Lethal Lawyers

by Dale E. Manolakas

  “Good. I’m glad I called you. We have to keep an eye on that Anne.”

  “I think you’re right. Thanks.”

  “Sophia, this is Jay. He made it.” Tricia pulled Jay from the truck bed rails down into the hay bale next to her. “He braved the L.A. rush hour for me!”

  “So nice to finally meet you, Jay. I’ve heard so much.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Jay shook her hand. “I feel like I know you, too.”

  “Oops.” Tricia laughed. “Everything I said was good about both of you.”

  Sophia saw why Tricia was in love with Jay. He was attractive and had an energy about him that radiated.

  “It was.” Jay hugged Tricia. “I hope the barbeque is more authentic than this hayride.”

  Tricia kissed Jay on the cheek. “Don’t be critical. This will be fun.”

  * * *

  It was fun. On a short, low platform, the country band twanged on and the singer continued to warble about every man who had wronged her. Sophia identified with her at that moment.

  Hay bales encircled the large gravel barbeque area devoid of mud. There was a low platform in the center for dancing and surrounding picnic tables with blue and white checked tablecloths for eating. People sat and stood everywhere, laughing and talking. There were three open pits with huge hunks of beef, whole chickens, and ribs barbequing over the flames. The open pits and hanging white lanterns lit the cleared area and surrounding trees. Tall double area heaters kept everyone warm enough in the chilled night, and the rain held off.

  The bar was three deep with partiers. When Taylor arrived with Carlisle’s hard booze, the bar crowd cheered his arrival.

  Sophia wandered to the opposite end of the clearing, past the dessert table with trays of lemon bars, chocolate chip cookies, and all the fixings for S’mores. She made her way beyond to a hot cocoa station with marshmallows, whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles. She made herself one with all the fixings, held it in both hands, and sipped it to warm up.

  “Want to sweeten that up?” Paul offered her a dose of his whiskey neat.

  “Sure.” Sophia held out her mug of cocoa.

  “This’ll warm you up, too.” Paul poured half his glass in.

  “Enough.” Sophia laughed. “You’ll get me drunk.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Paul was obviously well on his way, himself. “Hey, the dinner line is getting long. Let’s go.”

  They headed over to the line at the blue and white checked buffet table and butted in line with Tricia and Jay.

  “Hey, no cuts,” the line behind them generically moaned and objected. “Get to the end of the line.”

  “Relax.” Paul held his whiskey up to the moaners. “We’re the official food testers!”

  His joke turned the rumblings into laughter.

  Sophia was delighted as she went through the line. She took a taste of everything—barbecued beef, ribs and chicken, baked beans, salad, coleslaw, half ears of corn on the cob oozing with butter, potato salad, and baked potatoes with all the trimmings.

  Sophia, Tricia, Jay, and Paul sat at one of the long blue and white checked picnic tables. Sean and Adam joined them and talked football with Jay and Paul. Sophia engaged in the football banter long enough to look interested and then watched Taylor circulate.

  “At least he’s not with Anne again,” Tricia whispered.

  “Yeah, but look at her. She may be sitting with James and his wife, but she’s eyeing Taylor.”

  “Forget it. He likes you.”

  “That’s what he says.” Sophia took a big bite of potato salad.

  She saw Roger glued to the bar, getting drunker. He ignored everyone and the dinner. The security guards were lurking, this time behind the trees, eating and drinking, presumptively nonalcoholic beverages. Their lackadaisical presence that night no longer equated to even a modicum of protection in her mind.

  * * *

  At eight, Carlisle got on the platform and took the microphone to give a welcoming speech.

  In his speech, Carlisle mentioned Judith, Frank, and Dante and said how much they were missed. He extolled the virtues of Thorne & Chase and went on and on about how strong they remained in spite of recent events. Then, he called Chet and Carlisle forward and they both welcomed Taylor and the new senior partner members of the Management Committee. Each thanked the group for electing them. Taylor was last and not only thanked everyone for the opportunity to be on the committee, but also added some comments about fairness. He did not specifically mention the elephant in the room—the fifty percent client policy for associates and junior partners.

