“I was going for ferocious.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, it’s an inside joke.”
Feeling giddy, I straighten my blazer and slip the Dictaphone into my pocket. “If I’m not back in forty-five minutes, send the Initial Brigade after me, will you?”
“You’re in a funny mood today.”
I give her a smile instead of explaining and take the long way around so I don’t have to walk by Matt. I haven’t seen him since our altercation, though I’ve felt his disappointment seeping through our communal wall.
I walk through Reception and push the Up elevator button. The Management Committee meets five floors up, on the penthouse floor. I’ve only ever been there once, when I got hired on after I graduated from law school. TPC has a hiring ritual that dates back to when you had to belong to the right eating house to get a job here. If you were “in,” you got called into the real boardroom, where you were slapped on the back and glad-handed by a room full of middle-aged men calling you “little lady.” If you were “out,” you ended up in a side room with the motherly woman from HR.
I wonder which room I’ll end up in today?
The elevator arrives and I step into it. The doors start to close.
“Hold the door,” a familiar voice rings out.
Before I can reach for the Close button, an expensive black shoe pokes through, stopping the doors in their tracks. They pull back to reveal Sophie, who’s wearing a nearly identical suit to my own. Her straight blond hair is even molded into a similar hairstyle.
She meets my eyes, looking flustered. “I’ll take the next one.”
I grip the Dictaphone in my pocket. My hand feels slippery against the silvery metal. “No, that’s all right.”
She enters and stands next to me. I hesitate for a moment, then hit the Up button. The doors slide closed. She glances at the row of buttons, her finger moving toward the one I’ve already pushed. She pulls her hand away.
“I guess we’re going to the same place,” she says, forcing a smile.
“Looks like.”
We watch the numbers silently light up one by one. What can it mean that we’ve been called to the Management Committee together? Maybe the In Progress ploy wasn’t such a good idea after all? And am I really going to have to expose Sophie while she’s sitting right next to me?
“Nice coverage on Cathy Keeler.”
I turn toward her, checking for signs of sarcasm. All I see is a reflection of my own apprehensive face.
“Thanks.”
“Your doing, I presume?”
I nod.
“Impressive.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a twinge of surprise, and maybe a little guilt too.
“What do you think they want with us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
The doors ding open. We exit and walk down the long corridor. Our whole office is plush, but the penthouse floor is out of this world. The carpet’s so thick I can’t hear my own footsteps, and the walls are covered with a richly colored handmade wallpaper. Heavy oil paintings of former members of the firm look down at us with a disapproving air.
“Did Matt say anything?” she asks.
“I don’t think he’s talking to me at the moment.”
She looks at the floor. “Mmm. Me either.”
We arrive at the large black doors of the boardroom. Rumor has it the Management Committee meets here every morning to pore over receivables and plot how to steal clients from other big firms. My chest feels hollow, like my heart has been removed.
“Well, good luck,” Sophie says.
I can’t help but smile. “You too. Nice suit, by the way.”
She gives me a quick once-over. “You wear it better.”
Again, she actually seems sincere. The Dictaphone starts to feel like a weight in my pocket.
A woman in her midfifties is waiting for us at the door. I recognize her as the chairman’s personal assistant, who has also been, if the same rumor mill is to be believed, his mistress for the last thirty years. Good thing her first name is the same as his wife’s.
“Ms. Tupper, Ms. Vaughn, right on time.”
“Yes,” we say together.
“They’re waiting for you.”
She opens the door. I cast a nervous glance at Sophie. “After you.”
“Oh no, I insist.”
I square my shoulders and walk through the door. The boardroom is long, wide, and windowless. More dead partners’ images line the wood-paneled walls. There’s an enormous oak table in the middle of the room, surrounded by fifteen old men wearing dark suits. I can almost smell the fading testosterone.
I catch the eye of the lawyer who handled my mother’s estate. The one who told me not to go to Africa, who said it would hurt my career. How angry I was that day, how indignant. I’m glad, now, that he told me no. I might not have gone otherwise. And that would’ve been a mistake, despite everything that’s happened.
Matt speaks from the end of the table. “Emma, Sophie, welcome. Please have a seat.”
I almost don’t recognize him in this austere setting. His suit jacket is done up and he’s exuding an air of authority I’ve only seen in the courtroom.
“Did you know Matt was on the Management Committee?” I whisper to Sophie.
She shakes her head as she sits in one of the red leather chairs at our end of the table. I take the seat next to her, my hands slippery on the hard leather.
Matt folds his hands in front of him. “We’ve asked you to come here today to discuss your work on the Mutual Assurance file.”
I open my mouth to protest his inclusion of Sophie, but then, amazingly, Sophie does it for me.
“That was Emma’s doing, not mine.”
The chairman raises his hand to stop her. His fierce brown eyes stand out in the middle of his florid face. The spidery web across his nose is evidence of way too many cocktails.
“That’s modest of you, Ms. Vaughn, but Connor Perry called me personally to express his gratitude.”
She shoots me a glance. “Yes, I’m sure he did, but you see—”
“That’s really not necessary, Sophie,” Matt says, a warning in his tone.
