Falling in Love

by Stephen Bradlee

  I ran to the front and began ripping open drawers. Finally, I found a drawer with three different sized staplers. Without looking up from his reading, he said, “The largest one.”

  I ran to the back and handed him the stapler. Forty-five seconds! “I’m afraid my arthritis won’t allow me. Would you mind doing it?” Forty seconds! I tried but the document was too thick. I couldn’t do it. Thirty seconds! “David is just outside,” I pleaded with him. David lifted weights. He could do it in one quick snap.

  “It would be better if we could do it.”

  Twenty seconds! I was outraged. He was going to let that woman die rather than ask David to staple the damn document? What kind of ogre was he? “You want it stapled? You want it stapled!” I hissed. “I’ll staple the damn thing for you.” I slammed the Stay and the stapler on the floor. Then I flipped off my high heels. In one quick move I did a cartwheel as I kicked my feet off the board table ceiling so that all my weight and force went into my fists on the stapler and smashed the staple solidly through the document. “It’s stapled!” I spat at him. “You want the bottom stapled, too?”

  Very calmly, Justice Klein said, “I would love for you to staple the bottom part, my dear Sherry. But I’m not sure my eighty-four-year-old heart could take it.” He smiled and I suddenly realized that during my cartwheel, my skirt had been tossed down around my face. I was mortified.

  Justice Klein picked up the Stay and pulling a gold pen from his suit pocket, he slashed his signature across the last page with a flourish. I yanked on my heels. Twelve seconds! “Thank you very much for your help, Sherry. Take my hand and don’t let go until I’ve gotten you to your people.”

  Was he crazy? My people were one foot outside the door. But I took his tiny bony hand. Justice Klein cracked open the door and Ellsworth’s gold-cuff-linked hand reached in to grab the document. Then, as the Justice and I emerged from the limo, we were blindsided by flashes and bright lights as people jostled us around. Two policemen tried to hold back the crowd. Suddenly blind and terrified, I clung grimly to the Justice’s small hand. Somewhere above the melee of the reporters’ questions, I heard Ellsworth yelling, “He signed it. Justice Klein signed the Stay.”

  The policemen marshaled us over to another limo where David was standing. He opened the door for Justice Klein. I was still clinging to him. Justice Klein turned and kissed my hand. “You were a joy, Sherry. Good night.” He got inside and was gone.

  “Roger’s handling the press,” David said. “Unless you want to talk to them?”

  “Me! What would I say?”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” replied David. “Let’s get out of here.” We hustled up to Park Avenue and were safely in a cab before David finally seemed to breathe again. “Wow!” he cried out. “If I’m a lawyer for forty years and make millions, I’ll never be as proud of this profession as I am right now.” He pounded his fists. “We saved a life that deserved to be saved! How many lawyers can say that?” He turned to me. “Listen, you want to get a drink or something? I just feel so great!”

  I vigorously shook my head. I knew he had a girlfriend and was just being sociable. But I didn’t want to go near a bar, not then, not ever.

  “Sure. Sure,” said David. “I understand.”

  He dropped me off at my building on his way back to the office. I could hear my phone ringing before I entered the apartment. I was too exhausted to talk to anyone. But that didn’t matter. The phone kept on ringing, mostly from my teammates and with messages calling me a “star.”

  I turned on the TV to the NY1 channel and saw nonstop coverage about the Murder Mom case. They showed trial coverage, an interview with Keith Contrell, Roger Ellsworth’s press conference and then I saw it—a shot of Justice Klein and me emerging from the limo. I looked like some blinded, blinking child being towed along by her grandfather. I would have hoped that no one would recognize me but it was too late for that. I clicked off the TV and fell on my bed as the calls continued. What were they doing up this late? We had a big game tomorrow.

  While we laced up, a couple teammates ribbed me about being a “TV star.” But the others were all business. Neither Paula nor Darcy said a word. The Vixens must have heard the “star” comments because they immediately double and triple teamed me and I couldn’t get free to get the passes that Darcy and I had practiced. Darcy kept yelling “Sherry” but I didn’t know what to do. Actually, I knew what she always wanted me to do—go for the goal! But there were always defenders blocking my way. Finally, after she screamed my name again, I shot like a rocket toward the goal. I heard the ball kicked and turned to see it threading defenders toward me. I trapped it and jammed it past the goalkeeper for a score. I loved my teammates embracing me but thought they should be congratulating Darcy for an incredible pass. But I basked in their love anyway.

