The Boys' Club

by Erica Katz

  “I’m so happy for you! You should totally have dinner with those guys. It’s a great opportunity. And I have to work late anyway. I didn’t do any actual work this weekend,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

  Sam turned away from me and nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I should start putting my career first too.”

  His last word jabbed at my chest, and I had to bite my tongue not to say “What career?” I waited for him to register my reaction, but he was focused on the papers again, so I took my suitcase into the bedroom to unpack everything I’d brought for a weekend away with another man.

  * * *

  There were rare mornings peppered throughout my weeks when emails drifted into my in-box gradually, with little urgency, allowing me to ease myself into the day. That Monday morning wasn’t one of them. I woke up to seventy-one fairly urgent emails from our Hong Kong office, with whom we were working on a merger for a Chinese company. I didn’t shower and took a Quality car in to work so I didn’t need to break from emailing while I didn’t have service on the subway. Around two o’clock, I welcomed the first email that wasn’t urgent or deal-related.

  From: Jordan Sellar

  To: Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor; Rinker, KJ

  Subject: Dinner

  Want to get dinner tonight?

  From: Rinker, KJ

  To: Jordan Sellar; Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor

  Subject: Re: Dinner

  Taylor and I are in. Craving steak.

  From: Jordan Sellar

  To: Rinker, KJ, Alexandra Vogel; Morris, Taylor

  Subject: Re: Dinner

  Strip House. 7pm. Alex, you in?

  I stared at my computer for a prolonged moment, then allowed the memory of Sam accusing me of putting my career first to dispel any trace of guilt I might have felt.

  From: Alexandra Vogel

  To: Jordan Sellar; Rinker, KJ; Morris, Taylor

  Subject: Re: Dinner

  I’m in!

  Strip House coaxed the most awful, delicious parts of humanity out into the open. I scanned framed pictures of full-figured strippers as I absentmindedly unbuttoned the top of my blouse for air. I rolled my neck as I released it from the grip of my collar. The thick white napkins with red figures of dancing women somehow encouraged me to take a goose-fat-fried potato with my fingers, if only to make use of the linen. The dark floors and red walls allowed my shoulders to relax after my long day and lean into the raunchy conversation swirling around me.

  “She’s absolutely insatiable. Honestly, I should never have started sleeping with her,” KJ said.

  “Dude, you definitely should not have started sleeping with her! On top of the ethical reasons, she has zero discretion. You’re an idiot,” Taylor told him.

  I looked up from my phone. “Wait, what did I miss? You’re sleeping with somebody at work?”

  “His analyst. So fucking cliché,” Jordan said with a sneer, getting out of his seat. “Jesus, I’m exhausted from this closing. Give me a minute to get myself together.”

  I grimaced at KJ as Jordan walked toward the men’s room. “Your analyst? You’re better than that.”

  “I can’t help it. She’s nuts. In a good way. She makes me finger her during meetings. With other people in the room. It’s . . . it’s wild.” He looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

  “Stop it. I don’t believe you. Like, what, under the table? How does she make you do that?”

  “Obviously, she doesn’t,” Taylor muttered.

  “Whatever, she didn’t make me, but she didn’t stop me,” KJ said, then signaled the waiter for a refill of scotch.

  I stared at KJ, wishing Jordan were there to tell him that he was taking advantage of the girl who worked for him, that he was an abusive boss, that he could get fired. How demeaning it must be for that analyst, who was probably twenty-three at the most, to have her supervisor—a man she at best had feelings for and at worst was too worried to reject—touch her in front of other people. My blood pressure rose on her behalf, the back of my neck growing clammy as I pictured the scene, wondering if the other men around the conference table were blind to KJ’s behavior, chose to ignore it, or actually encouraged it.

  “Don’t pretend to be so shocked,” he went on, pounding his fist on the table. “Just because she is open about what she wants when the rest of you pretend to be so proper when you all really want us to dominate. You have one set of rules for the bedroom, and one for the boardroom, and we’re supposed to keep it straight? Fuck that! I play by one set of rules, and this chick LOVES it.” He was practically yelling.

