PLUMMET: A Novel

by MICHAEL ZAROCOSTAS

  Coitus interruptus. Raphael said, "Who is it?"

  "It's Gabe Weiss. What's going on in there?"

  Raphael cocked his head, then smirked.

  Adrienne whispered, "Oh my God." She started to disengage, but Raphael was still pumping like an oil rig, his brown Armani tie sweeping back and forth along her spine.

  Don't come on the expensive tie. Don't do it. He whispered to Adrienne, "Wait. Almost there." He yelled at the door. "Very funny! I'm on the phone! Go away!"

  The knocking came again, and a voice in the hall said, "Raphael, get off the babysitter!"

  Raphael convulsed, shut his eyes tightly to see stars. Adrienne adjusted her skirt and grabbed a stack of documents from the desk. He zipped up and snagged the receiver from his phone. He held it like a stage prop against his ear, opened the door, and mumbled a good-bye to the dead line. Micah Grayson and Elliott Needleman stood outside the door, mouths open.

  "I knew that was your retarded accent, Mikey." Raphael dramatically hung up his phone, turned to Adrienne. "The client said that's fine. And don't forget those copies for the binder."

  Micah and Elliott entered. Adrienne tucked her chin to her chest, avoiding eye contact as she escaped from the office. Micah fanned the air in front of his nose.

  Raphael said casually, "She's actually a great paralegal."

  "I bet." Micah elbowed Elliott.

  "Raph," Elliott whispered, "this is a place of business."

  "Monkey business," Micah added.

  "What are you guys talking about?" Raphael raked his hair back, straightened his tie.

  "What are we talking about? Your giving dictation to a paralegal."

  "Look, Mike, I'm senior to you, and I don't have to put up with this shit. I don't want people gossiping about me here. Now did you want to tell me something or just harass me?"

  "That's what your paralegal said."

  Elliott laughed his high-pitched titter at Micah's joke, and that irked Raphael. "Shut up, Needledick. You two can get the fuck out of my office."

  "All right." Micah turned halfway out the door. "We just came by to tell you that the delivery guy brought dinner. It's in my office. You must have worked up an appetite."

  $ $ $

  They ate Indian food in Micah Grayson's office, and the air reeked of curry and garlic. Raphael was watching Elliott eat and skim the Bible from Grayson's desk. Raphael ate chicken vindaloo and sulked because Grayson was still cracking jokes about the paralegal. Sweating and fuming, he gulped a Diet Coke and glanced around the office, looking to change the subject, to deflect the attention to Micah. It was February, but the kid still had Christmas cards on his desk and holiday photos on his walls. Raphael zeroed in on a photo of the kid's girlfriend on Santa's lap, taped to the computer monitor.

  "Dude." Raphael grinned, nodding at the photo. "You're so whipped."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Your girlfriend owns you. She's turned your balls into a yo-yo."

  "Easy. She's probably gonna be my fiancée, and you're an idiot."

  "Oh yeah?" Raphael remembered something Adrienne had told him, and he decided to stir the pot. "Does she know about Gabe's daughter?"

  The kid's eyes darted around. "How'd you know about that?"

  "I didn't actually. I heard some ridiculous rumor that Gabe invited you over to his house to meet his daughter." Raphael took a bite of food, slurped Diet Coke. "And you just confirmed the rumor was true, Mikey."

  "You're a dick, Raph."

  "Wait, what happened?" Elliott looked up from his eating and reading.

  "So it's true then? You were set up on a blind date with Gabe's spawn. Did you take one for the team? Did you slip her the 'chalupa'?"

  "Hell no." Micah looked up toward the ceiling, exasperated. "It wasn't like that at all."

  "Riiight." Raphael kicked his feet onto the kid's desk, continued his cross-examination. "My question is, sir, did you have carnal knowledge of a partner's daughter? Did you know her in the Biblical sense? I want answers. I want the truth!"

  "You can't handle the truth!" Elliott quipped.

  "Look, Raph." Micah shoved aside his plastic tub of curry, leaned across his desk. "I went to Gabe's house because he invited me over for dinner. You would've done the same, you kiss-ass. Besides, I didn't wanna tick him off."

  "I take it you didn't hump her then? How about Gabe's wife?"

