The Boys' Club

by Erica Katz

  “Take half your bonus and be practical. Pay off loans, put it in savings, pay your bills. Whatever. Take a quarter and leave it in your checking account.” He paused and smiled at me. “And take a quarter and blow it on yourself. Only yourself.”

  “That’s good advice,” Peter agreed stiffly. My eyes bounced from Peter to Matt. Remembering what Jordan had mentioned about their personal relationship, the tension between them was suddenly obvious to me.

  “I want those,” Matt announced as he left us and stalked over to a server balancing a silver platter on his palm.

  Watching Matt throw his drink down his throat before taking a lamb chop, Peter and I stood in silence, but I felt his energy pulling at me. I had spent so much time around him and on the phone with him lately that I’d assumed my attraction to him must have dissipated, but I realized then that it had only been hidden temporarily by documents and deadlines. I just met his wife! I reminded myself. I should not be thinking about him like this. But without the pressure of an immediate deal-related deadline, the tension and the tingling had reappeared at the base of my spine.

  “Matt’s enjoying himself,” I said, trying desperately to distract myself from the warmth spreading through my abdomen.

  Peter shrugged. “Matt never used to drink. This place is strange. You develop a reputation, right or wrong, and then people sort of make you into it. Everybody now expects Matt to party. He’s like a caricature of himself. I guess we all are.”

  I watched a group of my fellow junior associates surround Matt, who gesticulated wildly while he narrated whatever story he was telling and they all threw their heads back in laughter.

  “All of us?” I asked Peter.

  He locked his eyes with mine, throwing me off balance again.

  “Carmen’s the tough one, Kevin is the sweet one, Derrick is the out-of-control one. All the partners identify you guys by an adjective for convenience’s sake. But it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but closed it, needing to swallow down the anxiety that came from knowing I was about to train Peter’s discerning eye on myself.

  “Which one am I?” I asked.

  “Skippy,” Peter answered, as though it were obvious.

  “No. I mean, what’s my adjective?”

  “That is your adjective. Prissy, proper, perfect, ready for the country club,” he goaded, allowing a smile to creep into the corners of his mouth.

  “That’s not me at all!” I protested.

  “No?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  Peter thought for a moment. “Happy,” he said flatly, draining his scotch. “I need air. Come.” He didn’t look at me, just turned and walked toward the exit. My heart thudded as I scanned the ballroom. Carmen was watching me intently as Sam ordered another drink at the bar. He must be at least four drinks in by now, I thought. I held up one finger to her, indicating I’d be right back, as I followed Peter down the plush carpeted hallway. There was a brief moment of silence, with nobody in front of me to navigate past, when I contemplated running back into the safe cacophony of the ballroom, with its deal talk, small talk, and slurred words.

  “I need something from my car.” Peter’s voice pulled me back to the hotel corridor. He still wasn’t looking at me, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I continued to lag behind him, my legs fighting me. I stared at the back of his pants, snug around his upper thighs. He turned to me, finally meeting my gaze. “It’ll only take a moment.”

  I managed an affirmative blink and took a large gulp of wine. My heart rate increased as I attempted to convince myself that I didn’t know what was happening. I took another, longer pull of my drink, trying to create an excuse for what I was about to do. The voice telling me that it was inappropriate to get into Peter’s corporate car was drowned out by the luscious adrenaline of misbehaving, of being bad, of escaping the boring ballroom and the buzzing cell phone in my purse. I suddenly had the urge to blow up the life I had carved out for myself, and join the ranks of those to whom the rules did not apply. I drained my glass and placed it on a table in the lobby, then followed Peter through the main doors.

