by Erica Katz
“You should go home, honey. You’ll be working so hard you’ll forget what your apartment looks like soon enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She ducked out of my doorway before I could say goodbye.
My phone rang, instilling a sudden panic in me that it was time to do real work, but Carmen’s name was on the caller ID.
“Hi.”
She laughed. “How weird is it that we have offices?”
“Right? I feel like I’m playing a lawyer on TV!”
“We’re all going to the bar across the street to celebrate our first day. Come!”
“I promised my boyfriend I’d be home for dinner tonight.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she scoffed. I glanced at my watch. Orientation had finished ahead of schedule, and Sam wasn’t expecting me home for at least another hour. I thought for a moment about all the postwork happy hours I’d seen on television and in movies. I had never before had colleagues willing to spend money on overpriced midtown drinks.
“Fine. I’m in.” It felt good to yield so easily, allowing me to feel like a professional for the first time in my life.
“First round is on me!” Derrick insisted as he handed the bartender his credit card, our crowd of five circling up behind him at the bar.
“No!” we protested in unison.
“It’s my treat. I’ll take it out of my moving stipend,” he said with a smile. “What’s everybody drinking?”
After we shouted our orders at the bartender in turn, I scanned the sparsely populated bar.
Kevin leaned in to me. “Just us and the trading and advertising crowds now. The lawyers and investment bankers won’t get here until six thirty at the earliest.”
Derrick passed me my vodka soda over Roxanne’s head, and I mouthed a thank-you. “How do you know they’re in advertising?” I asked Kevin.
“Their clothes. Could be just bad taste, but lack of funds is more likely,” he answered before heading off to commandeer a high-top whose occupants were paying their bill. I noticed the preponderance of khakis and ill-fitting dresses around the room, then looked back at our small clan’s well-tailored suits, smart skirts, and flowing tops. And we haven’t even gotten our first paychecks yet.
Kevin waved us over to the table as the waitress was finishing clearing the glasses and wiping up whatever gummy residue of dark liquor was left on the heavily varnished wood.
“Derrick, how do you have anything left in your stipend, by the way?” Carmen asked. “My stipend barely covered my move, and I only came from Boston. Didn’t you move across the country?”
Derrick shrugged. “My parents have a furnished place in the city where I’m living now, so I didn’t really have anything to move. But Klasko asked if I was moving from outside New York City to inside New York City. I said yes. Because I was. And now I have ten grand to spend on you lovely folks.”
We met his glass in a cheers.
“They give you ten grand to move?” Roxanne asked. “Columbia kids weren’t offered anything.” She looked at Jennifer, who nodded in agreement.
“Thank god they did,” I said. “It was the only way my boyfriend and I could have afforded our security deposit. We only had money left for a couch after we signed a lease.”
Carmen looked at me. “You moved in with your boyfriend!? Sam, right?” I nodded, impressed she remembered his name, as they’d only met in passing in Cambridge.
“How long have you been with him?” Jennifer asked.
“Almost four years.”
“What’s his deal?” Roxanne asked.
I shrugged. “We met in college—I was at Harvard, and he was at MIT—and then he started his company in Boston. It’s part of the reason I stayed at Harvard for law school.” The group around my table nodded, and I felt a sense of comfort in knowing that they didn’t think I was bragging.
“I give you six months at Klasko until you find yourself single!” Derrick teased. Everybody laughed, and so I forced one from my mouth as well, but my stomach twisted up.
“Derrick, don’t be an idiot,” Carmen said, giving me a reassuring nod.
“I was just messing with you,” Derrick said, checking me lightly with his shoulder as I bit my lower lip.
The door to the bar was flung open, and we all turned to look as three men in suits entered purposefully, seemingly unfamiliar with both the feeling of rejection and the force of gravity. I recognized one as the young, attractive attorney I had spotted earlier in the conference room. The waiter was readying their drinks before they even reached the bar.
“Those are some of the M&A associates,” Carmen said in a low voice.
“They’re probably going back to work after this,” Kevin said, looking at his watch. They leaned against the bar and threw back three shots in tandem, chasing them with only slight grimaces before turning to sip the amber liquid in their short, stout glasses. How could anybody do any work after a shot and a drink? I watched the handsome dark-haired associate peel a bill from his money clip and slide it across the bar toward the bartender.
“That makes me think—we need some shots!” Derrick said, commandeering our attention again.
“I should get home, actually,” I said apologetically.
Carmen opened her mouth to object but then nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”
As we left the bar, two dapper men in suits on their way in held the door for us. Well groomed. Well mannered. Well dressed. I supposed the bankers and lawyers were now trickling in. I stepped to the curb and peered east on Fifty-First Street, scanning the street for a taxi. I could feel Carmen watching me.
“I think we can call this a successful first day!” she said cheerily. “I’m sorry that Derrick was being kind of a dick. It’s only because he thinks you’re cute.”
“Really?” I looked back at her, and she nodded. I hadn’t pegged Derrick, with his fashionable haircut, colorful bow tie, and flamboyant manner, as being interested in women.
