All Eyes on Her

by Poonam Sharma

  She was getting more agitated by the second, and I wanted to let her know that I could relate. No woman could claim to be unaware of what it felt like to be made to feel as if she should be grateful for what she knew she deserved deep down.

  “I understand, Cassie. I do. I’ve never exactly fit in anywhere, either.”

  And it wasn’t just the corporate environment I was talking about, either. I was an Indian woman, assertive and outgoing, proud of my heritage but using my freedom, and refusing to be constrained socially or romantically to any one ethnicity. I didn’t need to justify myself to anyone, or wave a banner to prove who I was because it was as much a part of me as was my every breath.

  I continued, “No matter what, I’m different, and everyone sees that when I walk into a room. And just because I don’t go out of my way to act apologetic or particularly aware of the differences, not everybody likes me. I get that, but I have better things to do with my time than to dwell on it. And I believe that’s why Stefanie takes so much pleasure in making me look stupid by sending that video around. She needs to force the focus onto me in a way that she thinks will make me respond. But I just have to believe that my work speaks for itself, and that people will eventually get over it. It’s not like it was a sex video.”

  “I agree. I think she wants a rise out of you. But no offense. It’s not just about you. She’s one of those women who doesn’t like other women. Look, I know I’m a little louder than the rest of the women here. Fine, I like to have a good time. So what? She’s never said anything directly, but she just makes it seem like I’m…I don’t know…Like she thinks that I never could have been a lawyer, even if I tried. She makes me feel like I’m less than everyone else in this place. But there’s nothing I can say, because the bottom line is that she’s an attorney and I’m…not. And when people like you don’t even stand up to her, either—”

  “Okay, first of all, what you do for a living is not the bottom line by any means.” I walked over and put a hand on her shoulder as she focused on something in the distance outside my window. “But I get it. I hear you.”

  I understood better than anyone. And it was obvious that Stefanie had gotten what she wanted, whether or not she put much thought into it. So all that was left was for me to decide when and where I would strike. Because I was Mrs. Loeb this time around. And what I really needed was a can of bright green paint.

  Stefanie could beat her chest and try to undermine me all she wanted. But going after my troops was one step too far. This was war.

  A few hours later in my apartment, Cassie passed me the last of the quesadillas before heading off to the bathroom. We had spent the better part of the evening nibbling on Mexican takeout and sucking down the contents of a dusty old bottle of Coconut Tequila that Raj and I had left over from our trip to Puerto Vallarta. Cassie had made a game out of our mission. Each time we came up with a new variation of Stefanie’s name or critical details to plug into Google, one of us had to do a shot.

  “Private detectiving is fun,” Cassie hiccupped, before laying her face flat on the table in front of her.

  We had typed in every combination or iteration of terms that we could connect with that woman. We tried her full name, the state where she was born, her birthday, her law school and her year of graduation, along with all the potentially scandalous words we could imagine, from criminal record to cockfight to foot fetish. And we found nothing.

  “This can’t be possible,” I protested before squirting more hot sauce directly into my mouthful of chicken and rice. “How could she never have done anything stupid or embarrassing in her entire life? You would think that at least we could find some embarrassing photo of her dressed up like a hooker for a college Halloween Party. Seriously, anything…”

  Suddenly, Cassie sprang into action. She yanked my laptop over to her side of the table, licked the corner of her lip, hunkered down and started typing away.

  “Jackpot!” she said, and then tilted the screen toward me.

  And it was.

  Cross-referencing her first name and her year of college graduation with the word scandal was all it took. Because she didn’t go to UC Santa Barbara. As it turns out, our little miss sunshine went to a small New England college where she was at the heart of a million-dollar embezzlement scandal while chairing an alumni fundraising committee. The reason why we didn’t find it at first, besides the wrong school, was because we had been including her last name, Saratakos. Back then, however, Stefanie went by a different last name—her maiden name—Landry.

  “So she was married?” I thought out loud.

  Cassie just winked and poured us each a congratulatory shot.

  We dug around in the college newspaper and eventually found out that Stefanie was accused of embezzling by the school, but she was never formally charged due to a lack of evidence. The funds were never recovered, and Stefanie spent her senior year in a state of disgrace. Immediately after graduation, according to a local newspaper that chose to follow up on the story, Stefanie married the faculty advisor to the committee which had organized the fund-raising initiative. The couple left New England for parts unknown, and—we had to assume—decided to move out West.

  “And then she went to law school in Los Angeles,” I completed the story out loud. “Which is how she got the summer internship at Steel.”

  “So I guess that means she must be divorced,” Cassie added. “Because I’ve never seen a ring on her finger. But then wouldn’t she have gone back to Landry?”

  “Not necessarily. When you get married you don’t automatically change your name. You have to go through a process to obtain the legal change. And if you divorce, you also have to formally change it back. I guess she just never did.”

  “And why would she?” Cassie shook her head. “As long as she started practicing law under her married name, she would never have to answer questions about the scandal.”

