“I’m game.” Sophia jumped on the bandwagon like a true Greek with a culturally defined colossal sweet tooth, notorious throughout the world.
“You are going to love their flourless chocolate cake with homemade vanilla bean ice cream.”
“All right. Let’s get those dessert menus.” Paul nodded at the waiter.
Sophia relaxed. She actually liked these people, especially their motivation born of indebtedness akin to hers.
Sophia studied the dessert menu. She coveted the almond-crusted lemon tart but went with Tricia’s recommended flourless chocolate cake and a double-shot cappuccino. The desserts were each $12 and the cappuccinos $8. Sophia tallied the price of this lunch and knew why Toak condemned the associates; they could have gotten by for half the tab.
Sophia’s family had always eaten well, and sometimes what she considered expensively, but this was outrageous. This was eating wealthy. Her conscience was at war between enjoying it and finding it utterly wasteful.
“Who’d you see this morning?” Paul asked when the desserts came.
“Frank Cummings, Judith Rubin, and Daniel Toak as you saw.” Sophia let a bite of the chocolate cake melt in her mouth. It was remarkable, but so would the lemon tart have been.
“Oh, God.” Paul shook his head. “They did that to you?”
“Bad. Badder. Bad as they come,” Tricia pronounced. “Frank’s a good protector if he likes your work. But if he doesn’t, you’re dead meat.”
“For sure,” Sean interrupted. “Shot dead.”
"You gotta watch those garages and guns," Adam snickered.
Tricia threw them a dirty look and the two went back to talking about football.
“Did you know the man who was killed?” Sophia asked Tricia.
“Not really, he was more senior.” Tricia dug into her cake.
“I did.” Paul forked his huge piece of cream-cheese-frosted carrot cake with a vengeance. “He was a nice guy.”
“A nice guy who Frank killed in more ways than one,” Tricia muttered.
It was Paul’s turn to give Tricia a dirty look warning her to back off.
She wanted to ask more but, of course, feigned obtuseness and took a bite of cake instead. For now, all she wanted was approval from her lunch companions and that job offer.
⌘
Chapter 7
Desserted and Deserted
As the waiter brought the check and the assistant cleared the dessert dishes, Sophia considered the four associates. She liked them. She knew she had found common ground and kindred spirits in each of these very different people. Each had also survived the three years of the hell called law school, endured the summer of 12-hour days studying for the bar exam, and had gotten on the student loan treadmill. They had clawed their way to Thorne & Chase, the top of the money heap. She knew the animal. She was the animal.
As they walked back to the office, Sophia wanted to know more about the partners with whom she had interviewed with, particularly Frank, who had been so intimidating.
“Do you work for Frank, Tricia?”
“Not anymore. I messed up twice. Minor both times. Well, my secretary once, but we’re all responsible for our secretaries’ stupidity. And me once. I should have gotten help from someone, even him. Big mistake.”
“I work on a couple of his cases,” Paul volunteered. “He can’t get rid of everyone.”
“We're going to the deli for a sundae,” Sean announced.
“Want to come?” Adam asked.
“Are you nuts?” Tricia was incredulous.
As the duo deserted them for yet another dessert, Sophia could hear the football craziness start up again. It was their escape.
“Speaking of nuts.” Paul looked at Sophia. “What did you think of Judith?”
“She seems . . . ambitious.”
“Oh, come on. You can do better than that. Let’s call a spade a spade. She’s evil.”
Sophia had to keep her mouth from dropping open at his candor.
“Did she play ‘let’s be friends’ with that warm and fuzzy woman-mentoring speech?” Tricia rolled her eyes and laughed.
“Yes.” Sophia laughed also.
Sophia was tempted to share the fight she overheard in Judith’s office. Then she thought better of it and instead asked about Toak, who was just as laughable to Sophia.
“And what’s up with Toak and his secretary?”
“Nothing that hasn’t been ‘up’ for years,” Tricia’s eyes twinkled.
“At least five,” Paul volunteered. “Doug Henry, who’s gone now, shared Marlene with Toak. Poor guy. She . . .”
“Shared only as a secretary, Paul,” Tricia clarified.
“Hey, this is a new recruit. Careful,” Paul turned a light shade of red. “Anyway, she refused to do his work and made him miss a court filing.”
“He was stonewalled,” Tricia simplified. “He spent his time running up and down to the pool.”
“The pool?” Sophia was intent on soaking up all the candid information she could.
“The word-processing pool.” Paul clarified.
“Sure.” Sophia had used Bode’s similar, but differently named, “Overflow Department” several times.
“Just pray you don’t need them,” Tricia answered. “They’re down in the bowels of the building adding hours to the associates’ days by ‘helping’ with documents. They never proof any of their input. They leave typos . . . and for that matter, ‘word-os’ and even ‘sentence-os’.” Sophia giggled as Tricia continued, “They come and go and don’t care about much. Look . . . just beware of that bitch Marlene.”
“We know the pitfalls,” Paul boasted. “If you come here, we will help.” He looked as if he wanted to add something else, but didn’t.
