Supersonic

by Anouschka Zagorski

  “Good. It’s not all in the virtual file yet - I’m just working on the new mandate letter for instance, and the issues list has to be amended following our discussions in yesterday’s meeting.”

  “I would like a copy of your notes from yesterday so that I can consider potential changes to the security documents.” David crossed his arms.

  I looked at him in surprise. “Sure. Although at this stage we are still far away from thinking about the security documents. It’s just that a lot depends on the new ownership structure which is being double-checked by Tax as we speak - there may be more changes.”

  “Maybe you can speak to Magnus and see where they are on this,” Frank suggested to David.

  “Good idea, Frank! I’ll go and do that now. See you later - and Chloé, don’t forget the copies!” He left my office.

  Frank grinned again and sat down on the visitor’s chair. He crossed his legs. “So, how’s it going?”

  “Very well, thank you. I think I have acquainted myself with real estate finance and my colleagues are really nice here.” I meant it. Tracey was not my colleague - she was my boss, and that was only to be temporary. Frank knew where I had worked before and I assumed he knew that I had been hired eventually to replace Tracey. I therefore behaved towards him as if we were on a level playing field - except for the fact that he was younger than me.

  “Well then everything’s alright.” Pause. “Michael Stone says you’re getting a divorce.”

  “That is correct. The hearing is soon.”

  “I also separated from my wife at the beginning of this year.”

  I looked at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Separations are awful.”

  He dismissed this with a gesture. “Nah, my marriage was pure stress. My wife always complained about me working too much and when she knew I was going to be made partner all she wanted was more spending money.”

  I was not surprised. That was the typical scenario. The only untypical aspect was that the separation actually happened.

  “Any kids?”

  “Yes, two teenage boys and a little girl.” For a moment his smile became softer, then disappeared completely. “But I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

  “Why? Don’t they live in Frankfurt?”

  “Yes they do but my wife has managed to set the boys against me - they don’t want to see me. The little one follows whatever her big brothers do.”

  “That’s terrible! But you do have a right to see your children!”

  “Right, but I don’t want to force them.” He shrugged. “Anyway I’m here most of the time and don’t really have time for anything else.”

  I was not going to comment on that. I smiled with empathy, but I didn’t really feel sorry for him. A career as a partner did not, by itself, destroy a marriage.

  Frank stood up. “Was nice talking to you. Maybe we can have a drink together some time.”

  In your dreams. “Yes, sure. There’s the department drinks of course tomorrow - are you coming to that?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have meetings all day so I may not be able to make it, and work comes first, right?” He grinned.

  “Of course - always!”

  I was relieved when he left my office. He seemed alright enough but I really was not interested in personal conversations. On the other hand, if I wanted to make partner, I had to get on with my partners to ensure I had the support and votes. I just had to ensure that my friendliness could not be misunderstood.

  My phone rang. David Byrd.

  “Hi. I just wanted to let you know that you need to make some amendments to the credit agreement - I will send you a mark-up, and then you should circulate a summary of the outcome of yesterday’s negotiations. Today.”

  I was slightly irritated. Since when did this geek think he could tell me what to do?

  “Ah, David. Thank you for your suggestions. That sounds good. Do by all means send me what you have.”

  “Have you drafted a documents list and a CP list?”

  “My trainee does that.”

  “I see, fine. If not, I’ve got Matthew who could do that.”

  “Matthew?”

  “My junior associate.”

  “So, you already have a junior associate?” I quipped.

  “Well, I am very busy and require support,” he replied somewhat indignantly.

  I see, the young man thinks he’ll be made partner by behaving as if he already was one. Whatever, it wasn’t my problem. I would hardly allow him to tell me what to do. I didn’t like it but I had to put him into his place, as amicably as possible.

  “I totally understand that. At Solomons I had five associates and it never seemed enough. But it is very good that you already know how to delegate - not many people do.”

  I could feel through the phone how his chest swelled with pride.

  “Yes, exactly, I knew you would understand me since you know what it’s like. So, I’ll tell Matthew to talk to your trainee.”

  “Super. Thank you.”

  “With pleasure, any time.” We hung up.

  There. That was done.

  Or so I thought.

  * * *

  I realised when the day of my appraisal arrived that I had been so naïve as to underestimate David. It all started rather informally. I got an email from Tracey letting me know briefly that she and Michael would give me an interim appraisal that coming Thursday at 2 p.m. since my calendar showed no entry. Damn. I did have plans, I just hadn’t entered anything in my outlook calendar - a long overdue 1 p.m. manicure appointment. If all went well, I would manage to be back just in time. Of course I confirmed the appraisal appointment with Tracey.

  I thought about what I would have to expect. I had never had a formal appraisal before - at Howard Hewitt there had only been that one short meeting where I was told I had been selected for the partnership track. The partner reviews at Solomons had been more like a tea party, although there hadn’t been anything to be criticised anyway. I had always been a good hard-working girl, but now I could not help but feel that an appraisal given by Tracey would not be a piece of cake.

