by Wan, Helen
Someone to my left gave an audible snort.
If Dr. Rossi heard this, he ignored it. “This information will be thoroughly analyzed and collected in a comprehensive report, with prescriptive recommendations, that I will present to the firm’s Management Committee at the conclusion of my engagement.” He paused, and when he spoke again, he sounded serious and deliberate. “I cannot emphasize enough that anything you tell me will remain strictly confidential. No statement will be attributed to any particular lawyer, and all responses will be kept anonymous.”
I snorted then. It wouldn’t exactly take a genius to figure out where any statements from a female, Chinese American senior M&A attorney had come from. Tyler Robinson was going to have the same problem.
“I look forward to meeting as many of you individually as I can in the coming weeks. Thank you.”
I might have imagined it, but it seemed that Dr. Rossi was looking directly at me as he finished his statement. Well, he could forget it. I wasn’t about to contribute an interview for his little report, “confidential” or not. I wasn’t about to rock the boat. Not this close to shore.
As Dr. Rossi walked back to his seat, the din of voices and clink of silverware rose again around the conference table. People ambled over to inspect the desserts.
“I’m going to get a brownie or something,” I told Hunter and Murph. “You guys want anything?”
Hunter shook his head. “I gotta take off,” he mumbled. He was out of the room like a shot.
I wandered over and made myself a little plate with some fruit salad and a chocolate chip cookie. When I returned to the table, Murph and Gavin Dunlop were talking and laughing quietly. A waiter was clearing plates and blocking my path to my chair, so I stood behind him, waiting for him to finish.
“I can’t believe we’re wasting so much time and money on this,” Gavin sighed.
Murph laughed and said in a low voice, “Well, no one told those idiots to get drunk and carried away at the summer outing.”
I stopped short. Carried away?
“Seriously,” Gavin said. “What do we need diversity training for? Why the hell are we even still talking about this? Didn’t we just name two women in a row to the Supreme Court?”
Yep. And three white men in a row before that. But who’s counting?
Gavin shook his head. “I mean, for Chrissakes, look who’s sitting in the freaking White House! What more do they want? What’s next, maybe a wise Latina?” Gavin cracked himself up.
I coughed loudly, and they both looked up at me. Murph seemed startled.
“Oh, hey, no brownies today?” he said, shooting Gavin a warning look.
Gavin didn’t catch it. “It was a harmless skit. In bad taste, yes, but just a joke. Don’t these people have any sense of humor? I mean, can you imagine the uproar if I decided to start a White Male Eating Club at the firm?”
I couldn’t help letting out a quiet snort.
Gavin looked at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
I looked squarely at him. “Seriously, Gavin? The firm already is a white male eating club.”
Murph laughed.
“Well, what I don’t get,” Gavin continued, “is how they always keep talking about ‘equality.’”
I wondered who Gavin meant by they. And whether he would include me as part of them or us.
Now Gavin was making mock quotation marks in the air. “I mean, if they’re after equality, seems like it would make more sense to ignore race and gender instead of constantly drawing more attention to it, right?”
“This country isn’t ready yet to ignore race or gender,” I snapped, regretting it the instant it was out of my mouth.
Silence. My words hung there in the air.
“I didn’t know you felt that strongly about it one way or another, Yung,” Murph said softly.
“Yeah,” Gavin finally said. “I mean”—and he said this gently, in a conciliatory tone—“I wasn’t even talking about Asians.”
Murph shot him a you are fucking hopeless look.
Gavin went on, “Seems to me like Asian Americans have done all right.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. “I’m really glad it seems that way to you, Gavin.”
“Come on. I’m just saying that by any objective economic measure, Asians are right up there with whites.”
“Gee willikers, Gavin, do you mean it? Really and truly?” I widened my eyes, made my voice high and earnest, and laced my hands together underneath my chin. “You mean we’re really right up there? And if we promise to work really really hard and practice our English every day, would we even rate as honorary whites?”
Now Gavin and Murph both stared at me.
If I were them, I’d be staring at me, too. I had never spoken to anyone like this at the office, least of all them. I had never even thought about saying these words before they came tumbling out of my mouth. Like they’d been trapped there for a long time.
I snuck a glance at Murph. In all the years we’d known each other, I’d never seen such utter bewilderment on his face. But I thought I was seeing something else, too; it looked like Murph was trying hard to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging upward.
“Anyway, can’t stay and chat.” I turned abruptly from the table.
Murph leaned over and reached for my elbow. “Hey, we didn’t—”
I cut him off. “I have to get that draft out to SunCorp today. See you guys later.”
Murph and Gavin exchanged glances. Avoiding eye contact with them, I walked out of the conference room and headed down the hall. I could imagine their conversation as soon as I was out of earshot.
Jesus. What’s her problem?
Beats me. Maybe that time of the month.
Heh. Yeah.
My hands were shaking. My face burned. I needed to get to my office—fast. I very rarely lost my cool at work. And I was furious with myself. I had just broken my own cardinal rule—to avoid discussing race with my colleagues. These were conversations doomed to turn out badly.
I was so painfully, tantalizingly close. All I had to do now was stay on track for a couple more weeks—just a couple more weeks!—and then I’d be one of them. I’d be in.
“Hey, Ingrid, wait up.”
Now what.
It was Marty Adler.
I’d made it as far as the elevator bank. I rearranged my face into as neutral an expression as I could manage.
“Ingrid,” he said, puffing a little from his brief jog down the hall. “Glad I caught you.” He reached over and pressed the down button for the elevator.
“Marty. What’s up?”
