by Paul Sunn
“Fucking thing didn’t even keep me dry!” the loud, potty mouth woman shouted into her phone, oblivious to the scowling faces of the other bus riders. Passing by her toward an open seat, I could see that the woman’s hair and shoulders were indeed soaked. Hmm…Odd, the umbrella had looked like it was working outside the bus.
I sat with the cringe, wincing in anticipation of dealing with wet pantyhose all day. I hated wet pantyhose, but… but my pantyhose, were dry? Much drier than they had been before getting on the bus. A Monday miracle? Perhaps some minor deity took pity on me. I felt strangely empowered. Regardless of how my meeting went, I wouldn’t have to suffer in squelchiness all day.
The bus pulled away from the curb. I pulled my cell phone out of my dry…yup, dry purse and shot off a quick text to Marianne letting her know that I was on my way and should be there in about 20 minutes. I settled back in my seat, letting the roar of the bus engine and the indistinct hum of the passengers’ conversations drown out my anxiety riddled thoughts of confronting Mr. Paulson. My impending doom could wait a little while longer.
3
Chapter 3
As the bus pulled to a stop two blocks away from the offices of Paulson, Bryans & Sunn, the rain was starting to let up. Having missed my usual bus that dropped me off right outside the office, I would have to make a run for it in my three-inch-high heels. That should be fun I thought. In the rain. I prayed not to slip and die. On the flip side, once dead I wouldn’t have to confront Mr. Paulson and Phillip would not have a reason to be disappointed in me, I reasoned. I shook my head and mentally slapped myself for my crazy inner talk. I started to descend the steps of the bus when the soft touch of a hand startled me back to reality.
“I want to thank you again, my dear.” She favored me with another surprisingly-white, perfectly straight smile.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” I smiled down at her while patting softly her tiny, withered hand. “It was nothing.”
The door behind me squeaked closed and the bus rumbled down the street. Before it was completely out of sight the old lady lifted a waving hand. I waved back, then huffed it down the wet sidewalk to the office.
Paulson, Bryans & Sunn was a prestigious place and one of the bigger law firms in downtown Philadelphia. I was grateful to have been hired, even if sometimes the work was a bit more menial than I would’ve liked. As my mother always used to say, you had to start at the bottom, and if you were good at what you did, well, that’s when someone would start to take notice of you.
Words to live by. My mother had always been full of those and I took her word for it.
I pushed through one of the two revolving front doors of the office building and was greeted immediately by the lobby security guard.
“Morning, Miss Cressdon.” His voice formal but polite, as always.
“Morning, Roddy.” I smiled back. The first time I had walked into Paulson, Bryans and Sun, Roddy’s big, imposing presence and stern looks had me almost running back out for the exit door. He was a big man sitting behind a large, finely polished marble desk in a huge lobby next to four menacing steel elevators. Three hundred pounds of muscle crammed into a uniform two sizes too small, but all teddy bear, as I discovered after getting to know him better. “Hey, have you seen Mr. Paulson yet today?”
“Sure. He’s been here since seven for a deposition.”
Oh, donkey doo! The room spun around me, leaving me nauseous and cold. “That was this morning!”
Roddy grinned. Unlike the old lady on the bus, he had crooked teeth stained faintly yellow from the ginormous travel mug of espresso he always seemed to be carrying. “You’re fine. Marianne covered for you.”
“Okay. Thanks so much.” Seems the wind in my sails today came from a whoopee cushion. Not the greatest way to start a conversation about getting promoted. I didn’t need to cry in front of Roddy. I hoped my voice didn’t sound as deflated as I felt. “If you see him before I do, can you please let him know I’m looking for him?”
“Sure thing, Rayne.” Roddy took a sip from his ever-steaming mug of espresso and turned back to the half-dozen monitors he manned behind his desk.
I hurried up the stairs to my desk on the third floor, doing my best to not let the news that I’d missed the deposition, the one we’d been preparing for two weeks, ruin my plan. Philip would never let me live it down if I didn’t ask for the promotion today.