  From then on, I was not only covered but pushed and shoved around for the rest of the game but I keep sprinting toward the goal with defenders in tow, once enabling Paula to get open, who scored easily. Doubling and tripling me while leaving Paula open? Were they crazy? They deserved to lose, and they did. The final score was only 3 to 2 but we remained undefeated.

  As in every other game, when someone made a great shot or an assist, the other teammates gave her a thumbs up, the ultimate Wildcat salute. I never gave one. I just didn’t feel worthy of congratulating them. It also seemed like I didn’t get that many thumbs up either. Maybe my teammates didn’t think I deserved them. But one great thing did happen for the first time in that game. For years, defenders had screamed, “Watch Harper-Cane!” That day I heard, “Watch Marsh-Johnson.” Unbelievable! My paltry nothing name was linked to the great Darcy Marsh. Sure, almost all of our pair was Darcy but I was thrilled to be whatever was left.

  To celebrate, the Wildcats headed for Callahan’s but I begged off, claiming to have a birthday dinner engagement. That night, Robie, feasting on a tin of tuna, and me, devouring Orange Chicken takeout, helped someone somewhere celebrate their birthday.

  On Monday morning, towering over my stately workstation was this huge bouquet of incredible red, pink and purple roses and carnations and other gorgeous flowers. Its card read, “Sherry, thank you so much! Lisa Turner.” The other secretaries turned from jealous to joyful when I let them pick their favorite flowers for a display at their own workstations and soon the whole floor seemed to be bursting with color and exuding a rich fragrance. Adam returned and seconded his wife’s gratitude, making sure that I had charged my overtime until midnight.

  Because Adam maintained his own schedule and I rarely checked it, I had no idea who his 11:00 o’clock meeting was until the floor receptionist motioned to a blonde woman talking to two partners. Her suit included the shortest business skirt I had ever seen at Whitney. But with her incredible legs, the skirt looked so natural. I’d know those legs anywhere, Darcy’s. Promising to call one of the lawyers that afternoon, Darcy turned and hugged me in front of the partners. Admiring my Dede outfit, she noted, “Hey, Star. You clean up great.” We chatted about Saturday’s game en route to Adam’s office, while she admired the floral arrangements.

  Darcy and Adam were deep into a conversation about Upper East Side penthouses as I wheeled in the refreshment tray. Darcy was remarking, “This one is also fabulous. Duplex on Fifth, wrap-around terrace, five bedrooms plus servants’ quarters. It’s listed at ten but they’ll take nine-five, maybe less.” Adam and Darcy were on the sofa with Darcy’s computer on her lap. I was impressed that Adam could keep his eyes on the screen. Darcy began reeling off the building’s A-list residents when she glanced up at me and laughed. “Sherry, I know this place is white-shoe but there is no way you’re going to serve me.”

  “It is,” I reminded her, “my job.”

  “Not with me.” I glanced at Adam but he was still staring at the photos. Darcy added, “If I want coffee, I’ll pour my own. If Adam wants coffee, I’ll pour his, too. That’s the least I can do for someone who is going to make me five-hundred thou
sand dollars.”

  I was thunderstruck. I knew that Darcy made a good living but that was way beyond good. Adam glanced up and laughed. “I know. What are we doing working for a living when we could be real estate tycoons?” He then dismissed me with, “Thank you, Sherry.” Twenty minutes later, they emerged from his office and the tray, with its coffee, pastries, fruits and juices, had remained untouched.

  Darcy smiled and winked, saying, “See you tomorrow, Sherry.” Then she strutted down the wood-paneled corridor. I had barely rolled out the tray out when secretaries from all over the floor converged on me for a share of the spoils.

  As I left that evening, I seemed to strut down the corridor, too. I felt great to be able to adorn our floor with fabulous flowers and loved being hugged at the office by Darcy who commanded the lawyers’ respect. I was Darcy Marsh’s friend and she didn’t care who knew it.