  Tracey, Michael and I met up in one of the smaller conference rooms. Tracey and Michael sat next to each other, facing me. Michael seemed uninterested while Tracey was shuffling with her papers.

  “So, Chloé,” she started. “We thought that it might be useful to have an interim appraisal at this stage to see where you are and how you are doing.” She raised her upper lip and bared her teeth.

  I remained silent and waited.

  She inhaled. “I must say, when you first started I wasn’t sure you really wanted the job.”

  I was aghast. From where did she get that idea? I got the answer straightaway.

  “When I asked you to work at the weekend, you didn’t seem committed but instead told me you needed to look after your - children!” Her voice became nasal and more high-pitched at the end of the sentence.

  “Well, you asked me on a Friday afternoon and I just was not able to organise childcare for the weekend at such short notice that day.” I remained very calm. She could not possibly be serious.

  “As I said then, I find I manage to do that in such situations. I just did not feel your commitment.”

  “I did send you the document on Saturday evening as you requested.”

  “Did you? I don’t remember.” She frowned impatiently and rummaged in her notes, then looked up again. “Well, anyway, it does not matter. I’ve made my point.”

  “I don’t think you can say about Chloé that she does not work enough. Her figures are above the average of those of the entire banking team. She even cut her holiday short,” Michael interjected dryly.

  “Yes, yes, the figures are quite good,” Tracey dismissed him. “Now let’s see - what else
do I have. Ah yes, your email style - your sentences are too long.”

  Now I was rather amused. “OK, I will make a note of that.” I made a note on my pad: sentences too long.

  “You seem to get on well with everybody. But David Byrd complained that you do not show enough initiative.”

  “Is that so? In what way, may I ask?”

  “He says he always has to tell you what to do.”

  I looked at my pad and wrote this down: more initiative. I did not know whether to laugh or whether to scream with frustration. Pull yourself together, Chloé. Count to three. I looked up again. “I see. I will have a chat with him.”

  “I cannot comment on this but clearly team work is very important,” Michael said.

  I looked at him steadily. “You are absolutely right, Michael.”

  “So. There does not seem to be much else, is there, Tracey?” Michael asked impatiently.

  Tracey’s neck started to get blotchy. She pressed her lips together.

  “Then we should talk about what’s next,” he invited her.

  “Well, yes, alright.” She looked at me again. “Michael thinks we should get you into the counsel round for next May. I personally don’t think that’s really necessary - people know that you are senior and they are happy to deal with you on the basis that you are an associate. In London, these titles do not matter.”

  “We have to arrange the counsel promotion - it’s important for Chloé’s progress and the least we can offer her after one year with the firm.”

  I was confused. I did not need a counsel promotion if I was going to be Tracey’s successor. I turned to Michael. “Is that a necessary step towards partnership?”

  “Nah, but we cannot offer you partnership for May - we can’t have the two of you as partners. That means until Tracey returns to London you can only become counsel. By the way, Tracey, when are you going back to London?”

  “I don’t think that’s a topic for this meeting,” Tracey responded sweetly. “So, as I said, I don’t think it’s necessary, but if Michael insists, of course I will support it.” She looked at me sharply. “There will be no raise, though. Your salary is already way above any standard levels.”

  I said nothing. I just continued to look at her calmly while the red blotches on her neck became bigger. Michael shrugged and mumbled something inaudibly. After a short general silence he stood up resolutely. “So, it’s all agreed then - if there is nothing else, I’ve got a conference call to attend.”

  “You both go ahead, I have to check this email.” Tracey was busy with her blackberry.

  I stood up as well and took my notepad. “Thanks, Tracey. See you later.”

  On the way back to my office I reflected on this absurd conversation. I was annoyed with David Byrd. On the other hand, I wasn’t that surprised either. Then it occurred to me that Tracey had not managed to persuade Michael to forget about my counsel promotion. That was a small victory. The question remained what price I would have to pay for it.

  8. Freedom

  A cutting voice called after me. “Uhm, Chloé? May I ask where you are going? We have a conference call at one.”

  I turned around. Tracey looked at me through her narrow glasses, raising her eyebrows. “Well?”

  I slowly approached her. “I have a court hearing,” I said with a low voice.

  Her eyebrows now nearly reached her hairline. “I didn’t know we do litigation.”

  “Actually, it’s my divorce hearing,” I explained reluctantly.

  I thought I could see something akin to malicious joy in her eyes. “Oh I see. How dreadful.” She attempted a commiserative smile.

  “Well, it’s not pleasant. Please excuse me. I must go.”

  “I assume you have prepared everything for the call.”

  “Of course. Don’t worry, I should be back for the call. And I’ll make up for the time.” I gave her a little smile, turned on my heel and walked toward the exit, her eyes burning in my back.

