Lawfully Yours (17 page)

CHAPTER 27

Returning to Connecticut is absolutely nerve wracking, and the turbulence doesn’t help. This plane’s been bopping up and down so many times it’s amazing I haven’t thrown up. Yet. But I’ve got bigger things on my mind than makeshift nausea remedies.

The trip has made us emotionally close. What will happen when we return to our real lives? Will we talk more than five minutes a day? How will I cope when I see him in the firm’s hallways? I’m no longer worried about dying of embarrassment. I’m more worried that
I’ll feel shut off from him. It’ll be sad, if not downright depressing, to drift quietly past each other.

Spending New Year’s Eve with Jordan was better than I could have imagined. We drove to a beach town and walked along the coast for hours. Then we drove to another town so we could see a fireworks display. We’d put down a beach blanket and I leaned on him, his arms over my shoulders as he sat behind me. Watched the fireworks’ brilliant lights flash in the air, the effect doubled by their reflection in the black ocean water below.

Our plane circles for landing. The magic of Florida has become a distant memory. Jordan can’t always catch on to what I’m thinking, but he’s getting the hang of my moods.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Maybe. A little. Forget it.”

“We are not going to be strangers, you know.”

I’m silent.

“We’ll have our life together outside the office,” he adds softly.

“Sure we will.”

“You don’t sound sure.” Taking my hand and kissing it, he asks me, “If you could tell your friends at the firm about us, would it be that much better for you?”

“Hypothetically? If there wasn’t going to be fallout from the situation? Yes, of course it would be better. You’ve told Bill. That’s given us some difficult moments, but overall, hasn’t it been easier since you’ve told him?”

“You know I only told Bill in the first place because he needed to know. I don’t discuss the details of my personal life with him, or anyone else at work. You’re the exception to that rule.”

“He never asks how it’s going between us?”

“He did ask me two weeks ago if I thought you were going to stay in Comm Lit. I told him, yes, and that was the end of the topic.”

“But I’m not sure I want to stay in Comm Lit. I’m not happy there. At least not so far. The most interesting litigation work I did was for Melba and Gerard. Ironic, huh?”

He simply nods, letting me spill it all out. “Otherwise, the litigation I’ve been doing has been dry and combative. Maybe I only liked it before because I worked with Leila. Now that I’m doing solo projects, it’s easier to tell I don’t like it. Real estate work is much more interesting. And it would allow me to continue with the clients I’ve brought in. I worked so hard to get them.” I bend forward in the chair, taking back my hand from him. “I’m angry about a lot of things. Being cut off from the business I’ve grown. Being cut off from the work I want to do. Being cut off from you.”

He picks my hand back up, nuzzling my knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he says gently. “I know it’s a difficult situation. For both of us. But the price for me to pay is too high if we’re not professionally cut off from each other.”

“I know, I know, if we tell people—”

“You don’t know. Not everything. You don’t realize the full impact of the story with Rochelle.”

I look at him blankly.

“I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to start our relationship with an ominous cloud above us. A week before Rochelle quit, Larry called me into his office. Believe me, it’s not just associates who don’t like being summoned to the head partner’s office. Larry sat me down and told me he heard Rochelle and I were going to go out.”

“I’m confused,” I say slowly. “You never dated Rochelle. You didn’t like her.” I cock my head to one side. “Did you?”

“No, of course not. But she must have told people she wanted to date me. Maybe Larry assumed I wouldn’t say no, given the fact she was widely viewed as the office beauty. Larry formally advised me that dating within the office was unacceptable, as if I didn’t already know that. Then he said if he found out I had been coming on to her, they would let me go.”

“Fire you?” I ask, my voice two octaves too high.

“Protection against sexual harassment lawsuits is always first and foremost on their minds. Correction, kissing clients’ asses is first and foremost on their minds. Protection against sexual harassment lawsuits is a close second.”

“So what did you do?”