  Throughout my life, whenever anything went well, disaster was always waiting in the shadows. But this time I was in recovery and I hoped, almost begged, that for once, I would be able to stay happy. For at least a little while.

  Of course, as always, I was wrong.

  When I arrived at Tuesday’s practice, everyone was looking at me while laughing and calling me “Flash,” like I had become some kind of joke. I was clueless until Rita informed me that they were laughing about my unique way of stapling the Murder Mom’s Stay of Execution for Justice Klein. “I thought Whitney, White was staid as hell. I guess not!” She laughed again.

  I was instantly mortified that they would think I had intentionally flashed my panties for a Supreme Court Justice. I was also enraged. How could they know? David and that damn cell phone he had left in the limo! He must have told Darcy who then told the team. But that meant that he also must have told every associate at Whitney, White! I would now be some laughingstock sex kitten with the soccer team and the office!

  I burst into tears and started running away. “Sherry!” Paula called after me. I kept running. I never wanted to see another Wildcat or a lawyer again. Paula caught up and grabbed my arm. I twisted away. “Sherry! Stop for one damn minute! Please!”

  I spun around. “No! Leave me alone!”

  “Stop it!” she demanded. I stopped. “I’m going to handle this right now!” She grabbed my arm and walked me back to the team. “Listen up! What any of you think you heard today, you did not. I repeat You…Did…Not! If anyone says one word about this again, you are off the team! Got that? Anyone!” She turned to me. “What say we practice?”

  I wanted desperately to stay on the team. Especially since I was now quitting Whitney. I nodded. I didn’t play my best but I also didn’t try very hard either. I managed to miss almost every one of Darcy’s passes. I now hated her! How dare she think my life was some lewd joke! After practice, when she mentioned that she’d see me at our passing practice the following night, I just walked away. “Sherry?” she asked. “Sherry? Are you okay?” I kept on walking.

  At eight o’clock the next morning, carrying a large box, I rushed to clean out my workstation. I passed by David’s office. Like most of the associates, he was already deep into work and didn’t notice me. But apparently, I slammed too many of my drawers because he emerged from his office.

  “Sherry, are you okay? What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” I shot back.

  “Like you’re leaving. Can I ask why? Did Adam—”

  I glared at him. “You know why!”

  He looked shocked. “I do?”

  “Don’t act so fucking innocent. I saw you drop that cell phone Friday night. Now it’s all a big joke, right? Well, I don’t have to hang around here and take it.”

  A few associates had stepped out of their offices to check on the sudden commotion at a time when even the phones were usually quiet.

  Fear covered David’s face. “Sherry, will you please step into my office for a minute.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Please. Just for a minute.”

  I glowered at him but his fear and pain were so palpable that I nodded.

  In his office, David closed the door. “Sherry, I am not admitting to dropping any cell in any limousine. Were it to have accidentally happened, I would also not admit to having heard—”

  “—You can cut the legal disclaimer shit, David. We both know what happened and that you got a big laugh out of it and spread it around the office.”

  “Sherry, I swear, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “My unique way of stapling documents?”

  A small smile came across his face before he turned serious again. “Had I heard the Justice make a comment—and I’m not saying I did—it would be pure speculation as to why he commented. Good lawyers don’t speculate.”

  “And I suppose you didn’t tell Darcy Marsh about it.”

  He vigorously shook his head. “I haven’t talked to Darcy in weeks.”

  “Then someone else you told did. She seems to know a lot of lawyers around here.”

  He stood up and leaned over me. “Sherry, I don’t know who is feeding you your information but it did not come from me. I will swear to that. Because it is true.”

  I didn’t believe him but I figured I’d work until I saw one lawyer smirk at me. Then I would walk into David’s office, kick him where it counted, and then walk out for good. Let him sue me!

  As I walked out, David said, “Just so you know. They didn’t have cell phones in Justice Klein’s day but if they had, it was the kind of thing he would have done. He always wanted an edge in case something went wrong. I’m glad nothing went wrong. A lot of people around here are really proud, and proud of you.”

  I survived the day. I didn’t do my best but I also didn’t try very hard. Adam asked me twice if I was okay. I only nodded. Not one lawyer smirked at me. Apparently, it wasn’t the Whitney way.

