by Hoff, Stacy
“Let me know how it goes with Melba,” Jordan says, hanging up.
“Keep me posted, too,” Bill says, who also hangs up.
It’s already been the longest day, and it’s not even noon.
All day I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the office. A thousand hours dragged by. Finally, at home, Jordan is calling at his usual time. I don’t pick up. In fact, I take a shower to avoid hearing it ring.
Twenty minutes later, I hear it ringing again. I know it’s Jordan. “Yeah?” I answer.
“Is that your new way of greeting people? It sucks.”
“I’m not in the mood. What is it?”
“I called to see how you’re doing. I’m sure today was stressful for you. I thought about it. You handled it well.”
“You sounded plenty pissed when you hung up.”
“I wasn’t pissed. But I was unprepared for an interaction with all three of us, especially when a tenuous client relationship is involved. The firm gets hysterical over losing business. I was also surprised you took it upon yourself to call her without first speaking to me or Bill.”
“If you’re going to speak to me like a boss, let’s do it during office hours, okay? I’m sitting on my bed with wet hair and a blow-drier, so this must be my private time.”
“Now I’m pissing you off. Sorry. What I said came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is, I thought you were pretty brave, calling her up yourself. You had to figure out what to say on your own, and handle her tirade on your own, because you didn’t ask us for our input. I think that would have been foolhardy for any first year associate, other than you, to undertake. Somehow you are always able to come out on top.”
“It doesn’t feel like I’m on top at all. Look, Jordan, like you requested of me this morning, I’ll let you know how it goes with Melba. I’ve got to hang up so I can dry my hair. Have a pleasant night.”
“Sue—”
Immediately hitting the end button, I let the phone drop onto the bed.
I wonder if he will have a pleasant night. I’m still aggravated from work. To me, having a pleasant night means sleeping it off.
Sleep, however, does not come easily. It’s an hour after I crawled into bed, and I’m simply staring into the darkness. I need to do something to knock myself out.
What I need is resolution. Since this obviously isn’t going to come from Jordan it has to come from somewhere, or someone, else. I click on my nightlight and pick up my cell phone. It’s surprising to see the phone number for Stone & Sommers still programmed in. I thought I had deleted it from memory, just like I’ve tried to delete the whole experience from my memory. I glance at my nightstand’s digital clock, 10:00 p.m. Though the partners always demanded I work late, I truly doubted they ever did. I force my hand to stop shaking as I dial. Their recorded after hour’s message kicks on for the office’s general mailbox, and I quickly suck in my breath as I wait for the beep.
“Hi, this is Susan Linkovitch, and I’m leaving this message for Helen. Helen, I received your voice mail message at my new firm. I was surprised by it, since I wrote to your firm months ago telling you I don’t have your book. But since you’re still inquiring about it, let me answer you again. Not only would it be unethical and illegal for me to take something that isn’t mine, it would be something I wouldn’t need, since I have no intention of ever practicing family law again. I’m quite content to continue practicing where I am, and in the field I’m in. I hope this resolves this issue. Take care.” I hang up.
I feel a lot better.
And at least I’m not practicing family law anymore. I think back to one case I handled for Helen. The client was a housewife whose veterinarian husband was suing for divorce. After Helen negotiated a deal that would have left the wife with ample alimony, the wife refused to take it. The hold up? The agreement failed to provide free veterinary care from the ex-husband for any cat she owns, or may own, in the future. Ridiculous. But it made me stop and think about my relationship with Jordan. He and I have no reason to claw or scratch over assets or issues. Our relationship could quietly be put to sleep.
Will my relationship with Grovas & Cleval be euthanized, too? Though I’m not particularly happy at Grovas right now, nor the new field I’m in, one positive thing is that Helen doesn’t know this. Maybe if I can convince her, I can convince myself.
I shut my light back off and start a night of restless dreams.
I’m still hurt Jordan was so unsupportive during the conference call with Bill. Sure, it was me who screwed up with Melba. True. But it was an accident, one I remedied immediately, without crying to Jordan or Bill for help.
Part of me is not blaming Jordan for his distancing himself from me professionally. I probably did look like a first year screw-up to Bill at that moment, too. But part of me wanted Jordan to be the knight in shining armor, rushing in on his white horse to protect me. Instead of using a lance, Jordan could have spearheaded my defense by saying, “Geez, Bill, she screwed it up, but she did her best to remedy the situation, and her resolution was pretty good.” I want to fight my own battles, but also want Jordan to think I’m worth fighting for.
Jordan surprises me by calling my work extension at 9:00 a.m. Normally he never calls me during business hours.
“Yeah?” I say, seeing his extension on my caller ID.
