by Janis Powers
I simply needed some dedicated time with Deirdre to lay the foundation for her mentorship of me. Therein lay the challenge, as Mrs. Morgan was militant about controlling her time. For all I knew, she could have been the surreptitious author of the NYC Baby Prep Schedule of Activities, because she accounted for every minute of her existence. But the woman had to eat, even if she did so at her desk. And that seemed like an opportune time to initiate a call to mentoring.
I gave Joy a mission: she had to get me on that calendar. For each day of the upcoming two weeks, I gave Joy an excuse for why Deirdre’s assistant should work me in. Depending on when the lunch took place, we might be discussing the anniversary of a landmark case, an announcement from one of our client’s top competitors, or the introduction of the latest legal app.
Within 10 minutes, Joy excitedly buzzed into my office. She held a notepad and pen right under her chin when she said, “You’re on. Today!” She looked down at the pad and followed with, “You’re supposed to be talking about the new shipping regulations for containers arriving from Hong Kong into the United States.”
“Awesome! Joy, you are the best.”
“I know, right?” she flapped her pad coquettishly and then sauntered out of the office.
I knocked gingerly on Deirdre’s open door. Stacked in one hand were two salads from her favorite deli; the other held a tote with my phone, laptop, notepad, pens, and whatever else I might need. I had already emailed her the information about the shipping regulations, so she could easily pull it up on her own PC. If nothing else, I was prepared.
I waited a few moments until she finished up. “Good. Done.” Abruptly, she stood and scooted around her desk to help me. “Maxine! Thank you for organizing this meeting.” She took both salads and placed them on the coffee table in the conversation pit of her office.
“Well, I know you’re busy, so I was glad to just get on your calendar.” I settled onto one of the pewter and green upholstered chairs. She sat on a pewter and black couch.
“I read the information about the shipping regs,” said Deirdre as she cracked open the plastic container of the salad. “I’m glad to see that you are so on top of the issues concerning HKI.”
“It seems like the major implication is going to be labeling and packaging modifications for the products they’re sending over here. More administrative than technical, but important nonetheless.” As clients, Parfum Aix and HKI couldn’t have been more different. Parfum Aix was a leading edge, family-owned company known for impeccable quality. HKI was a pseudo-government conglomerate with an expertise in manufacturing knock-offs. If I thought too hard about it, I could draw the parallel between being a trademark lawyer for HKI and a defense attorney for a felon: everyone deserved legal protection.
“You’re right. But that’s just the tip of it. The client situation is getting complicated, so we’re bringing on a new resource to the team.” Deirdre dug into her salad with a plastic fork. “I was hoping you could help out. You know, perhaps serve as a mentor for him.”
“Sure! No problem!” If Deirdre thought I would be a good advisor for someone new, then she’d be sure to support me. “When is he rolling on?”
“Today,” said Deirdre. “And from what I understand, he’s going to need some help.”
“Help? What kind of help?”
“He hasn’t passed the bar exam yet.”
My first reaction was that this guy must have been fresh out of law school. McCale had hired me before I had passed the bar; that was common industry practice. “So? What’s the big deal?”
Deirdre put her salad on the coffee table. “He’s failed it twice already.”
I put my salad down, too. “Forgive me for asking, but with the labor market as it is, why would McCale hire someone who’s failed the bar exam—twice?”
“Paul Black is really high on this kid.” Paul Black was one of the other named partners at the Firm and although his name was last on the marquee, he was widely regarded as the lead partner at the firm. Deirdre explained the situation with measured words. “Jeffry Hsu, the new associate, is fluent in Cantonese. He didn’t just take it in college; he was raised in Hong Kong. As a result, he’s got family connections back home that may prove to be helpful as developments with HKI unfold.”
I stuffed a fork full of greens in my mouth so I could process her comments. I had hoped that the conversation would have focused more on me: work-life balance for a new working mother stuff. But Deirdre was giving me a unique opportunity that acknowledged not only my technical capabilities as a lawyer, but also my strong personal relationships with the staff. Given that, the idea of discussing nannies, or sleep deprivation, or nursing at the office seemed trivial.
“I’m guessing he’s going to need some help with his working style,” I started. Deirdre nodded. “And I know I can give him some excellent pointers on passing the bar. I’m assuming he’s just failed the summer exam?”
“Yes.”
“So we’ve got to get him filed for February by November.”
“Exactly.”
Like most lawyers who’d passed a bar examination, the dates when the test were administered had become ingrained in my psyche. I knew that Jeffry should have plenty of time to study for the next test. But as I pulled the dates together in my mind, I realized that I would probably be on maternity leave during the crucial weeks running up to the February exam date. I’d have to deal with that later. I didn’t want Deirdre to entrust this critical responsibility to anyone else besides me.
