Crazy in Love (7 page)

“You mean their two companies will be joined as one?”

“Only in a matter of speaking. The two companies are joining forces in one area they have in common—fiber optics—in the EEC countries. The company that hired us—our client—will actually own more shares in the new company that will be formed. That means that they’ll hold the controlling vote.”

“The controlling vote? Like Honora?”

Nick laughed. “She’d make a dandy chairman of the board. And she does exert a certain amount of control around here. But I don’t hear anyone complaining.”

“We humor her. But go on with your day,” I said, smiling at the idea of anyone thinking they could humor Honora.

“Let’s see. After the signing we all went out to lunch at the Windmill. I made sure to order spa food so I could eat a good dinner tonight.”

“That’s commendable. We’re having chicken.”

“And after that we returned to the client’s office on Park Avenue and he told me a few war stories about his days as an arbitrator in London.”

“Oh? He’s a lawyer?” I asked.

“Yes—he’s general counsel for the corporation.”

“Company lawyers work less than lawyers at law firms,” I said, dismayed to hear an accusatory tone in my voice.

“True, but their deals are not so big. Not so exciting.”

“I know,” I said. “I wouldn’t want you to give up what you do. You love it so much. Even if the price is BLTs from room service.”

He leaned across my outstretched legs and gave me a long kiss. His hands held my knees as if they were breasts, then moved to my breasts. His tongue parted my lips, and with our lips touching he said, “Right now I don’t want a BLT.”

We sat on that sofa kissing for fifteen minutes. Having enough free time to kiss is one of the great luxuries of a busy marriage. We knew we’d wind up making love, but we didn’t want to rush into it. I lay back, not touching Nick with my hands, and felt him kiss my mouth, my eyelids, my collarbone. We sat side by side, our arms around each other, kissing with our eyes closed, then open. He kissed one corner of my mouth, then the other. Running his finger down the length of my spine, he made me arch against the pressure.

The timer sounded to tell us the chicken was ready.

“I don’t want a BLT and I don’t want roast chicken,” Nick said. And we walked into our bedroom.

THE DAY OF THE
summer outing dawned clear and fine. The air held no trace of humidity. I lay awake, enjoying the novelty of Nick still asleep beside me. Today he wouldn’t go to the office; it wasn’t allowed. The invitation, printed on Hubbard, Starr cream vellum stationery, had read:

Our annual summer outing will be held Thursday, June 25, at Stoneleigh Bath and Tennis Club. We hope all of you, together with your dates or spouses, will be able to attend. As always, attendance at this affair is mandatory—so please make your plans accordingly. Those who do not attend will be subjected to heinous sanctions currently being developed by the Corporate Coordinating Committee in plenary session.

There will be golf and tennis available to all, as well as appropriate intra-team athletic contests to be organized by the Super Athletic Coordinating Committee.

All of this will be followed by cocktails on the Club Terrace commencing at 6:30
P.M.
and dinner at 7:30
P.M.
The club requests that jackets and ties be worn on the Club Terrace.

Sincerely,
Corporate Coordinating Committee

Lying still beside Nick, who was snoring, I reflected that tonight would be the first weeknight in months that any Hubbard, Starr associate had eaten dinner at seven-thirty.

OUR BAGS PACKED
with tennis and evening clothes, we began our journey. We took one train into New York and transferred to the Long Island Railroad.

“See that blond girl toward the back of the car?” Nick asked.

Pretending to look for the conductor, I saw who he meant. The young woman was slight, with blond hair and a pink sundress.

“She’s a summer associate,” Nick said. “Her name is Michele and she’s starting her third year at Harvard.”

Summer associates were law students who worked at firms during their summer vacations, hoping to be offered permanent positions. Qualified law students were valuable; Wall Street firms wooed them with outings, summer memberships at exclusive clubs, and theater tickets. Summer outings such as this one were crucial for summer associates who vied for the highly coveted permanent jobs on Wall Street. Here they could hope to impress the right people.

“We should probably invite her to share a cab to the club,” Nick said.

“Good idea,” I said, not meaning it. My time with Nick ceased feeling special once we joined the throng. I felt too obliged to act sweet to summer associates and charming to partners to really enjoy myself. But at least the Stoneleigh Bath and Tennis Club had good food and lovely grounds.

When the train reached Stoneleigh, we stepped onto the platform and waited for Michele to emerge. She didn’t. The train began slowly to pull away.

“Shit, she must have missed the stop,” Nick said, looking worried.

“So what? This train stops every five minutes. Let her take a cab back from the next station.” I took his arm, leading him toward the taxi stand. The train inched past.

Suddenly Michele hurled herself out the moving train’s open door. The train’s brakes screeched. A conductor leapt to the pavement. Nick ran to help Michele, who had crumpled on the pavement. Before he reached her, she stood up. Blood trickled down her face; it had stained her blond hair rust and dribbled onto her sundress. Covering the wound with one hand, she held her other hand out to me.

“You must be Mrs. Symonds,” she said, smiling graciously. “I’ve seen your picture on Nick’s desk.”

“Sit down,” I said. “Right here.” I pushed the girl onto the train platform. My heart pounded in my throat.

“Are you a lawyer too?” the girl asked, still smiling brightly. “It’s just incredible how many lawyers marry other lawyers.”

“You must be in shock,” I said, amazed that the girl would try to act normal.

“All of a sudden she just jumped off,” the conductor was saying to Nick. “I turned around and she’s running down the aisle and she takes a flying leap.”