“You know, your phone manners have been terrible lately.”
“Bye, Jordan,” I say, starting to hang up.
“Sue,” he says, his voice suddenly severe. “If you’re thinking of hanging up on me again, don’t.”
Hesitatingly, I put the phone back to my ear. “I’m not sure what to say to you right now.”
“Talk to me.”
“Okay, your lack of support upset me.”
“We’ve got to separate business issues from personal issues. I think it’s even more important to keep things strictly professional when we’re speaking with Bill since he agreed to your transfer in the first place.”
“I understand all that. But I’m unsatisfied anyway.”
“Would it help if I talked to Bill now?”
“No, everything with Melba is already resolved as best as can be. What I had wanted from you was your unconditional support.”
“I’m sorry if my discomfort with the situation led you to believe I don’t fully support you. Honestly, I don’t know what proof I can offer, other than the fact I put my job on the line to be with you. When Bill called me yesterday saying there was a client problem involving you, it reinforced exactly how much I put my job in jeopardy. But I’d do it again to be with you.”
I don’t answer him. I need to absorb all this.
“Sue, I do want to be with you. I will make this work out for us somehow if you still want to be with me.”
I nod before realizing we are still on the phone—obviously he needs a verbal response.
“Yes,” I say in a small voice.
“Glad to hear that. Bye, beautiful,” he says quietly before hanging up.
CHAPTER 23
Comm Lit is stressing me out, but at least I’m getting Melba’s legal problems under control. She still doesn’t like me too much, but I give her credit for still allowing me to represent her after the phone call fiasco. I’m able to talk her bank into extending the time period for their low interest rate, and I have the construction manager propose a resolution of a six-week building delay.
The work I’m doing for Melba is actually all business negotiations and not at all litigation, but this works for me. The less time I spend looking at one of Grovas’ green colored coded files which denote litigation matters, the happier I am. I’m even relatively happy working with Melba, even if the feeling is not mutual. She’s much more reasonable than I’d predicted, and I give her credit for that, too.
I withho
ld from her my suspicion that my easy success with the construction management firm is due to a sudden downturn with their other building projects, allowing them to move up their start time for Melba’s project. Regardless of whether my success is due to luck or skill, I’m certain I can deliver to Melba what she wants. In fact, to make her results even better, I’m pushing the construction manager for a delay of only four weeks.
Working hard makes for long days. Despite the holiday season, it’s not festive. It’s never bothered me before that the sky’s always black when I commute, but it does now. My daily rotation of simply showing up to work, going home, going to sleep, then going back to work, is a cycle I must stop.
A lot of people at Grovas are using their vacation time. Day by day, people vanish from the firm, leaving the offices around me ever emptier. Leila has taken off for the holidays too, and the area for the first and second year associates is a ghost town without her.
Jordan’s nightly updates about his search for my replacement don’t help. I don’t want him to replace me. Personally or professionally. I keep these thoughts to myself so as to not stress our relationship even further. Jordan’s life is now filled with only two things—Marty, who is living with him, and his workload. I feel like the proverbial third wheel. True, I hear from him every day, but never for more than a few minutes.
There are occasional romantic highs. He sends long stemmed roses every few days to replace the ones sent before. I love when they arrive. As of this morning, I’m up to my fourth color, bright red. When he calls, I wisecrack at least my new vase isn’t neglected. But my joke gets him mad. “You’re isolating yourself, you know,” he says. “I told you to join us. Come out with us for one little dinner. What’s the big deal?”
I think about it, and I just don’t agree with him. Formally meeting his daughter does seem like a big deal to me. I have no idea where my relationship with Jordan will end up. There’s a large likelihood we’ll break up. Our dating is already non-existent.
But what if the impossible happens, and we get married? Would I even be any good at raising a kid? Don’t most kids hate their step-moms anyway? Marty could certainly view me as an invader, and that would be a pretty good reason for her to hate me. Suppose I can’t live with her hostility? Or, if she does like me, am I ready to take on the kind of responsibility required of a stepparent?
I’ve finally agreed to join Jordan and his daughter for dinner. Since I’m ten minutes late, I’m not surprised to find them in the lobby of Jordan’s apartment building waiting for me. He walks over, kisses me on my cheek, and whispers to me so Marty can’t hear, “Thanks so much for coming. I’ve really missed you.”
I smile tentatively, but don’t answer. My focus is on his daughter. “Hello, Marty.”
“Hi. My daddy said I should call you Sue.” Marty’s voice quivers slightly. Maybe she’s tentative about this evening, too.
“Your daddy is right.”
“We’re going out to eat. My daddy says you’re coming with us.”
