Do This For Me

by Eliza Kennedy

  Marty was at his desk, paging through a folder of documents. “What’s the big emergency?”

  His eyes flicked to the sofa. Templeton was sitting there.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Marty suggested.

  I crossed my arms. “I’m fine standing, thanks.”

  Marty closed the folder. He rested a hand on it. “Go ahead, Andy.”

  Templeton rose. “An employee came to me this morning. Apparently, a routine review of our servers turned up some alarming documents. The employee was uncertain how to deal with them, so he—”

  I lost patience. “Spit it out, Andy.”

  He glanced at Marty. Marty offered me the folder. I opened it.

  The first document was an e-mail from me to Cameron, alluding to the afternoon he’d spent in my bed.

  I lowered myself into one of Marty’s wing chairs and started reading. There were more e-mails. Calendar entries. Summaries of Cameron’s research. Drafts of my dating profile.

  Chase must have given these to Templeton. Was he getting back at me for the fact that I wouldn’t sleep with him again?

  I read through everything. Then I read it again. Or pretended to. I was buying time. At last, I placed the folder in front of Marty.

  “This,” I said, “is an outrage.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Templeton said.

  “The employee Andy referred to wasn’t doing a ‘routine review,’ ” I told Marty. “He went searching for these things. How could you allow that?”

  Marty pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know any of this was going on, of course. But electronic files are property of the firm, Raney. You know that.”

  “You’ve kept your paralegal awfully busy,” Templeton remarked.

  I swung around on him now. “Don’t even think of firing him.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it! Imagine the lawsuit we’d have on our hands.”

  I took a deep breath and focused on Marty. “I can’t believe I even have to say this, but what happened was consensual.”

  “He’s your direct report,” Templeton pointed out. “It’s a violation of firm policy.”

  “We’re enforcing that policy now? I can think of, oh, ten or twenty other partners who should probably be informed. Why don’t you get on that, Andy?”

  “Because I’m on this,” he replied, with infuriating calm. “And what you’ve done is much more serious.”

  Marty had been silent for a while, eyes on the closed folder. I needed to know what he was thinking.

  “I can’t believe you’re condoning this…this witch hunt,” I said. “Do you really have nothing to say?”

  “He doesn’t even know about the prostitute,” Templeton said.

  I turned on him now. “Excuse me?”

  “The prostitute. The one you asked your paralegal to hire for you.”

  Marty’s face went very still. “Is that true, Raney?”

  “What?” I cried. “No!”

  “We found a reference to it in the paralegal’s e-mails,” Templeton said. “I’m having it printed now.”

  “It never happened!” I cried. “It was only…an idea.”

  “An idea,” Templeton said. “You’ve been having a lot of wacky ideas lately, Moore. Did I say wacky? I meant criminal.”

  “Tell me something, Andy. Do you only speak in clichés, or do you think in them, too? I’ve always wondered.”

  He ignored me. “More erratic behavior, Marty. It’s becoming a real pattern. Remember that Internet business in the fall? It’s a miracle she wasn’t caught. You can’t keep letting her get away with it.”

  “Why are you here?” I demanded. “You are such a waste of space.”

  Marty’s voice was very quiet as he asked, “Did you hire a prostitute, Raney?”

  “No!”

  “I’m calling an emergency meeting,” Templeton announced.

  Marty sighed. “Nobody’s calling a meeting.”

  “You think you can get me kicked out?” I laughed. “Good luck.”

  “She’s violated half a dozen rules, Marty. She’s exposed us to liability. She’s probably broken the law. You read what’s in that folder. The way she talked about men, objectified them, denigrated them? What if this leaked? A partner at one of the nation’s most powerful law firms, renowned for fighting for women’s rights, also happens to be a harasser and an opportunist and a closet sexist. In this political climate? The press would have a field day. Clients would run away screaming.”

  “You’re a moron,” I said.

  “And you’re a whore,” he replied.

  “Enough!” Marty shouted. “Enough! Andy, go.”

  Templeton strode out, not bothering to conceal the triumph on his face.

  “Marty—”

  “Sit down.”

  I did. He gazed at me sorrowfully. “Raney. What the hell?”

  “How could you let him talk to me like that, Marty? When a man acts this way, he’s having a midlife crisis. When a woman does, she’s a sinner and should be—”

  Marty raised a hand. We were silent for a moment. His shoulders slumped. He rubbed his face. He looked like the oldest man in the world.

  “Walk me through this,” he said. “You’ve slept with three employees. You ordered two of them—and others—to conduct unauthorized and potentially illegal activities on your behalf. You’re having a relationship with a client.” I started to protest, but he cut me off. “Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. My point is this. Any number of men at this firm have had midlife crises, Raney. Any number regularly behave like entitled assholes. You, my dear? Have surpassed them all.”

  I said nothing.

