“I may have a proposition for you,” he says with an intense gaze.
Uh-oh. That’s not so nice…A proposition? If he makes a come-on, I will die. Or Bonnie will kill me first.
“Um, what kind of proposition?”
“This is highly confidential, so keep it to yourself. A few senior partners and I are about to leave and start our own firm and I’d like you to join us…as a junior partner.”
I stare back at him with my eyes popping out of their sockets. I can’t believe I’m being offered a partnership position! All six and a half years of gruelling hard work flash before my eyes. Harry continues to talk about the kind of files I’d work on (interesting), the pay (very interesting), and my stake in the new firm (very, very interesting). But after my initial excitement wears off, I notice a gnawing feeling in my stomach. Something’s wrong, but I’m not sure what. I gaze out onto the highway trying to focus my thoughts as he continues to speak. This could mean more money, prestige, and getting out from under Bonnie’s iron grip. But in the weeks after the Browser debacle, I’ve been feeling differently about my career. Do I really want to continue working these crazy hours and cater to the endless and often impossible demands of clients and those more senior in the food chain?
“We’re opening up a white-collar crime defence boutique and your experience would complement that of the litigators.”
“I’m very flattered by your offer, Mr. Traum, but I’m not sure I’m ready to make a move yet. Can you give me some time to think about it?”
He stares at me with a look of bewilderment.
“You’re not telling me you’re loyal to that firm, are you? With a bunch of assholes running the place? Do you think for a second they would be loyal to you? You’re just a cog in a well-oiled wheel, my dear. Just make sure you remember that.”
His words actually send shivers down my spine. I’m not naïve enough to think that associates like me aren’t dispensable. But given the amount of effort I’ve put in and my commitment to the firm, I guess I do expect a certain degree of recognition in return.
“I’ll remember that, thanks.”
“Take as much time as you need, Catherine,” he says sombrely.
As he looks out the tinted window, a pained expression comes over his tired features.
“I’ve worked my ass off for the last thirty years and what do I get in return? Zilch. Year after year, I brought in major clients, won cases that everyone wrote off as lost in advance, rewrote the law in the Court of Appeal and in the Supreme Court, and what for? They treat me like I’m some beat-up old car ready to be parked in the used lot.”
Unsure if I should say anything, I listen in shocked silence. Despite his rough exterior and tough-guy antics, Harry looks like a wounded puppy.
“They don’t appreciate what I’ve done for them. I went through two triple-bypass heart surgeries because of those jerks. I’ve been the biggest rainmaker in the history of the firm and now they’re trying to push me out. Can you believe it?” He stares at me incredulously. “What a load of crap, those ungrateful sons of bitches. You know what, they can go fuck themselves. And you know what the saddest part of it is? I’ll take most of my clients with me and make more money on my own. A bunch of backward-thinking, short-sighted, greedy monkeys. That’s what they are, a bunch of fucking monkeys.”
I feel awful for him. He looks like a fallen rock star whose song is no longer being played on the radio. Why doesn’t this sixty-year-old man with millions in the bank and decades of hard work behind him look forward to relaxing on the back nine? Despite his immense success, his enviable reputation, and all his money, he looks miserable. It occurs to me that he may have lost his temper recently not because of his divorce but because of the pressure of being pushed out of the firm. It crystallizes a worry that’s been brewing inside me—I don’t know if I want this.
We arrive at the airport and check our luggage in the executive-class line up.
“I’ve upgraded you, Catherine. You’ll be sitting with me in first class.”
Wonderful, my chances of resting after a sleepless night are now nil.
“You don’t have to do that, I can sit in economy. I’m sure you have lots of work to do and I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“No, no bother at all. I have thousands of these upgrades and I never use them. And besides, you can help me prepare my speech.”
“Your speech?”
“I’ve been asked to give a speech at the opening dinner tomorrow night.”
