Romantically Challenged

by Beth Orsoff

  “She’s fine,” he said.

  “Did she have the baby yet?”

  “No, not yet. But she’s due any minute.”

  I continued hammering away at him with questions about his wife and future child until his assistant opened the door and said, “it’s Ron on line one.” Mark picked up the phone and instantly started schmoozing.

  I listened to him talk about his plans for the weekend until his assistant returned a few minutes later and told me Ms. Levin was ready to see me. When Mark saw me stand up he put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “call me Monday.”

  I mouthed back that I would, but he’d already turned away.

  * * *

  I followed Mark’s assistant down the hall to Rita Levin’s office. I’d assumed that any woman who resorted to sexually harassing (or allegedly sexually harassing) her male assistant wouldn’t be that attractive. I was wrong. She was gorgeous. Tall and thin with long blond hair and striking green eyes. She wore a short, tight, charcoal gray skirt, matching high-heeled, open-toe pumps, and a hot pink sleeveless sweater. She didn’t need a push-up bra. Or maybe she was wearing one.

  She motioned to a chair across from her desk and I sat down.

  “So you’re here about that little prick Jared,” she said.

  “If you mean Jared Kinelli,” I said, “then yes.”

  “He’s just a money-grubbing bastard.”

  This should be entertaining. I pulled my pad and pen out of my briefcase. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened. He’s just doing this for the money.”

  “But you did fire him, right?”

  “Of course I did. The little shit tried to blackmail me.”

  “With what?”

  She walked to her file cabinet, unlocked it, pulled out a file, then locked it again. “With this,” she said, and tossed the manila folder onto my lap.

  I opened it and saw that it contained a copy of a Complaint against Worldwide Pictures for wrongful termination and sexual harassment. It also contained a copy of a confidential settlement agreement. I presumed this was the case Mark had told me about.

  “I didn’t used to keep my file cabinet locked, but I do now. Jared found the file and said if I didn’t promote him he’d sue.”

  “So you fired him instead, and now he thinks that Rosebud will settle just like Worldwide did?”

  “Rosebud and me. He’s threatening to sue me personally.”

  Either he’s being vindictive or he thinks it’ll net him more money. “But even if you settled, wouldn’t that hurt his career? No one would ever hire him again after a stunt like that.”

  “He told me the settlement would be confidential. If it ever leaked, whether he could prove it was from me or not, he would get additional payments. The little bastard thought of everything.”

  “Maybe not.” I had some ideas, but I wanted to research the issues first before I shared them with Mark or Rita.

  * * *

  As I walked towards my car, I saw Mark Parsons at the other end of the parking lot. I didn’t think he saw me, so I put my head down and picked up my pace. I’d just inserted my door key into the lock when his black Mercedes pulled up behind me.

  “How did it go with Rita?” he asked.

  “Good. I want to go back to the office and look up a few cases, then I can call you with an analysis.”

  “I hope Rita wasn’t too rough on you. She can be a real bitch sometimes, especially since Jared left.”

  Since Jared left? “I would think she’d be happier now that he’s gone.”

  He shook his head. “Apparently she hasn’t found her replacement boy toy. I warned her if she started sleeping with any more assistants I’d fire her myself.”

  “She and Jared were sleeping together?”

  “Of course. Didn’t she tell you?”

  No! “When I asked her what happened between them she said nothing, that he was just blackmailing her for a promotion.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “She told me that Jared found the Complaint in her files and saw an opportunity.”

  “Jared’s not that smart. Rita told him about the Worldwide suit.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Who knows,” he said, then his cell phone rang and he was gone.

  Why did clients lie to their lawyers? I’d never understand it. But on the upside, thanks to Mark’s revelation, I no longer had to go back to the office to look up cases. If Rita was sleeping with Jared while he worked for her, then there was only one option. I had to settle the case.

  Chapter 18

  Bosses, What’s Not To Love

  When I got back to the office, I checked in with Rosenthal’s assistant, Diane, to find out if I’d missed any crises. My own assistant, Lucy, had called in sick. It was Friday, after all.

  “He’s been looking for you,” Diane said when she saw me.

  “I was at a meeting.”

  “I know. Simone told me. He said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s on the warpath.”

  * * *

  I admired the view from Rosenthal’s corner window while I waited for him to get off the phone. Even the sky looked ominous.

  “So how did it go?” he asked as soon as he hung up.

  “With Parsons you mean?”

  “Of course Parsons. Who else?”

  “Actually, I went down to Rosebud to meet with Rita Levin. The only reason I saw Mark at all was because Rita was running late.”

  “Rita Levin doesn’t send us business. Mark Parsons does.”

  “Why are you yelling at me?”

  “I shouldn’t have to tell you who the client is, Julia, you should know.”

  “The client is Rosebud Productions,” I said, raising my own voice. “That includes all of its employees.”

  “No,” he said, and slammed his glass of water down on the desk. “The client is Mark Parsons. At least as long as he’s Rosebud’s general counsel. He’s the one who pays our bills, which pays your salary. Now how did it go?”

