J'adore New York (3 page)

“I
say we skip the crappuccino.”

Rikash stands beaming in my office doorway wearing an immaculately tailored linen coat with a Prada messenger bag strapped across his chest.

“Would you like an espresso? I’m going down for a coffee and a drag. I can’t stand the caca they serve from the breakfast cart.”

“That would be great. I’d kill for some good coffee.”

I dig into my wallet for some change as he takes a seat.

“How are you settling? Have you found an apartment yet?”

“Not yet. I’m living in the firm’s temporary apartment. I’ll be taking care of that over the weekend.”

“Good. What about summer plans? It’s coming rather quickly.”

“The summer? It’s only May.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Sweetie, let me explain something to you. The heat in this city is completely unbearable in August. You have to have somewhere to escape to. If you don’t find a summer rental ASAP, there’ll be nothing left and you’ll fry to death,
alone.
Let me make a few phone calls, maybe I can get you into a share in Quogue or something.” The disdain in his voice implies that he might as well get me a place in hell.

“Thanks, Rikash, I really appreciate it.”

After he leaves for his coffee run, I attack the correspondence in my in-tray. I sift through a few copies of the
New York Law Journal
and invitations to attend various legal seminars: there are so many to choose from in the city, it’s dizzying. And I’m already getting the distinct impression that they constitute a rare opportunity for lawyers to catch some sleep on firm time.

Under the heavy pile of seminar invitations and legal bulletins, I find a catalogue with
J. Crew
written in bold print.

Oh. Mon. Dieu.

I’m hit with a rush of excitement so strong that it borders on the orgasmic. I flip through the pages and desperately want to be in these pictures. Carefree and smiling women wearing candy-coloured shorts and T-shirts are riding bicycles and cavorting with surfers on the beach. Even the dogs look happy. Now
this
is American style at its best. And these fabulous outfits can be mine with the click of a mouse! The French are somewhat reluctant to purchase anything online; as a people we’d rather wait in line for hours to obtain mediocre service
and engage in hour-long discussions with the sales staff. Personally, though, I prefer anonymous clicking. (It even sounds naughty.)

A knock on the door makes me jump from my seat. I hide the catalogue under a copy of the
Law Review
.

“Good morning, I’m Nathan. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Fair-haired and appearing to be in his mid-thirties, he’s wearing the standard law firm uniform; a navy suit, a white shirt accessorized with a red-and-blue-striped tie, and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.

“No, no. I was just, um, reading the news. It’s important to keep up with what our clients are up to.”

“Right.”

He approaches my desk and gives me another crippling New York handshake but quickly pulls away as though he might pull out a bottle of Purell from his trouser pocket.

“You’re new, huh?”

“New to this office. I’m a transfer.”

“From Paris?”

I nod.

“So you’ve decided to cut the vacation short?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, it’s not like you guys actually get any work done over there. We all know what really goes on in the satellite offices.”

I could start explaining that despite the long lunches, I did work my derrière off in Paris. I was constantly at the mercy of the demands of American clients and needed to be available
for conference calls late into the night because of the different time zones. Thinking better of my little tirade, I decide not to provide an answer to avoid it being used against me at some later date, but clearly I’ll need to overcome this perception that I spent most of my time on lunch.

“Did you go to a French law school?”

“I did, but I also participated in an exchange program here in the States.”

“Which one?”

“Pepperdine.”

He rolls his eyes.

“
Another
vacation.”

I want to deck him.

“Mmm.” I bite my lip.

“So, the corner office. What’s that about?”

“It’s only temporary. Until some new partner moves in.”

“Oh right.” He looks suddenly relieved. As he relaxes, I can see him scanning my desk and computer screen for anything interesting.

“What’s your main area of practice, Nathan?”

“I like to be involved in the firm’s most important files. I billed more than twenty-five hundred hours last year. I’m up for partnership this year so I’m working like crazy.”

Ah, this is my first encounter with
zee
competition. In front of me stands an overachieving, potentially backstab-bing, sadistic machine: the New York associate on partnership track. I take a deep breath, smile, and try to switch to a friendlier tone.

“Nice suit.”

“Thanks. Coming from a Parisian, I’ll take that as a compliment. Are you into fashion?”