  Marty rose and went to the window. Looking out, away from me, he said, “I think you should take a leave of absence.”

  It was like a punch in the gut. Stop working? That was unthinkable. Impossible.

  “If you take a leave for a few weeks, apologize, maybe agree to get some counseling—”

  I was on my feet. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”

  “I don’t care!” Marty cried. “To be perfectly blunt, Raney, all that matters to me right now is appearances. Andy is right—this doesn’t look good.”

  “He needs two-thirds of the partnership to force me out. He’ll never get that, Marty—I make this place way too much money. He won’t even find another partner to second his motion for a meeting.”

  Marty sat down, placing his hands flat on his desk. “Let’s say you’re right. The partnership stands behind you. Do you think Templeton is going to let it die? You’ve made no secret of your disdain for him over the years. He’s the one who will leak this to the press. He will hurt you, Raney Jane. And that’s the last thing in the world I want.”

  “I find it interesting that none of this was a problem until I started making noise about pervasive sexism at the firm.”

  “Goddammit, Raney, you know the one has nothing to do with the other!”

  “Should I sue on my own behalf, or do I have enough female lawyers for a class action?” I put a finger to my lips, thoughtful. “I’ll have to do some research.”

  I was sure that would set Marty off. I wanted him enraged, as furious as I was. Instead, he gave me another of his tender, hopeless looks. The ones that killed me.

  “I only want what’s best for you, Raney Jane. I always have.”

  “I’m not going to scurry away in shame and let Templeton think he’s won, Marty. I can’t let him or anyone else dictate how I should behave. I’ve come too far for that.”

  “Then skip the party tonight,” he pleaded. “If both of you calm down, this could blow over.”

  It was tempting. But I couldn’t.

  I stood a little straighter as I said, “I am a partner of this firm. I have as much a right
to be there as anyone.”

  “You’re putting me in an impossible position! What am I supposed to do?”

  “Be on my side,” I replied. “But apparently that’s too difficult. So I’ll defend myself.”

  I walked out.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I went back to my office. I made calls and drafted e-mails. I read, wrote, revised and approved. I worried and fretted and surreptitiously scratched my crotch. At four, Amanda stopped by with a letter.

  “Looking forward to the party?” she asked.

  “Mm-hmm.” I skimmed what she’d written, signed it and gave it back to her.

  “Thanks.” She headed to the door, then stopped. “By the way. I’m going to be a little late tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  It was the way she said it. The way she failed to meet my eye.

  I fell back in my chair. “Amanda. No.”

  To her credit, she dropped the pretense. “I’m sorry, Raney. It’s just not working out for me here.”

  “But you converted me. I’m working on the problems you pointed out.”

  She sank into a chair. “The male partners have been talking about what you said at a meeting a few weeks ago. Let’s just say it hasn’t been complimentary. They aren’t listening. They don’t care.”

  She was right. They didn’t care. About her or about me. Why was I pleading with her to stay when my own career was in jeopardy?

  I caught myself. Nobody listens to Templeton. You’re fine.

  “I’m almost thirty,” she said. “I can’t invest much more time in a place where I don’t belong.”

  “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

  “I’ve only started looking.” She paused. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

  “I’m sorry I had to find out at all.”

  She frowned unhappily and walked to the door. “I’ll see you at the gala, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “See you there.”

  * * *

  —

  At six, I closed my door and got ready. I wiggled my way into the bronze-and-black gown Athena had shown me during our first Barneys extravaganza—the one with the plunging neckline and metallic scales. I put up my hair. Renfield came in and took one look at me. “Zowza.”

  I rooted around in my makeup bag, but couldn’t find any lipstick. She stumped out and returned with a gold-sequined pouch. She removed a tube and uncapped it.

  “Go like this.” She leered at me horrifically.

  I eyed the stub of brownish-pink color. “How do you know that’s going to look good on me?”

  “It’s Rose Potpourri, by L’Oréal,” she said. “Looks good on everyone.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Remember my sister Elaine’s memorial service, how everybody said she looked so beautiful in her casket, better even than when she was alive?”

  “Rose Potpourri?”

  “Brought a tube to the funeral home myself,” Renfield said proudly. “Woulda put it on her, too, but that jagoff little undertaker wanted all the glory.”

  I sat patiently as she performed her magic.

  “Any news?”

  She knew what I meant. “He’s been making calls, according to his secretary. Nobody’s agreed to second him. Blot.” I took the tissue she held out and pressed it to my lips.

  “What if someone does?”

  She snorted. “Never gonna happen. Everybody loves you. I have no idea why, seeing how you’re such a royal pain in the ass, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

  Two knocks. Aaron stood in the doorway. For an instant, I forgot everything. The strife, the heartbreak. My professional peril and the bacteria tormenting my nether regions.

  He looked so handsome. I always loved him in a tuxedo.