I look from Matt to a struggling Sophie. She seems uncertain but doesn’t say anything more.
“The coverage you got on In Progress yesterday was a great coup for our firm, Ms. Tupper,” says an elderly man sitting to Matt’s right. “As Price said, Mutual Assurance is extremely pleased with the outcome, and so are we.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, thinking briefly of the last time the firm engineered a similar publicity stunt. It’s a little sad, really, how predictable some people can be.
“You’ve both done some excellent work for the firm over the years,” says a man with thin black hair that flops across his forehead. It takes me a moment to place him as Kevin Wilson, the head of the Mergers and Acquisitions Department. “And we think it’s time we recognized it by making both of you partners.”
My heart is back and making its presence known.
“We usually wait for the end of the year to make these kinds of decisions,” Matt says. “But given the circumstances, we thought it best to break with tradition and have you join the partnership immediately.”
“What’s he mean by ‘given the circumstances’?” I ask Sophie through the side of my mouth.
“Mutual Assurance is looking for a new in-house counsel,” she replies quietly. “They offered it to me. And after yesterday, you can write your ticket anywhere.”
“Did you say something, Emma?” Matt asks.
“No.”
“Good. Kevin will fill you in on the details later, but we thought we’d announce it in today’s bulletin and have the usual cocktail party celebration on Friday. Does that suit you?”
“That would be great,” Sophie says brightly. “Thank you.”
“Emma?”
I know that this is the moment where I should whip out the Dictaphone and
expose Sophie for the wrong that she has done, but somehow I can’t form the words. I don’t know if it’s the stress or the unreality of this moment really happening, but I don’t feel the joy I thought I’d feel, or the anger I need to expose her in this public forum.
“Is that it?” I hear myself say.
Matt frowns. “Is what it, Emma?”
Sophie kicks me hard under the table. I bite my lip to keep from calling out.
“What is it, young lady?” says the chairman.
“What are you doing?” Sophie hisses.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper back.
“What’s that, dearie? I can’t hear you.”
“Well, it’s just . . . I’m really grateful for this vote of confidence, but . . . you didn’t even ask us if we want to become partners.”
“We’re not in the habit of being turned down,” the chairman says. “But if you’d rather not become a partner—”
“No!” Sophie blurts.
“What Sophie means is of course we want to be partners, but before we accept, we’d like a few changes around here.”
The chairman looks like he wishes it was cocktail hour. “You mean a maternity leave policy, I suppose?”
“Of course, but that’s not really what I was getting at.”
“What are you looking for exactly?” Kevin asks.
I formulate my thoughts, and then I tell them what I want. I can see reluctance form on several of their lined faces, but the chairman looks intrigued and Matt has that hard, proud expression he used to get when I met his expectations.
“And if we agree to this, you’ll accept our offer?” the chairman says.
I hesitate. “Can I ask for one more thing?”
Matt shakes his head. Sophie looks like she might pass out.
“What’s that?” Kevin asks.
“We could do with some new art on the walls, don’t you think?”
Chapter 30: Try and Try Again
My first week as a partner at TPC passes . . . well, not gently, exactly, but with fewer bumps than the previous ones. The shit files disappear, the Ejector is history, and Sophie and I are almost talking to each other. The icing on the cake is the ball gown Jenny finds for me that I’m wearing tonight to Karen and Peter’s black-and-white gala to raise money for the youth center. It’s gorgeous. A white silk Regency-inspired gown that makes me feel like a character in a fairy tale. All I need is a handsome prince to find my missing shoe, and I’ll be all set.
But that is not to be. Despite Emily’s predictions, Dominic hasn’t called or come to the apartment. But that’s okay. You can’t have everything in life. Besides, Stephanie’s starting that book-lovers dating thing, so . . .
The sun crosses the city, the shadows long, then short, then lengthening. I leave work early to pass by Antoine’s. He works wonders with my hair, as always, and puts a smile on my face. A cab drops me off at the gala at ten after seven, just in time for cocktails.
The ball is being held in an old train station that’s been converted into an exhibition space. Tonight, the stalls have been cleared out and replaced with fifty round tables covered in crisp white tablecloths. The flower centerpieces are tall stalks of sugarcane with fragrant climbing roses twined around them. Votive candles float in small bowls. Huge bolts of white fabric drape from the ceiling. The band on the raised dais at the front of the room is playing a Viennese waltz.
A random sampling of the city’s glitterati are chatting between the tables and floating around the dance floor. Last year’s mayor is talking to next year’s congresswoman. The latest It Girl is flirting with the guy who reports the sports statistics on the nightly news. I spot Karen in a white lace dress with a bright red sash weaving her way through the crowd. She’s talking to a woman with a headset on, looking stressed. I can’t see Peter, but my bet is he’s somewhere near the bar.
“E.W., looking fine,” I. William says, giving me a once-over. We air-kiss with the best of them, and he plucks two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray.
“Is one of those for me?”
“Nah. For your friend over there.” He nods toward one of the tables I got TPC to sponsor as part of my partnership deal. Stephanie’s sitting there looking shy and nervous in a clingy satin gown.