“Guilty as charged. I love to window shop.”

“I can see that.” He nods toward the poorly hidden J. Crew catalogue.

“Hmm. Not mine.”

“Maybe you should take advantage of it. I’m not sure when you’ll have time to go window shopping here.” He gives me a condescending smirk.

I respond with a half-smile and a nod: message received loud and clear. I throw an annoyed glance toward the door to suggest he should resume his billing activities. He’s now got major competition to deal with.

Turning away from Bonnie’s ABC file for a second, I take a sip of the coffee Rikash picked up for me and look out onto the street. From my desk, I can see Grand Central Station and hundreds of people walking hurriedly to work.

My reverie is interrupted by Antoine’s voice coming through the intercom.

“I hope you don’t have any plans for lunch. We’re taking some clients to Brasserie.”

Ah, meeting important clients. That’s right up my alley. My heart trills in anticipation.

“Perfect. Who are we meeting there?”

“Two hedge fund managers from PCL Investments. They’re a big account.”

“Sounds good.”

“Bonnie’s coming too,” he adds in a distinctly unenthusiastic tone that leads me to suspect that the two of them are not on the greatest of terms.

“What time?”

“Our reservation is in half an hour, but I’m leaving now. I need fresh air. Bonnie will meet us there.”

As we walk along the streets of midtown, I let myself spend a minute thinking how I might impress these reputable PLC fund managers. Maybe I could mention the transaction I expertly negotiated for Swiss Bank last year? Or should I first bring up the Picasso exhibit I saw at the Grand Palais to break the ice? Antoine, on the other hand, manages to talk non-stop on his cell phone while also BlackBerrying the entire way. I wonder if he can bill for the time he spends on both gadgets.

At the restaurant, I take in the decor as the maître d’ leads us to our table: stunning modern design commingles with a not-so-modern business crowd. Bonnie is sitting in a rear corner with two men. One has a paunch and what appears to be a toupée and the other is a tall man with a large gold chain nestled snugly in his thatch of exposed hair and a matching ring. Both are wearing ill-fitting suits. The paunchy one stands to greet us. “Nice to meet ya, counselaaar. Mel Johnson is the name, and this is my colleague Jack Stone.”

“Nice to meet you gentlemen,” I smile as I shake their hands, trying to conceal my disappointment at their lack of polish.

Mel takes a lecherous look at Bonnie and me and, with a glint in his eye, asks, “So are the two of you ‘partners’?” emphasizing his pun with finger quotes. He then mischievously winks at Antoine and turns to his colleague with a big, satisfied smile.

I mentally roll my eyes after his cheesy
jeu de mots
and imagine jabbing my pointy stiletto heel into his
parties intimes
, but I smile politely instead.

Our lunch lingers on for far too long as Mel and Jack make failed attempts at practising their French-language skills and recount every single trip they’ve ever taken to Paris, including the several bachelor parties where they ended up ogling half-naked
danseuses
at Crazy Horse. Mel isn’t exactly the ticket to partnership I was hoping he’d be.

Antoine interrupts Mel’s storytelling to advertise my previous work experience. “Catherine’s been involved in a lot of international regulatory work in Europe. She’ll be perfect for handling your international expansion plans.”

“Fantastic,” Mel replies while playing with his toothpick.

I glance over at Bonnie, who sighs loudly. Not good at sharing the spotlight, she glares my way before she stands to leave. She pulls out a gold lamé business card holder and casually flings a few cards on the table.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a real pleasure. I’d be happy to help you out, but I charge a
lot
more by the hour than Catherine and Antoine. But then again, you get what you pay for.”

Stunned, my spine stiffens into the back of my chair. Why did she just put us down in front of a major client?

Mel intently surveys her backside as she walks toward the exit.

“What a party-pooper that broad is. It’s too bad. She’s got a hot bod. With an attitude like that we wouldn’t want to have her around the office, would we, Jack? But we’d gladly take Catherine anytime.”

Take
Catherine? I suck it up, my physical revulsion matched by my determination to impress.

Antoine shoots a dirty look at Bonnie’s retreating figure and attempts to justify her abrupt departure. “I’m really sorry about Bonnie leaving so quickly. She has her hands full these days.”