Sophia liked the lunch and her companions, especially Paul and Tricia. As the three walked back to the firm in the brisk fall air, she was even more ready to give up her life and her soul to be at Thorne & Chase. She realized she would have friends and comrades to help her survive. Then and there, she even committed herself to learning about football if she got the offer—she would even learn to like it.
⌘
Chapter 8
Afternoon Delight
After lunch, Sophia walked, talked, and interviewed through the maze of Thorne & Chase offices housing 210 attorneys. It was the final lap before the partner dinner at six o’clock. In this day and age, very few firms conducted full day interviews with both lunch and dinner, but Thorne & Chase held dearly to all their traditions. So far, Sophia liked that. And knew she could get used to the Edinburgh Grill.
She was now more confident she could learn the ins and outs of big law firm culture with the help of her new found friends. But first, she had to get invited into the viper pit.
In the early afternoon, as Sophia hurried with the coordinator down yet another walnut-paneled hall, she felt a wave of fatigue. The five cups of coffee during the morning, though admittedly partial, and the double-cappuccino from lunch had clearly worn off. She knew she would need to bolster herself again this afternoon with Thorne & Chase’s gourmet coffee—the firm’s drug of choice always plentiful in the break rooms. After all, it was better than the Styrofoam-cupped coffee she paid for in law school. Here, it was first class—and free.
* * *
When Sophia entered the office of managing partner Dante Septer, she froze.
She was not awed by the office, even though it was as big as her parents’ living room, but by his enormous mass of human flesh. She flashed on “Jabba the Hutt,” but fought the visual image because she needed more than an “okay” from this behemoth of a man. He not only was on the Management Committee but also had a big book of business. That equaled big power in big law firm culture.
Dante walked to the door to greet Sophia with a surprisingly light gait. He had a massive but gentle handshake.
“Hello. Hello. Dante Septer. Welcome. Call me Dante. Have a seat.” A broad smile pushed across his ballooned fac
e. “I heard you went to The Edinburgh Grill for lunch. What did you have?”
Dante breathed audibly as he went back to his desk.
Sophia was happy to talk about food. “I had the salmon with capers and that wonderful flourless chocolate cake.”
“Superb choices.” Dante leaned on his desk and squeezed his large girth laboriously into an oversized leather chair. “But I personally want to recommend the Cobb salad. It was invented at the Brown Derby for the owner in the 30s. The Edinburgh Grill is famous for it. A bed of chopped iceberg and Romaine lettuce, watercress and endive, topped with tomato, crisp bacon, broiled chicken breast, hard-boiled egg, avocado, chives, and Roquefort cheese. Then laced with red wine vinaigrette. Try it. You’ll love it.”
Dante paused to catch his breath from his exertion of talking and sitting at the same time.
“I will. It sounds wonderful. I’ve had Cobb salad, but I know it wasn’t as delicious as that sounds.” Sophia filled the moment with words because, although it may not have been awkward to Dante, it was awkward to her. “What else do you recommend?”
Dante had her resume on his desk in front of him, but never discussed it during the entire interview. As in the rules of evidence, Sophia’s resume spoke for itself and was the best evidence of her abilities and qualifications. As she slowly realized that Dante’s reverie about food was her interview, Sophia actually started to enjoy herself, but also kept his client list and litigation victories in mind. While she was unfamiliar with the haute cuisine of The Edinburgh Grill, she could always join in knowledgeable repartee with a real food lover. After all, she had grown up with Greeks, the most enthusiastic eaters in the world.
“What else? Well, not any of the Greek specials. Every once in a while they attempt moussaka and lamb stifado. It’s terrible.” Dante chuckled. “They cook Greek like American short-order cooks. With a name like Christopoulos, you know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
Sophia was delighted to play the “Greek” card during this interview. Dante was jovial and congenial, but she sensed a deep survival instinct in his practiced casualness. It dictated Dante’s every move and every word. Sophia liked him. Or, what he revealed to her of himself. She found herself forgetting his enormous bulk.
“I order in from the Grill at noon often. It’s unequivocally superb, although occasionally I pick something that offends my palate. It’s my main meal since my wife died.”
“I’m sorry. When did she pass?”
“Maybe a hundred pounds ago.” Dante chuckled.
Sophia let out a snort of laughter before she caught herself. She tried to cover her possible blunder with a polite smile.
Dante seemed momentarily distracted by sadness, but not offended. He changed the subject.
“Tomorrow I take the pivotal deposition of the plaintiff in my most active case. If I don’t catch him in enough admissions to set up a summary judgment, it’ll probably have to go to trial. That would be expensive for my client and tiresome for me after so many years in the saddle.”
“What kind of case is it?”
“It’s hush-hush. Let’s just say it involves sex, slavery, defense industry secrets, designer blue jeans, and goldfish.”
Sophia laughed comfortably.
Dante smiled slyly and milked his audience of one even more. “I’m pretty sure the plaintiff doesn’t know about the significance of the goldfish. I relish the look on his face when I ask that series of questions.”
“I’ll ask no more, even though I am deathly curious.” Sophia surmised this was either a very strange case or Dante had an even more unusual sense of humor than she thought. “Attorney-client privilege commands us.”