  “It went fine.” This was definitely not the time to complain to Rosenthal about Mark’s and Rita’s behavior. “I told Mark I would call him on Monday with an update.”

  “Call him tonight.”

  “He’s already left for the day. He’s probably home with his wife. She’s about to have a baby, remember?”

  “Then leave him a message. And not just on his voicemail. Make friends with his assistant and tell her to call you when the baby’s born.”

  “Why?”

  “So we can send him a gift! Christ Julia, you’ve got a lot to learn about client relations. You’d better learn quick if you want to make partner here some day.”

  Actually Bruce, you can take your fucking partnership and shove it up your ass! “Fine Bruce,” was what I really said. But I did stomp out of his office.

  * * *

  After spending Friday evening downing margaritas with Kaitlyn, I spent Saturday afternoon downing aspirin and Coke from my living room couch. The last thing I felt like doing on Saturday night was going to a bar, but I’d promised Emily. She, Scott, and their friends Christine and Ted, were going to listen to David’s band, and she’d invited me to join them. I was pretty sure David wasn’t interested (since he’d never even asked for my phone number) and this was just Emily playing matchmaker again. But she swore he’d asked about me after the birthday party and, more importantly, she wouldn’t let me off the phone until I said yes.

  I arrived at the Love Lounge ten minutes before David’s band, the Scalpels, began their fifty-minute set. I was an hour to soon. They were awful. Truly awful. David and the other guitarist sang off-key, the keyboard player’s voice kept cracking, and the drummer had no rhythm. When the band finished its set, David came out front and sat with us. This time Emily kept her word and made an early exit with Scott, dragging Christine and Ted a
fter them.

  “I guess I should be going to,” I said when it was just the two of us.

  “It’s still early,” David said. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “No offense, David, but the last thing I want is another drink.” I was barely able to drink the one I’d ordered.

  He paused for a moment with a quizzical look, then asked, “How about some food? Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “What about dessert?” he offered. “I know a great dessert place on Beverly. There’s always room for dessert.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  * * *

  I followed David in his Mercedes to the great dessert place, but it was closed. We ended up at Norms on La Cienaga--the L.A. version of a greasy spoon diner. David studied the menu until the waitress took our order.

  “So how are you feeling?” he asked after she left.

  Strange question, even if he was a doctor. Wasn’t this supposed to be a date? I didn’t know what else to say, so I said, “Fine. And you?”

  “Good,” he said. “But I’ve never had food poisoning.”

  I was too startled to respond.

  After a few seconds of silence he said, “That was you a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?”

  There was no point in lying. He knew my name. All he’d have to do is look up my chart. I admitted it was and he admitted that he didn’t make the connection until tonight.

  “It was something about the way you looked when you were sipping your drink.”

  “Like I was about to throw up?”

  “Yes,” he said and laughed.

  I explained about my hang-over and he offered to track down our waitress to switch my order from coffee and apple pie a la mode to ginger-ale and toast. Then things got easier. David told me about his job and his ex-wife, and I told him about Rosenthal and my new case.

  “No ex-husbands?” he asked.

  “Just ex-boyfriends.”

  “Anybody serious?”

  “There was one. We broke up about a year ago.”

  His mouth was filled with strawberry shortcake, but he motioned with his fork for me to continue.

  “It’s that old Hollywood story. He was a screenwriter who was gonna make it big someday and I was young and stupid and completely in love.”

  He gulped down his cake and said, “Should I get out my violin?”

  Sarcasm. I liked that. “I’ll give you the short version. I met him when I was still in law school. After I graduated, we started living together. A year later he quit his job and I supported him so he could write full-time. Two years later he got his big break. His career took off and so did his ego. Then one day I flew back early from a business trip and found him in bed with someone else.”

  “That hurts.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever. I learned my lesson. No more wannabes.”

  “Well you don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “My band is just a hobby. I seem to have a lot of them now that I’m single again.”

  Maybe that’s what my life was missing—a hobby. Did shopping count?

  David spent the next half hour telling me about his newest passion, flying planes. He’d only been taking lessons for six months, but he was just four flight hours away from being instrument-rated.

  “Maybe you could come with me sometime,” he said. “You’re not afraid of small planes are you?”

  “No.” I’d flown on commuter planes before.

  “Good, I’ll set something up.”

  Chapter 19

  Flying Lessons

  David called two days later and asked if I wanted to go flying with him the following Saturday. He suggested we wing up the coast and have dinner somewhere, then fly back the same evening. How romantic! A flight to Santa Barbara just to have a meal at a fabulous restaurant on the water, followed by a moonlit walk on the beach. Of course I said yes.

  * * *

  After a half hour consultation with Kaitlyn Saturday morning, we decided I should wear my black linen sheath dress and black sandals with a pink cashmere wrap both for style (according to Kaitlyn, it looked chic) and practicality (in case I got cold).

