The Pa-la-ti-'shan

by Neal Goldstein

I got the City Committee’s endorsement Thursday night. Friday morning the governor told me I had to resign from my job.

  “Governor, you told me I could work for you and you would more or less lend me to the District Representative’s office until the election.”

  “Yes that’s true,” the governor nodded his head.

  “You never said anything about me having to resign.”

  “Yes that’s also correct. I guess I forgot to mention that,” the governor looked concerned, but then again he might have been constipated, I could not be certain.

  I waited.

  “It’s a good news, bad news thing,” the governor said and smiled.

  “What do you mean?”

  The governor shook his head apparently disappointed in my failure to comprehend the obvious. “The good news is you’re going to be the next Representative for the 127th District. The bad news is you have to resign, or I have to fire you because of this law, the ‘Little Hatch Act’.”

  “Did you know about this before you suggested I consider running for the job?”

  “Of course, I did.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do between now and the election?”

  “I have it all worked out, it’s another good news, bad news thing,” he said and gave me his patented governor’s don’t worry smile.

  I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like the governor’s plan.

  “Myron Bollinger, the Chairman at Brinkley Smoot, my former law firm is going to hire you as a law clerk. You can work there while you study for the bar exam. Brinkley will lend you to the District Representative’s office, as part of their pro bono, community service crap. You’ll see it’s all good.”

  “What’s the bad news part of this, since I assume you think, that’s the good news part,” I asked the governor.

  “Well, since the District Representative’s job is more or less a part-time position, Brinkley Smoot will expect you to remain as part of the firm after you’re elected, and after you pass the bar.”

  I had become disillusioned with the legal profession and had decided not to take the bar exam. Now I was being forced to reconsider and was not all together thrilled with the prospect.

  The governor could probably read my lack of enthusiasm. “Look it. Bollinger will explain everything to you. Go right over to Brinkley Smoot. Hear him out. If you don’t like what you hear you don’t have to go for the deal.”

  When I left the governor’s office Nicky smiled at me.

  “The governor just told me I have to resign. He said it’s the Little Hatch Act and I can’t be a candidate for office and work for the Commonwealth. I should have known that.”

  She came out from behind her reception desk and hugged me. “Everything will work out. I know you. You’ll think of something.”

  “Well the governor is hooking me up with his old law firm.”

  “See that sounds like a good thing,” she said.

  “I guess.”

  Shortly after Slattery had been elected governor, Brinkley Smoot became the premier law firm in Philadelphia. Slattery’s close association with firm, of course, was the magic that made it all possible. In the six years he held office BS, as the firm was referred to on the street, had grown to 750 lawyers with offices across the country and in the UK, Brussels, Bei-jing and Dubai.

  The home office was on the 43rd to 50th floors of the Mellon Bank Building at 1735 Market Street. Since I was wearing one of my Boyds suits, the security guard at the lobby smiled when I approached to obtain clearance to ascend to the 50th floor where Bollinger presided over the mega firm. As I rode up the elevator, I wondered if Boyds would repossess the suit in the middle of the night like the repo guys did with cars, when I was unable to pay off the balance of my bill.

  Myron Bollinger was seated at a sofa in front of a coffee table near the floor to ceiling windows in the corner office. There was no desk or anything that resembled a regular lawyer’s office, however, Bollinger was not a regular lawyer-he was an uber lawyer!

  “Mr. Green thanks for stopping by. The governor speaks very highly of you.”

  “That’s very kind of him.”

  “And congratulations on your endorsement. Well, did the governor explain the plan?”

  “Actually, he was a little vague on the details.”

  He smiled, “Yes, that’s just so typical of the governor.”

  We stared at one another as I waited for the details and Bollinger sized me up.

  “Well then,” he said, breaking eye contact. “Here’s our offer. We’ll hire you as a law clerk at an annual salary of $90,000, plus benefits for you and your wife. You’re married aren’t you?”

  “No sir.”