“Listen,
Ann-twone,
don’t waste your breath defending Ms. Tight-Ass-Snobby-Pants ‘cause we’d much rather work with Catherine anyway.”

After what feels like an eighteen-hour lunch, Mel finally brings up something work-related as we make our way toward the exit. He enthusiastically mentions that he’s working on his firm’s proposed expansion in Europe and that he’ll need my help in the upcoming weeks to obtain certain clearances with the European Securities Authority.

“We’ll be talking very soon, counselaaar.” He ends with a wink and a too-close-for-comfort handshake.

“Wonderful. Looking forward to it,” I reply, trying hard to disguise my true feelings.

T
here’s no accounting for taste and most of my colleagues’ offices prove it. They are typically decorated with golf tournament trophies, Lucite IPO tombstones, empty closing dinner champagne bottles, and various unattractive knick-knacks from “exotic” four-day vacations. But Antoine’s office has a different vibe; it’s like walking into an upscale interior design shop. On a windowsill sit some tulips in a delicate red Murano glass vase and works of modern art are hung over his mahogany desk. Silver cups holding sharpened pencils and a leather agenda are neatly placed next to organized stacks of black binders and brown accordion folders.

He stands to hand me several new files and I catch a glimpse of the silk lining of his Paul Smith jacket and a whiff of Vetiver by Guerlain. Here is a man with refined taste, a refreshing
change in a sea of Brooks Brothers suits, messy offices, and strong cologne.

“These files have looming deadlines. I need you to review them ASAP.”

I know this is a test to see what I am capable of, and I am determined not to disappoint. I flip open the top one to take a look at the cover page. “This is the Allen Partners deal they were talking about in the
Journal
this morning, right?”

Surprised by my response, he smiles and offers me a Tootsie Roll from a large glass jar.

“Here, take a few. They’ll help you get through these documents.”

I accept his settlement offer and reach for a treat.

“Thanks.”

“I’m happy to hear you have some experience. I was worried they had transferred a complete neophyte,” he says in a friendly, conspiratorial tone.

“I’ve had my share of late nights with these types of transactions.”

He grabs a Tootsie Roll before changing the subject. “Catherine, did you handle any intellectual property matters in Paris?”

“Yes. I did some contract work for a few French software companies.”

“So you’re familiar with international copyright laws?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I’d like to bring you in on an important mandate for a French client that has major business activities here.”

Expecting him to hand me some work for France Telecom or a large French bank, I nod in agreement.

“No problem. I’m happy to handle it.”

“It’s for Christian Dior.”

I nearly fall off my chair. I’ve always dreamed of doing legal work for my favourite
maison de couture
but was repeatedly told that the company was off limits as a client since a major French law firm handled most of their legal matters. I never imagined that moving to New York would give me an opportunity to do so.

“But I thought Pineau La Rochelle handled all their legal work?”

“In Europe they do, but they’ve retained us for a specific project here in New York.”

“Oh?”

“They want us to help crack down on the sale of counterfeit luxury goods in Manhattan.”

My eyes must be as big as saucers. I imagine successfully shutting down an international ring of organized criminals who sell knock-off Dior bags on New York street corners. My reward? Being presented with La Légion d’honneur as I wear a made-to-measure John Galliano dress as Carla Bruni-Sarkozy proudly looks on.

“I’m definitely interested in helping out!”

“Great, I was going to hand it over to someone in the IP department, but since you speak French, you can liaise more easily with Pierre Le Furet, Dior’s IP director, who is spearheading this initiative.”

“When can I start?”

“You should get going on the research right away. Your starting point should be the PRO-IP Act that was recently enacted. Apparently the act increases civil and criminal penalties for copyright infringement and requires courts to enforce stiffer forfeiture penalties against convicted infringers. I would also read the report prepared by the Anti-Counterfeiting Coalition and then call the Trademark Infringement Unit of the NYPD. I’ll give you the name of the inspector overseeing it, he should be helpful.”

I scramble to take notes and picture myself working alongside the NYPD while they raid a warehouse filled with fake merchandise in Chinatown. I knew moving to New York would be exciting but never dreamed it would be like an episode of
Law & Order
.

“Okay, will do.”

“It might be a lot to handle with all the work Bonnie’s been giving you,” he says, crossing his arms and looking peeved. “So let me know if you become overloaded. This file is really important to the firm.”

