by Eva Luxe
Claude leads me to a conference room where three men are already seated, waiting to meet me. I know that they’re Asher Marks, Cameron “Ron” Sanchez and Jameson “Jim” Reed, the founding partners of the firm.
“Garrett!” Asher says, standing up to shake my hand, as do the other two. We were all in law school together, but it’s been awhile since I’d seen them. When I do see them, it’s often as opposing counsel in court, since I tend to represent “little guy” plaintiffs while they usually represent what I’ve always thought of as big, evil corporations.
“There’s fresh coffee if you need anything,” Claude says, as he retreats towards the door. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Fancy seeing you here,” Cameron says, as they sit back down at their seats and I choose my own.
“I know it is,” I tell them, partly embarrassed that life circumstances have brought me here, while at the same time, grateful for the opportunity. “I made my legal career out of being a rogue independent. But I thought it was time to join society and hook up with a firm.”
They laugh, and I’m glad they don’t press the issue of why I’m here talking to them today. I’m sure they know enough about me— just as I know enough about them— to have weighed the pros and cons and decided to proceed. The real reason I’m here is that my father said the firm, where he’s been a partner for a long time, was looking to expand and that I should join up. Although he’s quite old and half senile, I think he got this one right.
Some good and bad things had happened as the result of my stubborn insistence on owning and running my own law firm. The good thing is that I won some big cases and a hell of a lot of money. If it weren’t for that, I don’t think that these three lawyers would be interested in partnering with me, whether my old man was already a partner at their firm or not.
The bad thing is that I fucked up some other stuff, which I don’t really need to go into detail about, because who likes to recount their losses? Let’s just say that I have the tendency to either win big or lose big. And also the tendency to mix business with pleasure a little too often.
“I know that we’ve already sent over the proposed partnership agreement,” Asher says. “It’s pretty standard stuff and we’re looking to have it start nearly immediately. As you know, our firm has been doing well. We won a large case for a large client— Damien Hudson, the toy company owner, who actually offices here with us and runs his business for at least part of the time out of our offices, so that we can best keep up with his many different legal matters.”
“Yes,” I say, and here I turn to Cameron Sanchez, who is not only Asher’s law partner but his best friend since they were in grade school. “Congratulations on that big win, Cameron.”
“Thank you,” Ron says, and then looks at Asher as if to say, at least someone acknowledges my contribution to our achievements. “It has opened up a lot of opportunities for our firm and in looking into expanding, we were happy to see you were interested.”
“There’s just one little detail we’d like to go over with you before making it official,” Jim says, and I brace myself for what I already suspected would be coming.
What they want to go over with me is the fact that I’m known for sleeping with my subordinates. I decide to make things easier on them.
“Look, guys,” I say, my hands outstretched as if I’m an innocent school boy accused of stealing cookies. “I was used to working on my own, making my own rules, or lack thereof. I had some opportunities to… socially interact with my staff, which I know now isn’t the best idea. Lesson learned.”
They’re still staring at me, as if expecting me to say more, so I repeat, “Lesson learned.”
“Lesson?” Ron asks, intensifying his case. “My understanding is that it has happened repeatedly.”
I tense up, and they must think I’m signaling that the deal might be off. In all reality, I’m just wondering how many they’ve heard about, and trying to count how many there have actually been.
“Look, Garrett,” Ron finally continues. “We don’t want to be killjoys here. We know what it’s like.”
“Believe me,” Asher chimes in. “I know what it’s like. I was just like you before I married my associate.”
“I know,” I tell him, because who hasn’t? Asher was infamous for choosing a new associate to mentor every year, and sleeping with her. But the bombshell had been when he had married one of them.
As if on cue, Madilyn St. Clair— or make that Marks, now, said associate— comes into the conference room, with a baby in each arm. I don’t know much about babies, but they looked about six months old. I’d also heard that Asher and Madilyn had had twins.
“Hey honey,” she says, nodding at Asher. “Sorry I can’t make this meeting. I know I had said I would try, but the nanny still isn’t feeling better so she brought me the twins on her way home, and I’m going to try to finish the Stephenson brief if I can get them to nap in my office and then I’ll head home with them.”
“No problem,” Asher says, waving a hand at his wife. “They’re more important. Good luck.”
“Thanks honey,” Madilyn says, and then nods to me. “Mr. Mack, I’m sorry I can’t stay longer but it’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I tell her, getting out of my seat to escort her back to the door of the conference room. “I’d shake your hand but I can see they’re both full.”
She laughs on her way out and then I return to the table.
“Madilyn was just going to talk a little bit about HR,” Asher explains. “She and I had a hell of a time of it after we got together. We were going to say that having fun at work really isn’t worth…”
“…the costs,” I tell him, nodding. “I understand.”
It’s rather hypocritical for him to be telling me this, but I decided before I arrived to just say what I needed to say to make this partnership go through. Once I make up my mind to do something, I’m determined to complete the goal.
“And you may know that I ended up marrying an assistant here at the firm,” Ron says next, to which I also nod my head.
