by Monica Conti
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
He sent to the kitchen for some crab legs and a platter of shrimp for them to nibble on. The loudness of the music prevented any real conversation but to be polite she joined his meal.
She finished the shrimp and neatly dabbed the corners of her lips with a cloth napkin, then she stood, and after a bare second’s hesitation, offered her slim olive skinned hand to him. He was gentlemanly about it and thanked her for coming. Seeing that she had decided to visit his world in person seemed to impress him.
“I’ve thought about things since our first talk. I was wrong doubting you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re defending me, Ms. Bianchi,” he said, “Thanks for coming down here on a Friday night at this hour.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Shay, we’re going to move forward with this case and we are going to win.” she told him.
She left the club hoping she’d sounded far more confident than she felt.
The day of the trial finally arrived. What with all the press build-up Atlanta was expecting a long drawn out affair packed with a series of tawdry revelations. But the event turned out to be shockingly anti-climatic and brief. The poor prosecutor never got a chance to parade his damning witnesses. During the discovery process Chiara had at first been overwhelmed by the mountain of negative evidence. She had been so discouraged at first that a simple technicality almost escaped her notice. It was the tiny flaw she’d hoped for. Through a clerical error, the original search warrant that had provided the incriminating paper trail had not been dated. It was a miniscule detail, but enough to upset the steamroller that had been bearing down on her.
Jack Shay was acquitted on the grounds of illegal search and seizure. Further, the judge in the case found that several key witnesses for the prosecution might have been coerced into testifying. Club Vanity Fair would remain open and Jack Shay walked away free.
When the news hit the media, there was outrage in Atlanta at first. But then the news began to center around the hot new attorney who had won the case against impossible odds. Chiara Bianchi was that attorney. She wasn’t at all new, but this was the first time she’d received such major media attention, so they had dubbed her ‘new.’
Chiara didn’t mind. She had finally made her name as an attorney. And though many in the firm were profoundly jealous that she’d won the case, they were forced to humble themselves when old man Smith announced he was promoting her, making her a full partner. He had been especially pleased by the unexpected victory and happy to have Shay out of the lime light. He had never confided to Chiara that the case had posed a remote risk to his own reputation. That she had managed an abrupt end to the business had been a relief worth rewarding.
A champagne dinner was held in her honor at the Ritz-Carlton. Chiara Bianchi was a woman to watch. At last, she had what she had been seeking for some fifteen years… full partnership and prestige.
Her new office was large and well-appointed. She had a huge picture window that provided her with a stunning view of the Atlanta skyline. On her impressive new desk she had found a vase of roses. She smiled assuming it was from Peter Smith until she read the card -
Many, many thanks to you,
Sent gratefully from your eternal friend
- Jack Shay
“Friend? I hardly think so, Mr Shay.”
Chiara said it aloud as she dumped the roses into the virgin trash bucket. The fact that she had helped a flesh peddler like Shay escape was distasteful in the extreme. But that was the system a lawyer had to work within. Angels and devils were both equal under the law. She was certain that karma would catch up with Mr Shay. Going forward as a full partner, she would be able to choose more deserving clients.
That evening she stood in complete stillness staring out across the sky as it turned from pink to orange to gray and then to darkness. She poured herself a glass of brandy and willed herself to feel at peace.
Grace Butrell had grown up in the small town of LaGrange, Georgia. Her family was not poor but they were certainly not members of what passed as the country club set. Grace, however, had been a bright star among her high- school peers. Her blonde, blue-eyed beauty had brought her an acceptance and popularity that her family circumstances might have easily denied her. Some of her friends thought her a bit too serious.
She had received a full scholarship to Old Miss and her four years there had been outstanding enough to win her a grant for law school. Her family was deeply proud of her.
But beneath all the drive and hard work lay a streak of rebelliousness. She was deeply curious about sexual things, and she’d satisfied this curiosity with a handsome med student. After her impatience to experience the supposed pleasure of the big sex secret the actual act had fallen far short of the magic she’d imagined.
For a time Grace went sort of steady with him. Mainly she’d gone out with him because he hadn’t been demanding or overly possessive. But when he had suddenly asked her to marry him, she’d balked. She was not prepared to get married and settle down as a doctor’s wife. She wanted something more than a sweet little suburban house. She was not going to settle for that kind of life, at least not too soon.
Her newly independent attitude and this rejection of their expectations for her as a young southern woman were not smiled upon by her family. Her mother actually got angry with her. She’d felt that a doctor would have been a fine catch. But her Momma felt there was yet hope. It was still a custom in LaGrange for promising young girls to be presented at a debutante ball. It was expected that Grace would attend from the time she was a little girl.
Mrs. Butrell was all astir about it, and she was about to begin planning what Grace might wear and where they might go shopping for her necessary accessories.
Grace flatly refused to go to her ‘coming out’ ball. She had no intention of being some pretty little magnolia bloom to be fawned over and pushed into one of life’s corners.