  “I thought the governor said you were married to Major Miller’s daughter.”

  “Nicky and I are friends.”

  “Well, you have one beautiful friend there young man. Anyway, as I was saying we’ll pay you $90,000 plus benefits. After you pass the bar, of course we’ll pay you an appropriate salary, say the low $200s.”

  I was trying to digest Bollinger’s offer.

  “Mr. Green, may I call you Bernard?”

  “Bernie.”

  “Listen Bernie, all the firms will be knocking on your door. We can massage the numbers when you pass the bar. We at Brinkley Smoot believe you’ll have the best resources available to enhance your political career. What do you think?”

  “Mr. Bollinger.”

  “Please call me Mike.”

  “Mike, what exactly do you expect me to do here?”

  “Initially, all we want you to do is prepare for the bar exam. We have a program already in place to assist our law clerks to get ready for the bar. You’ll be in a class with twelve other bright young people. It meets four mornings every week until the exam in July. The afternoons you’ll be free to study, or you can continue to volunteer at the District Representative’s Office, as you prefer.”

  “After you take the bar you’ll need some time off. And then you’ll need to get ready to assume your office. We can help you prepare. You’ll be assigned to our Government Support and Litigation sections. You will be the first state legislator to become associated with our firm. We’re all very excited.”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention, we’ll pay you a $10,000 signing bonus if you agree to join the firm.”

  I sat there stunned by the offer. This was crazy.

  “Well, what do you think Bernie?”

  “Mike, a friend of mine used to warn me, if something sounds too good to be true it probably is. What’s the catch?”

  “There’s no catch. Naturally we expect that you’ll remain with the firm after you pass the bar, but there’s no contract that restricts you. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you think it over. The firm is having an evening out at the Phillies game this weekend. We invited all the clerks and a few of the associates. Why don’t you and your friend Ms. Miller join us? I’ll have the tickets to our box and a parking voucher delivered to your home. What do you say?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Great we’ll see you then. And Bernie, here’s my card with all of my numbers. If anyone from another firm tries to steal you away, call me, will you do that?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Brinkley Smoot Box

  I had practically decided to accept the offer in the time it took for the elevator to take me from the 50th floor to the lobby. The signing bonus alone would clear up the Boyds bill with plenty left over. But I couldn’t help feeling uneasy about the whole deal. Like I was selling out and compromising my principles for a few pieces of silver, ok a whole lot of silver. I needed to talk it over with Nicky. So much had happened in the last couple of months.

  By the time I got to Nicky’s apartment, she was busy making dinner. She had the stereo tuned to WRTI. The DJ Bob Perkins was playing the Ray Charles-David Fathead Newman rendition of “Hard Times.” It felt like we were about to celebrate something. It was as if Nicky’s revelation of the previous night h
ad somehow freed her spirit.

  “Smells good, what is it?”

  “It’s a surprise. Why don’t you change and pour us some wine?”

  “Sure, what’s the occasion?”

  She turned from the stove and kissed me. “Nothing special, it’s just that I’ve never felt so happy.”

  I filled her in on my meeting with Myron Bollinger and the Brinkley Smoot offer while we were having our wine.

  “If you don’t feel comfortable with what they proposed, you don’t have to work there. I’ve met Mr. Bollinger; he’s a friend of my father. According to the Major Bollinger’s an honorable man. Honor is very important to my father.”

  “It’s a lot of money.”

  “Money’s not everything. We’ll be alright.”

  I liked the ‘we’ part. What I didn’t like was how attracted I was to the money and all that went with it.

  “Why don’t you sleep on it? You’ll make the right decision. Let’s eat now. After dinner there’s something I want to ask you about, OK?”

  Dinner was like something from Gourmet Magazine. A wedge salad with pieces of bacon and Maytag blue cheese dressing, breast of chicken stuffed with broccoli rabe, and baby carrots and string beans. After we cleaned up she led me to the living room.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  “Sure.” I was starting to worry.