With Deirdre’s meeting objectives satisfied, she began to pack up her salad. She did have the courtesy to ask me some rudimentary questions about how I was feeling and whether Dale and I knew the sex of the baby. She seemed genuinely excited when I told her that we were having a boy. With children of each sex at home, Deirdre advised authoritatively that boys were much easier to handle. “You’re lucky,” she said. “Boys are much less work when they’re young. And you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
If Deirdre Morgan was intent on maximizing her professional effectiveness, then I, too, decided to be the model of efficiency. I just had to make sure I was comfortable. Pregnancy had brought on a whole range of minor physical issues which required continuous management. I had no idea that being pregnant was such a high-maintenance activity.
At this point, I refused to ignore the need to constantly hydrate myself and its companion requirement, the urge to urinate almost every hour. If meeting times ran over, I simply excused myself, took care of business and came right back. I didn’t miss a thing. I wondered why I had ever felt the need to deny myself bathroom breaks in the past. I guess I thought I might be considered rude if I walked out of someone’s meeting. Now I thought it was rude if someone let their meeting drag on.
I became a slave to the NYC Baby Prep Schedule of Activities. Personal appointments and activities had been purposefully scheduled several times a week at 6:30 at night. I was forced to re-adjust my work behavior now, while pregnant, so I could become accustomed to getting home by then to relieve my future nanny.
Unfortunately, my individual team members did not have a Schedule of Activities for their lives. I did my best to compensate, and I implemented a rigid workflow of activities for them to complete while in the office. Team meetings were held first thing in the morning. The afternoon was reserved for research, writing and whatever else inevitably popped up. After about a week of griping, everyone realized the benefits of minimizing non-work related activities when they were able to leave the office by 6:00 pm on a semi-regular basis. Everyone, that is, except Jeffry Hsu.
Jeffry’s shortcomings had been highly under-estimated by Deirdre. Or maybe she knew what a lousy associate Jeffry was, and didn’t want to tell me for fear I would reject the offer to work with him. Whatever the case, she had misrepresented my role with Jeffry. Rather than act as his mentor, I became his disciplinarian. Perhaps this, too, was preparation for my impending parenthood.
First on
the docket for improvement was his status report, which typically arrived with dozens of typos. Using the English-as-a-second-language excuse was not going to cut it when his computer had the spell-check function. More troubling was his failure to properly source any of the case law that he had cited. After re-reading his first few reports, I was relieved that at least he had done the right research. He was just too lazy to bother with the details. No wonder he had trouble passing the bar exam.
I tried my best to provide Jeffry with professional guidance. Every overture I made was summarily, rudely, rejected. The fact that he had to work for a woman—and a pregnant one at that—seemed to be a source of shame for him. If I asked him to move a hefty box of file folders, he would ignore me. If I called a five-minute bathroom break during our team meetings, he would refuse to leave, demonstrating his refusal to comply with the directives of such a weak leader. I remembered his reactions when I corrected his horrific drafts with extra doses of red ink.
I decided that perhaps Jeffry might respond better if he were given some direct responsibility. Our team was to provide Deirdre with case summaries about American factory working conditions, an activity I delegated squarely to him. Knowing Jeffry’s poor track record, I had actually done most of the research for him. A second year law student could have picked up where I had left off. I was hopeful he could pull something decent together to impress Deirdre and earn the goodwill of the team.
When the time came to present to Deirdre, even I was shocked by Jeffry’s insolence. He had nothing prepared. Accustomed to taking full responsibility for the team’s performance, I began to apologize. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jeffry push himself back in his chair. He was grinning while scrolling through something on his phone, probably online porn.
That was when I decided to speak to Jeffry Hsu in a language he could understand.
“Jeffry!” I roared. He snapped to attention, almost falling out of his chair. “Deirdre is asking for the comparative case work I assigned you. Where is it?” Our entire team looked over at him in disappointment. It was a public group conviction of his incompetence, further validated by the fact that he hadn’t brought anything to the meetingbesides his phone.
Deirdre, not one for confrontations, didn’t say a word. Jeffry may have been a full-blown flake, but as team lead, I was accountable for the completion of the work. I finished my apology and assured Deirdre that the information would be completed by the end of the day.
For the rest of the meeting, Jeffry sat at attention in his chair. When the meeting was adjourned, he waited for everyone else to leave and then approached me. Instead of talking, he half-bowed quickly and then raced out the door. As I collected my belongings, I realized that from Jeffry’s perspective, a half-bow was the equivalent of a one-page, hand-written apology letter.
My hunch was confirmed at the day’s end, when Deirdre Morgan’s reports were completed efficiently and accurately by one Jeffry Hsu.
17
“I brought this up for you.” Paola handed me a package as she entered my apartment. “Looks like it’s from France. Did you order some esoteric baby gadget that’s only available in Europe?”
“No. But that is a great idea.” I was well into the third trimester of pregnancy, but there was still time to buy more stuff for the baby. One more board book, though, and the anchors for the shelving unit in the baby’s room might rip straight through the drywall.
The return address was Grasse, France, without the Parfum Aix designation. I figured it was more of Jacques’s gin. Jacques was a scientist, so he was meticulous about keeping Parfum Aix correspondence separate from his other endeavors.
“I thought you said you weren’t staffed on Parfum Aix,” noted Paola. “Why are you getting something from work?”
