“I’ll be done in a second, buddy,” I snarled without turning around. I was in no mood to be touched. “You’ll get your wheatgrass soon enough.”
Leaning forward into the counter for a better look, I sighed. They always forget the blueberries.
“Joey?” said the voice from behind me. I turned around and flushed red as the man curled me in for a hug. “I knew it was you. Patience was never your best attribute.”
Professor Blake Hart, in the flesh. He had been the greatest love of my life — before Yan, of course. Who was I kidding? Blake had been the only love of my life to date. He had also been my Estates and Trusts mentor at Stanford Law. He was 6’2” and brawny, wearing a rumpled Rolling Stones tee and perfectly worn-in jeans. His tousled, ocean-crimped brown hair was betrayed by new streaks of silver. I could’ve jumped in bed with him right then.
“My goodness, Joey, you … look like shit,” he remarked frankly, scanning my face. He’d never been one for niceties, though he was still his same smouldering self.
“Thanks, Professor,” I replied dryly. “And it’s Joely.”
“Joey, cut the crap. Don’t give me that Professor bullshit.”
“Um, miss, do you still want your drink?” The cashier barked at me, masticating her gum like a cow. She was trying to herd me out of the line so that the next throng of customers could place their orders.
The cashier looked up at Blake bashfully. “Anything for you, sir?”
“No, thank you, young lady,” Blake replied in his deep timbre. Smiling genuinely at the cashier, he brought a hand to my lower back and said, “I will share with this lovely woman.” Deftly plucking two straws from the dispenser, Blake used the hand on my back to guide us to a couple of empty beanbag chairs in the store’s back corner.
Blake slid a green shag beanbag so that it brushed against my own magenta seat. His pungent Italian cologne took me back to our balmy nights in Napa.
My god, he looks good, I thought to myself as I sank into the beanbag miserably. Blake reached over to rest his hand in the tender middle of my thigh, eyes still sweeping my face.
“Joey, you look crushed. The last time I saw you this way was in Napa,” he said with — what was that? — a touch of guilt, maybe.
“Seriously, Blake?” I half-heartedly attempted to brush his hand from my thigh. I had to admit that it felt good to be touched, even if it was by him. “You want to dredge up memories of our disastrous holiday? I was expecting a ring, Blake, and I got your wife instead. A detail you failed to mention.” Each word strained against my clenched jaw.
“I don’t have time to be dragged down memory lane. I have to fix my love life,” I added, attempting a tone of assertion.
“I can help,” he said, barely pausing for a beat. “So you’re unattached then?”
I shot him a threatening look.
“What are you doing in New York anyway? What about your wife in California?” I asked, moving from an attempt at self-restraint to outright resentment.
Blake sighed. “I know, I was an asshole, and I’ve already told you how sorry I am.”
He glanced back at the cashier, now growling instructions at a frightened-looking minion, before turning to me with a wistful gaze.
“I was blown away, Joey, that a beautiful, young, brilliant woman like you could ever love me. And at the time, my marriage was falling apart.”
I sipped loudly from my straw, trying to look disinterested. Blake, however, had leaned so far in his own beanbag chair that he was halfway into mine.
“I left her, you know. We’re divorced now,” Blake said in a hoarse whisper, looking at me earnestly. I let the silence swell uncomfortably, forcing him to change the subject.
He had been on sabbatical since the fall, he said. My favourite professor had been Kerouacing his way across the country in a ‘67 Mustang.
Of course, I thought, irritated at my visceral attraction.
“It’s been eight years since Napa, Blake. And now you make a pit stop in Manhattan on your testosterone-fuelled, fifty-state fantasy tour to tell me you got a divorce.” I looked at him and gave an exasperated, heaving sigh. “What do you want me to say?”
“It’s no fluke that I’m here, Joey. I came looking for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I had to see you.” One last stare down before he shifted gears.
“We’ll leave the past to rest, then. What’s bothering you? Let me help. I owe you that much.”
I sighed, glad for the opportunity to vent, though not thrilled at my audience.