  Micah's face flushed. "Now why the fuck would you say something like that? That's out of line, Raph. That's a partner's wife."

  "Dude, methinks thou doth protest too much."

  "Would you like it if someone said something nasty like that about your wife?"

  "Yeah, if I was married, I'd take it as a compliment." Raphael saw the kid's face becoming a vicious scowl. "Dude, you were just making fun of me and a paralegal, and now I can't give you shit? I'm just goofing on you right back, so chill the fuck out."

  "You're an asshole! You know that?" Micah stood up and pointed a finger. "You're just jealous you weren't invited to Gabe's house. What is it, do you miss the view from inside his colon that much?"

  "Whoa, dude, what is your deal? Wait, did something happen-"

  The kid's phone rang.

  Micah looked at the caller I.D. screen and grimaced. "It's your girlfriend, Raph."

  "Who?" Raphael squinted at the telephone screen. He thought it might be his paralegal, but it was an incoming call from Hannah Smythe's extension.

  Micah sat back down. "I can't take another damn assignment from her. I'm swamped."

  "Fuck her. Don't answer. Dude, don't do it-"

  "Just shut it, Raph." The kid punched the speakerphone button, said, "Hey, Hannah."

  Hannah's voice buzzed through speakerphone, "Just calling to check status on that brief."

  Raphael made jerk-off gestures in the general direction of the speakerphone, but he couldn't get Micah to laugh.

  Micah said, "The brief's in good shape-"

  "Great. So when do you think it'll be done? The client's anxious."

  Raphael flipped his middle finger toward the speakerphone, blew kisses.

  "I'm working on it now, but," Micah paused, waving off Raphael, "but my girlfriend, er, fiancée's coming into town this weekend."

  "Uh-huh. Well, I'm leaving tomorrow and I'll be at a bed and breakfast till Sunday. So I guess I'll call you Sunday morning to discuss your progress on the brief."

  "Actually, I won't be at work on Sunday."

  "That's fine. You can work at home."

  Rapahel started to feel bad for Micah now, seeing the distraught look on the kid's face. Micah said, "No, Hannah, I mean I don't work Sundays."

  "What?" the speakerphone crackled. "I told Stu I'd have something for him by Monday."

  "I hear ya. And I'll do the best I can, but I'll be in church with my girlfriend on Sunday."

  "You're serious. You actually don't work Sundays? I've never heard of anyone not working on Sundays. You're not serious, are you? This is a joke, right?"

  Raphael hit the "mute" button on the phone. Her voice continued complaining. Raphael said, "Mikey, tell her if you were Muslim or Jewish she wouldn't be talking shit to you. Do it, tell her to suck your big fat Christian balls!"

  The kid turned the mute button off, said, "Hannah, I'm not joking. I don't work Sunday. I'm really sorry. I'll do my best to finish the brief for you."

  "That's just fucking great," Hannah screeched. "The only observant Christian in Manhattan and he has to work for me!" The speakerphone clicked as she hung up.

  They sat in silence for a few seconds, looking at each other.

  "I can't believe that bitch," Raphael finally said. "You know, when she was a Second Year, she and I made a pact. The firm was giving us a stipend for new cell phones, and Hannah and I said we weren't doing it because we didn't want 'electronic collars.' She even said they could kiss her ass if they expected her to work weekends. Now look at her, turned out and evil like a Scientologist on crack." He sighed, looking
at Micah's sympathetic smile.

  "You used to really like her, huh, Raph?"

  "Fuck no. I just felt sorry for her. You know how many times she'd come crying to me because a partner was a dick to her? It's gotta be a shit-fest for a chick around this place. Well, she wanted it, so fuck her now, right?"

  "I don't know." The kid shrugged.

  "Mikey, you don't really not work Sundays? I mean, you just told Hannah that because your girl's in town this weekend, right?"

  "No. Ashley would be ticked off if we didn't go to church."

  "What are you guys? Pentecostal snakehandlers or some shit?"

  "Give me a break. Her dad's a church elder back home actually."

  "Wow, my condolences. You must have blue balls all the friggin' time. So wait, why don't you work on Sunday again?"

  "Uhm, because God said not to. It's the sabbath, Raph."