“I asked him. You’ll get to see soon how nosy I am,” she admitted, picking at her fingernail. “And competitive. Supercompetitive.” I had never encountered somebody so self-aware, and so forthcoming.
“I’m competitive, too,” I said. “But mostly with myself, I guess.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. I had been a competitive swimmer for my entire youth, and I’d held the girls’ World Junior Record in both the 50- and 400-meter freestyle for ten years. (A few years back, a Russian teenager snatched my title.) I’d been recruited by the swim coach to Harvard, but halfway through my sophomore season, a badly torn rotator cuff forced me to delete “athlete” from my “student athlete” title.
“As far as I’m concerned, you and I are on the same team,” Carmen said. “I’m so happy to have somebody from law school here!”
Swimming hadn’t really given me the opportunity to be part of a team—I never even swam the relay—and I welcomed the idea of belonging to one, even though part of me wondered if I even knew how.
“We’re on the same team for sure,” I agreed.
Carmen stretched her back, hands on her hips as she leaned to look up at the sky, then straightened and looked me in the eye. “I think I only became a lawyer because my father and three brothers are. I just want to show I’m just as good as them. Or better.” She grinned mischievously. “Like I said, competitive.”
“That’s a better reason than mine. I think I’m a lawyer because my parents just sort of suggested it.”
“Only child?” Carmen asked. I nodded. “Classic. They could have guided you to worse places, I guess. Anyway, I’m glad we’re in this together.” She spotted a lit-up cab coming toward us and held her hand up.
I envied the way Carmen could create fact by stating it aloud. Simply because she said it, we were friends—allies—when yesterday we were only former classmates. I smiled and gave her a wave as I hopped into the cab she had hailed for me.
When I arrived home, Sam was sprawled on the couch watching Anderson Cooper 360°. At least he’d changed out o
f his pajamas. I tried to imagine what he did in the house all day without me. He had met with potential investors for his start-up before we went to Asia, and as far as I knew, he was just waiting for their responses. He held his arms out to me, and I curled up into them.
“So?” he asked.
I frowned dramatically. “Well . . . I called the cops on myself today.” He opened his mouth to ask a question, but I held up a palm to stop him. “In front of everybody.”
“You need a drink.” He laughed as he gave me a peck on the lips and rose.
Sam returned from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine and put one into my outstretched hand. “To my working woman.” He clinked his glass against mine. “So, how were the other lawyers? Any friends? How was that Carmen girl you know from Harvard?”
“I met some really nice people. Everybody is so . . . sure of themselves. Carmen is pretty amazing. It’s a shame we weren’t closer in law school.”
“You had me to be close to in law school.”
“I know.” I kissed him gently, wiggling my way into the crevice between his side and his arm.
He was right, of course. But I’d also had friends from undergrad, many of whom had stayed in Boston after we graduated, minus two LA natives who’d moved back to the West Coast. Though I’d grown up in New York’s suburbs, I didn’t have any real network of friends in the city. I would have gladly stayed in Boston forever, but because Sam was going to have so many more options for his start-up here, we’d decided to make the move.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Good! Super productive.” He looked at Anderson Cooper rather than at me as he spoke. “Guess what I decided today?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going to start training for the Boston marathon and run it with some MIT buddies. The company is in a bit of a holding pattern right now, and I’ve always wanted to run one, anyway.”
I studied his profile, looking for an indication that he might be feeling inadequate. In our dimly lit apartment, I started feeling the effects of the wine on top of the vodka soda I’d consumed on an empty stomach. I contemplated reassuring him that this time spent building his company would pay off, then thought better of it, knowing it would make him feel small if he didn’t already.
“Wow! Cool!” I took another sip of wine and moved thoughts of Sam’s company to the periphery of my consciousness. Alcohol always had a useful way of clearing mental space for more pleasant thoughts.
Chapter 3
From: Courtney Cantwell
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: First Assignment
Alexandra,
Pleased to meet you via email. As you might recall from orientation (though I’m sure all those sessions are a blur!) I will be your assigned staffing coordinator until you match. First assignments have begun rolling in, and I’m happy to report we’ve been able to accommodate your request to work with the real estate group. Your first assignment will be the review of leases in conjunction with an asset sale. Be in touch with Lara Maloney for details.
Best,
Courtney
I dabbed the sweat from my upper lip with my fingertips and knocked on the frame of Lara Maloney’s open door. She waved me into her office and stood, extending her arm to me and shaking my hand almost too firmly. She’d paired khaki trousers that were the business-casual equivalent of mom jeans with clunky black block heels and a black collared shirt, and her dark, frizzy hair was streaked with gray. She didn’t seem to wear makeup, but her bright blue eyes were alert and energetic.
I noticed that the beads of perspiration on my upper lip had replenished themselves immediately, and felt suddenly sick. I should have read up more on real estate transactions in M&A deals prior to this meeting, I thought. I knew that first-years weren’t expected to know much about the law itself, but I had the new and unwelcome feeling of being less than sufficiently prepared.