  “Easy,” Taylor warned him, then turned to me. “He’s kidding.”

  I squeezed my nails into my palms beneath the table, fighting the urge to punch him.

  “I’m not shocked,” I said instead. “I think it would explain why you’re suddenly upping your suit game in the office. You usually look like a schlub.” I relished KJ’s confusion at which one of my statements to focus on as I gestured to his gray suit with threads of burgundy and navy running faintly throughout for emphasis.

  KJ looked down, adjusting his lapels. “Zegna. You like?” he asked, ignoring my insult.

  “Love,” I stated flatly, then raised my glass, hoping to wash down the sour taste of disingenuousness in my mouth.

  I felt my phone buzz in my purse, which was hanging from the back of my chair, as Jordan returned to the table, holding his nostrils together as discreetly as he could.

  “Got any for me?” KJ asked him, and he reached into his breast pocket and handed him a vial from a downturned palm. As KJ excused himself, I looked at my phone, welcoming the distraction.

  Sam: Are you stuck at work?

  Alex: :(

  Sam: Hope you’re not going to be too late tonight. I should be home from dinner at a decent hour . . .

  Alex: Me too! But I have no idea when I’ll be out of here. It’s a bit crazy today. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours. See you at home. Can’t wait to hear how your meeting went.

  I watched the ellipses appear and then disappear, but no further text arrived. Taylor and Jordan talked about golf as I spooned thick creamed spinach onto my plate, vowing to work out in the morning, even though I knew deep down I’d be too hungover and too slammed at work to engage in any form of physical activity come daylight.

  KJ plopped himself down in his seat, then sneezed loudly into his napkin.

  “Fuck!” Jordan exclaimed, and I looked up to see thick red blood streaming out of KJ’s nose, staining the white parts of the cloth.

  Our waiter appeared out of nowhere, deftly took the bloody napkin from under KJ’s nose and replaced it with a paper one, and gestured to the men’s room.

  “Watch it!” KJ growled as he made his way to the bathroom, disentangling himself from a passing diner he smashed into. “Fuck.”

  My heart skipped. I blinked hard and refocused on the back of the other man’s head as he walked away, clearly disgusted by my coked-up colleague, before he turned and locked eyes with me.

  Sam stared at me, his face stoic, then he shook his head almost imperceptibly before joining two men in suits by the door whom he followed out of the restaurant without so much as a word to me.

  I heard Jordan and Taylor chatting somewhere in the background, then KJ settling down again, applying pressure under his nostril with a new napkin. But I sat there motionless, processing. Sam’s life was so removed from mine—the start-up world seemed to be centered around happy hours in grimy bars, daytime meetings in coffee shops, and long hours in WeWork common spaces. Why was he suddenly there, in my world, in my expensive steakhouse that catered to corporate expense accounts and middle-aged hedge-fund portfolio managers trying to impress their twentysomething girlfriends?

  “One more time . . . hello!” Taylor yelled at me. I blinked twice and coughed, then gulped down a glass of water along with its ice. I waited for the chips lodged in my throat to melt before I spoke, grateful that just then the waiter appeared w
ith our dinners.

  “Sorry,” I said, and shook my head. “I spaced.”

  “You okay?” Taylor looked at me.

  Jordan watched me closely, wondering what exactly I was doing and why I was ruining the mood at a dinner with his most important client. I nodded as convincingly as I could manage. It was time to push myself back into client development mode.

  “Thank god this place is already red,” I joked, touching the side of my nose and pointing to KJ.

  Jordan seemed to relax his shoulders as the banter resumed. “Taylor, you have to try this veal!” He cut a piece and put it on a bread plate, shoving it in his direction.

  “I don’t know, man. Who orders veal? Very suspect. And don’t even get me started on Alex with her tuna.”

  “It kills you that I don’t eat steak, doesn’t it?” I narrowed my eyes and leaned into him. Taylor nodded, knowing he was being toyed with. “How much will you give me to eat one?” I asked him, my voice low.