  I took the lift into the underground garage where my car was parked. Inside the car, my heart suddenly started racing and I felt sick. I leaned my head against the stirring wheel. Divorce. Finally. On the other hand, it was the absolute termination of a marriage and the destruction of my hope to have the picture-perfect family. Failure. Feeling guilty towards the girls.

  Then I thought of all the horrible things that were contained in the pleadings drafted by Jean’s lawyer. I thought of the humiliating fact that Jean sued me for spousal maintenance. A healthy, free man sued his wife, at whose expense he had lived for years, in order to take even more money from her. I started to get angry. It was not a case of personal failure - it was my chance for freedom. I switched on the engine.

  * * *

  It was the summer of 1997. Patricia and I had spontaneously decided to escape the city and, after checking with our respective bosses, had booked a week at the Club Med in Mauritius. Having just returned from a business trip first to Hong Kong and then Chicago, all I wanted to do was to sleep in the sun. On our first evening, I met Jean at the pre-dinner drinks. Tall, French and gorgeous, he was the resident golf instructor and more than happy to give me some private lessons. I wasn’t really interested in a holiday fling and initially resisted his flirtation. But the more I learned about him and his life the more we connected and I found myself wanting our time together not to come to an end.

  “I think I have fallen in love with you, madame,” he announced to me on our last evening when we took a moonlit walk on the beach and we had stopped to kiss.

  “Oh Jean. This is wonderful and it is awful - I’m leaving tomorrow! And you have to stay here for how long again?”

  “Until the end of the season - end of December.”

  “And then? Will you go back to Paris?”

  “They offered me a job in New Caledonia.”

  “But that’s on the other side of the planet! No - you can’t go there!”

  “I don’t know. But it will be hard to give up the beach and the sun. I have to see - maybe I can find something in Paris in the spring.”

  “Or in Frankfurt?” I asked hopefully. “There are plenty of golf clubs around Frankfurt.”

  “But I don’t speak German. Why don’t you get transferred to your Paris office? You could work there, no? They need lawyers everywhere, no?”

  I looked at him and knew I could not let this man disappear from my life. So, against all odds, we tried to keep a long distance thing going. But with nearly 6000 kilometres, twelve flight hours and three hours time difference separating us and with each of us working day and night, it was impossible. After three months I was so disillusioned that I broke it off, went on the rebound and found myself pregnant with my first child.

  Two years after our first meeting and one year after Noëlle’s birth, Jean called me out of the blue. When I heard his voice, my heart raced.

  “Jean! Oh my god. It’s been so long - where are you, what are you doing?”

  “I am back in Paris. I work here now - I try to be an estate agent, ha - can you imagine. How are you? Have you got a boyfriend or did you get married?”

  “I’m still at the same law firm. No, I’m not married - I don’t have a boyfriend. But - actually, I’m not alone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I have a daughter. Her name is Noëlle. She is one year old and she is beautiful.”

  “Oh, c’est magnifique! I want to meet her! I have never stopped thinking about you, Chloé. I was just too scared when we were together. You were so intense, and so - how do you say - sophistiquée. Then yesterday I watched this movie - Notting Hill? It reminded me of us and I thought perhaps it could work. If you want to.”

  I did not hesitate for one moment. “Of course I do. I have never stopped thinking about you either. When can you come to
see us?”

  “I need to organise a few things but I should be able to come next weekend.”

  And so he did. When he entered our apartment for the first time Noëlle toddled up to him with a smile, pointed at him and said “Dada!” It was love at first sight for both of them. Two months later he moved in, without money or a job. Patricia warned me to be careful but I was so in love and so happy. We were a little family. We spent our first Christmas with his parents, who adored Noëlle, and were delighted to look after her for a few days. Jean and I decided to revisit the place where we first met, and flew to Mauritius for the new millennium. It was there, a few minutes after midnight on 1 January 2000, that he got down on one knee, presented his grandmother’s ring and asked me to marry him.

  Of course I said yes. Of course I did not think of money. I was going to be a partner soon and would earn enough for both of us. He promised he would learn German and get a job, if only for his masculine pride. Patricia was happy for me but still worried that I might commit to someone who made himself financially dependent on me. When months later I was about to marry a still unemployed Jean in France, Patricia urged me to at least enter into a standard French law prenuptial agreement. It made perfect sense since I was earning well as a partner at Solomons and Jean had nothing. It did not, however, make sense to my proud French fiancé. Several days before the wedding it came to a head with Jean and his father (‘zees ees not romontik!’) but I insisted, threatening to call the wedding off. So one hour prior to the marriage ceremony in the mairie in Grasse we sat in front of the notary - who conveniently also happened to be the mayor - and agreed a séparation des biens - matrimonial separation of goods. Nonetheless, in the end, it was a beautiful day. This may have been partly to do with the bride and groom relaxing, due to the large glass of champagne served by the notary’s secretary after the agreement was signed and sealed.

  And now, six years, many broken promises, fights, tears and therapy sessions later, we were in court, waiting for our divorce and for the judgment on Jean’s spousal support claim. Life was absurd sometimes, I thought bitterly.