“You know that’s my best friend, right?”
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “So she told me.”
“Hurt her and you’ll have me to answer to.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“Okay, Sophie, then.”
“Consider me warned.”
He ambles toward Stephanie, looking dashing in his tuxedo. She blushes as he hands her the glass and gives me a wave. I make a mental note to corner her later and warn her about I. William’s commitment issues.
“Hey, Emma, you ready for your big speech?” Karen says, appearing out of the crowd.
“Absolutely.”
“Did you remember your notes?”
“No notes required.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I do this for a living, remember? Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, if you’re comfortable embarrassing yourself in front of a thousand people . . .”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She throws me a smile. “No, thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s more than you had to do.”
One of the headphoned women appears at her elbow and murmurs in her ear. Karen’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously. The woman turns away and barks into her headphone.
“I’ve got to go take care of something,” Karen says, looking stressed again.
“Trouble?”
“Maybe.” She twirls away in a blur of white and red.
I spend the next half an hour having brief cocktail conversations with several lawyers from my firm whom I arm-twisted into coming. Craig and I wave to each other across the room, but we keep our distance. At one point I see Sophie approach him, her face a mixture of surety and contrition. Good luck to them, I think, with only a small twinge of regret. When my champagne glass has been empty for five minutes too long, the lights flicker in the universal symbol that means sit down, people, it’s time for eats.
I wend my way back toward Stephanie, who’s still blushing up at I. William, though it might now be a champagne blush—there are several empty glasses on the table. Steph looks happy to see me, but I don’t get a chance to sit next to her. Instead, I get hauled off by the headphoned minion who scared Karen earlier. Apparently, I’m supposed to address the crowd before it gets completely liquored.
Peter is waiting for me. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and takes the stage to enthusiastic applause. He’s looking dapper and relaxed in his tuxedo. He loosens up the crowd with some well-placed jokes about cocktails-circuit philanthropy and then goes on for far too long about, well, me. By the time I get to the microphone, my face is hot and I’m wishing I’d jotted down some notes after all.
“Thanks, Peter,” I say too close to the mic. My voice echoes around the room. I stare out into the crowd, looking for inspiration. And that’s when I see him: Dominic, leaning against the wall off to the left side of the stage, staring at me intently.
Our eyes lock and my heart starts to catch in that first-love way, that way you never think you’ll feel again once it’s been disappointed and you’ve learned better. I can’t understand what he’s doing here, but for some reason, the words I was planning on saying no longer seem good enough.
The room’s silent expectation intrudes, and so I start to speak.
“Some of you might think I paid Peter to say those things about me. Well, you’d be right. Or to be more accurate, and you know lawyers like being accurate, I got all of you to pay Peter to say those things about me.”
In the pause caused by the modest laughter sputtering around the room, I gulp in some air, lock eyes with Dominic again, feel my knees weaken, my courage faltering, but
I have to say something, I have to say the right thing.
“I was asked to speak tonight about a very special contribution to the community center that was made by my law firm, Thompson, Price and Clearwater. But before I get to that, I want to take a minute to salute the two wonderful people behind tonight’s event, Karen and Peter Alberts.
“As many of you probably know, we met under unusual circumstances; in fact, we were never supposed to have met at all.” I clear my throat. “Have any of you ever played that desert island game? You know, that game where you say what thing you would miss the most, or what person you’d want to be with you?” I pause again, and a few people nod their heads. “Well, I was always terrible at that game. Mostly because I couldn’t see myself in that situation. Maybe no one can, but I didn’t even like thinking about it. Being stuck on a desert island seemed like a terrible thing, not like a cocktail-party joke.
“Then there I was, stuck in a desert island situation. I wasn’t alone, but I didn’t get to pick the people who were with me. And though these people were some of the best people I’ve ever met, all I wanted at first was to get home. I wanted to get back to my life. I thought, naïvely, that when the chaos cleared, it would be there, waiting for me. But I was wrong about that.” I pause to take a sip from the glass of water next to me. My hand is shaking, but hopefully only I can see this. The room is ghostly silent. Dominic hasn’t moved an inch. “Life doesn’t wait. You have to make it happen. You have to live it while it’s happening around you. Life moves on.
“Why am I saying these serious things on a night that’s supposed to be about celebrating? I guess it’s because while we’re all dressed up and drinking and eating well, it’s important to remember why we’re here, why the community center exists. There are so many people less fortunate than us. I know we say that all the time, but when you’ve lived it, when you’ve seen and heard and breathed it, you don’t have a choice but to realize how lucky we really are, and how much we ought to give.
“So, Karen, Peter, I want to say thank you. Thank you for my life, and thank you for what you do. As for all of you, well, I hope you give generously tonight and continue to do so long after your dresses are dry-cleaned and your next gala is just a date on a calendar. And finally, I want to salute Thompson, Price and Clearwater, which, I’m proud to say, has committed to providing thirty hours a year of free legal-clinic time from every lawyer in the firm.” I raise my glass of water. “To Karen and Peter, and to the future of the Point Community Center.”
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