  “We’ve been seeing one another for six weeks now. But I…”

  Jeez, was I getting dumped?

  “It’s kind of awkward.”

  “Do you need some space? I mean am I…”

  “No, no, half of your stuff is here and half at your house. That’s what’s awkward. I want you to move in. I’m not asking you to make any kind of commitment; it’s just I like knowing you’re here. It makes me feel safe and… happy.”

  I could not believe this beautiful woman was asking me to move in.

  She looked at me, “What?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been surer of anything.”

  “OK, but I pay my share of the rent.”

  “OK, but you’ll have to tell the Major.”

  “I’m not so sure he’s going to be happy about this,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” she said and kissed me.

  Saturday morning I moved the rest of my stuff to Nicky’s apartment. I could tell Dave the doorman did not approve. The Parc had two main doormen, Sam and Dave, like the 60’s soul duo, Sam on weekdays and Dave on weekends. Neither of them particularly liked me. I suspected they had been paid by Nicky’s father to watch over her and report any suspicious conduct back to him. As far as I was concerned Sam and Dave could tell the Major whatever they chose, and they would all have to learn to live with it. “Is that your entire wardrobe?” Nicky asked as I unpacked my stuff.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shopping.”

  Two hours later we returned with bags from J Crew, Banana Republic and other stores I had never been in before. We even saw Patrick at Boyds. All the salespeople, even Patrick, agreed with Nicky’s selections, and vetoed mine. I had never tried on, or purchased, so many clothes before. I was exhausted.

  “That was fun, don’t you think?” she said as she helped me unpack.

  “Come over here, I’ll show you what I think is fun.”

  She laughed and came into my arms. She kissed me. “It’s almost four. We have to get ready to go the ballpark. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

  “Actually, I don’t care. I mean, I’m having second thoughts about taking the job.”

  She kissed me again. “It would be rude to be late. Now be a good boy and get ready.”

  A half hour later I walked into the living room dressed in my Chase Utley jersey and cut-off jeans ready to go. “What?”

  “You can’t go to the game wearing that.”

  “Why not, I always wear this when I go to the ballpark.”

  “Well, you’ve never been to the Brinkley Smoot box before. Go put on the outfit you bought at J Crew.”

  I looked at her. Men didn’t have outfits. Anyway I thought that stuff was supposed to be for the office.

  “Nick…”

  “Bernie, trust me.”

  Nicky was right, the private box was not General Admission, or Ashburn Alley, where the great unwashed enjoyed a game at Citizens Bank Park. Private boxes might be in the same facility, but they were in a league of their own. The Brinkley Smoot box held around 50 people. They all looked like they were dressed for a regatta. My Chase Utley jersey would certainly not fit in, but I felt like a fraud in my yuppie J Crew attire.

  As we entered, all eyes turned our way. I knew they were looking at Nicky and not at me. “Nicky, it’s so good to see you,” Myron Bollinger greeted us. “Maude, say hello to Bernie Green, and you know Nicky.”

  “Hello dear,” Mrs. Bollinger hugged Nicky. “It’s so nice to see you again. And this is the young man I’ve heard so much about. The two of you make such a lovely couple. Mike told me he’s trying to convince Mr. Green to join Brinkley Smoot.”

  “Well Mrs. Bollinger, he’s going to have to work at that. It took me two years of flirting to get Bernie to ask me out,” Nicky said and flashed the Bollingers one of her smiles.

  “Maude, why don’t you and Nicky catch up while I introduce Bernie to some of the young men and women he’ll be working with, that is if he agrees to join our firm.”

  Bollinger introduced me to the law clerks. They were all freshly minted ivy-league grads. As first impressions go, I had absolutely nothing in common with any of them.

  “I want you to meet one of the fourth year associates who I think you know. He’s one of the instructors in our cram course, and if you join the firm, he’ll be your mentor. I believe he was one of your classmates at Central High, Joel Solomon.”