Grace’s refusal to attend this grand affair left her mother completely upset. Grace didn’t care. She was not interested in being a debutante, though her beauty qualified her to be one.
Earlier on, Grace had been too sensible to offend anyone with such an open show of scorn. But after she had escaped to university she wanted nothing to do with LaGrange or its trappings of bourgeois mediocrity. The old town was too restrictive for her. She felt choked to death by their dead ideas about love and about the way women were supposed to live. She was ashamed of where she’d come from and she wanted to break free of the chains of backwater Georgia.
Grace was a student of history as well as the law. She was aware that during the Victorian period women had been told they only had two choices: to be domesticated angels of the household or fallen deviants without a future. To a large degree, she felt this still defined a woman’s role in many areas of the old south. And she was right. This was something Grace was not about to accept for herself. She had told her Momma so during one of their many heated discussions about the subject of her future,
“I did not attend Ole Miss as a finishing school. I plan to do something with my degree and my life besides becoming a breeder!”
Her Momma was more than a little angry about this, as was her father.
Of course, there were other more practical reasons to leave her hometown behind. Not a soul there would be likely to take her seriously as a lawyer and there simply was no other meaningful employment to be had. LaGrange had not been immune to the downward spiral that had started when the bottom fell out of Wall Street.
Grace had worked summers as a receptionist for Marvin Handy, an attorney in town, but he was the kind of man who really only wanted an assistant to provide him with coffee throughout the day and make a nice impression when clients arrived. She was underutilized in terms of her skills and had fended off more than a few unwelcome pats and touches. Lawyer Handy had been literally way too handy in his attempts to feel her up when she came in to deliver his messages in the late
afternoons after he’d hit the scotch bottle. No way was she going back to that.
At twenty-six with her education finally behind her Grace was anxious to launch her career. No sooner had she passed the bar exam than Grace made the move to Atlanta that she had been planning. She hadn’t needed to pack much into her old car. Her clothes and the laptop were about all she had that was worth moving.
Grace had been saving for her new life but had found the rents in metropolitan Atlanta rather daunting. Finally she luckily discovered a cozy little apartment in the Decatur area that she could afford. With that solved she set about the task of finding a position that offered a future. Grace had naively assumed that such a bustling city would be full of opportunity. She quickly discovered that Atlanta was also suffering from the downturn in the economy.
There were very few legal firms hiring and when Grace went to interview with those that were, she found herself in waiting rooms crowded with other applicants. Most were as well or more qualified than she was. Back in LaGrange she might have shone like silver but in Atlanta she was just another new penny. After a fruitless month of searching for work, her slender savings had almost evaporated.
As she did every morning over coffee Grace was grimly searching through the classifieds. There were plenty of ads for lesser jobs but she was not that desperate. She hadn’t worked her butt off for a law degree to wait tables or peddle jeans at a mall. Her pretty brow furrowed in frustration as she neared the bottom of the professional section but then a smile smoothed her features.
Legal Assistant
Compensation commensurate with ability. Apply in person.
Law firm of Smith, Weinstein, Brooks & Bianchi
111 West Peachtree Avenue
This was going to be the one. It simply had to be the one. She was almost broke.
“I don’t care how many others want this damn job.” She said aloud, “One way or another I am going to be the one they choose!”
Grace left her coffee unfinished and rushed to get dressed.
From the day of Chiara’s ascendance to full partner she had rated the personal assistance of another attorney. She had considered some within the firm first but couldn’t settle on one that she’d be comfortable with. She had too much history with all of them. She wanted a fresh talent that she could train to her methods.
Next she had browsed discreetly among the competition for someone promising that she might steal away but none had stood out. Placing an ad in the Journal was a long shot. Chiara had not expected it to produce much.
But the firm’s prestige had attracted a flood of applicants. There was no way Chiara had time to deal with each of them. Instead she’d outlined the qualities she wanted and told Sheila, her longtime secretary, to pre-interview them. She would only meet personally with the select few. So far she had met with three of the brightest newcomers in the area. None of them had really excited her but a month had passed and her case load was growing. The three résumés were in front of her and she supposed she’d best choose among them. It was past time to lighten her load. The intercom buzzed.
“What is it, Sheila?”
“There’s an applicant in the outer room you might want to check out.”
“Harvard or Yale?”
“Neither. Her name is Grace Butrell. Old Miss Law School. Just passed the bar.”
This sounded very thin to Chiara and she said as much.
“That was my first thought too…but she was top of her class and she has…” Sheila hesitated.
“Has what?”
“A sort of presence. Don’t laugh…but she reminds me a little bit of you when you first joined the firm.”
Chiara was intrigued.
“Send her in…No, wait…I’ll come out and have a look first. If she won’t do, I don’t want to be trapped for thirty minutes while I pretend to consider her.”