“Was I stupid to think that eight years of hundred-hour weeks at an NYC law firm would amount to something? I have an impeccable trial record, Blake, and I know I’d make a good partner. Turns out I’m just a Jewish woman ticking off diversity quotas in their boys’ club,” I rambled.
I looked to see if Blake had joined my pity party. Nope.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I huffed. “I effectively torpedoed any shot at making partner with my temper tantrum today. I am done there and I cannot go back,” I said pointedly.
“What did you do?” he asked, knowing my temper.
“Career hara-kiri.”
Staring blankly over Blake’s shoulder, I recounted my afternoon.
I’d been reading the latest New York estates court decisions online when my computer dinged suddenly with a new email from Skeet Meinsdorf, one of the firm’s founding partners.
Joely, please come to my office at 4 p.m. today for a meeting with the partners. Yours.
I checked my watch. 3:58. Even at a sprint, I wouldn’t make it from the 47th floor to Skeet’s 59th floor corner office. Nonetheless, I charged up the stairs.
I heard the whispers of Skeet’s secretary and law clerks as I walked toward the massive oak doors of his office. If they liked you, the clerks could be a young associate’s best allies — they heard the firm’s news and gossip before anyone else.
I wasn’t their type. Since they couldn’t sleep with me to climb the ranks, I was a ghost to them — unless, of course, I was the source of gossip. Among these women, coups, launched to remove a partner’s existing wife, were commonplace.
“Good luck!” Skeet’s first clerk flashed a smile doused in sarcasm.
I didn’t slow for their taunting, striding through the rows of desks before knocking gingerly on Skeet’s office door. At least I had my dignity.
“Come in,” Skeet bellowed from behind the door.
I stepped in to find Skeet, John McLeish and several other partners scattered across his leather office furniture. All graying hair and blue eyes, they could have walked off the Mayflower yesterday.
“Thank you for the invitation,” I said, every word stiff with anxiety. “I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for today. I meant no disrespect to our clients. I only wanted to present a holistic appraisal of the case—”
John cut me off with a shush. “We’re not here to lambaste you. Your performance today actually asserted several of your abilities, Joely,” he said.
“My abilities?” I tried to stop from gaping.
“Yes, dear. Chip told us that, without your diligence in researching the case, he would not have been able to take the win. Clearly, Joely, you are the good woman behind Chip’s greatness,” said Skeet, beaming.
I had yet to sit down. Skeet, realizing this, used a hand on the small of my back to guide me to a club chair.
“Please sit, Joely,” he said, sauntering over to his mini-bar. “May I offer you a drink?”
“Yes, thanks,” I said, observing the room. Each partner sat cradling a snifter of scotch or brandy. “I’d love a—”
“Sorry, I’m late!” Chip barged into the meeting, barely looking up from his iPhone to slap each partner on the back. Chip scooped up the glass of scotch Skeet had been preparing and gulped it down in one shot before looking back to his phone. So much for Skeet offering me a soothing beverage, I thought to myself. I was clearly the female fish out of water.
“C
hip, we were just discussing your partnership with Joely, and how well you two have worked together” John said, topping up his glass. The words perked Chip’s attention.
“That’s great to hear. She’s a gem,” Chip said, looking up at me with a wink, sliding the iPhone into the interior pocket of his jacket.
I struggled to hide my shock. Had Chip come through for me?
Chip beamed. “It will be great to having her alongside me. Thank you again, gentlemen, for this tremendous partnership.”
Partnership. Had I heard him clearly? We’re both partners? If I hadn’t been trying so consciously to maintain composure, I might have burst out with an unwelcome display of female emotion. Chip hadn’t come close to earning a place in the partner’s circle, I thought to myself. But that didn’t matter much in the face of my own promotion.
I shot up to shake the hand of each partner. “Thank you so much for this opportunity. I won’t disappoint you,” I said, now making my way to the centre of the room. “I’ve dreamt of being a partner at this firm. Thank you—”
“Hold still there,” John said, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve misunderstood. Chip has been made a partner. You will be supporting him in this role.”