We take our seats at the front of the plane. Harry sets his litigator bag overflowing with briefs and case law at his knees, pulls out a manila folder, and begins to voraciously read between aggressive sips of coffee. Staring at him, I realize that he’s a human working machine and that this is what’s expected of firm partners: work and more work. I can almost hear my inner Rikash: Are you sure you want to become a partner? It’s like climbing to the top of Mount Everest in your monokini, honey: it gets real cold at the top. The problem with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat. And if you do make it to the big time, please remember that pigs get fat, but hogs get slaughtered.
The fact that Harry’s about to be sent to the slaughterhouse is bringing Rikash’s comments home.
Given his relentless work ethic, I feel slightly embarrassed to pull out the Vogue from my handbag, so I decide to flip through the airline magazine instead.
“I know it was you who hung up on me in the library, Catherine,” he blurts out. “I recognized that French accent of yours.”
Oh god. As the pilot makes his announcement about our impending departure, I suddenly feel queasy. I grab a tissue from my bag and hold it tightly over my mouth. Please god, no, not now. I start thinking of anything that might help keep my mind off this nauseating feeling in my stomach: that great Yves Saint Laurent jacket I spotted at Bergdorf’s, the fresh Provence air I breathe when visiting my mother, and the taste of ginger ale on my lips.
“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m not upset about it,” he says after taking another sip of his coffee. “I think what you did was pretty gutsy. I was actually very impressed. You’ve got to learn to protect yourself in law. That’s partly why I’m offering you a job.”
The engine makes its final roar and the plane moves forward on the runway. I turn to look out the window, hoping that it will help my queasiness, and to my dismay, I barf all over myself and Harry. Even his manila folder isn’t spared. The flight attendant rushes to my rescue with a warm cloth and crushed coffee beans to alleviate the smell.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Traum. I don’t know what came over me,” I say, wiping his folder.
“Don’t worry about it, dear, my four-year-old granddaughter does this all the time.”
Completely mortified, I stand up from my seat and hurry to the lavatory. Oh my god, I can’t believe I just threw up on a senior partner who knows that I hung up on him. Ah, merde! After twenty minutes of splashing cold water on my face, I decide to go back to my seat. Harry seems unbothered by my upset stomach and is deeply engrossed in his speech.
I turn to catch a glimpse of the man sitting across the aisle. He has his Maxim magazine folded so that no one can see the big-breasted babe on the cover. He’s holding his reading glasses over the tip of his nose as if he’s actually reading The Economist while staring at my legs. I immediately pull out a copy of the New York Law Journal to make sure he has absolutely no interest in engaging in conversation and put in my iPod earphones. When we arrive in San Diego six hours later, I feel disgusting and wretched; my clothes are stained and reek of throw up, my hair is a mess, and my face is white as a sheet.
Outside the airport, dozens of buses with banners bearing the words Edwards & White written in big bold letters wait for us at the arrivals gate. Lawyers from all over the globe are being reunited for team-building exercises.
“Catherine, you may want to sit at the front in case you need to throw up again,” Harry says as soon as we set foot on the bus, his loud voice
booming over the crowd.
Great. More than a thousand lawyers will soon find out I threw up all over Harry Traum. I’ll never live this one down. Ever.
The next morning, after all my colleagues have taken turns making fun of me, we make our way by bus to a large conference centre for our exercises. Looking around, I wonder whether Harry has made any offers to other lawyers in our group.
About halfway there, Nathan cracks open a can of beer.
“Isn’t it a bit early to start drinking?”
“Nah. Are you kidding? This is just the right time of day.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Nathan let his hair down and it’s kind of endearing. He’s obviously letting off steam from a high-pressure practice and the upcoming stress of becoming a father.
“We’re competing with Clifford Chance and Baker Mackenzie for first place in the international rankings,” Scott says to Nathan, sharing his bench seat.
“Is that right?” Nathan replies, visibly uninterested, while ogling a young female lawyer from the Prague office sitting across the aisle from him.