“I told Larry threatening to fire me for something I had not done, and had no intention of doing, was also unacceptable. We reached détente, but I’d rather not press my luck with him. Especially when the topic is about my dating one of the firm’s young associates.” A hard breath escapes his lips. “When the associates in question have reported directly to me, the accusation becomes even worse.” He strokes my hand in little circles. “Do you understand my position better now?” His voice is gentle, but the words still sound bitter to me. I don’t want to hear them.

“I’m not happy about all this, but I don’t want you hurt either,” I finally concede.

“The blow to my career would do more than hurt me, it’d be fatal.” He exhales slowly and closes his eyes for a moment. “My kissing you at the holiday party, if we were caught, would have pulled the trigger on my professional suicide. But I wanted to be with you and I still want to be with you. Thankfully, things are working out on all fronts, I get to keep the job and the girl. I’d like to continue that.” He’s now stroking my cheek softly with the back of his hand. “Sue, will you bear with the situation, please?”

I have so much more to say and so much more to ask. But, like Jordan, I’m too afraid to play “press your luck.”

I’m silent again as the plane touches down.

Being back in the office isn’t as bad as I thought. The holidays are over and everyone’s back to work. There’s comfort in the busy hum. Leila doesn’t push me too hard about my absence on New Year’s Eve, she believes I visited friends in Florida. Her only questions are as to the weather and whether I had a good time.

I enjoy hearing Leila’s tales about the party. She’s full of gossip as to who hooked up with who, and who made an ass of themselves by drinking too much. It’ll take her the entirety of this week’s lunch hours to completely fill me in. Her stories are hilarious and it sucks to get them on the installment plan.

Bill’s happy to hear that I successfully finished negotiations for Melba. The four-week time delay I got her worked out well. Her project schedule will be able to absorb the lag without too much trouble. My negotiations with her bank worked out for her too. She now has an additional six months to pay an interest rate even lower than what she’d asked for.

Melba and I will probably never become friends, but I have warm feelings for her anyway. When she called both Bill and Jordan to say she’s satisfied with my work, I sent her a thank you note along with a gift of an edible chocolate telephone I got from the upscale chocolate store at the mall. I wrote on the card:

Melba,

I mean it with the utmost sincerity when I say I hope to have the opportunity to work with you again. Should that opportunity arise, enclosed is proof I can now do the right thing when phoning you!

Susan (a/k/a “Sarah”)

Bill is actually warming back up to me, too. He’s encouraged me to stick with litigation and that helps me muddle through. I’m not bad at it, but it’s still a challenge for me to give it my full attention. Somehow I’ve managed to adequately concentrate on all the green color-coded files. But what I want is more Melbas to give me business deals to negotiate.

Today I’m battling my workload with mediocre success. It’s already after 8:00 p.m. Being stuck at work late stinks, doubly so when it’s Friday. But I’ve got to finish researching a brief. Will I have the wherewithal to continue plodding along? Who the heck knows?

My back is stiff from sitting at my desk all day. I have to keep slamming my brain into gear to keep my thoughts from wandering off without me, but it’s no use. Wrenching my body away from the desk, I walk to the break room to clear my head.

Ahhh, coffee. The smell wafts up to my nose and I close my eyes to savor it. Walking back, I keep a slow gait so as not to spill.

I’m almost back safely, but what’s this? I squint my eyes, willing them to focus. Odd. An unfamiliar person is outside my office door. No, I’m wrong. The guy is somewhat familiar. Racking my brain for a name . . .

“Jerry Spalone?” I blurt incredulously.

“Hello, Susan,” Jerry says, coolly. “Grovas & Cleval must not be able to afford a working phone system, despite how much money my family pours into this place. Otherwise, I’m sure you would have returned at least one of my calls.”

“What are you doing here, Jerry? How did you even get into the building at this hour?” I catch myself. Not a good idea to argue with yet another client, no matter how caught off guard I am. Time to soften up but it’s not easy with a back stiff from tension.

“I just had a two hour meeting with your former boss,” Jerry replies. “It was nice of him to stay late for me.”