I scanned Lara’s office to see if I could engage her on a personal level and camouflage my professional shortcomings, but didn’t see many useful clues. A thinning brown ficus with crispy leaves blanketing its soil sat in a pot in the corner. Undergrad and law school diplomas, both from UPenn, were perched on the wall behind her guest chairs, virtually out of sight, but I spotted a painting of a turkey made out of a child’s handprint hanging on the wall. I couldn’t quite make sense of the woman before me. She clearly placed more value on her child’s work than her own academic achievements, and the folders on her desk were meticulously stacked and labeled even as her plant cried out for water and her appearance was just this side of unkempt. I could not think of a single piece of small talk, but fortunately, she didn’t seem to be one for idle chatter.
“Hi. We’re happy to have you on board! Please, sit!” She gestured to the chair on the opposite side of her desk. “So, we’re representing the buyer,” she began. I grabbed my legal pad and began to scribble notes. “Our client, Stag River, is acquiring TO’s Bakery . . . have you heard of them?”
I nodded, thinking of their delicious sticky buns.
“It’s disgusting. People always talk about their sticky buns, but that’s because most people have never had an actual good one. Still, I used to go to the one on Lex all the time. I used to be fat, but I got CoolSculpt. You basically freeze your fat cells and pee them out over a few weeks.” I stared at her, feeling my jaw slacken, and she waved away her own tangent. “Anyway, TO’s is objectively the shittiest bakery in the world, but they have about six hundred properties, and we need to make sure there are no encumbrances on any single property. It’s more grueling than difficult. Does this make sense?”
I nodded as my heart skipped two beats. I hadn’t written down a single thing after she’d uttered the words “fat cells.” I forced myself to focus and began to write again.
Lara continued with the logistics of where I could actually locate the leases (the virtual diligence room), how I should make note of potential issues (never in email or other written communication, except on paper, to be immediately shredded after the deal closed so that if something ever came up in litigation later, the only evidence would be that we had “diligenced the company completely and satisfactorily,” never that we had misjudged an issue).
“Did you ask to do real estate, or did they just give you this assignment randomly?” Lara asked suddenly.
I underlined shred and looked up. “No, I definitely listed it on my preference sheet,” I said, finishing my note on the seller’s finances as I spoke.
“What interests you about it?” she asked.
“On the most basic level, I like that there is a physical structure at the center of the deal—something to wrap my mind around.”
“Me too.” She nodded enthusiastically, indicating I had passed her test. “Also, real estate hours are more manageable compared to other transactional groups, but we work a lot with other groups, so you get a lot of exposure.”
I nodded at the elevator pitch with a relieved smile. All of the groups at the firm except M&A boasted the same perks: work/life balance, good exposure to deals at a junior level, a clear path to partnership. Based on what Derrick and Carmen had told me, the M&A attorneys seemed to pride themselves on not sleeping and not seeing their families. And they walked the halls of the firm more proudly and arrogantly than the members of what they referred to as “support” groups.
“Okay, I’ll get started on these leases right away. I’ll shout out any issues I see and just update you on the progress I’m making . . . daily?”
“COB daily works for me,” Lara said. “And I’ll send you a calendar invite to our monthly meeting, which is next week. If you’re going to be in real estate, you’ll learn a lot from it.”
Is that it? Am I in the real estate group now?
She dismissed me with a nod, and I went back to my desk and googled “COB.”
Close of business.
“Al?” Sam opened our front door.
“I’m in the kitchen!�
�
Sam slid his hands around my waist from behind as I stirred the liquid dotted with bits of toasted rice. I leaned my head back into him, my work heels bringing me closer to his height. “I’m making Parmesan and black truffle risotto. And I broiled some salmon.”
Sam smacked my butt. “It smells incredible.” I felt him eyeing the small dark nugget on the counter. “What happened to being on a budget until your first paycheck?”
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “But I walked home from work and passed Eataly, and there was a sign saying that Italian black truffle season is almost over!”
“Babe! You walked by Eataly? That’s like somebody in AA walking by a liquor store! You gotta take a different route.” He backed away from me and hung his coat in the closet. He would die if he knew what the truffle cost. Since we’d started dating, Sam had grown to appreciate good food. But he’d grown up in a warm and loving family of academics who lived frugally, and the most glowing praise I had ever heard him give to a meal was that it was a “bargain.”
“I know, I know! But it’s fine. Everything at work is free! The coffee, the cafeteria, the snacks,” I countered. “How was your day?”
“Good, I just finished up meetings with Skylark Capital, the guys who funded that company Uno I was telling you about. They seem really interested in us.” Sam sorted through the mail I had picked up.
“And? How did they go?” I added another ladleful of broth.
“Eh. Can’t tell.” Sam slid up behind me again, putting his hand over mine and helping me stir, but his touch felt entirely different from just the moment before. “How long do we have to stir this for?” he said into my ear.
“Until it’s all absorbed,” I told him, my body reacting to his. He peered over my shoulder at all the liquid and sighed dejectedly. He was adorable when he wasn’t trying to be. “But I don’t need to stir it the whole time.”
“No?”
“Nope. Just need to stay close to stir every once in a while.” I dropped the spoon and turned to him. His lips pressed into mine, and he moved his hands under my arms and hoisted me up onto the kitchen counter. He grinned hungrily and pressed himself into me, his eyes darting over to the stove for a moment.