by Auld, Alexei
But now? I wasn't so sure. I'd never been around so many hot women. Hot women who liked me. Me, of all people. And maybe Rhage wouldn't know, you know? Maybe she wouldn't care. For all I knew, she could be nicely turning me away by being so boring in bed. For going fetal each time. So maybe it wouldn't be cheating after all.
Oh, who was I fooling? Even if I were a cheater, I'd probably bungle any kind of romance with Rita. I needed to clear my head.
And knew exactly where to go.
17
AH, THE LIBRARY. Books upon books. Laws from multiple jurisdictions. Jury instructions. And a copy machine. It might not have been the best library, but for this crazy firm, it would do. I wanted to read something on art law, hopefully not written by Goldberg as further insult to my injury. And there was nothing there. I chortled. I only went to the firm to do art law and Goldberg left for Olympus. And the firm must have been as peeved as me, because they had no art law books. I knew they once had a vast collection, but it had been emptied. Instead? They had nothing. Literally. There were rows and rows of emptiness. Like my soul. My hopes. My dreams. Full of nothing. I went to find some solace in another section. No solace was received. Instead? I was greeted with securities materials. Would that be my future? Further selling out by practicing in an area that involved a subject I’d avoided like the plague in law school?
I needed to read something, so I left the securities area and saw something that was totally not like any other. A tome that probably came from the same spot where I got Stack's Butt Spooge. I took a seat in a corner all the way in the back and pored over the book until a woman's hand snatched it. I looked up at Gladys.
She looked like a hot mess, and read the title of the book.
“Kama Sutra Bar Review?”
She meditated right there to clear her mind. It wasn’t pretty, and confused me. I didn’t know if she shat herself or if it was her O face. I didn’t smell any funk, so I tried to figure out Gladys' problem. I knew she was fine, mentally speaking, before she looked at the book. Then I stared at the book, glared at her, and mentally went to a place equally vomit-worthy: Kama Sutra and Gladys.
We had the equivalent of a Mexican standoff, with ugly faces replacing pistols. But the effect was the same: neither of us wanted to make the first move. After three minutes, still grimacing at me, Gladys dug into her pocket and handed me a note. I read it and it brought me back to reality. The same couldn’t be said for Gladys.
I said, “An assignment?”
She ripped out a fart. “Yeah.”
“Let's see.” I read the paper and it made no sense. Didn't matter. I had work to do, so I went to a stack of NY JUR books and left Gladys, who at that point was reenacting positions from the book.
It took me a while to find out what I was looking for, but I photocopied what I found and hauled ass, before realizing I didn't know who needed the research.
I turned to Gladys, who was trying to put one of her chicken legs around the back of her head. So I looked at the ground and said, “Who is this for?”
She smiled.
“Rita Rococo.”
18
I TOOK A deep breath and knocked on the door a few times before entering. As I entered, Rita played with her hair while eyeing me like she was a sex offender.
She pointed at the door.
“Close it.”
She gave me an unblinking glare, so I closed it.
“I found an answer.”
I did. I won’t get in to the particulars, because I'd bore you as much as I was bored researching it. Lets just say it involved the Rule Against Perpetuities. I rambled while reporting my findings, periodically looking at Rita for feedback. She had her own Mexican standoff. With my crotch. I ignored it at first, but like Popeye, I had all I could stands, I couldn't stands no more.
So I returned her stare.
Seemed like a good plan, but I wasn't a stalker. So sweat formed on my upper lip and I instinctively licked it.
Big mistake.
Rita outlined her pouty lips with her thumb. My lip licking seemed to turn her on even more.
I went taut and my thighs trembled. Rita started toward me and tossed her hair back. I backed up, felt for the doorknob, turned it and pulled, and ran out of her office.
19
ENOS LAUGHED HYSTERICALLY as I recounted my humiliation at the lecherous look of Rita Rococo. We were in his office. With the door closed, so he could lose his faking fuckery.
I said, “I thought, if she wants to stare, two can play that game.”
“And then?”
“I folded.”
Enos guffawed.
I said, “You should have seen her look. You know when you're at an ice cream shop and you see some new flavor that's like a mix of all the flavors you like, but there's some new ingredients you'd never thought about combining with them? So your mouth is all watery and shit because you can taste all of those delightful things at the same time and you're watching the girl behind the counter scoop that shit up and put in a waffle cone dipped in salted caramel? You know that delightful cone will be yours, so you're savoring it? I mean, it's right there. For you. And it will be yours? That's what I felt like. Not the person getting the cone, but the cone and ice cream. And the problem I had? I wanted to be the cone. Do you understand? I wanted to be the cone.”
I wasn't sure if Enos was hungry, because his eyes widened. He snapped his fingers. “I got it!”
“You got what?”
“Getting with Rita, in the Clintonian sense, would be the perfect opportunity to get protection. You could be her Lewinski, Rufus.”
