in they’ll see us together. That means I’m still the guy who brought the pretty one.”
Despite my dropped jaw, I’m able to laugh. “A little competitive, aren’t you?”
“Competitive? You bet. I can fight for a woman, too. Now, tell me who my competition is. Let the battle—Oh, hi guys,” he says to the gang of first and second year associates coming over to join us. “Shit,” he curses under his breath.
“Hey!” Leila yells over to Allen. “I thought you weren’t going to be here for another half-hour.”
“If you thought that, why are you here now?” he replies coolly.
I think Allen sounds outright bitter, but bitterness is not easily detected by upbeat, optimistic Leila. “We all thought we’d wait for you here,” she answers with a happy lilt to her voice, pulling up a bar stool. “Sue, babe,” Leila says, swiveling around to my direction, “I love your new blouse.”
Whatever further ideas Allen has as to competitiveness are battles to be left for another day.
People are buzzing about year-end bonuses, promotions, and pay raises. Some optimistically, some less so. It’s early November and app
rehension is clearly weighing heavily on many. I’m calm, somewhat. My getting a bigger office and better support staff makes it safe to assume I’m not going to be demoted. Or canned.
As usual, Leila’s in an upbeat mood. Bill told her she’ll be getting good news. Though she isn’t sure about the specifics, Bill’s broad assurance is enough for her. “I can wait for the details,” she says, eyes twinkling in excitement. Geez. A child waiting for Santa to drop down the chimney. I manage to love her despite her souped-up optimism.
My stomach is never a hundred-percent settled. Whatever else happens to me in December is probably going to be positive, but I still have a restless feeling I can’t quite shake off. I want accolades. I want to win the firm’s award. No matter what I achieved in my earlier life, I was never noticed. I want to finally be acknowledged for doing things right.
Almost overnight the gossip and speculation has gone from the buzz of a few bees to the loud, pervasive sound of a swarm. People who haven’t spoken to me before are now asking me for my opinion as to what I think bonuses will be, who will be promoted, demoted, etc. I know better than to feel flattered. It’s not that anybody is fooled into thinking somehow I hold the cards to their fate. It’s more that they’re desperate to talk and I’m yet another ear. The nervousness of these new “friends” raises my own anxiety level so high that I bring extra-strong antiperspirant and Pepto-Bismol. Thoughts of reverting back to the brief yet courteous, “Hello, how are you’s?” make for tantalizing pipe dreams.
Despite my instinct to stay within my social comfort zone (which is to say, none at all), I decide since my client world is expanding, my personal life should too. I decide to accept Allen’s offer to go out with him, although I decided it won’t be to one of David’s events.
Allen is attractive enough, bright enough, and kind enough to be worth a romantic shot. But I’m not sure if he has enough going for him in any one of these categories to keep my interest. Still, I figure anybody who acts so sweet is worth a chance. I also have to admit that Allen offers a bonus prize, he can help me shake off my feelings for Jordan.
Taking the bull by the horns, I ask Allen if he’s still up to going out with me. I’m so stunned that I do this, I don’t immediately register his response.
“You finally caught on to my subtlety. Good.” He smiles. “I’d love to go on a date with you. When would you like to go? I’m free Saturday night, if that works.”
“Umm.”
“Oh, not good, huh? How about Sunday?”
“Sorry. Just thinking what would work. Saturday night would be great.”
“Would you like to see a movie? There are a few playing that look good, like this one I read about, Twisted Future. Does that work for you?”
Frankly I don’t know if Twisted Future will work out for me, but I think I’ll give it a shot. For the first time in years I have a date for a Saturday night.
My mother’s more excited about the date than I am. To me, the most exciting part has already happened—my taking the initiative to ask a guy out. My mother rakes me over hot coals with so many questions I’m ready to burst from the relentless, intense heat of interrogation.
“Is he cute?”
“Cute enough.”
“Does he do well at the firm?”
“Well enough.”
“Susan, honey, I wish you’d take your life more seriously. You should consider how he performs at the firm because you work there. You wouldn’t want to be associated with somebody in poor regard.”
“Ma, if I took my life any more seriously, I’d be my own psychiatrist.”
