by Kim Hamilton
With twenty minutes to spare, I entered the lobby and located the elevators. Wagner & Beam was on the third floor. I took the elevator to the second, hoping to find a ladies’ room. The bathroom was styled with granite counter tops and three infinity sinks. To my delight, there was an air hand dryer located on the far wall. I dug a brush out from my purse, pushed the metal button on the dryer, and stuck my head under it. In two minutes, my hair was dry, but it was a jumbled mess. Ignoring that for now, I took off my jacket and held that under the dryer, then I did the same with my skirt. I used paper towels to dry my legs and shoes. After dressing, I stepped back to examine myself in the mirror. The clothes were presentable, but my hair was scary.
The door to the ladies’ room opened. A woman about my mom’s age came in. She must have noticed my distress. “You alright?”
“I got caught in the rain. I have an interview in ten minutes, and look at my hair.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She went back out through the door and returned moments later with a giant handbag. She pulled out a wide-tooth comb, a giant spider clip, and a can of Aqua Net. “Hold still,” she said. She had magical hands because I hardly felt her tugging on my unruly locks.
I noticed her watching my reflection in the mirror. “I know you. You’re that bus lawyer.”
“Guilty,” I said.
“I don’t get it. You’ve got a good job, but you’re here to interview for another?”
It was not lost on me that she referred to my current job as good.
“To be honest, I didn’t take my current job thinking it would be my lifelong career.”
“Seems to me you got a real job. Your firm represented my sister’s husband’s first cousin when he was injured at the Dunston Plant a couple of years ago. Dawson Garner did well by him.” She grabbed the hair clip in one hand, did some tricky little loopy thing with the bulk of my hair, and jammed the clip onto it. When she was done, the spider clip held most of my hair behind my head. A few gentle curls were allowed to escape, giving it a soft look.
“Close your eyes and hold your breath,” she said. I complied and heard the can of Aqua Net dispense a sticky fog of aerosol lacquer over my head. After the air cleared, I turned to the mirror and examined her handiwork.
“How’d you do that? It looks better than before I got caught in the rain. Very professional.” I turned my head from side to side, looking at my reflection and nodding my approval.
“I have four daughters. We call this ‘interview hair.’ So who’s this interview with anyway?”
“Wagner & Beam. They do intellectual property law.”
“I know who they are. You don’t want to work for them.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. I work down this hall at the engineering firm. My name’s Janice. Come see me when you’re done.”
Wagner & Beam shared the third floor with an accounting firm, a fertility clinic, and a canine therapist. The entrance had large glass double doors with heavy hardware pulls. I pulled one side open and slid into their reception area. It was sparsely decorated in an intentional way. The round reception desk had wood-inlaid panels and a granite top. It was free of any paperwork. No files, no mail. Just a computer. The seating area had a large leather sofa with two matching wingback chairs on either side of a circular glass coffee table. The whole place was cold and impersonal.
A young woman with severely pulled-back black hair, dark red lipstick, and fake eyelashes was poised behind the desk. She looked up from her computer monitor. “May I help you?”
“I’m Jessica Snow. I have an appointment with Amanda Chamberlain.”
“Oh right. You’re here for the interview.” She stood and looked at me a little harder. “I should have recognized you from the ads.” She stood higher on her tiptoes and leaned across the reception desk to give me the once-over with her eyes. I felt self-conscious about my appearance. At the same time, I was insulted by her condescending scrutiny and wanted to punch her in the face.
“Is there a problem?” I asked with a saccharine smile.
“No. Follow me to the conference room.” She led the way down a short hall and gestured toward the doorway of a glass-walled conference room. “Can I get you some coffee, or water, or tea?”
I declined the offer of refreshments, and she retreated, promising to let Ms. Chamberlain know I was here.
Surveying the surroundings, I concluded that if there was an HGTV makeover show for law offices, Dawson Garner & Associates would be the “before” and Wagner & Beam would be the “after.” The second-hand, almost-matching chairs Kari found for our conference room at a consignment store in Cockeysville seemed sullen and dull compared to the crisp, tight leather swivel chairs adorning this room. I selected a chair by the window so I could look through the glass wall into the hall. I sat my handbag on the chair next to me and pretended to look at my cell phone. Through my peripheral vision, I noticed two people standing in the hallway on the other side of the glass. Looking up, I noticed it was a man and a woman about my age, wearing business suits and arrogant demeanors. Both associate attorneys, I assumed.
When they saw me looking, they transformed their smirks into serious faces and hastened down the hall. I was getting used to being recognized once in a while—a natural consequence of DGA’s advertising—but I didn’t like this. Had they been laughing at me? Indignation burned in my chest. Before I could contemplate their behavior further, a figure appeared in the doorway.
“You must be Jessica. I’m Amanda Chamberlain.” She glided toward me and presented a well-manicured hand. I stood, took her hand, and practiced my firm, one-pump handshake.