  That night as I walked home from my subway stop I saw Christine Cane waiting on my corner. “Sherry? Can I talk to you for a minute? Just between us.”

  I invited her in and we sipped lemonade in silence for a minute before Christine said, “I know Paula said if anyone brought it up again they would be gone. So I hope we can keep this between us. But I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry.” I looked at her puzzled. “I just thought it was such a great story. But now, you’re upset. My husband is talking divorce. In sixteen years, Bax’s gotten pretty angry at some of my antics but he’s never used the D word. He’s told me a hundred times that anything he says in the bedroom stays there.” She broke down crying.

  “You told the team?”

  Christine glanced up at me, wiped her cheeks and nodded. “Justice Klein told his clerk, Samuel, the story but that was as far as it was supposed to go. But Bax called Justice Klein to thank him for a lovely dinner on Friday. Samuel used to clerk for Bax. They’re good friends. They’re all are so busy! How did they find time to gossip? I’ve got the worst luck!” She sniffled and blew her nose. “I don’t screw up often but, boy, when I do, it’s always a doozy.” She flung up her arms. “Of all the people in the world, what are the odds that a girl who did something that cool would be on my soccer team!” She looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I just thought it was so great. I still do.” She looked at me. “Are we okay?”

  “You’re not going to get divorced over this, are you?” I asked. “Even when I do something right, I still seem to still cause misfortune for someone.”

  Christine shook her head with a faint smile. “No. But I’m on notice. The bedroom talk had better stay in the bedroom or I’m going to be sleeping alone.” She looked at me with glistening eyes. “Forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  We hugged and Christine turned to go. “Remember. I’ve never seen your lovely apartment. Okay? After all this, I don’t want to get kicked off the team, too.”

  We hugged one more time. Near us, unmoved by Christine’s outbursts, Robie’s whine to let me know that, in his opinion, feeding him
was of much greater importance then anything Christine had to say.

  Although no one on the team ever mentioned the incident again, everyone on the team had short nicknames called out to them in the heat of a game, and for better or worse, my nickname became “Flash.”

  The next morning, in my best legal jargon, I told David that I wasn’t admitting to anything but if I were to, I’d owed him an apology.

  Closings at Whitney created a lot of tension but my work was easy. I just stayed at Adam’s beck and call, rushing off to make last minute copies, calling paralegals to make last minute changes and, of course, serving refreshments. Anyone’s closing usually took precedent over everything else but when I told someone that I was calling from an Adam Turner closing it was like saying I was phoning from the White House. Everyone jumped. I knew their reaction was due to Adam, not stupid me, but it still felt great.

  Only the more I enjoyed it, the more I dreaded the day when I knew I would royally screw up. That day came during a small acquisition by Adam’s standards. A medium-sized, family-owned company was being bought out by a large Fortune 500 company that was an important Whitney client. Because the client’s president always seemed to be acquiring companies, David had nicknamed him Jaws. The family-owned company Jaws was buying David had dubbed Jellyfish.

  Jaws had wanted the acquisition done quickly so he could announce it at the annual stockholders meeting. Unfortunately, although Jellyfish was three generations old, it had barely discovered the computer age. Consequently, to finish the due diligence on time, David and Jim, another associate who worked for Adam, had been in Jellyfish’s warehouse pouring through mountains of file boxes which they then distilled into complicated graphs, occasionally with Angie’s help. I was supposed to back up Angie but since she was a whiz at graphs and I was close to clueless she never asked me.

  But an hour before the closing, Jellyfish’s warehouse had a power outage and working with flashlights and candles the associates, phoned in the last minute changes to Angie and, unfortunately, me. While she quickly changed the graphs on her computer, I was soon overwhelmed and began writing David’s changes down on my memo pad, hoping that when Angie was finished she could help me with my changes. Unfortunately, by the time David and Jim were finished with their dictation, a paralegal was hovering over us demanding that we print the graphs so they could be inserted into documents. When she saw that I only had scribbled notes, she became incensed, seething, “If you aren’t capable of making simple changes, you should have given the job to word processing!” Snatching up my memo pad, she rushed off, shooting back, “I suggest you tell Mr. Turner that the closing will be a half an hour late, maybe forty-five minutes!”