by Hoff, Stacy
I do my best at lunch to break the ice. After the appetizers but before the meal starts, I tell them I think I’ve created some tension by not explaining the P & Z process better. I tell them that although I’m very good at the “lawyerly” things like presentations, negotiations, and drafting, I’m still a little green in dealing with clients. I’m honest in my telling them that, although I understand the process, I should not have assumed they did. In fact, I should have assumed the opposite. Clearly, if everyone was an expert in everything, they wouldn’t need to hire lawyers. The one I had been friendlier with, the man, starts to warm back up to me. His partner, a woman, is slower to come around.
“What do you mean we’re not experts?” she demands.
“You are experts in your field. But you would never want to be a lawyer. You’re too smart and make too much money.”
That eases her tension a little. At that point, lunch is served. The wine bottle is eventually emptied and the conversation becomes more amicable and animated.
By the time lunch is over my heartbeat assumes a normal pace. I pay the bill, walk them to their car, and watch them wave and leave. A free lunch may not completely fix things but it’ll do wonders for the repair. I’m sure they still want Jordan to lead the case, but at least they’re not going to run to David to complain about me.
The next few calls I get from them (when they can’t get ahold of Jordan) are much more upbeat, and they do start to ask for my advice. Knowing they trust my judgment again is comforting. I make sure my answers are as thorough as possible without being patronizingly elementary. I find the best way to do this is by simply telling them up front to let me know what they want me to explain, and that I’ll try to catch for myself what I should highlight for them.
Slowly our conversations get a flow that seems to be satisfactory. Whether they will ever refer business to me I don’t know, but at least they’re not going to pick up their business and leave, so that’s some progress made at least. But I need to keep going. There are other relationship problems that need to be solved.
The next problem to tackle is Jordan. Not as a potential boyfriend, but as a partner in the firm and my boss. I find him in his office. He glances up at me and immediately stops writing. His pen hits the legal pad with a soft thunk.
“I came in to thank you for your help with the Farmington folks.”
“No problem.”
“No, it was a big problem for me. I thought I could handle dealing with them and I couldn’t.”
“You’re young yet, Sue, and the other clients love you. So don’t worry about it.”
“I am worried about it. I’m worried if you hadn’t been around to smooth things over I would have lost the business.”
“Blow it off, and move on.” He picks his pen back up. It looks like he is moving on from this conversation. But I’m not.
“I also want to apologize for my Melba crack. I shouldn’t have said anything about the two of you because it wasn’t any of my business. My comments were invasive of your personal life and I apologize.”
He puts back down his pen, opens his mouth, lets his jaw hang for a moment, then shuts it. We look at each other for a few seconds, no one saying anything. I finally break the silence. “I just wanted to clear the air. Thanks for all of your support. I hope to say more of what I’m thinking.”
I’ve made tremendous strides by doing all that. But, in the end, I’m still the same old me. I give him a meek little smile, turn, and hightail it out. I haven’t given him a chance to answer me and don’t know if he had wanted to.
Lastly, I tackle my relationship with my mother. I’ve been swiping at her for as long as I can remember, and it’s time to stop. I really am all alone in the world. I think about my small family. I don’t talk much to my dad. He divorced my mom many years ago and moved to New Mexico. My dad, only twenty years old when I was born, left us to become a new age hippie. Though I tried throughout the years, I can’t relate to him at all. Talking to him about my problems proves pointless. All he does is send me cases of cactus juice from the health food store where he works, assuring me it helps boost moods. If only cactuses could solve everything.
So I don’t have much of a dad and no siblings. I do have aunts, uncles, and a few cousins, but I don’t know them all that well. I’ve learned to be my own support system. To count on no one. Is this the reason why I freeze everybody out?
Sure, my mom can be judgmental and pushy. But she loves me and never gives up on me. I think about her having to continuously embrace an iceberg. Hardly anybody would find that a warming experience. I decide to let our relationship thaw. “Mom, I’m calling to apologize. I may not always take your advice, but I appreciate you doing your best to help me. I’m going to try to listen to you more and be less sarcastic.”
“Are you okay, dear? Did something happen? Was it bad? Very bad?”
“Nothing bad, Ma. I’m just getting older. I’m starting to see things differently, and one of those things is you. I shouldn’t be so bitchy when I talk to you.”
“You’re not bitchy, dear. Well, not too bitchy. We’ll just say you have moxie. Some men like a girl with a little moxie. Which is good because I really want you to hurry up and get a man. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
As I listen to her “spouse and house” sermon again, my neck and forehead grow hotter by the second. The minute I tell her I appreciate her input, what do I get? More input. I don’t want to hear about how I’m not fulfilling her goals. Hanging up, I exhale hard. Some things can’t be fixed so quickly and easily.