“Of course.”

He stares at me hesitatingly before standing up and closing his door.

“Catherine, you need to understand how this office works if you’re going to survive here.”

“Okay,” I answer eagerly, excited about getting a competitive edge.

“I know you’ve been with the firm for several years, but New
York is totally different. You need to think of it as a feudal system.”

“Right.” I nod but have no idea what he’s talking about.

“You see, the senior partners are the warlords. They lead their battalions—their departments—into battle to gain control of more territory: clients, files, and billable hours. The victory is a major payout at the end of the year.”

Warlords? Battles for more territory? Paris was competitive, but this is nuts! I stare at Antoine, wondering if he strips off that Paul Smith jacket at the end of the day to play World of Warcraft. I giggle, assuming that he must be joking, but his expression remains severe.

“You need to form an alliance with a warlord who will continuously supply you with work and protect you when times get tough. No warlord, no future at Edwards and White.”

He’s dead serious. What does this mean for me?

“There’s a lot going on right now at the firm. You need protection.”

Protection? This is starting to sound more like a mafia ring than a feudal system.

“Who’s your warlord?” I ask.

“Scott.”

“Who should mine be?”

“I think it should be Bonnie.”

Bonnie? But he seems to hate her. Is he trying to trick me?

“I don’t think she’d be my warlord. She seems way too busy.” And, I don’t mention, bitchy.

“Catherine, you need to get real,” he says, looking exasperated. “Everyone around here is very busy. You need Bonnie to
provide you with a steady stream of work. A steady stream of work means a clear route to partnership.”

“Okay, I get it.” I think.

“Good. One last thing. Did Scott talk to you about doing pro bono work?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“We’re all encouraged to do some, Catherine. But it’s
not
a substitute for meeting the billable hours requirements.”

“Have you done any?” I ask, trying to find out whether this is actually something successful associates do—or just something they pay lip service to.

“Yes, for a school in Harlem for kids with learning disabilities. They’re moving into a new building to accommodate their expanding art program and I’m helping them negotiate the lease.” His voice softens. “It’s extremely rewarding.”

I’m surprised that an apparent workaholic like Antoine takes time out of his busy schedule to help Harlem school kids.

“That’s amazing! I’d love to be involved in something that important. But, honestly, when do you find the time?”

“I just make the time—mostly on weekends.”

My weekends in Paris that I didn’t spend at the office were mostly filled by browsing at Le Bon Marché, checking out art galleries, or occasionally lying in bed recovering from a bit too much red wine after a night out with my girlfriends. I feel embarrassed by my lack of altruism.

This unanticipated piece of information makes me want to know more about Antoine and I have an urge to dig deeper into his private life.

“Can I be nosy? Why are you leaving for Paris?”

“For personal reasons.” He looks away before responding.

Feeling awkward about his closed response to such an intimate question, I cover my tracks with flattery. “The Paris office can definitely use the bench strength. They don’t have anyone of your calibre.”

He responds with a grateful smile.

Leaving his office, I can’t stop wondering about the reason for Antoine’s upcoming move. Whatever it is, he’s a bit of a mystery.

I take the long way back through the reception area and catch a glimpse of Bonnie’s office. Unlike the other darkly ornate offices, hers is sleek and modern. A long white leather couch sits in front of the window and two matching Barcelona chairs face her glass and stainless-steel desk. The look is cool and icy and from what I’ve seen so far matches her personality.

Back in my office, I find my agenda placed in the middle of my desk with
Rikash’s Birthday
in big red letters covering today’s date.
Ah, merde
. I need to do something about this
tout de suite.
Any lawyer knows that a good rapport with her assistant is crucial. It’s like the relationship between an actress and her makeup artist.

I scurry over to Mimi’s desk, since she seems to be a master of office culture.

“Mimi, can I bother you for a minute? I need help with something.”

“Of course, sweetie, how can I help?”

“It’s Rikash’s birthday today and I want to take him out to lunch. Do you know his favourite places to eat?”