“First of all, I don’t like cigars. Second, I'm not about to flash my drawers in the workplace. Too many skid marks.”
“You don’t have a choice, especially since you could bill it.”
“Last time I checked, Krueller has categories like ‘litigation/doc review,’ ‘mediation/research,’ but nothing under ‘saving Rufus' ass/fornication.’”
“Personal/professional development.”
“Come on, man.”
“Nobody really knows what lawyers are doing when they spend time together. Especially when they’re out of the office on business trips.”
“First of all, I'm in a relationship. Second, don't you think it's immoral to use people like this?”
“Use who? She wants to use you to stroke, cuz.”
“But isn't that like treating objects like women, I mean, women like objects?”
Enos's eyes almost popped out of his head. “Rita's the one who was all up on you. How is that treating women like objects?”
“I'd have a primary motive for getting with her.”
“You think she's hot, cuz?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Hold on. Would you hook up with her under normal circumstances?”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“A girlfriend who I'm sure expects you to bring home the bacon.”
How did he know? “Look, all of these hypotheticals are moot.”
“Cuz, you're the one calling me a fucking sexist and shit.”
“I wasn't”
“Fuck you weren't. You were suggesting I wanted you to treat women as objects.”
“You were.”
Enos dry-wiped his face. “All I was trying to suggest was that if you saw her on the street and she rolled up on you, you'd be down.”
“If I didn't have a girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend or not. You'd be down. So why not take advantage of this incredible opportunity the universe has created for you?”
“The universe?”
“You're here. She's here. You need protection. She wants to give it to you. If that's not a fucking harmonic convergence, and I mean that literally, since it's predicated on some fucking to take place, then I don't know what is.”
I sucked my teeth.
“Rufus. It's just an added bonus, that's all. Not using her. It's mutually beneficial. A win-win. Nobody is losing here.”
“What about my girlfriend?”
“You can just do Rita once and you're set. Break up with her ass and have a sex harassment suit on your hands.”
“That's fucked up.”
“What choice do you have, cuz? You need protection. And you can get it in one of the most pleasurable ways possible. And bill that shit.” He clapped his hands together. “Bill that shit. Spending time with her. Time that nobody knows what you're doing.”
“Look, Enos. I don't know and I don't wanna know what people are doing when they spend time together. All I know is this is a law firm, which means there are lawyers here. And those lawyers need help with their work. And they'll find me. At my desk, ready to help.”
20
I WAS THERE all afternoon. Doing absolutely nothing but waiting at my desk. At one point, I called Rhage on my cell, which, strangely, had reception.
“C'est la vie. You're working for the man.”
I hated when Rhage patronized me in French. “Sex with coworkers. Butt spooge? I don't think I can take it.”
“Baby, it'll be okay.”
“How can it get any better?”
“They're just hazing you. Like a fraternity or sorority.”
“You sure?”
“Come on. You know it can’t be that bad. Besides, if you quit, how are we going to make a living?”
“I can get a job at LAMB. The pay won't cover the bills, but you can work at—”
“I can work?”
“Part-time. You'll still have time to do your art.”
“I don't think you understand. You're the breadwinner here. I can't compromise my artistic integrity just to make a dollar. It'll ruin my work.”
“What about your trust fund?”
“It's not enough to pay the bills.”
“We can get a smaller apartment.”
“And where am I going to work? We'd have to get a studio.”
“It'll be tough at first, but we can make it.”
“Can't you borrow money for living expenses?”
“I already borrowed more than I was supposed to, Rhage.”
“Rufus, you'll make it back. How much are they paying you? And, according to my father, they have big bonuses available.”
“I don't know.”
“We can do this, Rufus. We both can fulfill our dreams. I can be an artist and you can be a big-time lawyer. We'll both be happy. We just have to bear a brief rough time. That's all.”
My work phone rang. I didn't recognize the number.
“Hello? Yes. No, I can wait here. All right.”
I hung up.
“Who was it, baby?”
“There's an assignment. I have to review documents. I just have to wait at my desk for it.”
“Well, maybe it won't be that long.”
“Maybe.”
“I'll probably see you in a half-hour, two hours tops.”
I waited all night.
21
I COULDN'T LEAVE work, but I couldn't sit at my desk any longer. My legs fell asleep, so I roamed the halls. Barely awake, I ended up bumping into walls and tripping on the carpet. I couldn't surf the internet nor make phone calls. So I stared into space.
And fell asleep.
I snored so harshly, I woke myself up. Did more space staring. More hall roaming. More tripping. Until I realized the safest place for me to sleep was under my desk.
The sun woke me up this time. I made it to the cafeteria and took a seat. Rick staggered by with a cup of coffee in his hand, the same suit I’d seen him in yesterday, and beard stubble.
I said, “Like a seat?”
“Too busy.”
“What are you working on?”
“Corporate financing.” He yawned, which made me yawn. How does that work? He said, “I haven't had a chance to get a wink of sleep in days. Catch you later.”