“How did you know where my office was?” Can such a demanding question ever have a soft tone?

“You ask a lot of good questions. It must be all that deposition practice, now that you handle litigation. Anyway, I asked the receptionist where your office was when I first came in. It’s amazing that your firm can keep a receptionist around until 6:00 p.m. I never found one willing to work for me past five o’clock, especially on a Friday.”

“Well, it’s good to see you, Jerry. Come into my office.” I’ll try to be friendly and entertaining, despite wanting to research a few more cases. But Jerry has outstretched his arm over the threshold. He’s not letting me through.

“We don’t need your office,” he says firmly.

With all the hordes of first and second year associates who work late into the night, it’s a wonder no one is around now. “Jerry, let’s sit down and talk,” I say, willing my voice not to bristle.

“I don’t want to have a chat. I want to have a date. My driver is downstairs, ready to take us wherever you want to go. So, there’s no point in our going into your office. Which, I might add, is a good thing. I can see from here it’s a mess.” He laughs. “Let’s go. You don’t even need to get your purse. Tonight is my treat.”

I’m being pushed into this. Not good. Trying to control my temper. Failing miserably. “Jerry, I can’t simply—” My phone rings. Thank God, I’ve never been so happy to have anyone call me. “Excuse me, Jerry, I’ve got to answer my phone.”

Jerry makes a deep frown but lowers his arm to let me through my doorway.

“Hey, Sue,” says Jordan’s glorious voice. “I got rid of my client so I’m leaving now. Don’t stay too late, and call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say as ominously as I can.

“Don’t know about what? Whether you’ll call me?”

“No,” I say with a strained voice. Jerry is now sitting in my guest chair, playing with my staple remover.

“Then what are you talking about?” asks Jordan’s baffled voice.

“Sorry,” I say. “That’s the best explanation I can give you.”

“Yeah,” Jerry says to me, laughing. “You lawyers never seem able to give adequate explanations.”

“I know this sounds crazy,” Jordan says, “but that sounds like Jerry Spalone. Did you know he’s been asking about you?”

“Yes, I did, actually. And you’re less crazy than you think.” I look over at Jerry and give him a smile. Jerry doesn’t see it, though. He has now moved on to fingering my tape dispenser.

“Jerry Spalone is in your office now?” Jordan sputters, his voice up three octaves.

“Yes. Amazing result, isn’t it?” Does Jerry think I’m talking about a case? I hope to God he does.

“Can you handle getting rid of him on your own, or do you need me to come upstairs?”

“A hand would help, yes,” I say, smiling blithely at Jerry.

His phone slams down, leaving me with a dead receiver in my hand. But the second I hang up Jerry will pressure me to leave with him. If I don’t hang up, however, the phone’s dial tone will kick in. What to do? Hanging up is the only way to go. I say “Bye” into the dead receiver for the sake of authenticity.

“Great, you’re off the phone. Let’s leave. Where are we off to?”

“Geez, Jerry, I don’t know,” I stall.

“We’ll figure it out along the way. Let’s get going.”

“I really need more notice with these things. I have a large research project to get done. And, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m allowed to go out on a date with one of the firm’s clients.”

“Susan,” Jerry says, eyes narrowed and voice clipped, “think of this as doing your firm a favor—you’re developing a client relationship with a very important client.”

“She’s right, Jerry,” Jordan says, suddenly appearing at my doorway. “An associate’s work is dedicated to research and writing. Not client development.”

“So it was you who called her,” Jerry hisses, eyes slit.

It’s like I’m watching a movie. But I’m not the star—I’m the audience.

“I know what’s going on,” Jerry suddenly
shouts at Jordan. “You two are going together! No wonder Susan moved to another part of the firm.” He looks smug. “I wonder what the firm thinks about this. If they even know. Yet.” His thin smile stretches out into a malevolent grin.

“Jerry,” Jordan responds. “Whatever you want to think is fine with me. Whatever the firm wants to think is fine with me.”