As Grace sat in the reception area, she was impressed by the firm’s large suite of offices. Her settee faced a stunning view of the city skyline. Even though she had arrived with high expectations, this was an atmosphere way more posh than she had ever pictured herself in. None of the other firms she’d applied to had been so intimidating. She had come dressed in her best but had begun to feel somewhat uncomfortable and plain. Grace was sure the woman who had asked her to wait after interviewing her was only a secretary yet she had been wearing Prada shoes and smelt of designer perfume.
She had psyched herself up to come in full of confidence and had apparently cleared the first hurdle. Her interviewer had reappeared saying that one of the partners would see her shortly. Grace knew that the next few minutes would be a gamble but if her education and experience weren’t enough to win her this coveted position, her looks and attitude might be. The wait was working on her nerves. She calmed herself with an inner mantra ‘I am not a nervous country girl only recently relocated to Atlanta …I am a beautiful and intelligent young woman full of bravura.”
Chiara entered the reception room and found an extremely beautiful young woman sitting composedly in the chair. The young woman was wearing her long blonde hair down. It fell in waves around her face and framed deep azure eyes that were almost confrontational. There was a hint of bravado in their intensity.
Chiara approached with an extended hand and a smile.
“I’m Chiara Bianchi. My secretary was impressed with you, Ms. Butrell.”
“Yes…I mean I’m glad you’re willing to consider me further.”
Grace hoped she sounded confident but felt her cheeks growing hot at the compliment. Or perhaps it was the open manner in which this stunning beauty of a woman was appraising her. She felt a magnetic pull from the dark brown eyes and suddenly realized that she had been holding the warm, slender hand longer than necessary.
“Well then, shall we go sit down and talk?”
“Of course.” Grace responded eagerly.
She followed Chiara down a long hallway accented by beautiful glass lamps fashioned after the old-style ones often seen on the streets of Savannah back in the day. Chiara had decided to take her to the huge conference room. It was more intimidating and she wanted to see how the girl reacted to it. Chiara pointed Grace to a chair while she merely rested a shapely haunch on the edge of the massive table. It would make Grace have to look up as they talked. Chiara made the girl endure some silence as she browsed down the resume Sheila had handed her. Finally she spoke.
“Grace, the position would be as my personal assistant and at times you might even be asked to act as co-counsel.”
“That sounds exciting. More than I’d hoped for really.”
“To be fair, I must tell you there are others already under consideration. Others with degrees from Harvard and Yale. Now, Grace, tell me why I should choose you over them?”
The imposing room and her beautiful inquisitor’s manner might have given pause to anyone but to Grace’s credit she didn’t falter.
“I think you should choose me because I’ll give you more.”
“More?” Chiara asked with a lifted eyebrow.
“More of anything required. A dedicated attitude will be more valuable to the position you are offering than a prestigious degree. And at the risk of sounding brash I personally don’t think those Ivy League schools have much on Ole Miss.”
The answer impressed Chiara enough to pull a smile from her.
“Fair enough. Fill me in on your background.”
Chiara was able to surmise in a short space of time that Grace was no Atlanta sophisticate. She was a country girl who had worked hard for a chance at something none of her family had managed to achieve. It sounded like the bright lights of the big city had been calling to her since she was a little girl.
As Grace went on, Chiara tried to listen intently but she was distracted by Grace’s good looks. Even though she tried to appear totally focused on the interview, her eyes kept going to the girl’s breasts and lingering there. She shifted her gaze to Grace’s face and tried to keep it there.
&nb
sp; An hour flew by before she was certain she’d gotten a sense of the young woman’s potential ability. Whether it was an unconscious habit or deliberately provocative, Grace kept licking her full pinkish lips as she paused over each of Chiara’s questions. It was seductively distracting. In fact so far the only thing that bothered Chiara about this girl was the fact that she was too damned attractive.
She asked Grace a final question. One that would be the deciding factor for hiring her.
“What,” she asked, “would you do if you had a client who came to you and admitted his guilt? Would you accept the case and try to win…or would your scruples interfere?”
Chiara was thinking of her part in the Shay affair as she asked it.
Grace smiled slowly and answered in a measured southern drawl, “Well, I suppose it would help me decide if there were contributing factors. But the truth is…I would probably take it regardless of the offense and see it as a challenge…I would want to see if I could win the case despite any qualms I might have.”
Chiara looked Grace over at length, noticing her well cared for pearl-like fingernails and her glowing cheeks.
She smiled and said, “I think I have enough information now. Thank you so much for coming in, Miss Butrell. You’ll hear from me.”
With that she personally ushered Grace to the elevator with a slight handshake and a non-committal smile.
Chiara liked Grace’s answers during the interview. Because she was young and naïve in many ways, Chiara felt she would be able to shape and school her. She’d sensed that Grace would accept offered advice. And, though she rationalized her way around the fact, Chiara had found Grace deeply attractive on a personal level. Perhaps because of all this, or in spite of it, Chiara had already decided to hire her before the elevator doors had closed.
Grace found herself on the street still wondering if she had succeeded. She had the feeling that it had gone well but all she had really gotten was “You’ll hear from me.”