“No need for cute remarks, dear. Moving forward with my questions, he doesn’t already have a girlfriend, does he?”
“Not that I’ve met,” I answer glibly. Yet despite my quip, this question makes me pause. After I hang up the phone, my thoughts go back to Jordan and Melba. I think they’re dating, but I’m not sure. It isn’t like I have any way to find out. I wouldn’t begin to broach the topic with Jordan, and if I ask anybody else, especially Leila, they’ll wonder why I want to know. As much as I love Leila and value her input, a potential affair with my boss is something too terrifying to share with anyone at the firm.
I have my date with Allen. We go to the movies and then to a pub. The conversation flows easily and I laugh a good part of the time. It’s a genuinely pleasant experience and the first time I’ve gotten to know a co-worker on a personal level since Leila.
Learning that other young lawyers have similar hopes and fears make mine seem within the range of normal. Maybe I’m not so strange after all. Allen certainly doesn’t make me feel strange. On the contrary, he’s going out of his way to make me feel appreciated and special. He does little things, buttering a dinner roll and then handing it to me. The understated way he acts is refreshing.
But as much of a good time as I’m having, there are still moments I feel disconnected from my body, when I float above myself. Watching my date from a distance, as well as living it. How many dates does one have to have with a person before a real connection happens?
Already midnight, our date is over. Surprisingly, time has moved quickly. Allen hasn’t tried to grope me and he gets points for that. This guy might be okay after all.
“I had a good time tonight,” I say. “Let’s go out again soon.”
“Wow, Sue. Okay. I’ve never been on a date before with a girl who tells you how she feels.” He smiles. “It’s a nice change of pace. How about next Saturday?”
And so my dates with Allen are on.
Allen’s been real good about not sharing our news with the rest of the office. I decide to let Leila in on these facts but make it a point this time to tell her not to repeat my business. Slightly offended, she agrees.
“You know you can criticize me for being a blabbermouth all you want, but if you get the award for most achieved young associate, you can thank me. The partners know about your outside business efforts because I said something.”
“Okay, Leila, that’s true. But I don’t think there’s an award for intra-office dating, so it would be good if we keep this to ourselves.”
She must be true to her word, no one else seems to know. If Allen and I see each other in the office, it’s by accident. We mutter a “hello” and then go back to what we were doing. It’s so low key it’s like we are entirely different people on our Saturdays.
I’m certain Allen really likes me. A box of Belgian truffles has been hand-delivered. The note simply reads: “For you.” There’s no other inscription and no signature, but of course it has to be from Allen. I call his desk extension to thank him but he denies sending them to me. “Sorry, Sue,” he says. “It wasn’t me. I’m allergic to chocolate so it’s not something I would think to send. They must be from that other guy you’re seeing.”
“I’m not seeing anyone else,” I say defensively.
“C’mon, Sue! If I didn’t send you those, obviously some other guy did.”
I’m silent. There’s no reason for me to confess the other candidate’s identity because that scenario seems impossible. Why would Jordan have sent these to me now, so long after he said he wanted to date me?
The next day I decide to find out. I walk into Jordan’s office early in the morning and close the door. Jordan looks up from his computer. His expression manages the oxymoronic duality of aloofness and surprise. “Yes?”
“I guess I should thank you,” I say, feeling my face heat.
“Okay.” He pauses, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Should I ask for what, or should I just accept the thanks as is?”
“For what? Then they weren’t from you either?”
His laugher has a hollow ring. “I get it. Some anonymous person sent you flowers and you think I sent them? And apparently you asked someone else to confess before asking me. Am I right?”<
br />
“No. They were chocolates.”
“That’s hardly the point. Was I right about the rest of it?”
“The point is that it wasn’t you. I have no idea who it was. For all I know it could have been a joke.”
“That’s your theory? Someone sent you chocolates as a joke? Maybe. What did they look like?”
“Belgian truffles from the gourmet chocolate store in the mall.”
“Really?” he says coolly. “Then I doubt it was a joke. Well, at least you know it wasn’t me. I would never send chocolates to a woman. They would only complain it’d make them fat. That guy of yours must be an idiot not to have chosen flowers instead.” He looks away from me to yell toward his door. “Amber! Get in here, please.”