CHAPTER 15
It’s December and time for the firm’s annual holiday party. The Goodwin Hotel is booked, a well-known establishment in Hartford. The hotel is old and prestigious, which is why the administration at Grovas thinks it’s the perfect fit. The party’s a big deal. Even though it’s held on a Thursday night, it’s a black tie affair. Attendance is mandatory but everyone would go anyway. The firm, though large, is fairly tight knit, which is probably the reason why the rumor mill’s so powerfully fueled. People are curious to see what their co-workers will be wearing, and if they’re single, who they’ll be showing up with.
The women will all leave work at around noon to do their hair and put on their gowns. The men will leave around four o’clock to put on their tuxedos and pick up their dates.
No one will be working anyway because they are all excited about the evening, not just for the party, but the fact that everyone will find out about their raise, bonus, and promotion. The air’s filled with a combination of eagerness and apprehension. I’m one of the calmer people. Thank God I already have a solid idea of what will be happening to me. But the anticipation of hearing the details is starting to make me a little crazy.
It’s Thursday morning and I’ve overslept, getting into the office after ten o’ clock. It’s odd to walk in so late. Fortunately, everyone else is so wrapped up in their own tension nobody notices. Distracted myself, I answer my phone without checking the ID, assuming it’s Leila wanting the latest gossip. “No Leila, I haven’t heard anything yet, I just walked in.”
“If you came down here, you would hear something.”
“Oh, sorry! Be right there.” Shit. A cold chill washes over me. It was Jordan on the line, not Leila. This is it. Now I can find out my fate and feel stupid for answering the phone the way I did. Why didn’t I bother to glance at the caller ID? This tension is making me crazy.
In his office, he motions for me to take a seat. I choose one of the gold fabric guest chairs and sit down.
“What do you think of your work performance over the past year?”
Both his voice and his expression are neutral. I highly doubt mine are the same, considering I’m fighting off a heart attack. I hate self-evaluation in general. Even more when my finances depend on my answer. “Fine, I gu
ess,” I answer, voice meek.
“That’s it? That’s your answer?” he asks, eyes popped wide. He puts down the sheet of paper he’s holding. Then he tosses it into the garbage can. “Human Resources wanted every partner to go through this exercise with each associate. Let’s forget all that and have a real discussion. Okay?”
“Sure, fine by me.”
“Loosen up, Sue. You’re making me tense.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, don’t be sorry for your past performance here. I already told you that I, and several other partners, think you’re doing exceptionally well. I’ll get right to the bottom line. Your bonus is based on four categories. Your income to the firm by bringing in new business, your billable hours from doing the work we give you, the quality of your work product, and lastly, your attitude and effort. Everything but the new business aspect earned you a twenty-five thousand-dollar bonus. The new business you brought in gave you another sixteen thousand.”
He pauses. I’m trying desperately to take all this information in. What I’m absorbing is the fact I’ll be able to make a large additional payment on my student loan.
He continues, “You are promoted to third year status, skipping the firm’s second year pay scale. That’s because you’re working much more independently than even some of the third years. As for office space, they’re going to divide the conference room here so you can once again be a part of this wing. The conference room is too big for us as it is. Half of it will become your office, which will be larger than yours upstairs. We should still have enough space in the other half to hold client conferences. If not, we can always have Amber reserve us space in another conference room. Speaking of Amber, she will do all of your work at the pace you need. Anything else you need to know?”
Yes. When am I going to wake up? “No, I think that about covers it,” I squeak out. “Except thank you. Thank you for hiring me, and thank you for keeping me. Thank you for the money and the promotion.”
“A gentler, humbler Sue. It may take me time to adjust, but here’s to Sue Part Two.”
He reaches into his garbage pail and takes out the sheet from H.R., which now bears coffee stains. “Damn, I know there’s a part of the script they wanted me to end with. What was it? Oh, here it goes, ‘Congratulations, associate, on another year with the firm.’ Hmm. That definitely seemed worth reading. There you have it. I’ll see you tonight.” He goes back to his work. I turn to leave, but stop mid-turn.
I stand there hesitating. Is he watching me from his peripheral vision, wondering why I haven’t yet left the room? Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m heading back toward him. He’s engrossed with his computer screen but looks up as I walk over. Without saying a word I throw my arms around his neck and place a kiss on his cheek. His skin is soft, yielding in his surprise. Parts of me feel like yielding, too, which I do my best to ignore. I let go of him, now dying to get out of there and walk away. But my legs stay glued, stubbornly refusing to move as commanded.
“Just when I think I have you figured out,” he says. “What was that for?”
“For being someone I can count on.” Suddenly, my legs have strength. I hightail it back to my office.
The kiss was a fast one, but has a strong effect on me. It’s barely 10:30 a.m. I’ve been at work less than half an hour, but I don’t care. I’m going home. I have to get ready for the party.
