by Erica Katz
“She texted me,” Jessica whispered.
I looked up at Jordan, who gave me a small nod.
“Saying?” I asked, looking incredulous.
Jessica burst into tears again, and I suddenly understood that Jordan had called me, rather than Matt, to his office because she’d never ever have believed a man’s answer. A surge of guilt went up my spine but instantly dissolved at the base of my skull.
“That she was having an affair with Jordan and had to tell me because the guilt was too much.”
I watched Jessica in feigned disbelief for a moment before I burst out laughing. She stared back at me. I covered my mouth but continued to force the laugher.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I went on. “I get why it’s so upsetting, but it’s just so ludicrous. Look, I’m basically with Jordan every second he’s not with you. I assure you, he doesn’t have the time to even talk to Nancy, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. And if anything had happened, I’d know. And I’d tell you!” Jessica exhaled and wiped her cheeks. I leaned in more closely. “But you do need to be careful with her. She once spread a completely insane rumor that I was sleeping with a partner. It was nuts.” I paused and pretended to think before widening my eyes. “How does she have your number? Does she know where you guys live?”
Jessica’s eyes flashed nervously, and she looked over at Jordan.
“Babe, the doormen would never let her up to our place. It’s fine,” he reassured her. She nodded at him, and he looked like he might pass out from the release of tension.
“I actually have to get back to work—I’ve got an associate to train,” I said with an eye roll. “But don’t believe a word that girl says. Jordan would never. This place is like a shrine to you.”
I gestured at the one picture of her on his wall as I headed toward the door. He really should have more pictures up.
She smiled gratefully, and Jordan gave me a wave of approval and dismissal.
“Will you please close the door, Alex?” he asked calmly. I lingered for a moment outside his door and was relieved by the calm tones of the voices emanating from within, then heard a throat clearing and turned to see Jordan’s assistant watching me eavesdrop. I clenched my jaw and gave a small, sheepish laugh before disappearing down the hallway.
Hours later, when I’d finally gotten rid of Harold and was in the middle of drafting a letter of intent for the latest National acquisition, my phone rang.
“Hi,” I said, cradling the phone to my ear and checking that my door was shut. “Is everything . . . copacetic?”
“Yes.” He was quiet for another moment. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have put you in that—”
“You’re welcome,” I interrupted. “Anyway, you made me look super cool in front of this Harold character. I literally left him in my office in the middle of a sentence.”
Jordan snorted. “Turns out, you’re my phone call, Skip,” he said, his tone turning sincere.
I didn’t answer at first, relishing the words, not wanting to disturb them. I didn’t regret doing him the favor of saving his marriage, even if it meant betraying the girl code that had been drilled into me since preschool. But I didn’t want to think about it anymore. “I’m glad to hear it. Now let’s never ever discuss this again.”
Chapter 20
“I’m not sure that Sam fits into my life anymore now that I work here,” I confessed to Jordan as we sat cross-legged on his office floor and half-heartedly tossed cheese balls from a huge clear plastic tub into each other’s mouth. His only response was to shrug and toss another orange sphere toward me with his powdered fingers. I caught it in my mouth and grinned. It was three o’clock in the morning on closing day for the latest National acquisition, and we were waiting for final comments from the seller’s counsel.
“I don’t know how to talk to him about it. I don’t even have time to talk to him about it,” I continued. Jordan gave me a skeptical look. “What?”
“In my almost seven years here, I’ve found that this job is always a viable excuse. But it’s an excuse. People who are busy have just enough time for what they want to have time for. No more. No less.”
“So, you’re saying I don’t want to have time to talk to him?”
“Exactly.” He stared at me for a moment as I contemplated arguing with him. “We spent two hours fucking around in my office before we ordered dinner. You know, if you asked me, I’d cover for you if you wanted to go home and have dinner with Sam. Not every night, but if it was important to you, every once in a while.”
