I shut the door and looked around for a place to sit. The only one was between Mike and Gloria, but being hemmed in by the two partners I was least comfortable with would put me at a psychological disadvantage. Finally I went over and plopped down next to Hank, poking him in the ribs to make him move over.
“Sorry I was late,” I said. “I got hung up on a case I’m working,”
Hank held his ground, poked me back, then sighed and relinquished the center of the bench. Larry tossed me a walnut. Pam smiled and said, “Better late than never.”
Pam loves to utter aphorisms in a manner that makes them sound like arcane bits of Asian wisdom. I said, “That’s deep, Pam. Maybe you should get Ted to translate it into Latin.”
She made a face at me. I glanced at Gloria and Mike; neither looked amused. Gloria’s eyes were impatient, Mike’s somewhat annoyed.
Well, no wonder, I thought, recalling the conversation Rae and I had just had. To them the law and its trappings— even All Souls’s shamelessly casual partners’ meetings—were a serious matter.
Both Gloria and Mike had struggled to achieve what Hank, Pam, and Larry took for granted. While I knew only the outlines of Mike’s earlier years and nothing at all of Gloria’s, I was certain neither had enjoyed the slightest privilege or luxury. In contrast, Hank had been raised in an affluent Peninsula suburb and hadn’t worked a day until he graduated from law school. Pam’s childhood had been spent on a Lanai pineapple plantation; private schools, both there and on the mainland, had prepared her for law school at the University of Chicago, where the worst hardship she’d endured was snow. And Larry—he’d been a rabble-rouser all his life, bummed around Europe for a couple of years after college, then skated through Yale Law. It was a wonder any of them had developed so much as a shred of social consciousness, but in some way they had. I supposed that the assurance and feelings of entitlement instilled in them by their upbringing had enabled them to simultaneously take the law seriously and engage in antics such as poking and joking and walnut-tossing. Just as the lack of said assurance and feelings of entitlement made such antics seem inappropriate, if not downright offensive, to Gloria and Mike.
In an odd way I empathized with them all, because my own experience bridged the gap. My father had been a chief petty officer in the navy, underpaid and often out to sea. In his absence, my mother’s hands were too full raising five problematical kids to supplement the family income. True, we owned our own big rambling home on a large lot on one of San Diego’s finger canyons, but there were years when we depended on the largess of my uncle Ed, a commercial fisherman who brought us catch after catch of rock cod and sea bass and halibut. To this day I will not willingly eat fish.
In my family, high-school graduation was supposed to be the cutoff date for financial support, and unlike a couple of my freeloading siblings, I’d taken the rule seriously. I went to work in retail security, lived at home, paid room and board, and tried to save toward an apartment of my own. Given my spendthrift tendencies, I suppose I’d still be living there and saving toward the apartment if my supervisor at the department store hadn’t encouraged me to go to college. That, plus incredibly high SAT scores and a small scholarship, had gotten me to Berkeley. But even then college hadn’t exactly been a carefree interlude—not when I was working nights and weekends as a security guard.
Maybe, I thought now, I’d forgotten where I’d come from. Lost sight of who and what I really was. Maybe because I’d achieved more than I’d expected to—a certain professional reputation, a newly remodeled home of my own, a comfortable life-style—maybe I’d lost my ability to relate to people like Gloria and Mike, people who deserved far more credit for their accomplishments than I for mine.
The thought unsettled me. I wasn’t like that—at least not in the self-image I valued.
Hank glanced at me. Whatever expression I wore seemed to sober him. He said to the others, “Okay, let’s come to order again—if possible.” To me he added, “We asked you to attend the meeting to discuss a promotion.”
A promotion. They weren’t going to lay me off, or even demote me. They wanted to give me a better job.
So why had Hank acted so goddamn shifty earlier? Why did he now fail to meet my eyes? Why was Pam staring down at the rug, her face hidden by her shiny wings of black hair? Why did Larry’s waxed handlebar mustache twitch as he burrowed through his bag of walnuts? Only Gloria and Mike looked at me—expectantly, as if they wanted to share my pleasure.
“What kind of promotion?” I asked, trying not to sound suspicious.
Hank cleared his throat before speaking. “As you know, with the growth of the firm, the investigative caseload has become extremely heavy.”
I nodded.
“We want you to hire more investigators. Two, to begin with. You and I can go over the salary budget later. In essence, this creates a department, which you’ll head up.” He paused, seeming to search for words. So far this was all good news; why was he having such a hard time delivering it?
“With the increase in responsibility, of course, will come an appropriate salary increase for you, plus other perks,” he added.
“Does that mean you’ll pay for my car phone?” I asked the question jokingly, but it was one of the perks I’d insist on. Over the weekend I’d had reason to become enraged with All Souls’s stinginess when it came to equipment I considered essential; that morning I’d informed Ted that I was buying a phone, and if they wouldn’t pay for it, I’d foot the bill myself.
Hank’s smile was strained. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Now, in addition to an increase in the investigative caseload, you’ve probably noticed that we’ve come to rely more heavily on our paralegal researchers.”
Something in the way he stressed the word “now” put me on my guard. I waited.