She had about fifteen years on me. Her tailored suit made mine look like I’d pulled it off the rack at a thrift shop. Hers was a subtle, houndstooth print in a gray tone. She brightened it with yellow, bobbled earrings and a matching bracelet. Highlighted hair swung an inch above her shoulders. She motioned for me to resume my seat and lowered herself with the grace of a dancer at the head of the table. While we were about the same height, she sat taller than me. I checked my posture, threw back my shoulders, and elongated my neck. Still, I felt like a kid at the adults’ table. I looked at the two chairs adjacent to me and noticed their seats were the same height as mine. Her chair was set higher. The room was designed for intimidation, and it was working.
The receptionist came in and placed a crystal glass filled with ice water and a lemon slice in front of Amanda Chamberlain. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked me. I politely declined again and she retreated through the glass door, leaving it open.
Amanda Chamberlain took a sip of the ice water, opened a folder in front of her, and looked down at my resume.
“I see you work for Dawson Garner.”
It was not a question, but I replied in the affirmative anyway.
“Why would you want to leave such”—she paused for effect and painted a smirk on her face—“stellar employment.” I was confused by her characterization. While I retrieved my rehearsed answer from my brain, I noticed yet another man in a suit peering at me from the hallway. He pretended to consult a file folder. When I met his eyes, he moved along down the hall with a not-so-subtle nod at Amanda. I redirected my attention to my answer.
“I’m looking for more of a challenge,” I replied.
“And why are you interested in intellectual property law? Isn’t chasing ambulances challenging enough for you?
Her condescending tone bit hard at my core. She was trying to humiliate me. They all were. It almost worked. A small cluster of people pretended to have a meeting in the hallway. They were busy stealing glances at me. I recognized three of them from earlier. The air tensed with their arrogance. I knew then that this interview was not about hiring me. They wanted to see the ambulance chaser who didn’t want to chase ambulances anymore. They wanted to see if the real Jessica Snow resembled the one they’d seen on billboards and buses. To them, I was a circus sidesh
ow—their afternoon entertainment. Amanda Chamberlain acknowledged their presence with a wink and turned back to me.
Avoiding her question, I rose, gathered my purse, and went to stand over her before she had a chance to stand on her own. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” It felt good to reject her before she rejected me, but something was missing. It was a muted victory. I needed to even the score.
The gawkers in the hallway were no longer pretending to discuss work. They were lined up against the glass staring in. Perfect. In one seamless motion, I reached for Amanda’s water glass, poured it over her head, and watched as the lemon struck her nose. I dropped the glass in her lap. Squaring my shoulders, I skated through the door past the dumbfounded, pompous brigade of onlookers and let myself out. Damn, that felt good.
Once in the elevator, I hit the button for the second floor. I wanted to share my victory with Janice. The office of Vector Tech, Inc. was more low-key than Wagner & Beam. Its furnishing resembled that of Dawson Garner & Associates. I asked the receptionist if Janice was available and she buzzed Janice on the intercom, then directed me down the hall to the first door on the right.
Janice was sitting at a drafting table. She removed a pair of reading glasses, let them fall on a chain around her neck, and gestured toward a drafting stool right next to her.
“So, how’d it go?”
“You were right. I don’t want to work there. They were awful to me.”
“I should have warned you, but I figured that’s something you needed to judge for yourself.” She reached for a bag a Twizzlers, grabbed one, and passed the bag in my direction. I pulled out a piece. “Some folks enjoy the arrogant atmosphere and the posturing of pompous pricks. I had a feeling you weren’t one of them.”
“They were making fun of me. It was like they called me in for the interview to see the real thing—like I’m a freak show.” I took a bite of the licorice then pointed it toward the ceiling. “But I got the better of Amanda Chamberlain.”
“What did you do?”
I told her what I had done. She laughed so hard she nearly fell off her stool.
“So what now? Do you have any other interviews set up?”
“No. My resume is still out there. I check job postings a couple of times a week. Something will come up.” I stood to look around. “So, you’re an engineer?”
“Nice deduction, counselor.” She smiled. “Yup, I’ve been with Vector for almost twenty years now. I was hired not long after it was founded. We do government contract work for the most part. Nothing fancy or groundbreaking, but it’s steady work, and I like the people I work with.” She looked up at me. “Do you like the people you work with?”
My eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me realize that I have a great job.”
“Another savvy deduction, counselor.”
I suspected she might be onto something, but I wasn’t in the mood for a deep discussion about my motivation for seeking employment elsewhere. For now, I wanted to wallow in my victory.
“I shouldn’t keep you from your work any longer. How about I call you next time I come to Towson? I have business at the courthouse once in a while. Maybe we can meet for lunch?”
We agreed to stay in touch, and I resolved to make an effort to keep that promise.
On the drive back to DGA, I considered two opposing views. Janice was from my mother’s generation and she saw the value in the job I was doing. My mother, on the other hand, didn’t approve of my work. Could she be the reason I felt the pull to find something else?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sharlyn was sitting in the reception area when I returned from my clandestine interview.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Kari said you wouldn’t be long. I’ve got to get back to work, but I wanted to show you this.” She handed me her cell phone and I looked at the displayed text message. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll cut out your tongue.