  "Really? And where did God say that exactly?"

  "In the Ten Commandments."

  "Oh yeah. Hmm. You really are a Jesus freak."

  Micah shook his head, obviously annoyed.

  "If I were you, Mike, I'd say something to HR about Hannah. That bitch should pay. It's friggin' religious discrimination for Christ's sake!"

  "You realize the irony in what you just said, right? Look, let's just drop it. I'm already on my last nerve with Hannah anyhow."

  Raphael finished off his food, letting the kid cool off, before he said, "You ever go through those documents in the Mavros case? I know they sent us more files."

  "Nope. Until we get a decision on their motion to dismiss, Gabe doesn't wanna give them any paper discovery, and we just got a notice for a court-ordered mediation. You see that?"

  "Yeah, I got the e-mail from the Managing Law Clerks' office. Those mediations are always bullshit. So Vader said to back-burner the document review, huh?"

  The kid looked up from his desk, nodded.

  "Well I'm glad Gabe's keeping you informed. He didn't say shit to me about what's going on. It's like you're his boy now. It makes me wonder if you said something to him about the time I forgot to have the docs picked up from the client? Huh, Mikey? You say something?"

  "Raph, I don't even know what the hell you're talking about. Whenever docs come in, I either get a CD of files or hard copies go to the case room from the delivery people. Gabe probably told me to hold off because I'm the document review guy. You're the guy higher up on the totem pole who drafts pleadings and briefs, remember?"

  Raphael thought about it and felt bad. "You're right, dude. I'm sorry. I'm just a little paranoid because I'm up for partner this year. But you reminded me that you're my subordinate on that case. So," he imitated Gabe's voice, "put it on the back-burner 'til we do that little mediation thing. Capisce?"

  Micah laughed, said, "Yes, sir, boss."

  21 (3 months ago)

  * * *

  "Dude, I love Spring," Raphael said to him over the din of the bar crowd. "May in SoHo is a pussy parade. Chicks in miniskirts, showing ass and their dirty milk pillows. I love it!"

  Micah Grayson nodded from the perch of his bar stool as hypnotic chill-out music hummed around them. The bar was electric white, and the walls were covered in crushed red velvet and red light bulbs. Beautiful waitresses walked around the bar in white bikini tops and thongs, lace wings on their thin backs and wire halos on their heads. They carted drinks as muscular bartenders mixed alcohol in red Speedos and black plastic horns glued to their temples. The bartenders took turns swigging high octane liquor. They held the alcohol in their mouths, flicked a lighter in front of their lips, and blew clouds of flame at the frenetic crowd.

  "What do you think?" Raphael tilted his loose chin down at him. "The hottest friggin' lounge right now in the city."

  Micah shrugged.

  "What's the matter, Mikey? Got that not-so-fresh feeling?" Raphael had that familiar drunk, mischievous look. They'd had three rounds, and Raphael was getting mean from the vodka. "It's your girl, isn't it? Why didn't you bring out the preacher's daughter?"

  "Watch it." Micah slugged the rest of his gimlet. "Her flight was cancelled. She might come next weekend."

  "Sorry to hear it," Elliott said over Raphael's shoulder. "How is she?"

  "She's all right, I guess. Ticked about my job."

  "Who isn't pissed about our job?" Raphael said.

  Three shot glasses arrived on the white counter in front of Raphael. Micah shook his head. Raphael and Elliott each took one, downed the liquor without him.

  "What's your problem, Mikey? It's Friday night. You got your hair slicked back like Vader, got a nice little black DKNY shirt on." Raphael smacked his lips. "You look like you wanna party, so act like it. Do a shot."

  "I should. Maybe it'll make me feel better."

  "Come on. Your girl's not here. One shot won't kill you."

  "What the hell." Micah picked up a shot and killed it. The vodka made his eyes water. Raphael grinned and ordered beer chasers.

  The three kept drinking and staring at the waitresses until it got late. Or at least it seemed late to Micah. His eyes washed over the red walls and lights, the white bar the only clear thing. The crowd packed in around him, more people drinking, chattering. But he was soothed by the music and something smelled good, incense burning behind the bar. Sandalwood or frankincense in curls of smoke that smelled like spiced fruit. He breathed in and felt calm, forgetting about his endless hours at work and fighting with Ashley.