CHAPTER 16
Sophisticated Clothing has become my closet annex. I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time here over the past few weeks selecting the perfect gown. I want to be noticed, but not wearing something screaming—look at me! Too bad for the store’s owners, friends or no friends. Their entire inventory was turned upside down in my quest. I’m actually glad the dress I chose was expensive. It makes up for the time they spent.
What was finally selected is black, floor length, and sleek. The dress cinches at the waist, holds tight by the butt, and then cascades downward. The top of the dress is the interesting part, a halter-top with a plunging neckline. Too plunging. I had the store alter it a little so it isn’t so revealing. Even with the alteration the plunge will still be there, giving shape to my ordinary, average bust. It’s simple, elegant, and true to the store’s name, sophisticated.
“Sue, you look beautiful!” one of the shop owners exclaimed. In fact, while looking in their dressing room mirror, I felt beautiful for the first time in my life.
I had Mrs. Nang do a special job on my nails and bought black satin shoes with rhinestones accentuating the very high heels.
Now with the holiday party only a few hours away, I have almost everything together. The dress and shoes are laid out on my bed. My nails still look good. All I need to do is my hair. Sophisticated Clothing had me book an appointment with a salon they know. I grab my keys.
The salon is much fancier than any I’d been to before. Fighting off heart flutters, me, Queen Susan, is whisked away to the sink, and then to the stylist, and then offered a cup of cappuccino along the way. An elaborate up-do is coiffed. They swirl my hair into curls mostly piled up with some hanging down. Rhinestone clips are nestled. Then the makeup artist takes over. My eyes are outlined in a smoky hue, my brown irises looking bigger than I’ve ever seen. The foundation and bronze powder I’m given bestow my face with a bright, healthy and flawless glow. The salon’s work is done but I don’t want to leave. I want to stare in the mirror. Narcissus Unbound.
The best part is that I don’t even look like me. Never having been to any weddings or other formal affairs, I’ve never seen myself so done up. My reflection is both startling and intriguing.
My confidence is blossoming. Still a tiny bud, it’s a small delicate flower that I’m desperate to grow. But I must be getting there because I actually think I look better than Melba. In fact, I hope I see her tonight. I’m going to fight her for Jordan. She’ll be no match for me. She’ll be toast.
Back at home, I do my best to kill an hour until it’s time to get dressed. I take a walk, stop by a Rite-Aid, and buy two trashy magazines to distract myself. But the off-screen antics of celebrities aren’t doing it for me. Mindlessly turning the pages, I’m unable to focus on anything more than photos of starlets. Tonight, I look every bit as good as them.
I want to look cool and confident. I figure the best way to do this will be showing up a half-hour late. Stalling my progress as much as I can, I drive slower than the speed limit but arrive only five minutes late. Horrified by how early I am, I duck into the bathroom furthest from the ballroom. Reapplying my lipstick and puffing my hair for the umpteenth time brings me another ten-minute delay. Sweaty hands finally open the door. My tiled safety zone is abandoned. Better they think I’m an over-eager partier than a hermit with a plumbing fixation.
The cocktail hour is more lavish than I even imagined. An enormous bar is completely surrounded by people. Six rectangular food stations run parallel. I sample them all, relishing each taste. My favorite is established quickly, and I close my eyes in bliss as I savor the sushi. The carving station isn’t bad either and people line up for the slices of turkey and prime rib. Some waiters pass around platters filled with lamb chops or shrimp cocktail, while others are passing salmon and cream cheese on toast. Still more platters bear Chinese food, mainly dim sum and egg rolls. In the middle of the room there is the largest station, a round table with a smaller circular tier. On it are warming trays with hot pastas.
The cocktail room is pretty packed. Still attempting to look cool, I try surreptitiously to scan the room for Jordan. He’s nowhere to be found. I do find Leila and Marcus along with some of the other associates and join them.
Suddenly, Allen arrives with Rochelle on his arm. Jordan walks by me a few moments later, Melba giddy beside him. This is turning into a bad movie. A double feature presentation.
Having come to this party anticipative, I am now going to le
ave it agitated. I was feeling beautiful only moments ago. Now I feel silly. Who am I impressing? What was I thinking? It’s only forty minutes in, yet I want to make my exit. I already hid in the bathroom, I can’t do that again. Not knowing what to do, I stand there feeling wooden, stiff, weighted down. I desperately rack my mind for a plausible excuse to walk away.
How about I gotta go walk my St. Bernard? No, I’m pretty sure I’ve told them about my dog allergy. Damn it, I need something good. Hmmmm, maybe I can get away with, My extremely handsome, totally hot date just called to tell me has a flat tire. He’s waiting for me to pick him up at a gas station in Fairfield. Yeah, that’s right, all the way down in Fairfield. Too bad we won’t make it back before this terrific party ends. Bummer. Have a nice night though.