  “Raney!” He laughed in wonder. “You look…beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to Renfield. “Text me if you hear anything?”

  She nodded, then bent to kiss me on the cheek. “Try to have fun tonight, will ya?”

  Snow was falling as we hurried through the revolving doors. The Fury was waiting. We got inside. Aaron gave me an odd look. “So, this car…”

  “Impulse purchase.” My phone pinged. It was a text from Marty.

  —Barfeld has seconded Andy’s motion. We’re having a preliminary meeting tomorrow morning.

  —I’ll be there. With my lawyer.

  Jorge pulled away, and we were immediately stuck in traffic. “This city,” he muttered.

  I felt Aaron’s eyes on me. “You seem tense. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” I crossed my legs, carefully arranging the pleats of my gown. The itching had abated for a while, but now it was returning with a vengeance. I opened my bag.

  “Can we talk about what happened the other night?” he asked.

  I tapped Jorge on the shoulder. “Do we have any bottled water?”

  “Sorry, Miz Moore. I forgot to restock it.”

  “The way you—” Aaron broke off as I dry-swallowed a pill. “What is that?”

  I coughed, pounding my chest. The metallic disks on my dress shivered. “Doxycycline.”

  My phone pinged. Rahsaan.

  —I’m trying to finish the Wexroth memo before I head to the museum. Who am I addressing it to?

  “Raney?” Aaron said.

  I replied to Rahsaan. Then I realized I hadn’t heard from Kate and Maisie all day. Were they still upset? How upset? “Where are the girls?”

  “Staying with a friend,” Aaron said. “Why?”

  “Which friend?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “You weren’t curious where your daughters might be sleeping?”

  He looked at me curiously. “It’s Maisie and Kate. I’m sure they’re fine.”

  They were hurt, furious, confused. Who knows what they might do? I texted them both.

  —Can you please let me know where you’ll be spending the night?

  “We can’t keep going like this, Raney. Radio silence, then you came home, and we started talking, finally making some progress, until you…” Aaron glanced at the back of Jorge’s head before continuing in a lower voice. “It was like you were a different person.”

  Buddy, you have no idea.

  Ping!

  Kate: We’re staying at Audra’s. Where will YOU be spending the night, Mother?

  Aaron’s phone buzzed. She’d added him to the group text. He read it, puzzled. “Why is she asking that?”

  “They’re upset with me.”

  Me: At the hotel, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.

  Jorge navigated around Columbus Circle. Snow splattered against the windows.

  “What is it you want, Raney? Should we try counseling?”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “I think we do. The uncertainty is killing me. And I don’t think it’s good for you, either. You’re so on edge. I want us to find a way through this. But…”

  Ping! It was Singer.

  —I need to talk to you.

  “We aren’t communicating. I have no idea where your head is at.”

  Ping! Marty.

  —Apologize, Raney. Agree to get help. You can make this go away.

  Ping!

  Kate: You won’t see us tomorrow. We’re not coming into the city for a while.

  Ping! Rahsaan.

  —Do you want 3 copies or 4?

  Ping!

  Ping!

  Ping! Ping! Ping!

  My mind was being pulled in a dozen different directions. I responded to Singer first:

  —I can’t call you right now. Did you go to the doctor?

  I sent it and began a reply to Marty.

  “We will talk, Aaron. I promise.
But I’ve had a really hard day, and I need to focus on—”

  “What does your text mean?”

  Aaron was peering at his screen, brow furrowed.

  “What text?”

  “The one you just sent.” He held his phone up. It read:

  Raney: I can’t call you right now. Did you go to the doctor?

  More texts began appearing below it.

  Maisie: Huh?

  Kate: WTF, Mom?

  Comprehension dawned—slowly, terribly. I sat back in my seat. Jorge lost patience and swerved into another lane. My head bumped against the window. “Sorry!” he called out.

  “Raney? What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t mean to send that to you,” I said.

  “Who did you mean to send it to?”

  I looked down at my phone. Texts were still coming.

  Ping! Ping! Ping!

  I could lie. Say it was for Sarah, or Marty. Or an associate who was ill. But I didn’t want to lie. I was so scattered. So frazzled. Lying felt like too much work.

  So I said, “I meant to send it to a man I’ve been seeing.”

  Aaron’s face went blank.

  “A man,” he repeated. “A man you’ve been seeing.”

  I nodded. He looked around the car, down at his screen. He read the text again, as if he might find some different meaning there.

  “Who is he?” Aaron said at last.

  “Someone I work with.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true.”

  Aaron shook his head. He looked at his screen again. “Why do you ask him if he went to the doctor?”

  “Because,” I took a deep breath, “I may have given him chlamydia.”

  Aaron froze, just for an instant. Then his face darkened with anger. “This is all a big joke to you, huh?”

  “I’m serious, Aaron.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “There’s no man. You won’t give me a straight answer about anything!”