Everyone knows that, too. There isn’t much that happens in the legal world that doesn’t spread like wildfire.
“Don’t worry,” Asher says, in a hurry to clear the firm’s name. “Jim here didn’t marry his assistant. Or anyone’s.”
Everyone laughs, but Jim’s cheeks look a bit flushed. He’s staring down at his notepad, looking uncomfortable.
He’s no doubt hiding something, even from his own partners no doubt. But I’ve realized that’s the nature of human beings, and it’s not my place to judge. God knows I’ve made my own share of mistakes. And I’m determined to find a fresh start here, rather than to keep repeating them.
“We know it sounds wrong of us to be telling you not to do what we did,” Asher says, and I agree with him, but I shake my head anyway, part of my goal to tell them— even silently— what they want to hear. “But the firm has been through a lot and we just don’t want any more drama. We have to ask that you please…”
He trails off, obviously not sure how to say it, so I help him out.
“You want me to stop my philandering ways,” I tell them. “To be a good boy and leave my hands off any woman I work with.”
“Well, we, uh…” Jim starts to say, but I jump in to make things easier on him too.
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure them. “I get what you’re trying to say. I understand.”
“That’s great,” Asher says, looking relieved. “I guess everything is good to go then.”
“I guess so,” I agree.
Just then, a very pregnant woman with purple streaks in her blonde hair walks into the room.
“Garrett, this is my wife, Ruby,” Cameron says, and I get up to shake her hand.
It really is something, them telling me to behave myself while trotting out their pregnant or child-carrying wives as living proof that they did not do the same. But I just sm
ile and say, “Nice to meet you,” as Ruby says the same.
“Ruby is our most organized assistant, with extensive organization systems she’s helped the firm put into place,” Asher says. “She even has an app she’s developed, to schedule the assistants’ calendars and tasks. Because another app that she made took off so well, she only works here part time as a supervisor of the staff, and we’re grateful that she still does. She’s going to talk to you about your staff needs and how we can best fulfill them.”
“All right,” I say, trying hard not to laugh like an immature middle school boy at the phrase “staff needs.”
What I used to need from my staff was for them to bend over so I could spank their ass. I needed them to let me tie them up. And to not sue me.
But that last need of mine didn’t always get met. Thus, I know it’s important to do what these future law partners of mine say and be a good little boy— something that is very, very hard for me to do.
“As you may know,” I tell Ruby, “I have a few associates I’m bringing with me, as well as some staff members.”
“Yes,” Ruby says, nodding. “I think we will need two receptionists to handle the call volume now, as well as a full staff if you’re not bringing enough to cover your own and your associates’.”
“Can I hire my own?” I ask her.
She looks hesitantly at Ron and the other partners.
“That’s fine,” Ron nods. “As long as you behave yourself.”
I see Ruby crack a smile, but she returns to her professional demeanor. This chick is pretty cool; I can see why Ron married her. Not that I’m the marrying type. And there are so many babies around here, there must be something in the water. It’s a good thing I just vowed to never have sex with anyone who works for the firm, so that I don’t have to worry about knocking anyone up.
“We’ll leave you to the job of discussing specifics,” the partners say, standing up and looking eager to return to their work. “It was great having this meeting and we look forward to expanding the firm with you.”
“Yes,” I tell them, still unable to believe I’m giving up my autonomy. But there’s safety in larger numbers and I know that here I’ll have more money and more security. “I look forward to beginning to work with you. I’ll sign the documents and send them your way.”
“Great,” Jim says, and leaves the room, with Asher following beside him.
Cameron bends over to kiss Ruby, and pats her baby bump on his way out.
“See you two later,” he says, presumably to Ruby and her unborn child.
“He can’t see yet,” Ruby says, confirming my suspicions. “And you can’t technically see him either. At least not without dragging an ultrasound machine in here.”
Cameron laughs as he leaves. Those two are sickeningly sweet.
With that, it’s settled. I’ll be the fourth named partner of the firm— not only because my father insisted but also because I’ve settled and won enough plaintiff’s cases to bring a sizeable contribution to the firm.
I’ll be a good boy, so that they won’t regret partnering up with me. At least I’ll try to be. I have to admit that all of this is very new to me. But there’s a fucking first time for everything.
Chapter 2 – Carolina
Today is the day I’ve decided to start doing something about my mess of a life. Now I just have to keep reminding myself of that, all day long.
Telling myself to take baby steps, I walk outside to check my mail, squinting into the bright sun. It’s been a couple days since I’ve been outside. Things have seemed a lot easier lately from under my covers. Until they started to seem a lot harder, because I realized I have to start paying bills, coming up with a plan for my future, facing life— little things like that.
I pull open the little metal door on the front of the mailbox. It catches and I have to tug it open, which serves as a painful reminder that I had always meant to replace this standard issue mailbox with one of those ironic ones I see on Pinterest, which signify a holdover from a more ancient time when people used to count on snail mail rather than messages in their social media feed.