“This retreat will be great to get everybody psyched up so we can crush them next year.”
“Yeah, hmm. Wonderful idea,” Nathan concurs, still staring at the eastern European beauty.
A few minutes later, I notice two stunning, well-dressed associates with British accents sitting a few rows behind us. God, I need to change the topic, fast.
I stare at one of the two men; he is impeccably dressed, has tousled hair, and deep, penetrating green eyes. When he catches me staring, he walks over and takes a seat in front of us.
“Hello, I’m James. Which office are you from?”
“I started in Paris, but I work in New York now.”
“Lucky you.” He smiles and reveals dimples the size of the Grand Canyon.
“How about you? London, I assume?”
“Yes. You’re very perceptive,” he adds jokingly. “I like that in a woman.”
My face begins to redden.
“Welcome to the United States.”
“Thanks, I’m very happy to be here. So I hear there’s a big gala this evening.”
“Yes, I believe so,” I add nonchalantly.
Who am I kidding? Of course there’s a big to-do tonight. I puked all over the evening’s opening remarks.
“Could I have the pleasure of your company for dinner?” the Brit asks, now in major flirting mode.
Listening to our conversation, Scott chimes in.
“We’d love to have you at our table tonight.”
You can say that again. We’d love to have you period. Maybe Lisa was right about finding someone here to take my mind off Jeffrey.
We arrive at the conference centre, where Antoine is waiting in line to take his seat. He is dressed in a sharp khaki linen suit with a blue checked shirt and is tie-less. He even has a bit of a tan that makes him look a lot healthier than when I last saw him. He walks over as soon as he sees me and I feel a slight pinch in my stomach, given that our last conversation was more than heated.
“Hello, Catherine, how are you?” His friendly tone makes me relax.
“Antoine! I didn’t think you would make it. I heard that you’re spearheading a major privatization for the French government.”
“Things have slowed down a bit, thank god…”
He smiles warmly and my eyes are drawn to his light blue Hermès pocket scarf, his graceful gestures, and his broad smile. It’s clear that the move to Paris has been good to him.
“It’s taking a bit longer than expected to get the transaction started.”
“Enjoying Paris, I hope?”
“Absolutely. Everyone in the office really misses you.”
“Really?”
I’m thrilled. Ever since I moved to New York, it’s been difficult staying in touch with my former colleagues and I thought that they might have forgotten about me.
“Are you attending the dinner tonight?”
“Mais oui.”
“I’ll see you there. I’m sitting at your table. Scott saved me a seat.” He winks.
I’ve changed my mind; this corporate retreat is going to be highly enjoyable after all.
“I can’t believe you asked him to sit at our table,” Bonnie whispers loudly to Scott with pursed red lips. “He doesn’t work with us anymore. He should be sitting at the Paris table.” She’s clutching her evening bag so tightly it looks like a leather ball.
“What’s the big deal? He did a tremendous amount of work for me and I happen to like the guy,” he shoots back.
She turns away and doesn’t respond. It’s obvious that Scott failed to consult with her before inviting Antoine to join us. I just hope this doesn’t turn into World War III at our table.
“Hello, Catherine.” James stands next to our table looking dashing in a tailored suit and light pink tie.
“Ah yes, hello, James.”
“Is this seat taken?” he asks, pointing at the empty seat next to me.
“No, please go ahead.”
“I wouldn’t want to risk taking a seat from a New Yorker. Could get my head chewed off,” he says, positioning his serviette on his lap.
“I’m not a native New Yorker. I’m French, remember?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. A French woman, just my luck.”
We engage in a long conversation under the watchful gaze of my office colleagues. Antoine is now sitting across the table next to Bonnie, who has exaggeratedly moved her chair away from his and completely turned her back to him while talking to Scott. As soon as Nathan finishes his glass, he gives me the thumbs-up while signalling for the waitress to bring more wine. As she comes closer to the table, he whispers something in her ear and she stares back at him, flushed. He puts his arm on the small of her her back as she refills his glass for the fourth time. This evening is about to get very interesting.
