I Take You (32 page)

“Objection,” I say.

Kostova sighs. “And the basis for this objection?”

“Mr. Kostova,” I say, “why don’t we go off the record to discuss this?”

I would like to know why he’s giving me such a hard time, considering how easy I’m making this for him. But he looks at me like I’ve just
suggested that we all pull our pants down and take a collective dump on the conference table.

“If you have anything to say to me, Ms. Wilder, you can say it on the record. I have no intention of stopping this deposition in order to try to understand your mystifying objections.”

Oh,
I
know why he’s giving me a hard time. Here I was, thinking he was a hero, a fighter for the little guy. I forgot that he’s still a lawyer, and therefore a total—

“Kindly state the basis for your objection, or withdraw it.”

“The question is vague,” I say. “You’re asking the witness’s opinion about—”

“I can’t ask his opinion now?” Kostova laughs. “This is ridiculous.”

Gran raps on the table with her knuckles, startling everyone. “I see no need for this colloquy,” she says sharply. “Either you are confident that your manner of questioning this witness is correct, Mr. Kostova, or you are not. Stop wasting time.”

Kostova shrugs. The stenographer rereads the question. Pete answers. My phone vibrates.

—Here’s what kills me. You love sex. You take such pleasure in it. I can tell that when I’m inside you. And it’s not because you like transgression, or were fucked up by your adolescence. You just like it. And you know why?

—leave me alone! im WORKING!

—Because you’re human, Lily. You’re supposed to like sex. With lots of people.

…

—Early humans had multiple sexual partners. Monogamy didn’t arise until the advent of agriculture.

—shit, will. no wonder you score so big with the ladieeezzzz. that is some sexy talk!!

—I’m trying to tell you that you’re normal. You obviously don’t think you are. You felt like you have to hide your true self from me. You had to lie.

—hold on just a goddamned minute. who lied to who here, wilberforce? we hid the truth from EACH OTHER, remember? we both lied

—True. But you’ve also been lying to yourself.

…

—You’ve bought into the fantasy that relationships have to be monogamous to work. You’ve bought into it even as you’ve proven yourself, time and again, to be COMPLETELY incapable of being faithful. How awful is that? To believe, truly believe, in a rule you can’t follow. A rule that says that because you love me, you must become numb to the pleasures of other people.

I put my phone away and tune back in to the proceedings. Pete is still rolling over. I try to signal to him to slow down, to say less. He’s looking at me like I’m a stranger. Kostova notices me fidgeting and smiles smugly.

“Can we take a short break?” I say.

“After I finish this line of questioning,” he replies.

Kostova smiles at me. “Let’s take a break.”

As we leave the room. I check my phone. I have an e-mail from Urs.

The last thing I need is the client listening in on this trainwreck. I write back:

He writes:

For God’s sake.

Just after I hit send, my phone rings. I start talking before Will can say anything.

“What a hypocrite you are. You were upset with me on Monday afternoon because of how I acted in front of your parents. You were afraid I was going to blow your cover. They don’t know you at all, do they?”

“No,” he admits. “Not this part of me, anyway. They think I’m their high-achieving, upstanding son. Which I am, but also … I’m not.”

“Hey, don’t underestimate your mom. You two have a lot more in common than you might think.”

“She told me what she did to you, and I am so sorry,” Will says earnestly. “She’s always been overprotective, but that was beyond the pale. She promised me that she’s not going to try to harm your career.”

“Wow, that is
so
generous! Can you thank her for me?” I’m pacing

the hallway now—I lower my voice as I pass the open door of the conference room. “Let’s talk about your mom, Will. And your dad. You accuse me of being in bad faith, of acting like I’m unfettered by convention while secretly feeling shame, right? Look at you. You talk a good game about how we should all screw whoever we want to screw, but you’re too scared to let Mommy and Daddy know who you really are.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being private about it.”

“Private? Is that what you are? Because it sounds like you’ve developed a whole interdisciplinary theory of fucking, what with the science, the philosophy, the art history. Hey, you should write a book. How to Screw Women and Infuriate People, by Will Field, Ph.D.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to sound like I was lecturing you. I mentioned the philosophy and the science because I think they support some of the things we do.”

“I don’t
care
what science supports, Will! This isn’t about shame and freedom and Neanderthal man. It isn’t about the cultural ‘fantasy’ of monogamy. It’s about you and me. How you lied to me, and I lied to you. Perfect for each other? We’re a
disaster
for each other. And it’s over.”

I hang up. I walk into the office where Pete and Gran are waiting for me and immediately start laying into him. “Why are you being so goddamned chatty?” I holler. “That guy out there? He’s not your buddy! He’s not your friend!”

“He seems all right,” Pete says defensively.

“He’s not all right, Pete! He’s out to nail you to the wall. He wants EnerGreen to go under. He wants you to lose your job. Do you want that?”

“No!”

“Then listen to the question, and answer
only
the question that’s asked. That’s all I want you to do.”

Pete scurries off to the bathroom. I turn to Gran. “Why is Kostova bullying me?”

“Because you’re letting him.”

“I am not!”

“You are acting weak, Lillian Grace, and he’s capitalizing on that. If you want to stop him, you need to be more assertive.”