  The air outside the Pierre was biting, and Fifth Avenue was completely desolate except for the line of black cars and the drivers leaning against them, curls of smoke billowing up from the lit ends of their cigarettes into the winter air. I smiled politely at the driver as he quickly stepped on his cigarette and opened the door of a black Quality SUV with a “Dunn” placard in the front window, and held his palm out to help me climb in. I searched his face for judgment, for recognition that I wasn’t supposed to be climbing into the back of his car with Peter, that I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring while Peter was. But his eyes were a blank, professional kind of polite. They seemed to barely register me at all. I crossed my legs to make myself feel more in control, continuing the charade of propriety. If I did this, I was no better than the rumors. Fuck the rumors. Fuck the people who spread them. They don’t matter. Peter slipped smoothly into the seat next to me and put a hand on my leg as the driver closed the door with a soft thud, sealing us inside the car. Peter’s hand, just above my knee, shattered the thin facade to which I had been clinging. I squirmed slightly, and there was a fleeting moment when I considered pulling back—pretending that he had somehow misread the situation and that I’d thought we were going to discuss the letter of intent on the Stag River deal.

  But he took the back of my head in his palm and pulled my lips to his, and electricity shot through me.

  His breath was smoky with scotch and slightly sweet, like a burned orange. Something on his skin smelled spicy as I breathed him in. He smelled so different from, so much better than, Sam.

  I melted into him as my other senses sprang to life. His lips were soft and inviting. I half expected somebody of his age to kiss differently. But he didn’t. I put my hand on his chest and moaned slightly in protest as I pushed him ever so slightly away, sensing that I was supposed to do so to make certain he knew I was struggling with my conscience. He played his part deftly, pushing the back of my head a bit harder, then pulling away from me and looking curiously into my eyes. He said nothing, but he cupped my face in his hand and drew me to him again. He placed his lips on my forehead, and all of my anxieties evaporated as the tip of my nose explored the cavity of his neck. He backed away again and smiled wistfully, making me blush. And then this time, I kissed him. His tongue explored mine with such gentleness that I gave up all control, sucking hungrily at the power I felt charging through his body into mine.

  When it was over and the world rushed back in on me, we locked eyes. I suppose it should have been a romantic moment, but I felt a surge of nausea. I wanted to think it was the result of too many drinks, but I knew it was from the guilt squeezing my stomach lining together and forcing it up into my throat.

  “Shit,” I whispered as I pulled my bra back over my breasts, struggling with the clasp in my trembling hands. Peter was saying something, but I wasn’t hearing him as I shoved my blouse into my skirt and untwisted my necklace so it lay flat. I shook my head repeatedly as though arguing with the part of myself that told me I had just committed an unforgivable transgression that would alter the course of my life. I slid out of the car and shut the door behind me, desperate now to return to the party I’d longed to escape. I stole a glimpse of myself in the mirrored hallway wall and saw that I looked normal, and felt almost resentful that I hadn’t been physically branded. I wiped at the corners of my mouth and under my eyes and then walked into the ballroom, plastered a smile on my face, and slid up to Sam, who was still at the bar with Carmen. He kissed the top of my head.

  Did he smell Peter?

  “Where were you and Peter?” Carmen asked intently.

  “Peter went to find his wife. I took a call,” I said, meeting her gaze steadily. “I’ve made my necessary rounds. Officially time to hang with you guys,” I told them, realizing I was disturbingly adept at ap
pearing calm even while my heart felt like it was about to burst through my rib cage.

  “We’re taking another shot,” Sam said, looking as if he was bracing himself for a judgmental look from me. He didn’t get one. I wanted him to be drunk enough not to notice if my sheen of composure didn’t last.

  “I’m in!” I ordered three shots of Casa Dragones as bits of my encounter with Peter flashed before my eyes.

  We continued to drink and talk to other first-years while I obsessively kept Peter in the periphery of my vision so I could maintain a safe distance at all times.

  Carmen seemed to be keeping an eye on someone as well. “Who are we scoping out, lady?” I asked as she craned her neck out over the crowd.

  “Peter’s wife is super thin,” she said, unintentionally answering my question.

  I shrugged, unable to bring myself to speak badly about a woman whose marriage I had just compromised. The alcohol overtook the adrenaline in my system and I became exceedingly drunk in what seemed like an instant. I nuzzled Sam’s shoulder, indicating I was ready to head home, and he went to get our coats. I was left with Carmen, who turned away from me without a word and made her way to the far end of the bar.