  "So, Mikey, you've been working nine months now. You still an S & A cheerleader?"

  "I don't know how you bastards have worked there for so long. That place is a temple of mammon."

  "Mikey's wasted." Raphael nudged Elliott. "What's a temple of mammal?"

  Micah said, "Mammon. You know, riches, greed, money. You can't really serve mammon and your beliefs at the same time. You can't serve two masters."

  "Oh yeah?I've never heard you complain about your paycheck."

  Micah couldn't think of anything to say in response.

  "Dude, you know how I know you're wasted?" Raphael held a cigarette, waited to light it. "You sound like Deliverance and spout off like a televangelist."

  Micah sipped his beer, mumbled, "Whatever."

  "You know what your problem is?" Raphael lit his cigarette, inhaled, ashes glowing in his cocky smile. "You need to get laid."

  "Hey, you act like you know about me, pal. You don't know jack shit, Raphael-o."

  "Oh yeah? Let me guess. Your girl's from a strict Baptist family, right? Wears a promise ring because she's a good girl, doesn't want to disappoint daddy. So she tells you to wait until you're married, but you need what every guy needs. So you sweet-talk her."

  Micah felt himself getting hot, the air stifling. He took a drink of warm beer.

  Raphael kept going, "And you get her drunk sometimes and you tell her it's all right because you're in love. You say, 'I'll always love you, baby.' So she gives you a little hand job, but it's not enough. It gets old after a while. Right?"

  Micah's hands curled up tight, his shoulders squaring to Raphael.

  "You make her feel bad about it until she goes down on you and when it's over she feels terrible and you feel even worse. And the guilt makes it impossible to fuck her until you're married. So you wait and you start rationalizing getting what you need from somewhere else-"

  "You son of a bitch!" Micah grabbed Raphael's shirt collar and pushed him against the bar. Raphael's eyes rocked back in his head for a second, and Elliott hung on Micah's back, pulling him backward until he let go. "What the hell'd you go and say all that for?"

  A devil bartender leaned over the counter, said, "Yous guys cut the bullshit."

  Raphael straightened his shirt, lit another cigarette. He bowed his head, contrite, took a long drag of smoke. "Mike, I'm sorry. That was fucked up, I know."

  He stuck out his hand to shake, cigarette wedged between his fingers.

  An angel waitress snatched the cigarette, walked off, shouting, "Can't smoke
in here!"

  "That naughty bitch." Raphael was sidetracked, watching the waitress.

  Micah heaved a sigh. He knew that Raphael was a delinquent, and still he liked him. There was an innate honesty about Bianco. He looked down at Raphael's outstretched hand, grabbed it. "Apology accepted. Just lay off Ashley, all right? When I drink and hear trash talk about her, boy, you'd rather jack off a bobcat as mess with me."

  Raphael started choking on his beer, laughing out loud.

  Elliott smiled and sat back on his bar stool, short legs dangling above the floor.

  "Between not seeing her and doing Hannah's shit work, I'm ornery as hell, fellas. I'm sorry but I didn't go to law school to review boxes of documents all the damn time."

  "I hear you, Mikey," Raphael said. "You gotta be careful at work, dude. You don't wanna end up being another Sullivan & Adler horror story."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean like a guy I started with over seven years ago, a Gen Lit associate. First assignment, they ask him to summarize the content of some docs, right? So they take him to a room with like fifty thousand computer files and two thousand fucking boxes of documents for a tobacco company lawsuit. This guy spends every friggin' day at work, reviewing the files and get this. You remember this?" Raphael patted Elliott's shoulder, and Elliott nodded. "A year later, he finishes going through everything. Only fucking case he works on at S & A."

  "I'll be damned. A whole year?"

  "Wait, it gets better. The guy finishes and goes to report to Stu. You know what Stu says? 'Oh, we settled that case a month ago.'"

  "I believe it," Micah said. "You know how long I've worked for Stu Greenbaum now, and that son of a bitch doesn't even say hello to me on the elevator?"

  Raphael gulped the rest of his beer, burped. "Another great one. This corporate associate was working five hundred hours a month, sleeping three hours a night for weeks. Crazy shit."