I nodded. He had a point. But I liked being here with Jordan. I liked being at work more than being at home. Was that so bad? Didn’t lots of people do that?
“Okay, Skip. I’m going to try to catch a few hours. Can you cover me?” We both stood up. I felt like my legs might not support me.
“Fuck! I’m so tired! Up! Please?”
Jordan took a vial out of his desk drawer. “You know, Skip, I think it’s time you start buying your own.”
My heart sank. Did I do coke often enough to have to buy my own? “That’s what I have you for! I only do it with you anyway.” I bent low to his desk as I snorted, trying to erase the feeling that I needed the white powder to make it through the night.
While Jordan took a nap in the restoration room, I cleaned every crevice of my office using a Q-tip dipped in Windex. I was taking an air duster to my computer keyboard at four o’clock in the morning when the draft from opposing counsel dinged into our in-boxes. With my knees bouncing wildly under my desk, I took a first stab at comments and turned in changes before Jordan woke up. I flipped the draft to Jordan by ten in the morning and tackled a few more mundane tasks for my other two active matters before losing steam around two in the afternoon, when I passed out, spread-eagle on my stomach, in the middle of my office floor. When Anna poked her head in at six that evening, she shook me awake to make sure I wasn’t dead.
I never knew how I’d feel when I woke up from a nap. Sometimes I felt like I had gotten run over by a Mack truck, my thoughts creeping like sludge through my brain, but other times I was completely fine. I was lucky enough that day to wake up feeling like a million bucks. I dove right back into work.
“Hi, this is Alex,” I said into the phone, grabbing a pencil and readying myself to take notes. Having finished another deal with Peter, during which I noticed a few flirtatious comments from him but no actual overtures, I’d thrown myself into working furiously for Matt and Jordan. I had always enjoyed working for them, but now I also didn’t trust Peter to give me a good review despite the fact that I had leverage over him. If he ever wanted me gone, a bad review would be the way to do it. I needed to be perfect for Matt and Jordan.
“Skippy!” Matt’s voice rang through the receiver.
I put my pencil down.
“I’m here with Didier. You’re on speaker.”
“We missed you last night, Skippy!” Didier’s French accent sounded especially heavy, meaning he was either drunk or hungover.
I looked at my clock. Eleven a.m. Hungover, I hoped.
“I was completely unaware you were going out! Thanks for the invite!” There was a pause, and I panicked that I might have overstepped before I heard Didier grunt in approval.
“Come up!” Matt commanded.
“On my way.”
When I reached his office, I knocked once on the closed door before it swung open and Didier ushered me in with a dramatic bow and shut it behind me. Jordan’s notebook was on the couch, but Jordan was not. Matt was at his desk, looking slightly green. Matt and Didier scrolled through their phones and then pulled the screens closer to their faces and burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked.
“Check your email,” Didier told me.
“Check your sent mail!” Matt corrected him. I furrowed my brow and looked at my phone. The first email in my sent mail was marked urgent, but I didn’t think I’d added the red exclamation mark to a recent message.
&n
bsp; From: Alexandra Vogel
To: Salomine, Didier; Morris, Taylor; Rinker, KJ; Matt Jaskel; Sellar, Jordan
Subject: I need to cut loose tonight. I don’t want to just go to a strip club, I want to dance at one!!!
I reread it three times, my eyes bugging out of my head. When Jordan entered Matt’s office, hysterically laughing, I punched him in the arm. “You’re an asshole,” I announced.
“Just teaching you to lock your computer before you leave your office, Skip.”
I didn’t even bother to email Didier’s team to explain that Jordan had actually written it—they would know it was par for the course. The three men, who’d sunk down in their seats, looked miserable. Matt had one finger to his temple, while Didier breathed in with a hand over his stomach as though he was trying to keep from vomiting.
I sniffed the room. “Jesus. You guys reek,” I said, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Jordan.