  It was better than the jackpot. In fact, it was the silver bullet which we needed to finally take her down. Even though she had never been prosecuted. Even though it was so many years ago. A documented history of questionable morality, combined with a tendency to engage in inappropriate relationships with men in positions of power, was likely to get Stefanie fired at the very least on the grounds of omission. Even if Steel were uncharacteristically forgiving, and the news didn’t get her fired, these skeletons in Stefanie’s closet would definitely kill her chance of being promoted to senior associate.

  Cassie was ready to wallpaper the office with this information; to tape glossy, full-color flyers bearing the story to every attorney’s computer screen. But I knew that I had to be the one to pull the trigger: in one anonymous gesture I could defend myself, boost my career and annihilate my personal nemesis. I could do more than my part in the fight against all of the Stefanies and Vickys of the world. I could, in some sense, finally right those wrongs.

  fourteen

  THE ONLY REDEEMING QUALITY OF THE ENORMOUS ILL-FITTING Gucci sunglasses Raj once bought me was that they practically covered my entire face. Even looking like a bug on the drive to work was better than risking the sunlight’s contact with my precaffeine eyes after last night’s fun. One much-needed grande double-shot latte later, Niles stomped into my office.

  “Ready for your new client?” he yelled into my ear.

  Or at least it felt as if he was shouting in my ear, although he was technically still standing ten feet away. I must have accidentally swallowed the worm in that tequila.

  “Come in,” I said, rounding my jaw as a way of combating the echoes inside of my skull.

  “So, Gupta. Now that Camydia’s gone, we’re assigning you to the firm’s newest case. As is customary, I’m rotating the junior partner teams, so you won’t be working with Jonathan this time. You’ll be teaming up with Stefanie. Sound good?”

  On the inside, I swear I was laughing.

  Like most men, he took my lack of response as an indication of excitement. “Great! It’s not our typica
l case though. This is not a celebrity couple interested in mediation or an amicable parceling out of the assets. This is a celebrity screenwriter. And he’s retained our services on his own. He wants to ask his wife for a divorce, but beforehand, he wants us to help him understand where the divorce would leave him financially. I’ve spoken to this guy over the phone…and I gotta tell you…he’s just not cut out for this cutthroat Hollywood stuff. I feel kind of bad for the guy. Fine, the marriage is over, but he doesn’t have a bone in his body that would go for the jugular. Maybe I’m getting soft with age, but anyway, I thought an all-female team was the kindler, gentler way to go. Plus, the kicker is that he recently came into some new projects that will be very lucrative, so timing’s everything with this case. Can I turn you loose on it?”

  “Of course, Niles.” I rose to my feet, praying he would take the hint and leave me to scour my desk for an Advil. “And by the way, does he have a prenup I should be looking at before we meet?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I just tell you the guy’s not Hollywood?”

  Poor sap, I shook my head, as I watched Niles walk out of the room.

  If this guy worked in entertainment and hadn’t known better than to marry without a prenup, then either he was an idealist or a moron. Either way, he was as unlucky to have married the wrong woman as he was lucky to be coming to me to handle his divorce.

  As I was pulling one of my casebooks off the shelf a little while later, I caught a glimpse of Stefanie through my open doorway, walking swiftly across the office with a pile of law books cradled in her arms. Stefanie may have been jealous, manipulative and unfair, but she was also really working her butt off for this promotion. Which meant that neither one of us would risk looking petty by asking for a different partner.

  She was as serious about her career as I was, and the fact that she seemed to be willing to work with me on this case made that clear. As if there was ever any actual doubt—I now knew for sure that I could never really out her for her past. Besides the fact that I believed I could beat her out for the promotion fair and square, I knew I just wasn’t that sort of person. The moment I decided to tell Cassie, I noticed my headache instantly began to dissipate. I caught up to her at her desk and tried to prepare myself for how disappointed I knew she would be.

  “We have to talk about last night, Cassie.” I leaned into her cubicle and tried to explain. “I can’t do it. I can’t ruin someone’s career like this. Maybe it would be easier if I could, or maybe not. I don’t know.”

  She folded her arms, unconvinced.

  “Look, I was raised Hindu. And as nonreligious as I am, I still kind of believe in karma. That means if I do this to Stefanie, I’ll have to pay for it later. And even if I don’t pay for it later, it’s just not how I want to win. I’ve got to at least believe in myself enough to think that I can get this promotion by doing better work, anyway.”

  “Or maybe,” Cassie suggested in a whisper, “you’re so fundamentally Hindu deep down inside that you can convince yourself that her hatefulness will eventually come back to bite her in the ass with or without your having to get your hands dirty.”

  “Or maybe you and I should switch desks, since that spin-doctoring was so swift I think you’ve given me whiplash.” I smiled. “Well played.”

  “I thought so,” she said to pat herself on the back.

  “I know you’re disappointed, babe. And I’m sorry.”

  “I am. A little. But you’re right. I was actually thinking the same thing in that goddamned back of my mind. Or at least the angel and devil sitting on my shoulders were having a pretty heated debate. I guess in the end it’s also nice to know that we wouldn’t stoop to her level.”