“Smart girl.” Dante nodded his head, tripling his double chin rhythmically, and then lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I work hard to trick these bastards into admissions against their interests because I really don’t find the seats in the courtroom comfortable anymore. I’ve made my career on summary judgment motions, my strong suit. There’s always some document . . . or, even better, their own big mouth . . . that screws them.”
“Really?” Sophia marveled at a tactic born of uncomfortable courtroom chairs.
“Frank wishes he had my gift. He’s been to trial too many times, but he doesn’t have my motivation. Trials are hard. They make you thin.”
Dante laughed loudly, his body shaking in seismic waves.
“I didn’t realize how important trials were for your waistline,” Sophia unabashedly joined in the laughter and joking.
“I like a sense of humor.”
“And you must be good at the motions for summary adjudication of issues as well,” Sophia added the comment strategically, wanting to demonstrate her legal knowledge.
“I see why Frank likes you. Let me give you some advice. If you come here, find a specialty, and then develop a reputation in it. It doesn’t matter what.”
“Thank you.” Sophia knew she had made an ally. “I will.”
Dante took loud deep breaths as he lectured her about the fine points of deposition strategy. Sophia learned more about litigation tactics in the course of the interview than she had in three years of law school.
They were interrupted by Frank, striding in unannounced and dropping a large file on the edge of Dante’s desk.
Frank looked at Sophia. “Don’t let this one’s polite demeanor kid you, Dante. She wants your job and mine, and is ready to work for it.”
“Good. We’ve axed many an Ivy Leaguer who rested on their laurels and degrees. Arrogance is ignorance. Neither the law nor our clients care for the distinction between days and nights or weekdays and weekends.”
“The law is a jealous mistress,” Frank agreed.
“Yes it is, and University of Michigan grads never fail us. That public school turns out hungry little bulldogs.” Dante turned to Sophia. “My alma mater. I was a little, or at least a littler, bulldog then.”
Frank walked to the door and paused.
“Remember that fancy princess from Columbia who flounced in after we hired her and said she didn’t expect to work nights or weekends and I told her she wouldn’t, she’d work nights and weekends?”
Dante chuckled. “Yes. Lucky for us she got married and quit.”
Frank left. Sophia looked at Dante’s jovial face and congenial demeanor. It belied the harsh business analysis these two men had just verbalized. Their reality was that every decision they made was aimed at bottom line profits, their pockets, and winning, no matter what the human costs were.
Sophia left Dante’s office convinced that she could match her deep-seated survival instinct, in all its ugliness and complexity, against Thorne & Chase—and win. She had the brains to mask her greed with the intellectual façade they maintained—the façade that they did what they did because it was good for their clients. After all, the canons of ethics required representing your clients to the best of your ability. And, if you happened to profit personally as a result, indeed profit greatly, well that was simply a bonus.
Sophia also believed she had the emotional discipline to be circumspect like Judith, a limitless ability to focus and work, and the calculated ability to please. After all, she had been raised as a Greek female and that was their lot in life—to please.
⌘
Chapter 9
The Salt Mines
After Dante, the coordinator deposited Sophia in a small office on a lower floor, seated across from a young male associate. The associate did not greet her or look up from his PC.
“I’ll be a minute.”
His fingers banged furiously and loudly on his keyboard. Finally, he glanced over.
“Hello. James Tang.”
There was no handshake and no smile.
“Hello. Sophia Christopoulos.”
James was a very harried and handsome Chinese American.
“Just a minute.” His eyes darted back to his computer screen; he punched in a one-key edit, scrolled down, and typed a se
ntence.
Sophia saw a bead of sweat roll down James’s temple and his fingers trembling as they paused above the keyboard. She knew all James wanted was to get her out of his office and leave him to his document.
James swiveled around and gave his attention to her.
“Sorry. Eight pretrial motions in limine due today. They need to be filed with the court,” James said to Sophia and then added venomously: “Judith forgot about them.”
“Judith Rubin?”
“Yes.” James tried to check his venom but failed. “It’s just that she dumped them on me last night when I was leaving for my daughter’s piano recital. I’m not even on this case.”
“How could you know the case well enough to do them?”
“I pulled an all-nighter.”
“That’s tough.”
“And I know she’s going to write my hours off,” James mumbled. “I’ll just not bill them and eat them.”
“What?”
“Nothing. They tell you to record all your time, and then the partner writes most of it off. But write-offs don’t look that good for them, so I guess I won’t record the time. I don’t want to take my chances with Judith, everyone knows her tricks.”
“Ah.” Sophia was sympathetic to this agitated young man but chalked up his dilemma to his own inefficiency. She believed she was better and faster than him. “Are you going to get them filed on time?”
“Only because of electronic filing, otherwise I would have to have had them done and in a messenger’s hands by now.”
James glanced at his computer screen but dutifully turned his attention back to Sophia. “I have to.”
“Look, I’ll let you work. I have to freshen up anyway.” She stood to let James off the proverbial interview hook.
“Are you sure?” A wave of relief showed on James’ face. “Thank you.”
“Good luck.”
James turned back to his document without another word.
Lethal Lawyers Page 4