“Quite a night you missed, Skip,” Matt said. “I slept on that couch because I was afraid to go home to my wife.”
“Yikes.”
“Tell her,” Jordan said. He put his fist to his mouth as he let out a small burp, as though he was afraid vomit would escape.
“I saw that,” I told him. “You are literally the most repulsive human on earth.”
“Didier, tell Skippy what we did last night,” Jordan demanded.
“No! Don’t,” Matt interjected.
“Skippy doesn’t care. She’s cool,” Didier insisted. “She’s one of us.” He turned to me. “I blew coke up a stripper’s ass.”
I felt my jaw drop open. I looked from Didier, who was smiling broadly, to Matt, who was nervously gauging my reaction. I laughed nervously.
Jordan slapped his forehead. “Fuck, Didier! I meant tell her about the new deal we got!”
“What new deal?” I asked, eager for a new topic.
Matt started in on a story of how they were at dinner at Carbone next to the M&A team from our biggest private equity client, and as he rambled on, I picked up my phone pretending to see what messages had come in.
“Yo! Skip! What the fuck?” Didier said. I looked up from my phone. “What are you typing? Who are you emailing?”
“Nobody! I’m not.” I put my phone down.
Jordan grabbed it out of my lap before I had a chance to lock the screen.
“Stop! Give it back!” I pleaded.
“What was she typing?” Matt asked anxiously.
“Don’t worry, Matt, Skippy’s not telling anybody. She’s doing a Google search for ‘cocaine up butt,’” Jordan said, doubling over. Didier and Matt burst out laughing.
“I don’t understand! I didn’t even know that was something people did!” I held my cheeks in my hands as I felt them grow hot.
“She’s ze cutest,” Didier said to Matt, then turned to me. “You should have seen this girl’s asshole.”
“Ugh! You people are pigs. So what deal did you get?” I asked.
“We’re doing the Hustler acquisition!” Didier said.
“Like, the magazine?” I asked.
“We got it last night when we were doing coke with the private equity guys,” Didier said proudly.
I took a moment, then shrugged. “There’s no one way to bring in new clients,” I said, leaning back. “Put that in your business development training, Matt. By the way, who did you staff as the junior associate?” I asked. They shot awkward glances at one another.
“Carmen,” Matt said. “But only because we had to—she was there with us last night!”
My shoulders slumped. Going to a strip club with our clients? She was pulling out all the stops to get into M&A.
“You’re getting good reviews with the partners you’ve been working for,” Vivienne said matter-of-factly at lunch the following week. I gloated inwardly.
This lunch was going like all of our others had: she typed furiously on her phone, her elbows on the table, while I discreetly did the same on my lap. We ordered. We spoke about the weather—we were both so glad that we were having a warm spring.
“That’s so nice to hear,” I said. “I’ve been working hard.”
Vivienne looked at me. “Are you happy here?”
The question took me by surprise. She and I had yet to speak about anything substantive—we had grown accustomed to pleasantries, not eating carbs, and keeping our phones on the table during these lunch meetings.
I looked at her, wondering whether she wanted a real answer. “Very,” I said cheerfully.
“Good,” she said. “I don’t believe anybody ever asked me that when I was an associate. And it seems people would like you to stick around for a while, so I thought I’d ask.” She took a piece of bread from the basket. “The first months here, before you match into a group, are the worst. It’s all about politics. But soon it’ll be all about the work.” I watched her pluck out the soft interior of the roll and pop the crust into her mouth.
I wondered what had changed to make her eat carbs, and took a piece of bread as well. “I’m okay. I think that ‘happy in my career’ doesn’t exactly look the way I thought it would,” I said, chewing.
She looked up at me, something raw and honest passing between us. “Nothing looks the way I thought it would,” she said wistfully, then caught herself immediately. “We’re practicing corporate law at the biggest firm in the entire world. Whether we know it or not, we’re blazing a trail for women in the future. The key to having it all is redefining what ‘all’ is. I wanted three kids. That means I have two nannies. I want them to eat home-cooked meals every night. That means I have a chef.”