  He leaned back, loving the negotiation. “A steak?” he asked. I nodded. “Five hundred.”

  “Six,” I said, knowing he would enjoy proving to me that he could spare it.

  “Five-fifty.”

  My mind bounced, calculating the angles I was toying with. “You’re senior enough to choose counsel. Give us your next merger, and we’ll call it even.”

  Taylor looked surprised for only a moment before smirking. “Done.”

  I raised my palm, and our waiter started in our direction immediately. Taylor clapped, and KJ laughed as he took a long sip of his drink. “I’ll have the filet, medium rare. If you could rush it, that would be wonderful.”

  “Was the tuna not to your liking?” the waiter asked nervously, his white sport coat bunching at the waist as he leaned over me.

  “Something like that.”

  I was halfway through my steak, with KJ and Taylor cheering me on for every bite and thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, when Jordan leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Matt and I created a monster.”

  I smiled in his direction but barely looked over. “I think we need another bottle.” I swirled the last bit of red wine in my glass. I needed a lot more wine to wash down the revolting ball of flesh lodged in my throat.

  * * *

  As my eyes adjusted to the scene inside my apartment, I dropped my keys to the floor with a clatter. Sam was standing in the middle of the living room, hunched over a large box, sealing in its contents with duct tape, and a few more unassembled boxes were scattered around the room.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, letting the door shut behind me without picking up my keys.

  He stared back at me blankly. “We need to talk,” he said, straightening his spine.

  I took another step into the apartment. “I didn’t lie to you. That was work. That’s part of my job.”

  “Really, Alex? That’s your story? Honestly . . .”

  “What do you want from me? I have to entertain clients. It’s how we get work. And for your information, I actually brought in a deal tonight.”

  “Alex, I don’t give a shit about work or deals or anything! You chose your colleagues over me. You’ve been doing it for months now.”

  “I’m trying to build a career here!” Within seconds, I was crying. And I was drunk. I was hoping Sam couldn’t tell the difference between just upset and upset and drunk. “You wouldn’t understand,” I mumbled.

  Sam bowed his head. “I do understand. I just don’t understand why you feel the need to make it a choice. Why don’t you ever invite me to firm drinks or out with clients? Take dinner breaks with me, invite me to events—and not just the Christmas party. Am I that embarrassing?” He asked the question facetiously, but before I knew it, I had shrugged. He inhaled sharply. “You’re fucking embarrassed of me? YOU? Are embarrassed. Of ME? Do you know how insane that is, Alex? Do you even know who you have become? I should be embarrassed of you! Coke nosebleeds at dinner in overpriced restaurants? I should be embarrassed by your obsession with money and clothes and your sense that you are better than everything and everyone. You are so out of touch with reality, it is completely insane!” He was so angry, he was practically hopping as he yelled.

  I opened my mouth and closed it. I tried again. Finally, I shook my head and stormed into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. I paced the thin strip of floor between the bed and my dresser, fuming. Incorporate him into my work world? Is he kidding me? He’d be eaten alive!

  Unable to sustain that level of indignation for long, I sat down on the bed, exhausted by the whole evening.

  I was bound to get caught at some point, I thought. It could have been worse. I shuddered at the idea of him catching me with Peter, and a sense of relief replaced my fury. I looked at the locked door, wondering momentarily whether I should try to speak to Sam. But I opted to shower and climb into bed instead, thinking it would be best to have a civilized discussion in the morning. It wasn’t lost on me that my having locked him out of the bedroom meant he wouldn’t be able to finish packing, or use the bathroom, for that matter. I crawled under the covers and shut my eyes, but a few minutes later, a soft knock on the door forced them open. I stared up at the ceiling for a moment, mulling whether to get up, then finally shut them again.

  I woke early, my heart racing from a combination of anxiety and last night’s drinks. I opened the bedroom door quietly and stuck my head out, not wanting to wake Sam if he was sleeping, but he was sitting up on the couch, staring straight ahead at the blank TV. He looked at me with his large, kind eyes, and I was surprised to find myself feeling deeply sad to be ending my relationship with the man I had spent the entirety of my young adult life with. I leaned the side of my face into the door, my hand still around the knob, and tears silently poured down my cheeks.