I just hoped all the determination I’d built up and the script I’d finally managed to memorize to perfection, wasn’t all flushed down the toilet.
Seeing Marianne sitting at the desk beside mine when I got there relaxed the epileptic butterflies in my stomach. She looked up from her ever-unstable pile of folders and smiled at me as I dropped into my seat beside her.
“Sorry I’m so late. What did I miss?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing important. Jack didn’t even invite me to sit in at the deposition. I don’t think he even noticed you weren’t here.”
“Seriously? You not just trying to spare my feelings, putting a fluffy pillow next to my tombstone?”
“Nope. He just blazed in here, took the documents and ran.”
I frowned, not sure which was worse, being late to an important meeting or my boss not even realizing I wasn’t there.
Marianne’s smile widened. “It’s fine, Rayne, really.” She handed me a stack of papers, thicker than a bible. “Help me out with these, would you? We’re looking for any phone calls from July 8th.”
I flipped through a few pages, scanning the first couple of paragraphs on each. “The Blake case?”
“July 8th phone calls for the Blake case, yeah.”
“So, Mr. Bryans thinks he’ll get him this time?”
Marianne snorted. “Who knows. Devlin Blake has weaseled his way out of more lawsuits than most men have dressed suits. He goes through juries like toilet paper.”
That was probably true. Just off the top of my head, I could think of three suits that had been started and then suddenly been dropped against Devlin Blake. The law firm of Paulson, Bryans & Sunn had been working with the Philly DA’s office to nail that crook for as long as I’d been studying law.
“Well, maybe this time,” I suggested.
“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can wish real hard and get birds to do our work for us. We’ll get them to wear pantyhose and sort the incriminating facts from the benign ones.”
I frowned. Often, Marianne spoke in references I didn’t get.
“Cinderella,” she said catching my confused expression. “The Grimm version, not the Disney. Birds pick lentils from the ashes at one point.”
“Okay.” When it came to such things, I trusted Marianne’s obscure trivia references without needing to confirm it. I went back to looking over the papers in my hand instead. “July 8th?”
“July 8th phone calls, yes.”
We settled into a smooth groove while we scanned. Me, Marianne and Marvin Gaye on repeat worked well together. I was focused and meticulous, while Marianne was good at spotting patterns and noticing the way random details fit into a larger narrative. She was one of Paulson’s paralegals, focusing exclusively to his cases. While I hadn’t been assigned to any lawyer or partner, with Christine leaving next month and opening space on Mr. Paulson’s team, I thought I’d be a good fit. I wanted to work with Marianne as much as possible, and I wanted to work with Jack Paulson. His intensity and confidence intimidated me sometimes. I found myself always lowering my head and sliding to one side of the hallway when we passed each other, not that he noticed, but he was an excellent lawyer and frankly the reason I wanted to work at this office. Positions on his team opened up so rarely that it would be stupid of me not to at least try for it, which is why Philip had been pushing me so hard to ask for the position. I’d spent the better part of two days figuring out what to say and how to say it when I talked to Mr. Paulson.
Of course, that script… so carefully written, memorized, and practiced both to myself and to Philip until it sounded so
natural and firm I could’ve used it to audition on Broadway, was now useless. I couldn’t claim to be an exemplary paralegal deserving of the increased responsibility and a constant position on a highly-desired and competitive team on the very morning I’d showed up late for an important meeting.
But I couldn’t abandon the plan for the day. The thought of Philip looking at me with that disappointed expression and shaking his head whenever I proved how much of a pushover I was.
As if I needed another reason to wonder why he put up with me at all.
It was lunchtime and we hadn’t even dented the stack of papers we were working through. Marianne set down her own stack and stretched, wincing a little as the motion pulled at cramped muscles. “C’mon.” She stood, still stretching and wincing. “Let’s go somewhere. Lunch is on me today.”
I set down my own pile of papers. They skittered out of their assigned pile like nervous rabbits. I tucked the naughty sheets back into place with two fingers. “Thanks, but I need to find Jack.”
She smiled. “Really, it’s okay. He didn’t even ask where you were.”