I squirmed in my seat. Was this what trailblazing for all women looked like? Doing coke with clients, betraying my gender by lying to a colleague’s wife, and last but not least, having sex in my office with a partner?
“I can count the number of dirty diapers I’ve changed on my fingers. Not kidding,” she continued, holding up her manicured hands to me.
“My idol.” I brought my palms together in front of my chest and gave a slight bow of my head.
“Should we get wine?” She took her phone off the table and placed it in her gray Moreau, the same one I had eyed at Barneys on bonus day.
I nodded eagerly, and as she ordered a bottle, I had the fleeting thought that I was somehow becoming just like her. Despite our friendly chatter and the smile I kept plastered on my face, the feeling remained until I shoved it down to a comfortable distance with my first glass of wine.
* * *
I walked into the presentation late.
“. . . and because of this volatility, our busted deal arrangements have become a crucial part of engagement arrangements.”
I really didn’t want to go, but I had to. First of all, it was a mandatory training for corporate associates. Second of all, I intended to support Jordan. Third, I still couldn’t resist the opportunity to put myself in front of Peter, as though doing so would somehow remind him that he was attracted to me.
I took a seat next to Carmen, but she barely seemed to notice me as she stared up at Jordan with a slightly stupefied expression. I wondered exactly what was going on. I know Jordan had said that his ending things with Nancy was what had triggered her reaching out to Jessica, and that he regretted that anything had ever happened, but I found it difficult to believe that the infidelity I had caught him in was the one and only occurrence.
“You’re so obvious,” I whispered to her, testing my theory. She looked over at me with an alarmed expression, so I winked. She laughed and put a finger to her lips.
“Shhhh.”
Jordan was standing at the front of the room in a perfectly tailored navy suit, one hand resting in his pocket while the other moved the clicker through the slides. Peter sat beside him, affording the younger attorney the spotlight, but then made a remark that precipitated an eruption of laughter, and I blinked myself back into the room.
“We’re going to need to be perfect . . . PERFECT . . . from here o
n out. Which means I’m going to be leaning on all of you a lot, because my wife is honestly going to divorce me if I ruin another vacation, and I’m out of here next week,” Jordan added.
The room burst out into laughter again. I looked out of the side of my eye at Carmen, expecting to see hurt on her face at the mention of Jordan’s wife, but she appeared unruffled. I punched in my code and pulled up my email.
From: Peter Dunn
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: Tonight
Dinner at Cipriani?
At the end of the presentation, I watched as a crowd of male and female associates flocked to the front of the room to introduce themselves to Peter and Jordan and ask whatever questions they thought might make them stand out.
From: Alexandra Vogel
To: Peter Dunn
Subject: Re: Tonight
Early? Need to come back to the office after, I’m getting crushed.
I watched as Peter checked his email, taking twisted pleasure in the finger he held up to the young female associate speaking with him, signaling to her that my email was more pressing. He frowned slightly, and I worried for a moment that I had pushed my luck.
From: Peter Dunn
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: Re: Tonight
Done. 6:30. We’re on.
A rush of nerves and adrenaline swept over me as I smiled down at my phone.
That evening, as Peter and I walked silently out of the elevator into the lobby, we ran into Carmen, who was exiting a different elevator bank.
“Hi!” I said, waving at her. When I looked back, Peter was already outside.
“Hey.” She was pale, and focused her attention on a stray thread of her scarf.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but she just shook her head.
“I’m just waiting in here until . . .” She looked over her shoulder. “I have a dinner. Are you going to dinner with Peter Dunn?”
I felt waves of judgment emanating from her. “Yeah,” I said casually, “and four bankers. But yeah.”
Why did I just lie about that? Peter and I worked together. We could go to dinner together.
She just looked at me.