Was that my future? Maybe next time I was here late, I'd ask him.
When I went back to my office, I finally had work.
Boxes of papers with a note instructing me to check each document for the words “RICO,” “LOUIE,” and “MOOR.” Pretty weird. Throughout the day, more boxes came. I did more checking, and just like that, it was nighttime. I wanted to see if the cafeteria was still open, so I roamed the halls, and all of the offices were empty. Maybe it was a good time to talk to Rick.
I looked at every nameplate until I finally found one that read “RICK HORNSBY,” and popped my head in.
It was empty.
So was the cafeteria.
I went back to my office. New boxes awaited me.
It took me all night to go through each document. Two-sided documents, with the smallest font ever. I prided myself on graduating law school without needing glasses. Now? I wasn't so sure I'd finish the first week of my legal career without them.
I was hopped up on caffeine and needed to talk to someone. My phone still wasn't working, so I went by Rick's office.
It was empty.
More boxes arrived at my office. I worked until the sun came up. No sleep.
Then someone knocked on my door.
It was Stack. He smiled.
“Meet me in the conference room in a few minutes. And bring your time sheet.”
“All right. I have a few more pages until I finish this box.”
He left. I finished. And filled in my time sheet.
22
I ENTERED A narrow room with a long desk at the opposite end. Stack stuck out his hand, and I gave him my time sheet. He walked to the end of the table and handed it to two older men sitting next to one another. They looked like they came straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. One was a bald giant with a long chin and the other was a little person with a long-ass handlebar mustache that he groomed with a small comb.
The short one said, “Let's make this quick, Gropius. I have opera with Trudi.” Trudi? That had to be Grimes. And I thought Gropius was a nickname. Poor guy, stuck with probably the worst name in the world.
Gropius said, “Sit down, Rufus.”
So much for sympathy for Gropius. I sat. Stack stared at his twiddling thumbs.
Grimes said, “We know you're new around here and probably aren't familiar with some of our policies, but to say we're troubled about your performance would be an understatement.”
I said, “Troubled, sir?”
Gropius said, “We're looking at your billables and are trying to understand what you're doing with your time.”
I’d just given them my sheet and they hadn’t even looked at it. So what were they referring to? “I just started working.”
Grimes chuckled. “Apparently not hard enough.”
Gropius said, “We have standards here, Rufus. Standards that require you to put in a certain amount of time every day to work. Even as a summer associate.”
Grimes said, “That is what we pay you for, not being wined and dined.”
Wined and dined? “Are the other summer associates working too?”
Gropius said, “This isn't about anyone but you, Rufus. And you are billing the lowest number of hours in the history of our firm.”
They had to be kidding me. I’d just started. People got in later than me. And when I roamed the halls, no one was there. “I don't understand.”
Grimes raised my time sheet. “You see this? This is a time sheet. Whenever you start to work on a project, you write down the time.” He started writing on it. “You take this and turn it in to us and we can tell how much work you've been doing.”
Gropius said, “Maybe you've been under-billing. Accidentally, of course.”
Grimes said, “But under-billing nonetheless.”
They both said, “Do you understand?”
This had to be a misunderstanding. “I've just been here for a few days and I've already worked late hours and recorded the time I actually spend working.”
Grimes looked at my sheet and wore a scowl. “So you spend most of your time dawdling”
“No, I—”
/> Grimes said, “You mean to tell us, then, that it takes you less time to do”—he started reading from my sheet—“document review? That's what you did last night, correct?”
I nodded.
He said, “By my estimation, you went through a box of documents in”—he read the sheet—“two hours?”
I said, “Actually, two hours and five minutes.”
Grimes said, “Rick Hornsby had the document review for a box with half the documents and it took him at least fifteen hours to review them.”
Fifteen hours? “During the day?”
“No. At night, in his office, the same time you were here.”
That couldn't be. “I walked by his office and he wasn't there.”
Grimes said, “Rufus, lying isn't going to help you.”
Gropius said, “If it takes you a long time to review documents, then don't be ashamed. Bill that time.”
Grimes raised a bony finger. “This isn't a sprint, it's a marathon.”
Gropius nodded. “At Krueller, we pride ourselves on taking all the time we need to help our clients. So be honest in the future, all right?”
Instead of a liar? Right. “Sure.”
Gropius said, “Now we want you to start from scratch with your document review.”
What the what? “But I've already reviewed most of the boxes.”
Gropius said, “Not with the care we require. So do it again, all right?”
What kind of nonsense was this? I wasn't a speed-reader, but a box didn't take fifteen hours. This had to be revenge for Natasha, Lola, and Rita. These decrepit fucks couldn't get a laid unless they paid for it. That was why they wanted me to spend all my time doing some bullshit. They wanted to keep me from the honeys.
And fifteen hours for one box? With all the boxes they wanted reviewed? At that rate, I'd still be at work for a month without going home.
That was it.
Home.