  “Bernie, it’s great to see you.” Joel hugged me. “Man, I haven’t seen you since we graduated from Central. Mike told me you were considering joining the firm. Come meet my wife Marilyn.” He led me to a petite and very pregnant young woman.

  “We’re expecting our first child any minute. Honey, this is Bernie Green, we used to ride the Broad Street Subway to Central together.”

  “Another of the wild guys from the 254, I bet,” she said.

  “Joel and I were townies. Believe me, we were not part of the wild crowd.”

  Nicky approached, “Joel and Marilyn meet my girl friend Nicky Miller.”

  Both of them looked impressed. I thought it was because I introduced Nicky as my girlfriend. I liked the sound of that, but I was wrong.

  “Mar and I are big fans of yours, we’ve seen you at the North Star and at the Tin Angel, we love the way you sing,” Joel said.

  “We have your CD. We bought it the last time we caught your act. You and Bernie will have to come to our place so you can autograph the cover,” Marilyn said.

  I was genuinely happy to see Joel. We had been friends at high school. Joel was one of the brainy guys in the advanced class. He won a full boat scholarship to Harvard; I went to Temple and we kind of drifted apart. Even though he was maybe the smartest guy I had ever met, his superior intellect never created a barrier between us.

  While Nicky and Marilyn discussed the imminent arrival to the Solomon family Joel filled me in on Brinkley Smoot.

  “It’s a lot like high school, only they pay you a shit load of money. There are your assholes, and believe me there are plenty of them, and there are a lot of decent people, who are really smart. Most of the law clerks you’ll be hanging out with are good kids. You can forget the three guys who look like they came from the Hitler Youth Movement,” he nodded his head in the direction of three Teutonic looking clerks who stood at the bar looking bored. “They’re legacies.”

  I looked at him.

  “They’re sons of partners from other big law firms. A lot of the big machers from the Main Line have intermarried to hold on
to their family fortunes. The silk stocking firms trade the runts of their litters, you know, the kids who really don’t have what it takes. They give them jobs until they can place them as in house counsel at some corporation their families’ control, where they can’t do too much damage.”

  “The rest of the clerks are OK. I think you’ll like them.”

  “I don’t know if I fit in. And to be honest, I don’t feel comfortable with getting paid just because I’m going to be an elected official, and not doing any real legal work.”

  He gave me a look like I was out of my mind.

  “Listen to me, you’re a smart guy. You will not have to compromise your principles. Brinkley already has its big rainmaker. The governor brings in a flood of business. The powers in the firm think you’re a good bet for the future, and I agree. Besides, you have the biggest set of balls I’ve ever seen. If you’re the same guy I knew at Central, you’ll tell them to go fuck themselves if anybody asks you to do something you don’t think is kosher.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  You’ve Got A Real Future In This Game

  I took the job. I spent four mornings a week at Brinkley Smoot’s bar preparation sessions. I worked the afternoons, now pro bono, at the 127th District office. I went home every night to Nicky. So far, it was all good.

  One afternoon when I arrived at the District Office Carlota told me the Speaker of the House had called. “I think the-you-know-what is about to hit the fan,” she said as she handed me the message slip marked ‘Urgent’.

  “Mr. Speaker, Bernie Green returning your call.”

  “What the fuck are we supposed to do with this Roscoe Smith bullshit?”

  Having spent time working for the governor and interacting with various elected officials the Speaker’s salutation neither surprised nor intimidated me. Politicians throw around the F-bomb and use other colorful expressions whenever they believe they are out of the public’s scrutiny.

  “Mr. Speaker, coming up with a solution to that problem is well above my pay grade.”

  “Don’t be a smart ass. The governor tells me you have the knack of coming up with clever ways to get his ass out of the ringer. I swear if Sylvester wasn’t already dead I’d kill that lazy bastard with my bare hands. Come on Green, you must have thought of a way out of this mess,” the Speaker whined.