After I’ve been speaking with James for about twenty minutes, Antoine interrupts our conversation.
“Catherine, can you please introduce your guest? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Of course, sorry about that. Everyone, this is James from the London office. He specializes in structured finance.”
“Shtructured finanche?” Nathan remarks. “I was in the shtructured finanche department at my last firm. That’s really b-o-r-i-n-g stuff. I had to drink about twenty coffees a day just to stay awake. You couldn’t pay me enough money to do that type of work again.”
“I don’t see anyone waiting in line to make you any offers, Nathan. James, how many lawyers are in your office these days?” Scott asks, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Even if I did receive an offer, I wouldn’t accept it. I hated it,” Nathan says, his voice getting increasingly louder. “To top it all off, I worked for the biggest asshole on the island of Manhattan. Josh Green, a loser with a capital L.”
“Nathan, he’s hardly a loser,” Antoine replies politely. “He’s the top-ranked American lawyer in the field.”
“Yeah? Well he’s also the top jerk in America.”
Scott stands from his chair and signals to Nathan to follow him. Poor Nathan is about to have a little chat.
“Please excuse my colleague. He’s had a bit too much to drink today.”
“Oh, no worries. I didn’t take it personally. Besides, he’s quite right. I’d much rather be a DJ in a nightclub, but my parents would probably disown me.”
After Scott and Nathan leave the table, Bonnie chimes in.
“Can you believe Nathan’s behaviour?”
“It’s no big deal. I mean, this is only an internal dinner,” Antoine responds.
“No big deal? You’ve got to be kidding. Did you hear what he said? We’re damn lucky it’s only an internal dinner. He should be fired.”
“You can’t be serious. He’s the top billing associate in the office and his wife is expecting. We can’t do that,” I chime in.
“What do you mean by we,
Catherine? I’m afraid you’re not involved in any decision-making for the department.”
“Okay, then you shouldn’t do it. He’s had too much to drink. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Do you think I’m going to follow employment recommendations made by someone who flaunts herself half-naked at low-brow parties in the Hamptons?”
The tension at our table is so palpable that it could be cut with a knife. I think long and hard before responding to her nonsense but having Harry’s offer in my back pocket gives me the courage to push back.
“Being half-naked at a Hamptons party is more appropriate than half-naked at client meetings, don’t you think?”
Antoine and James turn my way, dumbstruck. I smile back triumphantly at Bonnie, whose face is now the same colour as the soles on her Louboutin sandals. She tries to change the subject by bringing up an important acquistion she’s working on.
After my blood pressure returns to normal, I feel a bit remorseful for snapping at Bonnie. Despite her ludicrous behaviour, I know she’s fought against sexism and the old boys’ club rules to get to where she is today. What woman can silently tolerate years of relentless backstabbing, aggression, and raw competitiveness without losing a bit of her soul in the process? And there’s the old double standard: if a professional woman acts consistently with female stereotypes, she’s considered a pushover. If she goes against it and is overly aggressive, she’s considered a bitch. No matter how you cut it, it’s a tough place to be.
After dessert, Scott has returned to the table but Nathan is nowhere to be seen. As we sip our coffee, Harry Traum addresses the heavily liquored crowd with his (puke-covered) opening remarks. Tipsy, I start to lean into James and I can feel him doing the same.
“Good evening, dear colleagues,” Harry’s voice silences the crowd. “We would like to begin this evening by saluting some great talent at our firm.”
James stares into my eyes and I shake with that titillating feeling you get from flirting with an attractive stranger. The immediate physical attraction has every blood cell in my body racing furiously to my heart. My thoughts are interrupted by the applause of the crowd.
J'adore New York: A Novel of Haute Couture and the Corner Office Page 25