“Sorry, I don’t. But it’s ‘restaurant week.’” She rummages in a drawer. “Here’s a
Zagat
. Go for the names in bold print.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

I hustle back to my desk and start dialling numbers. Four Seasons,
Fully booked.
Le Cirque,
fully committed.
Aureole,
nothing before 3:30 pm.
I try a few more places before I stumble upon the listing for the 21 Club. “
Yes, we do have one table for two available at 1:00.”

“Wonderful. I’ll take it.”

“This place is such a boys’ club. I wish we were people watching at the Café de Flore.”

Obviously my choice isn’t the hit I hoped it’d be.

“Okay, it isn’t exactly the trendiest scene, but I read that it used to be a former Prohibition-era speakeasy. It’s kind of exciting, don’t you think?”

“Pfff, the days of Prohibition are long over and thank god for that. I’d die without my gin and tonic after work.” He removes his sunglasses from the top of his head.

“Gin and tonic? I thought you’d be more of a flavoured martini type.”

“Don’t be fooled my sweet exterior. I enjoy my liquor strong, straight up, and with no artificial flavours.”

I go through the menu and decide on one of their classic
lunch offerings. “I’ll have the 21 burger with fries and a glass of red wine. What are you having?”

“How do you eat all that fattening food and stay so thin?”

“I’m French, remember?”

“Oh right, and I’m not, so I’ll have the house salad. Bathing suit season is just around the corner.”

“Do you want some wine?”

“No thanks. I have a strict rule about waiting until after five.”

“I probably should too, but having a glass of wine is a ritual that I just can’t go without.”

“I’m sure you were introduced to it early in life. In India, I drank contaminated water as a child. Luckily, I can go without.”

“So you’ve opted for gin and tonic instead?”

“Yes, it stimulates the palate and the mind.”

“Wine also stimulates the mind. Baudelaire once said that there would be a major void in human intelligence if wine didn’t exist.”

“That void already exists at our firm, in case you haven’t noticed. And if my memory serves me right, Baudelaire studied law, developed a fondness for booze and hashish, contracted syphilis, and died, so I’m not sure I would follow his lead.”

I laugh, amused by his wry sense of humour, but stop when he doesn’t join in.

“Why the long face, Rikash? It’s your birthday. Come on, lighten up.”

“Sorry, sweetie, I’m just a bit pissed off. Bonnie the ice queen made me miss something really important yesterday.”

“What?”

He hesitates before answering. “The Dolce and Gabbana biannual sample sale,” he says with equal parts pout and reverence.

“Why didn’t you ask someone else to cover for you?”

“Like I didn’t think of that! I did everything I could to get out of the office, including kicking and screaming in reception, but Bonnie wouldn’t budge. I had to finish one of her documents since Maria and Roxanne were both out shopping at Daffy’s.” The disdain is nearly dripping off his face.

“Rikash, it’s just a sale.”

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I know they’re a dumb thing to say. He gives me a look that suggests I’ve violated a sacred oath.

“Just a sale? Are you serious? That sale is the cornerstone of my wardrobe. God, I even sleep in Dolce.”

“Okay, sorry. I guess I’d be upset if I missed a Dior sale.”

After I commiserate, his face softens. I’m dying to tell him about my new Dior mandate but decide to wait until we get back to the office to avoid leaking sensitive information to fellow diners.

“Anyway, I got my revenge. Bonnie asked me to order a Town Car yesterday afternoon for an important meeting downtown and I ‘forgot.’”

“Non?”

“Since she couldn’t get another car during rush hour, she had to take the subway. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall as she wobbled down the stairs to catch the F train in her Jimmy Choos.”

I’m surprised by his confession but full of admiration for his spunk. I also make a mental note never to prevent him from going to a sample sale.

“Did she say anything about it?”

“Are you kidding? She doesn’t address assistants directly. She had Roxanne yell at me on her behalf.”

“You’ve got guts.”

“It’s all about survival. You’ve got to stick up for yourself.”

He tucks his serviette in over his designer tie. “Anyway, enough about
me.
You need to find an apartment. You don’t want to stay in that dreary corporate suite for much longer. Where are you going to look?”

“You won’t approve, but I’m thinking of the Upper East Side.”

He shakes his head.

“Soon you’ll be wearing penny loafers and quilted jackets.”

“It may be a bit staid for your taste, but I like the fact that I can walk to the office and at least I’ll get some sleep at night.”