“Really, Gran? I should just be more assertive, and magically everything will be better? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“I’ll tell you what you’re sure as hell
not
doing, and that’s acting like a lawyer!” she snaps. “Every time I look at you, you’re playing with your damn phone. Every time you challenge the man, you end up retreating in terror. You’re sitting quietly like a good little girl and staying out of his way, which is
exactly
what he wants you to do.” She scowls in disgust. “I raised you better than this.”

“Why don’t you help me?”

“Because every time I step in, it makes you look weak. You’re the one defending this deposition, not me.”

“But how, Gran? How do I do it?”

Her expression softens a little. She folds her gnarled hands over her purse. “Do you want to know the number one mistake young lawyers make when they have to do something public, like appear in court or take a deposition? They aren’t themselves. They’re suddenly thrust into the spotlight, and they either lose confidence, overwhelmed by everything they don’t know—which seems to be what’s happening in your case—or they think they have to play a role. They have an idea of what a lawyer is supposed to be, of how a lawyer is supposed to behave, and they try to fulfill it. Either way, it never works for them. You can’t fake it, Lillian Grace. Deep in all that education, and in your gut, you know how to get this done. You have to figure out your own way.”

Pete comes back from the bathroom, and we all return to the conference room.

When we go back
on the record, Pete does his best to follow my instructions, answering in monotones. Kostova looks at me pityingly and turns up the charm. In no time Pete becomes comfortable and expansive again.

Kostova starts delving into Pete’s job description. I object from time to time, but he doesn’t give me a hard time. I glance over at Gran. Disappointment is coming off her in waves.

My phone vibrates.

—I need an update.

—everythings fine, philip

—Please call me on a break. I want to talk to Raney.

—ok

I set down my phone. Then I have an idea.

—raney wants to know how you want her to handle hoffmans emails

—It should be obvious to her.

Shit! I try again.

—she traveled all night to get here. i think shes pretty jetlagged, so …

I don’t get a response.

Kostova is handing Pete a document. “Mr. Hoffman, I’m showing you a document that has been marked Plaintiffs’ Exhibit H-12.” He passes a copy to me.

I flip through it. It looks like a bunch of pages printed off some website and stapled together. “Excuse me, Counselor,” I say. “Where did this come from?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m curious as to what this exhibit is,” I say. “We don’t appear to have produced it.”

“I’m entitled to question a witness about any document I choose,” Kostova replies. “I’m not limited to documents EnerGreen has produced.”

“And I’m not suggesting you are,” I say carefully. “But I am asking you, as a professional courtesy, to tell me where you obtained it.”

He smiles at me. “If you want to ask me questions, young lady, I suggest you take my deposition.”

The room falls silent.

“Young lady,” I say.

We stare at each other across the table.

“Really,” I say. “Young lady.”

He nods. “Really.”

I look at Gran. She looks back at me.

I stand up. “We’re taking a break.”

“We just took a break,” Kostova says, but I’m already out the door. Pete and Gran follow.

In our empty office, I pull out a chair and sit down. Pete looks worried. “Am I screwing up?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Should I—”

“Quiet! I need to think.”

And I do think.

I think, Thank you.

Thank you, all you men.

All you thoughtful, well-meaning, considerate men, who have taken time out of your busy,
busy
schedules to correct my errors, to teach me about who I am, and to tell me what to do.

You are all so very kind.

But I am so very tired of you. You confident, self-satisfied, know-it-all men, doing your best to help me learn how to think. How to behave. How to understand why I am the way I am.

Take Will, for example. He’s been totally obnoxious. The ponderous, self-serving justifications. The enlightened theories. The smug presumptions. He’s the perfect parody of a stuffy, navel-gazing academic.

And then there’s Kostova. Bullying me. Condescending to me. Tossing out a “young lady.” Making perfectly clear that I am not, and never will be, his equal.

However … I haven’t exactly been acting like his equal. Texting like a teenager? Allowing my romantic problems to distract me from my job? Letting a man push me around?

Fine. Time for a change of plans.

What did Gran say? I have to find my own way.

Pete is staring into space. I snap my fingers. “Did you already testify that you were employed by a subsidiary?”

He blinks. “Whuh?”

“He did,” Gran says. “EnerGreen Energy something or other. Why?”

“Because there’s an argument that this deposition is procedurally defective.”

“What argument?”

It’s the one I thought of in the spa. I explain it to her. She says, “That’s the most hypertechnical load of bullshit I ever heard in my life.”

“Hello? We’re lawyers, Gran. Hypertechnical bullshit is what we live for.”

“You want to try to adjourn the deposition on that ground? Honey, the judge will crucify you.”

“What if I can get Kostova to call the judge?”

Judges hate it when parties pester them to settle petty squabbles. And they’re always harder on the one who insisted on calling.

“How would you do that?”

I smile at her. “By being myself.”

I clap my hands together. “Okay, Pete, we’re going to try something new. Whenever I tap my finger on the table, like this,” I tap the desk, “I want you to say, ‘Can you repeat the question?’ Okay?”

“Sure,” he says dubiously.

“Let’s practice.” I tap my finger, very lightly.

“Can you repeat the question?” he says.

“Perfect.” I hand Gran my phone. “Don’t give this back to me until the deposition is over.” It disappears into the vastness of her handbag. “Let’s go.”

We return to the conference room. “Thank you for joining us,” Kostova says.

I give him a grin and hitch my chair up to the table. “So sorry. I had a few lady things to take care of.”

The tape starts rolling again. Kostova begins a series of questions about EnerGreen’s corporate structure. Then he moves on to Pete’s specific responsibilities.