Mine would be painted like that bird that’s the Twitter logo, if that isn’t some kind of copyright or trademark violation. I always meant to look it up, but never got around to it before Jake and I fell apart, and then it was the least of my concerns. Leave it to me to painstakingly plan the most minute detail that would never come to be.
I take out a large stack of mail, which includes an envelope from Georgetown County Courthouse. Divorce papers. This was the reason I’d not been wanting to check my mail. And the reason I’d been hiding under my covers.
Jake had left me weeks ago, and no longer wanted to be married to me. It was time I start making other plans.
When people talk about plans and goals, they expect to hear big ones. So, I usually keep mine to myself and spend all my time planning them out only in my head.
My plans might have seemed small to some people, but to me they used to constitute big dreams. I married Jake right after high school, and I was supposed to be a housewife and eventually a stay-at-home mom. Life would be perfect, with not only a white picket fence but also one of those ironic mailboxes I never got around to making.
I know that I should be patient and let life’s plans unfold. But Jake’s leaving me seemed to be so outside of my control that I feel the need to make plans that are within my control. In my opinion, patience— like ironic mailboxes— is for the birds.
Jake and I had married young with the specific plan for me to be a housewife. We had been trying for what felt like forever to get pregnant, without success. At first, it was fun. I quit using birth control, and we made love whenever and wherever we could. But as the months wore on with no baby in sight, it stopped being fun.
We went to a fertility doctor who said the problem was on my end and that we probably would never be able to. And just like that, Jake was gone. He didn’t leave so much as a note. When I tried calling him, his number had been changed.
Thus ensued my hiding under the covers. And now, just a few weeks later, I got divorce papers in the mail. I guess the future children and I were a package deal. Without them, Jake didn’t want me. I’d gone from beloved wife to infertile ex in the blink of an eye, and it’s quite a blow to my ego.
Clearly, there’s nothing in the world I could do to change things. Jake has made that pretty clear with his silence, and now with these papers.
I head back into the house and then immediately open the envelope so that I can’t put it off any longer. If I do, I know it’s only a matter of time before I end up back under the covers.
I can see that he is generously offering me some alimony in the divorce, probably to get me to agree to it, which I would do anyway. I don’t see any point in staying married to someone who didn’t want to be married to me anymore. Maybe he’s also trying to assuage his guilty conscience.
I can’t say I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to stay married. I knew how much he’d wanted kids, because I wanted them too. I’m just upset that he didn’t feel that I mattered enough to talk to me about what he was thinking and say a proper goodbye.
I guess it was just too hard on him, and even though I was mad at him and thought he was chickenshit, I also realize it’s time for a new plan. My plan. But wouldn’t you know it, I had never even thought about what I would do without Jake.
It’s clear I need to start a career, since the alimony offered is in a lump sum and won’t last forever. I also need some kind of a focus to distract me from my feelings of grief and inadequacy over not being able to have children— or even keep my husband. I know I have to find something to offer the world now that my plans of marriage and motherhood have fallen through. I just need to figure out what it is.
It’s been years since I’ve held down a job, at least legitimately. Sure, I’d cleaned a house or two here or there just to make ends meet, and I’d cut hair for some of the local girls in my neighbor
hood. But it appears it’s time to get a “real job.”
I turn on my computer and go online. Clicking on websites that aren’t familiar to me— monster.com, indeed.com— I begin applying to many different jobs, pretty much any and every one that I’m remotely qualified for, and some that I’m not.
I live in a small southern town, where there aren’t many jobs available. I’d never had a need to look in or outside of it for jobs before, since mine was supposed to be “homemaker.” But once I exhaust the few job openings available here, I decide to apply anywhere and everywhere.
Why not? There’s nothing for me in this town any more, and it would probably be a good thing to get out of here. Other places have more jobs and higher salaries, so I’d best go to where they are.
There’s a job listing for a legal assistant at the law office of Marks, Sanchez, Reed and Mack that falls somewhere in the middle of “totally not qualified for” and “could do this in my sleep.” It also happens to be in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I’ve never been. I doubt I’ll get the job, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to apply.
I’m a fast typist, and know my way around basic office programs like Word and Excel, but I don’t know a damn thing about the law. I figure I’m semi-qualified and I apply because it’s on the list of things I need to do if I want to go on eating and paying rent and all that other important stuff.
Having done my due diligence in looking for a job, I collapse back under the covers. And now I wait, until one of these leads calls me, hopefully. If they don’t, I have no idea what I’m going to do.
Chapter 3 – Garrett
2 Months Later
I’m quite literally seeing red as I’m correcting a legal assistant’s work. Office Depot probably can’t restock red pens as fucking quickly as I’ve been going through them.
No, I write, crossing out yet another line of Jeff’s latest attempt to draft discovery requests. All the nitwit kid had to do was use some templates from the firm’s “brief bank,” which he had started on as a base, but for some reason insisted on adding his own discovery responses to the mix. Like this one, which asks for what the defendant had to eat a week before the accident.