  I smelled Peter before I saw him, his scent triggering the image of him unfastening my bra. I touched my temple in embarrassment and looked up to see him before me.

  “Just wanted to say goodbye,” he said. My breath caught, and I looked over his shoulder to see Marcie, who waved pleasantly enough from a couple feet behind him.

  I gave her a broad smile, and she flashed a confident and careless one in return. She definitely doesn’t suspect anything, I thought. I looked back at Peter, focusing more on his forehead than his eyes, terrified of what I might see in them.

  “Good night,” I said, striving for a professional tone but bordering on cold.

  He leaned in slightly closer. “Great night,” he said with a tiny wink—or maybe it was a squint. Either way, it sent my stomach into somersaults. He turned, placed a hand on the small of his wife’s back, and guided her out of the ballroom, toward the Quality car I had just been in. I crossed my right arm to my opposite shoulder and rubbed it for comfort.

  When Sam and I arrived home, I walked directly into the bathroom and stripped down, tossing my clothes onto the floor. As I did, I saw a spot of red on the inside of the right cup of my white bra. I looked at my right nipple in the mirror, or rather the tiny, perfect bite mark just north of it. I shut my eyes and stepped into the hot shower, where I leaned my back against the wall and let it slip down the cool tiles until I was sitting on the floor. I curled my knees up to my chest as the water pushed down on my hair and formed a curtain around my face.

  As the water flowed, I tried to remember more about the night—what Peter was saying to me as I left his car, the look on the driver’s face. But it was all too foggy. I didn’t know if the memories had disappeared because of the alcohol or my own shame, and whether I’d ever recover them—or if I even wanted to. Then suddenly the image of me straddling Peter, his lips on my breasts, came into my mind. My hands instinctively flew to my face as my insides twisted in simultaneous pleasure and pain.

  I stood and soaped up the loofah, taking it to my arms and chest.

  “Babe? You okay?” Sam shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. “Trying to set a new record for shower length?”

  I looked down at my skin, which was now red and raw.

  “Out in a sec!” I yelled back, jumping out from under the now-painful hot water and blotting my body as gently as possible with a plush towel.

  I applied lotion, gritting my teeth at the sting, then slipped into silk pajamas and slid under the covers next to Sam.

  “Carmen is great, really fun. Glad I met her. She had the nicest things to say about you,” he said, and patted my thigh and sighed, the way he always did when he had had too much to drink.

  “Did she?” I ignored the sting of his touch and pretended to be on the edge of sleep as my mind raced.

  “You have a whole work life I never knew about,” Sam whispered, touching my waist softly.

  In his unwitting acknowledgment that I was leading a double life, the rush of keeping a secret from the man who thought he knew me so well almost made me convulse in pleasure. Something was really wrong with me. I knew I should have felt guilty, but I was too keyed up from the evening to feel anything but mouthwateringly, imperfectly human. I could only respond, “I know.”

  Sam’s breath deepened as he drifted off, while I stared up at the ceiling, my heart beating wildly, willing myself to remain still for the remainder of the night.

  Q.What do you think most motivated you to want to be a partner in the M&A group?

  A.I don’t think I really thought about becoming a partner at Klasko when I was a first-year.

  Q.What motivated you to want to join M&A as an associate, then, if the hours were worse than those in other groups?

  A.I think I was probably most motivated by the prestige. M&A was the most well respected group at the firm. I think I’ve always been driven to be the best at whatever it is I do.

  Q.Did you have law school loans?

  A.No, I was fortunate enough not to.

  Q.Did financial compensation motivate you to want to join M&A?

  A.Not initially, no. I don’t think so.

  Q.But eventually?

  A.I think M&A attorneys are better compensated because they bring in more revenue. They work longer hours. Their work is more difficult. So the compensation is all wrapped up in the question of prestige, in my mind.