  During the speeches Roger huddled in the shadows away from the group. He leaned on a tree instead of doing his habitual pacing and watched the speakers. The campfire streaked across his face, which was glaring with unmasked, unguarded evil. Paul was right. Taylor and Roger were not friendly since Taylor had won the management seat. Roger caught Sophia watching him and moved to the other side of the tree, out of her sight.

  Carlisle took the microphone again.

  “Have a great weekend, everyone. But, golfers, I warn you not to try and reclaim the trophy from me tomorrow. I’ve won it for the last three years and plan on doing it again!”

  The crowded booed.

  Carlisle handed the microphone back to the lead singer. She had the crowd join her in singing “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” “Kisses Sweeter than Wine,” and “California Here I Come.” The group was uninhibited and rowdy. They didn’t care about the words or the tune. Chet mercifully grabbed the microphone to do a solo of “Home on the Range.” He had a beautiful deep bass voice.

  “That was great.” Sophia cheered with all the other suck-ups. “You’re not clapping, Paul.”

  “He does the same thing every year. Big deal.”

  “Oh.” Sophia didn’t like Paul raining on her parade, not tonight when she was trying enthusiastically to renew her commitment to the firm.

  She let Paul go back to his footballing, which was repetitive and boring to her. She had fun talking to Tricia and watching Taylor drinking and politicking with the managing partners around the bar. She was enjoying this group of hard-working people. James Tang and his wife got up and danced near the fire with a few other couples. Paul asked Sophia to dance. She did. It was fun. He was fun. He just needed to eighty-six the glasses, lose twenty-five pounds, and not be negative, especially when he drank.

  The only thing Sophia did not enjoy was Roger and the evil eye he was giving Taylor. But Taylor was oblivious—or pretended to be so.

  * * *

  When Sophia got back to her room, she checked to see if Taylor had texted or called. He hadn’t, and she decided that she wouldn’t make the first move. She dropped off to sleep quickly.

  Twice during the night she awoke with nightmares about Roger. In the first, he pushed Taylor into a black crevice and Sophia was startled awake in a free fall because she had jumped in to save Taylor. In the second, Roger, lit by dancing flames, was belting “Home on the Range” with his raspy voice in Sophia’s face. He manifested in her nightmare as a red-faced devil and his breath reeked of garlic and onions.

  She bolted awake when she heard herself calling loudly into the dark, “Steve . . . Steve . . .”

  Sophia didn’t like the nightmares and she didn’t like it that she called for Steve. Until her wake-up call came at seven, she only dozed off and on.

  ⌘

  Chapter 91

  Breakfast and Birthing

  In the morning, the breakfast meeting was in a large private room with French doors leading out to patios on three sides. The security guards were on the patios outside unobtrusively observing. They were eating again, talking, and drinking their coffee. Their heavy presence had been altered in favor of a subtler positioning. She was just glad they were there, lackadaisical or not.

  The breakfast room’s elevated view of the golf course and distant wooded hills was spectacular. The sun shone intermittently through the clouded,
gray sky. Sophia had signed up for a horseback ride in the afternoon. She hoped the weather held.

  Each table had carafes of coffee, pitchers of orange juice, platters of Danish, and bowls of yogurt cartons on ice. Sophia looked for a seat.

  She walked by waiters serving eggs Benedict and plates of omelets with potatoes and hickory-smelling bacon. It was a long weekend of eating, and this morning she would try to stick to coffee and a muffin.

  Taylor was sitting with the managing partners. Tricia and Jay were with other associate couples. Paul was next to Anne Whitfield, laughing and doing his best moves. Sophia was annoyed—not jealous, she told herself, just annoyed.