I bend down so I can speak to her at her height. “I’d like to join you. I hear you’re lots of fun to be with, and I like to have fun. But I’m only going to come if it’s okay with you.”
She ponders this for a minute. “I want to go to McDonald’s.”
I smile at her. “They’re giving away a good toy this week?”
“Yes, and my mommy won’t take me.”
“Danielle and I aren’t very unified, I’m afraid,” Jordan cuts in. “There’s mommy’s set of rules and daddy’s set of rules. I’m fine taking her to eat wherever she wants. I doubt fast food every now and then will kill her.”
“It won’t kill me,” Marty pipes up.
“No, I don’t think it will.” I smile.
We’re off to indulge in fast food. We get there and order. After selecting a table, I walk over to the soda machine.
“Can I try to fill my own?” Marty calls, running after me.
“Sure,” I answer.
Marty takes her empty cup and places it on the lemonade lever. Unfortunately, when I try to help hold her cup, now half-full, it drops out of our hands. Lemonade splashes all over me. My shirt’s soaked. “Oh no!” we both shout.
Hearing the commotion, Jordan walks over. Instead of concern, his reaction is laughter. “How come every time we meet outside the office, one of us gets stained by some kind of liquid?”
I’m too busy drying myself with napkins to respond.
“Let me help,” he offers, getting some napkins and dabbing them on my shirt. When he comes too close to my bust line, I shoot him a look. “Sorry, only trying to help,” he says.
Funny, he doesn’t look sorry.
We take our trays and walk to the back of the restaurant. I sit down at our table and get somebody’s leftover ketchup on my sleeve. At this point, I’m laughing too.
“You’re very brave,” Marty says. “When I got my dress dirty last week, I cried.”
“Thank you, Marty. What a nice way to look at this mess. I’m not dirty, I’m brave.”
Marty beams.
“Brave enough to have joined us for dinner,” Jordan agrees with a broad smile.
What is it about the Grants that they see bravery in me? I’m sticky and soaking wet. A true disaster. Luckily, the same cannot be said about dinner.
CHAPTER 24
It’s Christmas week and the firm is a ghost town. Jordan calls my office, asking me to come down to his. Walking in I close his door, denying the rest of the deserted wing its only illumination. “Hi,” I say, standing behind one of his guest chairs. I’m afraid to sit down. What if someone walks in? I don’t want to look too comfortable, the two of us here with the door closed.
“I called you down here,” he says with a smug smile, “because I forgot what you look like. Thanks for showcasing yourself. You can go now.”
I can feel myself blush a shade brighter than my latest roses.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way!” he hastens, panicky. “Sorry, I was trying to joke. It’s been a long few days, so I’d almost forgotten what your face looks like. I only wanted to be slightly offensive, not truly callous.”
His joke isn’t funny. I turn to walk out. He catches up to me, grabs my arm, and turns me toward him. I’m surprised by how strongly he holds my arm, but more surprised when he kisses me on my mouth. His kiss is as hard as his grip.
“Oww. Let go.”
“I’m so sorry for saying that.”
“You’re crazy to kiss me here. I thought we were going to keep this under wraps.”
“We are. I’m sorry. I lost my head. Are you irate, or just a little mad?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’m not happy with a lot of things. I’ve been stressed out ever since I moved to Comm Lit. It’s awkward around Bill because of the Melba fiasco. And now that I’m doing all this litigation work I’ve realized it’s not interesting. At all.” I choke the words out of my tight throat. “Leila wants to fix me up with Marcus’ friend for her New Year’s Eve party,” I continue in almost a sob. “What do I tell her? I have a date, but can’t bring him, because he’s a phantom?” I stop to gauge Jordan’s expression, impossible from his neutral features. “And a lot of first and second years are going,” I add miserably. “They’ll think I’m a freakish loner. Besides, I really want to go. I can’t handle being all by myself anymore. And I especially don’t want to be alone on New Year’s Eve.”
“No, you shouldn’t be.”
“Exactly. So why am I putting myself through all this? It seems so silly to act like we’re secret covert operatives when we hardly see each other anyway.”
“You’re not happy, and that was a lot of issues to put out there. Take a seat. Let’s talk for a minute. “
“That’s about the length of tim
e we’ve actually been together—a minute. And it’s not just the brevity of time—it’s the circumstances. Keeping this secret, I feel so isolated from everyone. I used to be okay with feeling cut off, but I’m not now.”
“You know, I’ve had to deal with changes, too,” he says. “If you could take yourself out of the equation for one minute, you could see I gave up an associate who did an enormous amount of work, giving all that work to myself instead. Most partners don’t do that.”