“And that’s part of the problem.” I grimaced.
“C’mon, Rayne. We’ve both been staring at tiny print for almost four hours. My eyes are permanently crossed here. We deserve a break.”
I shook my head, not necessarily disagreeing with what she said, but if I didn’t find Jack during my lunch break, I wasn’t going to have the conversation I needed to have with him. That much was certain. “Go someplace nice,” I said to Marianne. “I’ll grab something at the cafeteria.”
Marianne twisted her face like she’d bitten into a mouthful of raw lemons. She hated the cafeteria. She was convinced that the main cook there was out to get everyone who worked in pencil skirts and pantyhose. “There’s no way to convince you to go out with me?”
“Sorry.” I flashed her my best look of regret. “Rain check?”
She glanced outside and giggled. The heavy rain had started up again, pouring down the glass windows with no mercy. “Fine. Another day, then.” She stretched again before heading toward the stairs, then glanced back over her shoulder and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Good luck with Jack.”
“Thanks, and it’s not like that,” I said flustered. I didn’t usually believe in luck, but sometimes I wanted it to be on my side anyway. Biting my lip, I looked back down at the papers before I accidentally gave credence to her teasing. Got it Marianne, not a fan of Philip. Checked, noted and saved for later.
4
Chapter 4
Marianne disappeared down the main steps toward the building entrance. I sat for a minute in terrified silence. Prayed to whatever karma or twisted God of luck was out there for the confidence to face my boss. Marianne said it would be fine. That Jack didn’t even notice I was late, not being here for the deposition this morning. My empty stomach growled its agreement. This morning’s faux pas couldn’t reflect well on me regardless of whether or not I was supposed to be there.
But now, none of that mattered. I knew beyond twelve shadows of a doubt that if I didn’t force myself to do it now, I would lose every ounce of nerve I’d spent the last two, mornings and nights, fostering. Sure, I’d be spared having to face my boss, but would undoubtably face much worse from Philip when I got home. I tapped the stack of deposition papers in front of me back into their stack, never mind that none of them were out of place, given that I’d been fiddling with them that exact way for the last five minutes. I sucked in all the oxygen from the room my lungs would allow, and stood up, tall and strong.
The hallway outside of Jack Paulson’s office was quiet this time of day. Most of the people in the building were busy on their lunch break. It was known Mr. Paulson himself generally took his lunch in his office. He was a total workaholic and hated leaving his desk for something so trivial as food, so his office was a good place to look for him.
I hesitated outside his office. I took a minute to make sure my hair and skirt were in presentable order soothing out invisible wrinkles for the tenth time. I pulled in another deep breath and tapped my knuckles on the door with a little too much gusto. Ouch!
“Come in,” Jack Paulson’s muffled voice called behind the pair of thick mahogany doors.
I cracked open his door just enough as if to not let anything dangerous escape. Would it? I pulled my shoulders back and stood tall as if my posture would fool people into thinking how confident I was. That’s what Phillip said, and I’d take anything right now. I sucked in one last breath trying to center myself. A last fatal attempt to quell the wave of anxiety washing over me and nudged the door wide open. Jack’s office looked like a paper factory had gotten sick and projectile vomited all over. Papers and books piled to skyscraper heights, spotting the Brazilian walnut hardwood floor. I’d need a cape to leap over them. Yellow tab folders and manila envelopes fanned out in ravenous hoards and were flanked by angry, overburdened clipboards splayed unceremoniously on every desk, and shelf surface, including the three-seater, leather couch and the two heavy chairs framing his mahogany desk; a cemetery of half-drunk coffee cups and uncapped plastic water bottles. When my eyes finally spotted him, he was skimming through a small island of papers.
“Yes, what is it?” he asked, his eyes still focused down on his papers.