  She eyed an open seat at a center table. She recognized junior partners Robert Guerrero, Janek Zaluski, and Josh Rosen from her afternoon interviews. They appeared to be seated with their wives. From Paul’s list, she knew these men had small books of business and decided to try for an assignment to one of their cases. It was predominately a couple’s table, but she strategically chose to sit there.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  “No, please sit down.” A cheery junior partner’s wife seated next to the open place reached over and moved the chair back.

  At the table, Sophia was greeted neutrally by the male junior partners, who obviously were fighting their hangovers. But the young wives introduced themselves and competed with each other to win the “most friendly” and “cheeriest” categories. They, and Sophia, quickly came to a consensus that the hayride was wonderful, the weather was terrible, and the orders of eggs Benedict being carried by their table looked amazing. Sipping their coffees and orange juices and hiding behind their menus, the male tribe at the table silently watched their wives as their caffeine and hydration gradually kicked in and their hangovers subsided.

  The waiter took their orders. No one, including Sophia, could resist ordering the eggs Benedict, until the last person.

  “No . . . no eggs Benedict. Just my decaf. I’m being careful. We’re pregnant!” Robert Guerrero’s wife announced to the table.

  The breakfasters, hung-over or not, tripped over each other all around the table with congratulations to her and Robert, who beamed. Good wishes were toasted with coffee cups.

  “That’s wonderful.” Sophia clicked her coffee cup with the father-to-be.

  As she did the word “we’re” rang in her head. She hated that men were taking credit for the last bastion of womanhood: pregnancy, birth, stretch marks, and nine months of carrying a parasite that popped out and suckled off the tit for a lifetime of joy, heartache, and love.

  She grabbed a blueberry muffin from the basket in the middle of the table and took a big, aggressive bite. Then, the table conversation degenerated into a medically graphic depiction of childbirth by the more senior wife, plus birthing processes, mommy and me classes, and playdates. Sophia gagged on her muffin at the word “afterbirth” and just didn’t get the phrase “playdate.” When did kids playing together get elevated to dating?

  None too soon, the eggs Benedict came. Mercifully, the women chowed down instead of talking. Sophia was now ready to pounce on the junior partners diplomatically to get work. But before she could speak, a New York partner started the morning breakfast program with introductions of the speakers and a rousing description of the firm’s expansion plans. Sophia forgot her calorie count and downed her eggs Benedict and her muffin as she listened and, in all the right places, clapped, laughed, and cheered with the others.

  Another New York partner spoke about the firm’s international practice. Sophia was impressed. She had not had her New York orientation-week classes, dinners, and Broadway shows because she had entered the first year class late.

  The free trip to New York, this retreat every year, and other opportunities to travel in style on business and on the firm’s tab would make Sophia happy forever, she thought. Her parents never had perks like this. She thought of taking them to New York with her. They could do what they wanted while she did the orientation. She missed them and wished she had managed to have Sunday dinner with them before the retreat instead of going shopping. But next Sunday, she would go, hopefully with Taylor, and that would make them happier than anything.

  The last New York partner detailed the contributions Judith, Frank, and Dante had made to the firm and noted how sorely they would be missed as partners, colleagues and “friends.” Even though it appeared the firm was business-as-usual after their deaths, at least it was giving more than lip service to the value of these partners’ sacrifices, as well as to their significant contributions to the firm and the community.

  All of these lawyers functioned on a different plane than Sophia had experienced at Bode. She wanted to belong here amongst these movers and shakers at Thorne & Chase. She kicked herself for what she had done to Toak. For all she knew, he also had contributed greatly to the firm and the community. Sophia pushed all thoughts about his sex life away. She just wanted to get along.

  She spotted Toak at a front table. She would find him later and make him accept her apology, no matter what.

  As she took her leave, Sophia knew now she could drop by the junior partners’ offices with this shared bonding experience. She had played her part to a tee with the wives and the junior partners. She would visit their offices, socialize for ten minutes, and then ask for work.

  She was hopeful as she left the breakfast room for the panel discussions.