  Sam got up and made his way toward me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I hiccuped through my tears.

  He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. “Shhh. It’s all okay. It’s just. . . . We’ve just . . .”

  “Grown apart,” I finished, then cried harder into his chest. He led me to the couch, where I almost collapsed, weeping from the bottom of my stomach. I knew the tears weren’t just over Sam leaving. They were about the person I had become, the left turn my neat little life had taken into a mess of cheating and partying. He steadied me with his arm, letting me cry while shedding a few tears himself, and when I calmed down a little, he brought me a glass of water. He then turned back to his boxes, and though I couldn’t bring myself to help him pack, I watched him intently.

  When he had sealed the last one, he sat next to me, placing a hand lightly on my upper thigh and smiling sadly. “It wasn’t forever. But it was a great run, wasn’t it?”

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked, suddenly uncertain myself.

  Sam nodded. “There was a point at Thanksgiving where I think we were either going to move forward or . . .” He trailed off. “And we didn’t. I gave it a few months to see if we could get back on track, but it didn’t happen. And we can blame your job and my company or any number of other things, but if this were right, we’d have made it work. Don’t you think, Al?”

  I felt an ache in my chest when he said my name, and I had to look away, but I nodded, knowing he was right.

  “It’s better this way. We’re both going to be better this way,” he assured me.

  “Where will you go?” I asked quietly.

  “My buddy Chris from work just had a roommate move out of his place in the East Village. I’m going to sublet the room.” He glanced around the apartment. “I’ve been to his place before. It’s not this. But it’s really nice.”

  I felt stung by the speed of his answer. “You can stay as long as—”

  “I’m going to go today,” he said firmly. “It’s the right thing. I’ll have my stuff out before you get back tonight.”

  “I understand,” I said, and I did.

  I felt sad about the breakup, but only in a dull, deta
ched sort of way. I realized that I’d been mentally preparing for a life without Sam for months, and the forefront of my brain was consumed with closing three deals. My heart, which might have otherwise ached, burst with the excitement of my affair with Peter. My days rolled forward with no regard for the fact that anything in my life had changed. As a result, it was easy enough to pretend it hadn’t.

  I put my palms on my forehead, drawing the skin tight and up; I found it helped to keep my eyelids from closing. I was nearly finished with the markup Jordan had given me and was on track to be home at five o’clock and asleep by six that evening, the earliest I would have been to bed in months. I grabbed at my ringing office phone and cradled it between my chin and shoulder as I continued to type.

  “Hey, Matt.”

  “Hi. Are you able to come to my office now?”

  My stomach lurched at the formality of his tone. “Sure. Be right there.”

  Matt’s door was closed, but he called for me to enter before my knuckle hit the wood for the second time. He was on the phone but gestured for me to close the door and take a seat. Yikes. Closed-door meetings were never a good thing.

  As I listened to the tail end of his conversation, I scanned the room for the trash can I’d need if my lunch climbed any higher in my throat.

  “I appreciate your understanding. She’s a wonderful associate, but she’s still in her first year. I’ll speak with her. Thanks for catching this . . . Okay . . . Okay . . . Thanks again.” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes serious. “Alex, there was a reference to a change in employment agreements in the Hat Trick deal we closed a few months back. The company caught that we never raised a flag. Did you loop in our employment specialists on the deal? I can’t believe they’d have been okay with it.”

  I stared at him, unable to speak. Of course I hadn’t looped in our employment specialists. I was completely unaware that I was supposed to. Now I would have, but a few months ago, it was just not on my radar.

  “Alex, in order to be a good lawyer, you need to know what you don’t know. Neither you nor I know what is kosher in employment law. It’s why we have employment specialists. It’s why we have tax, and real estate, and every other group. It’s why I’m part of this firm and don’t just open up my own shop.”