“Mr. Paulson,” I began in as even and measured a tone as I could force my voice to take, “I wanted to apologize for not being at the Swan deposition this morning.” It always baffled me why he kept everything on paper when the rest of the world had long ago moved on to digital. But it seemed to work for him, so who was I to question it? Jack Paulson was the firm’s youngest partner, possibly the youngest ever to make partner in the city. Marianne always teased me about it. Finding every opportunity to shoot me not-so-subtle suggestions. But I was with Philip. Jack Paulson, although a brilliant litigate of mind, was merely another handsome man and my boss. Marianne’s words itched at my subconscious like a bad rash.
A perfectly manicured index finger pushed up at the bridge of a pair of gray Armani glasses and it tucked a strand of golden-brown hair behind his ear. His close-cropped medium length hairstyle, always parted on one side, framed his stunning face, blatantly breaking the law firm’s strict male dress code that demanded short, neat, conservative hairstyles for all employees. Long dark eyelashes blinked at me over the skyline replica of bursting multicolored photos, almost drawing my attention away from the mischief shining through his narrowing, hazel-brown eyes.
“That’s fine,” he said at last, rubbing his chin. He obviously had no idea who I was.
“No, it’s not. I was assigned to help you with this case, and I should’ve been there to help you this morning. I’m really sorry.”
His eyebrows drew close together while the muscles around his eyes grew tighter. Still, no recognition. It was like he’d never seen me before. His lips finally curled up in a genuine, heartfelt smile. Butterflies in my stomach did a happy dance. Catching me off guard and completely throwing me off balance. ‘No way,’ I reprimanded myself, mentally crushing the butterflies. He’s my boss and I’m married. It’s all because of Marianne’s stupid innuendos. Personal note; kill Marianne after lunch.
“All right. Apology accepted. I got what I needed, so there was no harm done,” his warm, cheerful tone infected the room.
I should’ve felt better about it, but it was still bugging me. My first instinct was to continue apologizing until he scolded me the way I felt I deserved to be scolded. But he’d already turned his attention back to the papers in front of him, apparently forgetting about me, and I recognized dismissal when I saw it.
I should go. Turn around and leave his office. I technically talked to him. Didn’t I? I should grab a chicken wrap from the cafeteria. Bring it back to my desk and get back to work on the stack of papers for the Devlin case. Make up for my flub this morning by working extra-hard until I was more than caught up. Mr. Paulson had accepted my apology and dismissed me. I no longer needed to be st
anding here in his doorway like a lost potted plant. I started to turn back toward the hallway, but something kept me pinned to that spot.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe somebody had lined the inside of his office floor with gorilla glue or maybe it was just imagining the look on Philip’s face when I told him I didn’t ask my boss for the promotion like I said I was going to do today. Whatever the cosmic reason that would not let me escape, I grabbed onto it with both hands. Spinning back around, I cleared my throat loudly enough to get Jack Paulson’s attention again.
Teeth clenched, my fingers twisting around each other in white-knuckled anxiousness. I forced my hands apart and put my arms down against my sides, trying to at least pass for normal person and not one of the butterfly net brigades. “Actually, there is one more thing I need, sir,” my voice trembled, and my heart pounded in my chest like a wild animal anxious to free itself.
“Okay?” The warmth of his smile somehow soothed the beast thrusting beneath my breasts. “But call me Jack.”
“Um, sure… Jack. Christine is leaving next week for law school, and I want her position,” I blurted out. I felt it even as the words were coming out of my mouth. How forceful they sounded. Too forceful. I’d decided only to mention that I was interested in the position, and if there was some way to apply for it, I wanted to know. Even in the speech Philip had said was acceptable, I’d never come right out and said that I wanted my boss to promote me. It surprised me to say exactly what I was thinking, and honestly it felt good.
Jack lifted one thick, brown eyebrow. “I’m sorry. And you are?”
In five words, my boss sucked away all the confidence that had been so suddenly evident in my voice. At least, I hoped it had. A lump formed in the center of my throat the size of the iceberg that took down the Titanic. I swallowed and tried in vain to force it down.
How could he not even know who I was? I’d been working here for almost eight months. I’d delivered him the occasional coffee and weekly report summaries. I’d passed him in the hallway on numerous occasions and had even worked up the courage once or twice to ask him about his weekend.