  ⌘

  Chapter 92

  No Front Row, No Seat at the Table

  After breakfast, Sophia went with Tricia to Taylor’s panel discussion on intellectual property. Jay went to work out before lunch.

  “Let’s sit here,” Tricia headed for the back row.

  “Okay. These are about all that’s left anyway. Or, that the side over there.”

  “Sophia, we’re too late to get up near Taylor! This is good enough. Look at the cute black and gold pads for notes on the seats.”

  “Black and gold pens, too.” Sophia remembered them from her first day at work getting her assignments.

  The two sat at the very back on two aisle seats. Sophia saw James was a few rows up without his wife. Maybe she had managed to get her bridge group together after all. Paul, obviously smitten with Anne, sat with her at the front of the room.

  Taylor led the panel. Sophia saw him as she had never seen him before. He was a professional at the top of his game.

  “He’s brilliant,” Sophia whispered to Tricia.

  “Brilliant and ‘hot’.” Tricia smiled

  Sophia sat quietly and learned new issues to explore in advising clients on pre-litigation intellectual property strategies. She jotted a few things down in the notebook with the Thorne & Chase pen. She wished she had sat at the front so that Taylor would have noticed her.

  She saw Anne watching Taylor, even when other panel members were presenting. And she also saw that Taylor looked at Anne several times.

  * * *

  After the panel discussion, Tricia went to meet Jay for the luncheon. Sophia headed straight for the banquet room and Taylor’s table. As she approached, Anne slipped into the last open seat. Taylor shrugged at Sophia as she left.

  Sophia wanted to leave right then for the stables and her ride, but any exit would have been obvious now. Too many people were seated, and like musical chairs, Sophia was almost the last man standing.

  She scanned for another table as she walked on. Tricia and Jay were at a full table with James and his wife and two other couples. She walked quickly by the mommy-and-me table, even though there was an open seat again.

  Just beyond, Paul was with Sean and Adam at a table. The football trio. And with them was Darius Johnson, the black junior partner who had played basketball at Ohio State. She remembered him from her interview day and how friendly he had been. Sophia decided the single men’s sports table was better than any alternative she saw. Besides, she thought, she might get work from Darius.

  She went over. “I’ll join you.”

 
“Welcome.” Paul said. “You know everyone here?”

  “Yes, of course. Hi.”

  There were general greetings and then it began—football mania.

  Paul, Sean, and Adam were like little kids at the table. It was her interview lunch at The Edinburgh Grill all over again, but with the junior partner Darius chiming in uninhibitedly with his, evidently controversial, and according to Sean, unfounded bowl predictions for the season. There are over 30 college football bowls now anyway, Sophia thought. Times two for the number of teams meant nearly all of them worth anything, and many that weren’t, would be playing in some bowl anyway.

  Football analysis turned to football debates and then arguments. Sophia expected a food fight any minute. She was the interloper. Not even Paul made an attempt to include her this time in their rehash of the college football season taking into account the wins and losses to date. Darius talked about Jared Harrison, some sort of wide receiver who ran incredible patterns.

  Sophia didn’t dare stop the momentum. Instead, she ate her lunch quietly and spied on Taylor and Anne out of the corner of her eye. They were talking and laughing. That woman, who had highlighted her hair and put on makeup, was in Sophia’s seat dominating Taylor, who was supposedly Sophia’s man. His eyes rarely left Anne, even to eat.

  Sophia’s own eyes finally glazed over with all the talk of football formations and plays: the Shotgun, Modified Wishbone, I-Formation, and the Wildcat. Sophia felt like she was not at a firm retreat lunch, but instead in a sandbox with the bad boys in kindergarten.

  By dessert, Sophia was certainly ready to punt herself out of there. She decided she really never wanted to learn about football or go to a game.

  She stopped watching Taylor and Anne. Why torture herself? She looked out the windows at the threatening gray and cloudy sky. She saw the security men who no longer even pretended to observe and protect Carlisle and Chet sitting at their lunch table.