“Who’s this from?”
“I don’t recognize the number. It could be from Mad Dog. He’s Darnell’s boy. Does whatever Darnell says.”
The office phone rang, and Kari went to answer it. She listened for a few moments and held the phone out to me. “I think it’s for you.”
“This is Jessica Snow.”
“You need to tell Sharlyn to shut the fuck up about Snake. If she rats him out, she’s dead, and so are you.”
“Who is this?”
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, bitch.” He hung up. The phone shook in my hand as I returned it to Kari.
“You’re paler than your normal pale,” Kari said. “What’d he say?”
I relayed our brief and heartwarming conversation, then went to rap on Dawson’s door. “Hey, we’ve got a problem out here.”
He called from inside his office. “Give me a second to put my pants on.”
“Kari, check the phone and get the number from that call. Let’s see if it’s the same as the number on Sharlyn’s phone.” We compared the numbers. They were the same.
Dawson emerged from his office with crisp seams on his pressed khakis. “What’s up, Jess? You look a little pale.”
“Sharlyn’s been subpoenaed to testify against her rat bastard ex-boyfriend. He’s being tried for heroin distribution.” My voice was shaking. I took a deep breath. “We got threatening messages saying that if she talks, we’re dead.”
He shot me a questioning look. “And, what? You’re not worried about that are you?”
“You bet I’m worried! I’m not ready to die. I’ve almost got a date lined up.”
Marty joined us. “What’d I miss?”
“These two”—Dawson said, pointing at Sharlyn and me—“received a threat suggesting that if Sharlyn testifies against her ex-boyfriend in his drug trial, then they’re both toast.”
Marty looked at us. “And, what? You’re not worried about that, are you?”
I felt like I’d been transported to another dimension where people had nine lives, like a cat. So why worry about one routine death threat?
Dawson tried to reassure me. “These kinds of threats happen all the time. Right, Marty?”
“All the time,” Marty said. “In fact, I’ve had clients threaten witnesses.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I didn’t know about it at the time, Jess. I may bend the rules, but I would never condone that. It happens in drug cases all the time.” Dawson pulled me to my feet. “You need to get your mind off this. Everyone, we’re closing early and going to happy hour.”
“Come to Hal’s,” Sharlyn said. “We’ve got a special on steamed shrimp, and it’s half-price burger night.”
We filed into Hal’s and got a booth overlooking the street. Marty and Dawson on one side, Kari and I on the other. Hal brought us a mountain of steamed shrimp coated in heaps of Old Bay seasoning and a pitcher of Natty Boh. We each ordered a burger and fries.
After filling our mugs, Dawson raised his glass. “Here’s to persevering in the face of adversity.”
Clink, clink, clink. Our four mugs met in the middle.
Dawson continued. “A lot has happened in the last week, beginning with Harvey’s murder and then my arrest. Now Jess has been threatened by some lowlife drug dealer. But I’m feeling very positive.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“For starters, I shot a 74 at the Baltimore Country Club yesterday.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s why you’re positive?”
“No, I was bragging. I’m feeling positive because we’ve got a killer team here.” He gestured around our booth. “Despite the troubles of last week, we’ve kept our clients, gained new ones, even increased our criminal practice. Plus, Jess is on to a new line of personal injury claims with the exploding toilets. The future is bright.” He raised his glass again.
Clink, clink, clink.
Dawson’s team building speech made me happy to be recognized as part of this burgeon
ing legal squad. At the same time, guilt gnawed at my stomach. Here was Dawson, praising our four-person team when a couple of hours ago, I sat for a job interview. I felt like a traitor. Why was I looking for other work? Sure, our area of practice lacked the prestige and honor of other fields, but we helped a lot of people. We did good, honest work. I was getting the hang of this business, and I had become a true asset to the firm. Who cares if a drug-dealing lowlife had threatened to kill me? At that moment, I loved my job.
I raised my glass. “Here’s to DGA.”
We finished our meal. Marty and Dawson stayed behind to shoot some pool with Hal. Kari and I walked back to the office to get our cars and head home.
#
Kari jumped right into her car and drove off. I backed out and turned left down the one-way alley. My headlights illuminated the path in front of me. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The other end of the alley was partially lit by a floodlight over a single-car garage. Standing in that wash of light was a man. He straightened his arm in front of him, raised one hand, and leveled it at me. I saw a flash of metal. In a small fraction of a millisecond, as adrenaline coursed through me, a few simple things went through my head—this asshole was going to shoot me. I would die alone and never get that date with Mark.
I sank into my car seat and floored it down the alley. The horrifying sound of gunfire exploded. The car lurched to the left. Gripping the wheel tighter, I guided the car toward Biddle Street. It was well lit, which provided me with some comfort. I turned left onto Biddle, the car hobbling along on three tires, when Delroy crossed the street in front of me. I slammed on my brakes and blew my horn at the same time. Delroy jumped like an NBA superstar and stumbled forward, but caught himself. He clutched his chest. I feared he was having a heart attack.