“I’m sorry?” I laughed nervously, eyes darting around the room. “You just said that Chip and I would be partners.” I looked at Chip. “You just thanked John for this partnership.”
“Ah. Yes. Well …” Chip stammered uncomfortably.
I squared off, taking the stance of a cross-examination. “You all used the word ‘partnership.’ John said ‘the virtues of partnership.’”
“Chip thanked us for his partnership. For being made partner,” John explained, rising to usher me back to a club chair. “Your assistance to Chip — as his junior — will be vital to the firm.”
“No!” I shrieked indignantly. “Chip, you did not just sandbag me again!” I cried, abandoning decorum entirely.
Chip waved his hands in a frantic attempt to silence me. “Joels,” he tried to sound reasonable, “I can see that you’re emotional. Maybe you don’t realize—”
“Emotional?!” I cried loudly. “You said you would tell them that your great record is only because of me.” I glared around the room. “I started at this firm four years before Chip, put in triple the hours and now you want me to be content as his junior?”
The partners sat in stunned silence.
“But I did tell them,” Chip said, looking to the partners for support. They were all staring elsewhere, desperately avoiding eye contact. “I told them that I couldn’t have won without you. They were ready to let you go, Joely, but I told them what you did to help me. I saved your ass,” he hissed.
I felt tears welling behind my eyes and knew it was time to leave. I smoothed my skirt and put my hand out to shake Chip’s.
“Congratulations on your partnership. I have no doubt that you’ll be in good company here.” Without uttering a single word to the senior partners, I strode out of Skeet’s office, past the steno pool of gawking wives-to-be, toward the elevators to escape.
Blake let out a low whistle as I trailed off. “I always told you New York is for sharks. You, my dear, are a kitten. But not without claws. This is a blip,” Blake said, sounding genuinely supportive. “Your future is still promising.”
“Who would possibly take me now?” I shot back, still fuming and flailing angrily against the beanbag chair quicksand. “It’s not like I can ask for a reference. There is some small consolation, though: without me there, Chip will be exposed for the fraud that he is. If he does any legal research at all, it comes from Wikipedia.”
Blake got up and paced our tiny corner of Mali Juice. The wheels were turning.
“Maybe, but you don’t need them anyway. You’re licensed to practice in both New York and California, Joey. Play to your strengths. Why not start your own firm at home in LA?” Blake tossed the idea casually.
“Start my own firm?” I asked, incredulous. “In LA, no less. The land of celluloid dreams and has-beens, isn’t that what you used to call it?”
“Joey, you already have a built-in network of connections because of your family. That’s potential for one wealthy and famous client list. You have eight years of experience in Estates and Trusts law under your belt, and you know California’s community property laws inside and out. It’s a tough niche to crack, but a lucrative one too,” Blake said, growing excited.
“I think you’re overstating Mom’s clout a little,” I said, mulling over Blake’s half-cocked idea.
“Maybe. But how many of your child-of-Hollywood friends are Stanford-educated lawyers?”
Some of what Blake said made sense, but the thought of going home, tail between my legs, made me want to dive into a bottle of Ativan. “I appreciate your advice, Blake, but I’ve just been dumped. The idea of going back to California, moving back in with my parents, and trying to start a firm of my own …” I glanced away, trying to play the situation through. “I couldn’t.”
Blake sat back down in the beanbag, bringing his face a few inches from mine.
“I saved the best for last.” A sly smile spread across his face. “I accepted a position at UCLA Law. I just bought a fantastic place in the Palisades,” Blake said, giddy. “It’s perfect, Joey. I can help you start your firm.” He looked to his lap and then up at me, grinning. “And, if you want, you could live with me.”
I groaned, falling back into the beanbag. “That’s how you sweeten the deal? Look, Blake, I have enough to deal with right now, and I refuse to think about us ever again.”
I flopped side to side in the beanbag chair, struggling to get to my feet. Blake sprang nimbly out of his in one fluid motion, charging after me.