Hank took off his glasses and began twirling them by one earpiece—a telltale sign of discomfort. “As you know, the use of paralegals eliminates time-consuming tasks for attorneys, provides more efficient service to our clients, and produces a higher profit margin.”
“Christ, Hank,” Larry said, “you sound as if you’re quoting from the California Paralegal’s Guide.”
Hank silenced him with a glare. I glanced at Pam; she was smiling at the rug now, her normally pale face pink with suppressed laughter. Hank glared at her too, even though she couldn’t see him, then put his glasses back on and regarded me apologetically. “Sorry if I sounded like I was talking down to you. I was trying to make the basis for our decision clear.”
“Why don’t you just tell me the decision, and if I need clarification, I’ll ask for it.”
He looked around, as if he hoped someone else would take over. No one volunteered. Finally he said, “We’ve decided to make investigative services and paralegal research one department, with you as its administrator.”
I frowned, unable to assimilate what I was hearing. Supervising a staff of investigators was one thing, but what did I know of paralegal work? “I’m flattered,” I said, “but the two don’t strike me as compatible. Besides, I’m not sure I know what most of our paralegals do.”
Gloria leaned forward, dark eyes intense, carmine-tipped fingers shaping her words. “A paralegal researches case law, Sharon. She or he interviews clients, writes memoranda and briefs, prepares exhibits for trial, drafts interrogatories, indexes documents for trial—handles anything, short of practicing law, that makes the attorney’s work simpler.”
“I understand the basic job description,” I said, “but it seems to me that, since the paralegals work closely with the attorneys they’re assigned to, they’d be better off reporting directly to them.”
“Currently they do, and they’ll continue to, but we need to ensure that the work flows smoothly. That’s where you and the new research department come in. As administrator, you’ll log in cases and keep tabs on every phase of the research, so none of the steps is neglected. Plus supervise your own investigators, of course.” Gloria’s bright lips—th
e exact shade as her fingernails—curved into a smile, as if she’d given me a particularly nice present and was anticipating enthusiastic thanks.
Now it was becoming clear why Hank was nervous about this discussion. Why Pam and Larry wouldn’t look at me. Why only the two partners who scarcely knew me thought I should be thrilled with this promotion. I said, “That sounds like a very time-consuming process. Given how frequently I have to be out of the office on my own investigations, I don’t think it’s feasible.”
Mike frowned, bushy black eyebrows meeting in a straight line. From his quick glance at Hank, I revised my earlier assessment of the situation; he and Gloria had also known I wouldn’t like their plan. “Sharon,” he said, “that’s why we’re giving you the go-ahead to hire more investigators. They’ll free up your time for administrative duties.”
Yes, now it was all very clear. “You want to confine me to a desk job,” I said flatly.
Mike drew back a bit, still frowning, lower teeth nibbling at his neatly clipped mustache. Then he went into his sincere mode: eyes wide and guileless, speech patterns turning folksy, tone warm and intimate. “Big step up for you. Big increase in pay. But hey, we forgot to mention the incentive plan!” He actually clapped his hand against his high forehead in an imitation of the guy who could have had a V-8.
I wasn’t falling for any sincerity act. Looking from Pam to Larry to Hank, I asked, “You all approved of this? Jack, too?”
Hank’s shoulders hunched defensively; I’d seldom seen him look so miserable. Pam’s fingers tightened on her blue-jeaned thighs. Larry practically stuck his head into the shopping bag full of walnuts.
Finally Gloria said, “One of the incentives we’ve talked about is to bring you in on the profit-sharing plan. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but profits were up fourteen percent last quarter.”
I was silent, my emotions in a turmoil. On the one hand, I was appalled at the prospect of a desk job, but on the other, I wondered what was wrong with me. Substantial salary increase, profit sharing—the American dream. So why did I feel so confused and resistant?
“Sharon,” Pam said, her delicate features strained, “you may not think so now, but you’d make a terrific administrator. You could turn the new research department into the mainstay of the corporation.”
Research department. Such a dry sound. Research was an activity carried on in musty archives: slow, methodical, analytical—and boring.
I shook my head in confusion, fighting off a sense of betrayal and trying to imagine the scenario they’d presented me. Supervising a larger staff of investigators, even relatively untrained ones, would be easy. I’d hire bright people, teach them what they needed to know. Even dealing with the paralegals would pose no real problem; during my tenure at All Souls I’d read a fair amount of law and picked up even more informally. What I couldn’t envision was me behind a desk forty hours a week.
I said, “I still think it’s a mistake to combine the two activities.”
Mike replied somewhat tartly, “It’s not up to you to critique our organizational chart.”
“But she might have a point,” Larry said thoughtfully. “We should at least hear her out.”
“Larry, the matter’s already settled.”
“But, Mike, she’s saying exactly what we expected she would.”
“Of course she is—and you know why, given where she’s coming from.”
Quickly Hank held up a hand. “Let’s not argue.”
“Just where am I coming from?”
Hank made a dismissing motion. “I don’t think we need to get into—”
Pam’s voice cut through his words. “We’ve always been up front here. We might as well get into it.”