“It’s not work, exactly. Jacques just likes to send me samples of the side projects he’s got going.”
“Really?” said Paola, her forehead wrinkling. “Maybe he’s got the hots for you.”
“No way. He’s older than my father.” I pulled some inflatable bubble inserts from the envelope. “I bet he would have been a nightmare to date 30 or 40 years ago. He’s all over the place with ideas and projects. But now, I think it’s charming.”
“You’re weird.”
“No. I’m pregnant.” What was I going to do in a few weeks when my built-in excuse for random thoughts and behavior had expired? I’d have to come up with something new, like sleep-deprivation.
Inside the wrapping was a delicate fabric pouch, which covered a polished wooden box, about the size of a jewelry box for a bracelet. I also emptied out a note. Paola touched the box and started sliding it towards her so she could look at it. “It’s beautiful.”
I snatched it back so I could be the first one to open it. “Hands off.” I slowly opened the hinged lid. Both sides of the box were lined in lavender silk. A long thin glass vial was nestled in the cushioned bottom. I gently removed it and held it up. A blush-colored liquid twinkled inside.
Neither of us commented, probably out of fear of ruining the spell of the magic potion.
I carefully handed Paola the vial. She held it with both the care she’d have for an infant, and the fear she’d have of plutonium. I took a few moments to read the note from Jacques and then debriefed her. “According to this, Jacques says that he was upset that I was taken off the Parfum Aix account.” Paola raised an eyebrow. “More importantly, though, he feels responsible.”
Paola took her eyes off the vial for a moment. “Why? You told me that he wasn’t there the day you threw up.”
I put down the note. “He wasn’t there in person. But his perfume was. And he’s upset that any of Parfum Aix’s fragrances could have caused such a reaction. He says he did some research, and he’s developed a new perfume that should have limited negative side effects for pregnant women.” I took a deep breath. “You’re holding the prototype.”
Paola froze. Slowly, I regained control of the glass tube.
“Dios mio! He made a perfume for you!? Are you kidding me? What’s he going to call it, Eau de Maxine?”
“Stop it,” I argued. “It’s for all pregnant women, not just me.” But of course I was immensely flattered. I was determined to wear the perfume even if it made me nauseous.
I opened the vial and took a brave, broad sniff. It was glorious. I started wafting the scent towards my face, afraid to waste any of it by actually putting it on.
“Let me smell it! Please!”
I handed it over so Paola could enjoy it, and then I took it back. Her face reflected my thoughts. I tried to describe the smell, just to make sure we were having the same experience. “I’m thinking citrus. Maybe grapefruit, right? But there’s a hint of herbs. Maybe cilantro.” I sniffed the air again. “I don’t know—there’s something earthy and sweet, but not cloying.”
Paola nodded. “None of it’s cloying. I think that’s what I couldn’t stand about perfume when I was pregnant.”
“Totally! This is so fresh! There’s definitely lemon. Yum!”
“You know, perfume smells differently when you put it on your own body. Do you want me to try it for you, in case you don’t like it?” I contemplated the idea as she held out her wrist. But as the stainless steel of her TAG Heuer Link watch glistened, I realized that time was running short.
“No, no. Not now.” I put the perfume vial back in its box and stashed it in a kitchen drawer. “Olga’s going to be here any minute.”
Speed-interviewing, NYC Baby Prep-style, had been a very effective mechanism for Dale and me to identify a nanny. After five-minute conversations with 15 different candidates, we had both independently selected Olga as our first choice. Interestingly, Olga had picked Dale as her first choice and me as her second, but I had to attribute that to the trace amount of high school Spanish Dale still remembered and had probably used during the interview.
I then conducted another fairly lengthy interview with Olga at the NYC Baby Prep offices. I learned a
bout her family, with specific detail about her mother, brother and children. There was no mention of a husband, a fact that was corroborated by her application, which listed her as single. I knew I couldn’t ask her why she would have had children without a partner to help, but Olga didn’t seem the type to have a master plan for personal development. In the end, it was none of my business. Between my assessment, the input from her references and the background work done by NYC Baby Prep, Olga seemed to be a hard-working, experienced and trust-worthy caregiver.
All that remained was a final meeting to show Olga around our apartment and to review some paperwork. “So tell me about the nanny,” said Paola. She was busy clacking on her phone while she talked. I wondered if she was going to do that the entire time.
“Well, her name is Olga.”
Paola looked up from the device. “Yeah. I got that.” She finished typing a message while asking, “Latina Olga or Eastern European Olga?”
“Central American Olga. Or Cuban Olga. Olga Ramirez. I think she’s from Guatemala.” I rummaged through some papers on the kitchen counter to validate Olga’s country of origin.
“You think she’s from Guatemala?” Paola was very proud of her Mexican heritage. Whenever anyone lumped all Latin cultures into one Spanish-speaking basket, which I had just inadvertently done, she became indignant.
“Thank God I didn’t say she was from Mexico.”
“Damn right.”
“Not to worry,” I confirmed. “She’s from Guatemala.”
“Not like it matters,” she said flippantly, trying to downplay her reaction.