  Four hours later David arrived at my door wearing khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt. I told him to give me a minute to change. After switching to tan pants, a white tank top, and a denim shirt, I returned to the living room and found Elmo lying face down on the floor where David must’ve tossed him, and David sitting in Elmo’s spot on the couch. He was reading my old copy of Modern Woman.

  “I didn’t know there were ten million more single women over thirty-five then men,” he said.

  I’d have to remember to throw that magazine away.

  * * *

  When we arrived at the Santa Monica Airport, David went into the rental office to fill out paperwork and I walked around to the back of the building where the planes were parked. They were mostly four-, six- and eight-seaters. The largest of them was still considerably smaller than even the smallest commuter jet I’d flow on. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all.

  Ten minutes later David escorted me to the tiniest plane I’d ever seen—a two-seater Cessna. I didn’t even know they made planes that small. David opened the passenger door and helped me climb in. I must’ve looked as scared as I felt.

  “Don’t worry, it’s completely safe.”

  I just nodded. Be brave.

  David sat in the pilot’s seat and started checking instruments. When we were taxiing down the runway and David still hadn’t mentioned where we were going, I finally asked.

  “San Luis Obispo.”

  The name sounded familiar, but I had no idea where it was. “Is that near Santa Barbara?”

  “About 30 miles north.”

  I’d never heard of any five star restaurants on the water in San Luis Obispo. Then I remembered why it sounded familiar. “Don’t they have a prison up there?”

  “According to my guide,” David said, “the San Luis Obispo Airport is only a few blocks from the ocean. I figured we could fly up and watch the sunset, and then grab some dinner.”

  This still might work. Wrong city, but otherwise we were on the same page.

  David calculated that it would take us two and a half hours to reach San Luis Obispo. It took over three. By the time we landed, the sun had already set. We walked the few blocks to the beach, but with the sun down, the air had turned cold and the sky was completely dark. No moon, no stars, no romance.

  We left the beach and walked around the neighborhood looking for a place to eat. The choice for dinner was easy. There was only one restaurant.

  We had the best table available at Mama’s Fish & Chips – Formica with a view of the kitchen. The waitress set our places with plastic cups and utensils and I added napkins from the metal dispenser. This definitely was not the fine dining experience I’d imagined. I don’t even think it was the restaurant David had envisioned. But it was warm and open, and we were cold and hungry. At least until I saw the roach crawling on the wall above our table. After that, I just drank the iced tea.

  * * *

  The first hour of the flight back to L.A. was wonderful. The moon and stars were shining and we could see the coastline below. David even let me fly the plane for a few minutes.

  The second hour I spent wishing for a bathroom.

  We were just entering the third hour when David told me we were passing Malibu. I looked out the window and searched for the lights from the Ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier. All I saw was black. Then the moon came out from behind the clouds and all I saw was white. David picked up the radio and contacted the Santa Monica Airport control tower. The air traffic controller confirmed that the airport was completely fogged in.

  I looked over at David. “So what does that mean?”

  He looked at me with his killer smile. “That means if we want to land, then we have to find another airport.”

  “Are you serious?” He couldn’t be.

  “Oh, yes.”


  He was still smiling. Why was he still smiling? I had two choices. I could either completely lose it, which would probably increase our chances of crashing. Or I could remain calm, or at least pretend to remain calm, which might increase our chances of landing safely. I chose calm.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  “You can find us a new airport.”

  I decided he wasn’t being sarcastic. “How do I do that?”

  “Reach behind you and pull out the loose-leaf binder.”

  I pulled a three-inch notebook out from behind my seat. “What is this?”

  “It’s the airplane version of the Thomas Guide.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Just flip through it and see if you can find us another airport.”

  I started turning loose-leaf pages looking for names I recognized. “How about Ontario?” An inland airport was probably less likely to be fogged in.

  “Too far,” he said. “We only have an hour’s worth of fuel.”

  A chill rippled through my body. Calm, calm, calm, I intoned and flipped more pages. “How about Burbank Airport?”

  David contacted the control tower and asked for the weather conditions at Burbank Airport. Silence. More silence. Damn you, radio, say something! When it finally spoke, it told us that Burbank was also fogged in.

  I felt my denim shirt sticking to my underarms. Calm, calm, calm, I whispered to myself as I flipped more pages. “Van Nuys Airport?” I asked without confidence.

  David contacted the control tower again. More silence. When the air traffic controller finally came back on he said, “Van Nuys has partly cloudy skies. You might be able to make it. What are your coordinates?” David told the controller our location and they plotted our course. The last thing the controller said to David before signing off was, “Watch out for those mountains on your left.”

  I looked at David. “Is he serious?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  I looked out the window to my left. I didn’t see any mountains. All I could see was black. I looked at David again. He was still smiling. Why the hell was he still smiling? Didn’t he know we could actually crash and die? Calm, calm, calm wasn’t working any more. Now it was pray, pray, pray.