“Get into what?” I demanded.
Hank sighed heavily. “I asked you to meet with me beforehand. But no, you couldn’t be bothered. Too busy. Off working a case.”
“Which is precisely the problem,” Gloria added.
I faced her. “The problem?”
“Yes, problem.” She nodded emphatically, long curls bobbing. “You’re a good investigator, Sharon. But you lack discipline. The Benedict case is a good example.”
The Benedict case was the one I’d just wrapped up. “What about it?”
“Did you receive authorization to work on it?”
“Not initially. Hank was on vacation—”
“Did you request it from anyone else?”
“I’ve always reported to Hank. And when he came back, he gave me the go-ahead.”
“Only after you were in over your head.”
“Jack requested—”
“He had no right, and both of you knew it. It was Jack’s personal crusade, and by giving in to him, you neglected your other duties.”
Mike added, “That’s not an isolated instance, either. That business up at Tufa Lake is another.”
Outraged, I turned to Hank. “You loaned me out on the case. The California Coalition for Environmental Preservation reimbursed the firm for my time.”
Mike said, “He only loaned you because Anne-Marie’s his wife and their chief counsel and she requested you. He didn’t go through channels, get approval from the rest of us. This new organizational plan will prevent abuses like that.”
Surprisingly, Hank nodded. “Mike’s right—I admit it. We’ve talked—and fought—this through at our meetings. Back when All Souls was a small cooperative, I could bend the rules, but as it grew I just kept doing that, to our detriment. We all have to learn to adapt.”
His words rendered me speechless. His words, and the truth of them.
After a moment Gloria moved her hands together in a gesture that apologized for the dissension. Mike leaned forward, elbows on knees, soft eyes begging for understanding. Larry looked hangdog, Pam hopeful. Hank reached over and squeezed my hand.
These people are not out to get you, I told myself. They’re good people, dedicated people, and they have the best interests of the co-op at heart. But, damn, they’re asking too much!
Hank said, “So what do you think, Shar?”
I remained silent.
Gloria added, “All Souls needs you.”
“I’m not sure you need me in that particular capacity.”
Larry said, “Everything changes, Shar. Maybe you should change, too.”
Pam added, “There’s a lot of energy being generated by the reorganization. We want you to be a part of it.”
Mike said, “I know Jack would tell you the same if he were here.”
So they were all committed to this new plan. It was take-it-or-leave-it time.
I thought of the future if I accepted this promotion. Tried to look at it in a positive light. A desk job, supervising a staff of investigators and paralegals. Log sheets, meetings, mediating disputes … Ugh! But balance all that against the satisfaction of watching the department and the co-op grow and prosper. Balance that against the satisfaction of prospering personally. A higher salary, car phone, profit sharing. I could pay off the second mortgage I’d taken out to finish remodeling my house, buy good furniture, bank a portion of my take-home pay. Maybe I’d even be able to start taking flying lessons again. I’d had a few lessons years ago, and Hy had been teaching me informally, but I needed to log time with a licensed flight instructor. And a desk job would give me the time for that; there would be no more evenings wasted freezing my ass off on stakeouts, no more weekends wasted chasing down elusive witnesses. I’d put in my eight hours five days a week and have a life as well.
It would also mean stultifying boredom and a hell of a lot of clock-watching. It would mean surrendering the freedom I loved.
But face it, McCone, I told myself, if you don’t agree to their offer, it’ll mean starting over. It’ll mean giving up All Souls, the closest thing to a family you’ve got anymore.
They weren’t going to get off cheaply, though. I would really stick it to them. “What about a pension plan?” I asked. “You partners have one.”
Th
ey exchanged surprised glances. “I’m sure that could be arranged,” Hank said.
“And this salary increase—just what are we talking here?”
“At least one-third over what you’re making now.”
I did some mental arithmetic. “Double would be more attractive.”
“The point is negotiable. So what do you say?”
“I’ll have to think on it.”
“But what’s your initial feeling?”
It sucks, I thought. Aloud I added, “I don’t want to leave All Souls, so I’ll give your offer very serious thought.”
Again the partners exchanged glances. Relief was the primary component this time, tinged with incredulity in the eyes of the three who knew me well.
Hank asked, “When may we expect your answer?”
“Give me till close of business on Wednesday.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, if you have any questions—”
“I know where to find you.” I smiled wryly at him, got up, and moved toward the door. Behind me I could feel an easing of the collective tension. I stepped into the hall, shut the door, and started toward the stairs.
On my way past Ted’s desk I asked, “What’s the Latin for ‘between a rock and a hard place’?”
“Sorry,” he said, eyeing me sympathetically, “the book doesn’t say.”
Three
Before the partners’ meeting I’d needed something to take my mind off Hy; now I needed to think of him to keep myself from brooding. I sat down behind my desk in the window bay at the front of the second floor, swiveled around, and stared moodily at the houses across the little park. After a while I turned back to the desk, pulled the phone toward me, and dialed the number of the Spaulding Foundation.
Kate Malloy, Hy’s executive assistant, answered. “You’ve heard from him!” she exclaimed when she heard my voice.
Wolf in the Shadows Page 3