  “I hate that about us.”

  “Me, too, Mon,” she decided, and then held up a finger while she answered her ringing phone. “Yes, send him up. That was security. It looks like your new client is here.”

  Already?

  I sped over to Niles’s assistant, grabbed his preliminary file and barely had time to flip it open before crashing into a potted plant on my way into the conference room. The client was kind enough to rush to my aid in gathering the folder and paperwork off of the floor. He was patient enough not to laugh at me while I stood the pot upright and brushed the bristly leftover leaves off of my skirt. And he was the last person I ever expected to see standing in Steel’s offices.

  “Monica,” Alex said, smiling. But he appeared equally surprised to see me. “How long has it been? Two years? Well, how the hell have you been?”

  Two years and seven months. And would you please excuse me while I find a nice quiet place to throw up?

  I decided to apply to law school three months after my father died, and one month after I had said goodbye to Alex.

  Just think about it, Renu Auntie had explained, sliding the USC application across our dinner table one night after we had put my mother to sleep. Deciding to apply is not the same thing as deciding to attend. But before you know it you will have passed your first year after college, only to remember that your life must continue. Your father would not want to see you falling behind in life.

  Studying for the LSAT turned out to be my one respite from my mother’s crippling depression in those first few months, which might explain why I scored so highly on the exam. Thanks to that score I managed to pay for law school through a combination of scholarships and loans, without burdening my mother or tapping into whatever little nest egg my father had left behind.

  And Renu Auntie was right. By the time my acceptance letter arrived the following spring, it was exactly the lifeline I was looking for. My mother took the news of my acceptance by announcing that she was moving back to London, since we had so much family there. I told myself it didn’t bother me at all. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be. Because without a father, law school came to represent the kind of stability that would guarantee I’d never again need to depend on anyone aside from myself.

  The work kept me busy enough, but law school was far from the romantic playground that a movie like Love Story would have you believe. I dated here and there, from an aspiring senator who seemed like he even slept in cuff links, to a fellow student from Amarillo, Texas, who came from “oil money,” edited our Law Review and then hightailed it off to Washington. I didn’t see Alex for the next three years, but I did get the occasional update about him through Joshua, since the two of them had become friends while we were still dating.

  He had bartended at various clubs around Hollywood and written three more scripts while honing his craft and repolishing Like You Mean It. By the spring of my last year in law school, I had almost managed to convince myself that I was completely over Alex. Until Josh made the mistake of mentioning that Alex had gotten so desperate to be discovered that he’d taken a job as a valet at The Peninsula Hotel. It wasn’t because he needed the money; he was hoping to pawn a script off on one of the many film executives who stayed there. I was as proud of him for committing so completely to his calling as I was sad that our lives had grown so very far apart. For months after I drove by the hotel whenever I was in the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, just to reassure myself that he was all right.

  Three months before law school graduation I signed the commitment letter to work with Steel. It was my dream job, and it came with more money than I would ever need to take care of myself, and more prestige than I knew how to handle. Although that young Texan was still technically in the picture I suddenly found that I couldn’t stop thinking about Alex. With every momentous event that passed, I realized what was missing; the right person to share it with.

  I started wondering if the right person had been Alex. So what if he was still bartending and pushing his scripts? So what if I was going to make more than three times as much as him? Weren’t we mature enough not to make it an issue? Wasn’t what we had in college worth trying to see if we could make it last?

  Of course, Sheila reminded me when I confided the night before my gra
duation that I was considering giving him a call, a lot of time had passed. Surely, he’d been through a lot in his life as a struggling screenwriter. Possibly, he would resent me for having abandoned him at the beginning.

  Right when I decided not to pursue it, Sheila and Joshua announced their engagement. This meant there would be a wedding. And this meant I would have to face Alex again. I decided it was a sign and that I had to take a leap of faith in his direction at their wedding. I bought a new red dress which I thought he would like, assuming his taste hadn’t changed. I spent an entire morning at the salon having my hair blown out the way he used to like it. And I scoured the back of my closet until I found the gold bracelet he had given me for our first anniversary.

  Imagine my surprise when I flipped on my television the week before their wedding to see Alex’s face smiling back at me. According to his interviewer, he had finally sold the screenplay for Like You Mean It to a major studio.

  For $500,000.

  And the glimpse I caught of him that morning while brushing my teeth was a far cry from the one I had expected to find outside The Peninsula Hotel a few short months before. He looked so happy, so relieved, so effusive and so justifiably flush with success, that I felt like a parent crashing the graduation ceremony of the child they gave up for adoption. How could I reach out to him now, after all this time? Why wouldn’t he assume that I only wanted him now that he was successful? Sure, I wanted to believe that he would’ve known me better than that, but given what we’d been through and the last thing I’d said to him, I couldn’t take that chance.

  I just can’t risk having him laugh in my face, I explained to Sheila at her bachelorette party. And I don’t want to do anything that might rain on his very well-deserved parade.

  Instead, I greeted him as warmly as I would any old friend when our paths crossed beside the guest book at the wedding….