“The train wasn’t moving very fast at all,” Michele said, as if confiding a secret, her voice perfectly controlled. “I missed the stop because I was reading some securities regulations. You know, for the Southport Electric case, Nick. Anyway, I’m just fine. If I can just find a ladies’ room, I can freshen up.”

I pressed my white tennis shorts to the gash in her head. It looked deep and purple, about an inch long.

“Listen,” Nick said. “We have to take you to the emergency room.”

Michele stood, holding my shorts to the side of her head. She laughed. “Don’t be silly. Give me a minute, and maybe we can share a cab. Unless you two want to go on ahead.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Nick said. I heard impatience, anger, in his voice. “We’re going to the hospital. Head injuries can be really dangerous, Michele.”

“I have to take down her name,” the conductor said. “It’s a regulation.” The train stood still; passengers watched avidly through the grimy windows.

“I’m sorry,” Michele said, smiling. “Give me a minute while I find the ladies’ room.” She weaved speedily around a corner.

“There is an Observer piece in this,” I said, hurrying after her, leaving Nick to fill out the train man’s forms.

He caught up with us at a gas station two blocks away. Michele had locked herself in the ladies’ room. “This is unreal,” I said. “She’s obsessed with the summer outing. She refuses to go to the hospital. Did you see the blood?” I pressed my head against Nick’s chest. The experience had left us both shaking.

“Michele, we’re going to the hospital,” he called.

She emerged, having changed into a red-and-white seersucker suit. She had washed her hair in the bathroom sink. She smiled sternly.

“I appreciate your concern, but I will not go to the hospital. It is that simple. Now, where can we get a taxi?”

I had to marvel at the tyranny of this frail, wounded blonde. She would make a fine lawyer. During the ride to the club, she sat in the front seat chattering about the wonderful experience Hubbard, Starr had provided so far. It was as though the accident had been a mere hiccup in her plan to bowl over the partners and senior associates. Nick and I sat in the backseat, astonished. To me it seemed the perfect metaphor of the cutthroat Wall Street spirit: that a woman would risk concussion and maybe brain damage to ensure a job offer at Hubbard, Starr. Nick whispered that he planned to find the hiring coordinator and suggest that she force Michele to have her head examined, yuk, yuk.

The cab sped up a long drive bordered with mountain laurel and rhododendrons. Through the bushes, we glimpsed emerald fairways and grass tennis courts. All tennis players wore white; even the balls were white. This was, after all, Long Island’s North Shore, home of Jay Gatsby. I had been here on many summer outings. I knew just when the clubhouse, a rambling white clapboard building with green shutters and trellises of roses, would come into sight. The cab stopped at the main entrance.

Couples dressed in white strolled past. Barn swallows swooped down from the eaves. Michele bid us farewell and went off in search of more-influential members of the firm.

“That woman is a first-class maniac,” Nick said, watching her extend her hand to Greg Gerston.

“You’d better tell someone about her head,” I said. “I can just imagine her keeling over in the middle of cocktails and you getting blamed for not getting medical help.”

“I suppose so. I’ll be right back.”

I sat on a white bench beneath a tall elm. A cab discharged a group of associates. Two of them approached me.

“Hello, Jean, Pete,” I said. Stocky Pete Margolis was dressed to play golf, his bag swung over one shoulder. Jean Snizort, the most beautiful of Nick’s colleagues, wore a stunning off-the-shoulder red blouse and full print skirt. It looked sensuous and bold.

“Well, hi, Jessie,” Jean said, smiling sweetly.

“It’s Georgie,” I said, correcting her, the way I always did.

Jean touched her forehead. “I am so sorry. Why can’t I get that straight?”

“You have a rather unusual name,” Pete said, kissing my cheek. I smiled at him, recognizing the private joke. Pete had once occupied the office across from Nick’s, and we had gotten friendly on the Saturdays I spent at the firm. He was irreverent and had once confessed to me that he purposely forgot people’s names to throw them off guard. He had said it was common practice among lawyers.

“Where’s your fellow?” Jean asked.

“Oh, he went to find someone,” I said, telling them the story of Michele.

“Sounds demented,” Pete said.

“Yes, but I must say she did the right thing, coming here,” Jean said. “Any summer associate who fails to show up here, I don’t care if her father just died, is dead meat. Kiss the job offer goodbye. Anyone planning to play tennis?”

Pete and I said no, and Jean walked away. “Do you agree with her about Michele?” I asked, watching Jean enter the clubhouse. Suddenly, in my white sundress, tinged red along the hem by Michele’s blood, I felt drab. My simple outfit broadcast the fact that I was a wife, not a lawyer, that I lived on Connecticut’s shore, not in New York. I imagined Jean finding Nick, convincing him to play tennis with her.

“That’s a tough question,” Pete said. “I think she’s right about Michele not getting an offer if she didn’t come here. But what does that say about priorities? I mean, Michele should care more about her health than one legal job.”

“And the firm should be more understanding.”

A slight breeze rustled through the leaves overhead. Sunlight filtered through, making patterns of shade on my knee. Far off, someone yelled “Fore!”

“No offense, Georgie, but the firm doesn’t have to be understanding. To the firm, associates are apple seeds. Chew them up, spit them out. Lose one, another is waiting in line. You know how hard it is to get a job at a place like Hubbard, Starr?”

“I remember,” I said, grinning. I thought of the summer Nick had worked at the firm, between his second and third years of law school. How we had sweated through the last weeks, ignoring Pem’s and Honora’s pleas that we spend at least one weekend at Black Hall, hoping that he would get a permanent offer.