“Listen, Joey. It took me eight years to find the courage to … face this. To do right by us. I won’t just walk away. Have dinner with me,” he pleaded.
“No,” I said flatly, continuing to walk.
“At least take my number so you can call me if you need anything,” Blake said, grabbing my arm and slipping the card in my hand. “I’m in New York until the end of the week.”
I stopped. “I thought you said you were here to look for me. You thought one week would be enough to track me down and bring me back with you?”
“I didn’t think it would take more than a week to find you, and I knew getting you back shouldn’t take more than a few days,” Blake said, winking just to irritate me.
“Five years and a countrywide road trip behind you, and you’re the same person I knew in Napa” I said, anticipating a lengthy session with my therapist next week. “Thanks for the advice and support, but I think I’ll survive without you.”
I walked out, leaving Blake standing pathetically in front of a poorly painted mural. It was meant to depict a Malibu sunset, I think, but the colours had bled together to form vomit-coloured streaks.
CHAPTER 3
End of an Era
After several days of self-pity and seclusion in my barren apartment, I was brought back to life by the incessant buzzing from my iPhone. I groaned and swatted at it. I had missed thirty-one messages from Mom, Coco, the office, Blake and my friend Ethan. It was time to emerge, I thought, trying to feel hopeful. I needed to fix my life.
To do that, I had to face a few simple realities: I knew that I still wanted to practice law. This meant that I would have to return to the offices of Mavis, McLeish, Meinsdorf and Mooring LLP to gather my belongings. I wouldn’t turn down a severance package if they offered it. The bigger obstacle in my path would be how to spin doctor my little diatribe when word of it spread like locusts through Wall Street.
After showering and getting dressed, I walked the twenty blocks to my office, taking a deep breath before boarding the elevator. None of the partners would be here on a Sunday during Hamptons season. Approaching my desk, I could hear muffled voices and papers skittering frantically. I froze before remembering Jorge and Anita, the night-time janitors with whom I’d bonded over late-night
pizza parties. It would be nice to say goodbye. Instead, I found Chip, who looked up at me with stupid, open-mouthed surprise.
“Joely!” he said, masking his initial shock and coming from behind the desk to hug me.
Pulling from Chip’s strangling embrace, I scanned my formerly pristine office to see files and papers strewn across every surface. It looked as though a hurricane had passed through.
“What the fuck happened in here?” I asked, still taking in the damage.
“After we couldn’t reach you by iPhone, we were trying to find something that would point us to where you were,” I heard Skeet say from behind me. I turned to find that he and John had joined us.
“There is a staff emergency contact list,” I said, impatient.
Chip straightened up, towering over me.
“Listen, Joely. When you left here so, um, abruptly, you failed to return the Chalmers file to me. As such, for the past several days, I have not been able to properly provide competent counsel to the clients,” Chip said, nodding at John and Skeet to emphasize his point. He sounds like a petulant child, I thought, my eyes falling on the Chalmers case notes peeking out of an attaché sitting on the ground. I stepped in front of the folder gingerly. Chip wasn’t getting a word of my research.
“You’re on thin ice, Ms. Zeller,” Skeet said. So much for Skeet’s feigned concern.
“What about Chip’s office? The file room?” I asked, suppressing a smirk.
“We need the file, Joely, and we know that you know where it is,” John said accusatorily. “Where is it?”
“I last saw it in Chip’s hand after our meeting with the Chalmers crew,” I said dismissively. I didn’t care. “Now I’ll just clean up this mess and be on my way.”
“No,” Skeet said, stepping in my path. “You’ll be escorting us to Chip’s office to find this file.”
“Look, Chip had it and if he can’t find it, that really isn’t my problem.”
Chip chimed in. “You’ve made your point, Joely,” he said. “Now give me the file.”
I walked briskly down the hallway, guessing that Chip had returned the original file to his cabinet and — as usual — couldn’t find the key. I turned around to face Skeet, John and Chip, who had been trailing me pathetically.
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