  Chapter 16

  The morning after the Winter Ball, I opened my eyes when I felt the room brighten in the sun. Though I hadn’t actually slept, I welcomed the morning, feeling firm in my conviction that what had happened between Peter and me could never and would never be repeated, and that I would never, ever tell Sam about it. It would serve no purpose but to hurt him. It seemed fair that I be the only one to suffer.

  “That party was amazing. What do you think it cost? I can’t even imagine, with the open bar and all that food. Must have been fifty thousand.” Sam turned over to me, still under the covers. I stared back at him and nodded. He has absolutely zero idea what things cost, I thought. It was at least five times that.

  “It was really nice,” I agreed.

  “Nice? It was awesome!? I had no idea it was going to be like that when you invited me.” Sam paused. “I could get used to being your hot date at all the firm functions.”

  I reached for my phone and scanned my in-box. When I reached the bottom of my unread messages I scrolled up yet again, hoping I had missed one from Peter, but I didn’t have a single email from him, not even one about our deal. Hurt and relief crashed into each other inside my chest. Was it a onetime thing for him? That’s good. It can’t happen again anyway. It’s best that we don’t acknowledge it and move on.

  Sam suddenly sat up next to me. “Hey, it’s bonus day!” I watched him carefully, his newfound exuberance for the finer things in life exacerbating my headache. Suddenly, you don’t hate my job so much, do you?

  I grabbed my phone and logged on to my checking account.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, my hangover dissolving instantly.

  “Good?”

  I nodded over at him, wide-eyed. I couldn’t push away the feeling that the universe had not only let me escape the repercussions of my mistake but had actually rewarded me for it. My checking balance seemed like a justification of everything I had done while at Klasko so far. Everything.

  “Good. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve it.”

  I had been working hard, but I didn’t think that alone was enough to warrant $50,000. After taxes! As I stared again at the number, the screen went blank and flashed “Carmen Greyson.”

  “Hi!”

  “Hi!” We both burst out laughing. “Holy shit!” I threw off the covers and hoisted myself out of bed.

  “Right? Holy shit! I love M&A!” Carme
n yelled, and we dissolved into giggles again.

  “Are you busy today?” Carmen asked.

  “I feel like it’s all died down pre-Christmas. I’m pretty slow,” I said, scanning through my emails to confirm that no meeting requests or emergencies had come in overnight.

  “Me too! So slow.” She paused. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  I’m thinking that I’m going to take Matt’s advice and go on a $12,500 shopping spree.

  “Bloomingdale’s?” I asked.

  “Fuck Bloomingdale’s. We’re going to Bergdorf’s!” she squealed.

  As I stood on Fifth Avenue, I had to fight the urge to grab the door handle from the suited doorman just inside the building and fling it open before he could.

  “Welcome to Bergdorf’s. Can I direct—”

  “ALEX!” Carmen sprang out from behind a wall of sunglasses. I darted past the doorman and into her embrace. “Can you believe how generous they were? Thirty thousand dollars!” she whispered into my ear. I felt a pang of guilt, but a surge of pride. I got a better bonus than Carmen. Unless she was lying about her number. She pulled away from me, and I saw her wild grin. I’d gotten a bigger bonus. For sure.

  I drifted toward a gray crocodile satchel sitting on the display counter and picked it up with both hands. “This bag is amazing.”

  “It’s to die for!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m going to get it!” I peeped inside the bag, pulled out the price tag, and gasped, my resolve vanishing instantly. “Um, it’s twenty-four thousand dollars.” I looked up, expecting to see my shock mirrored in Carmen’s face.

  “Of course it is. It’s a Moreau.” My stomach sank. I’d never imagined I wouldn’t be able to afford anything I wanted on this day. “Oh, cheer up. We can do bags next year!”

  I placed it gently back down on the counter. “I’m never spending that much on a bag!”

  Carmen shrugged. “This year’s bonus was our first. And it was prorated for a third of the year! You might be singing a different tune when you see next year’s. Never say never, young one!” It hadn’t occurred to me that the enormous bonus I had just received was only a fraction of what I’d receive in years to come if I continued to do M&A, and do it well. “I want to start with makeup!” she declared. “You can choose the next department.”