“You left so abruptly, I didn’t get a chance to personally introduce you to Dr. Rossi.”
“Oh? And why were you hoping to do that?”
He coughed. “Well, Ingrid, actually, the Management Committee met about this a couple of days ago, and, well, there seemed to be a prevailing consensus that, ah…”
“Yes?”
“We think you’d make a terrific associate liaison for our Diversity Initiative.” He beamed, as if this were very good news.
No, I thought. No, no, no, no, no.
When I didn’t answer right away, Adler tried grinning sheepishly. But sheepishness looked disingenuous on Marty Adler.
I stalled for time. “Associate … liaison?” I faked a perplexed, apologetic smile. “Sorry, what exactly is that?”
Adler was studying me carefully. He was about to call my bluff. “Well, we’d really appreciate your help promoting this initiative, Ingrid. You’re such a role model for our junior associates. We could use your leadership. You know, work with Dr. Rossi, brainstorm ideas for the diversity and inclusion event we’re hosting. Most of all, we need you to talk it up, get the major stakeholders on board, put the word out, yada, yada.”
I felt exposed. Helpless. Like I was standing outside myself just watching this train wreck happen. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. The
y were officially crowning me the Parsons Valentine Diversity Poster Girl, because, as usual, I was running unopposed.
“Listen, Marty.” I kept my voice level. “You know how busy I’m going to be with SunCorp heating up. I need to give that deal one hundred percent.”
Adler turned his head a little to the side and rubbed his chin. The warmth drained from his expression. He said slowly, in a voice I’d only heard him use once or twice before and never with me, “Well, perhaps you’ll just have to find it in yourself to give one hundred and ten percent then, Ingrid.”
I hesitated, and he saw me hesitate. Adler had nothing if not that killer instinct, and now he pounced. “I think you know how grateful the firm would be if you were to help us out in this capacity. I don’t have to tell you how much we value an associate’s nonlegal contributions to the firm when we’re making our partnership decisions.”
This was almost out of bounds—a dirty, underhanded move—and we both knew it.
“I’d be glad to help with the Diversity Initiative in any way possible,” I said, with a steel smile. “I’ll speak with Dr. Rossi first thing.”
Adler brightened. He smiled and half-shrugged in mock relief. “Thank you, Ingrid.” He pressed his hand lightly against my back. “I knew we could count on you.”
The doors to one of the elevators opened, and he gestured inside. “After you.”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll take the next one.” I added, “I’m going up.”
Adler stepped into the elevator. “Suit yourself,” he said.
As if that were really an option.
SEVEN
I hated being singled out for reasons I’d had nothing to do with. As long as I could remember, higher-ups—not just bosses but teachers, professors, deans, recruiters, and HR directors—were forever asking me to serve on this committee, come to that reception, be a mentor, speak on a panel. I didn’t flatter myself by thinking that because I was possessed of such wit and charm, such keen legal acumen, my absence was unthinkable. I knew the rule: When you find an attractive, articulate minority woman in your midst, who’s neither too strident nor too soft-spoken, who speaks English without accent or attitude, who makes friends easily and photographs well—you want her.
Being singled out was bad enough, but I resented even more the sense of burden, of unsolicited responsibility, of having constituents when I hadn’t run for office. When you’re the only one around of a particular race and gender combination, people feel wildly free to suggest how you should be utilizing your time and abilities. I noticed the disapproving looks on people’s faces when I politely turned them down. No, sorry, but I don’t have time to take the foreign-exchange lawyers to lunch today; why don’t you try someone who actually works in our International Group? Sorry, I really can’t mentor any more summer associates this year. You’ve already given me Christine Han, Danny Rodriguez, Victor Cho, Meera Patel, and Herman Lim. I really need some time to get my own work done.
Even though I’d felt like something of an outsider all my life—the firstborn child of first-generation Chinese American immigrants, the first in my family to be educated in America, the first to go to law school—I had never been made to feel more keenly aware of my Specialness than when I’d stepped through the gleaming glass doors at Parsons Valentine. If I got voted in this year I wouldn’t just be making partner, I’d be making history. I would be the first woman of color ever elected to the partnership at the prestigious law firm of Parsons Valentine & Hunt LLP. That was the term they used for me at the firm. “Woman of color.”
It was such a peculiar term, “woman of color.” The first time I’d heard it, I’d thought about my favorite moment in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy’s farmhouse lands with a tremendous jolt and she opens the door and steps out into a beautiful new Technicolor world, winning instant friends and enemies. That was how I felt here, sometimes. I had opened the door to Oz. Where everything was shiny and grand and beautiful and looked tantalizingly within reach. I knew what it felt like to be embraced as an exotic new stranger, even as I roused the suspicions of some. I knew how it felt to try to winnow out the good sorts from the bad, and to be urged on by a pack of persuasive new companions to keep marching toward everything I always said I was looking for. I was sticking fast to the partner track like it was my very own yellow brick road.
* * *
The day after Adler cornered me at the elevators, I called Dr. Stephen Rossi and introduced myself. He’d been expecting my call and suggested we speak that afternoon.
At four o’clock, I trudged down to the makeshift office that the firm had set up for Dr. Rossi. It was in the shadowy reaches of the twenty-ninth floor, an unfrequented section of the building where the firm shunted off much of its nonlegal staff: Payroll, Travel, IT, Petty Cash, and the diversity consultant.
I found him dipping a fresh teabag into a blue Parsons Valentine mug. “Dr. Rossi?”
He looked up. “Ingrid, come in, come in. I appreciate how busy you must be. We can get started right away.”
He strode briskly around his desk and pushed the door shut. I was a little alarmed by this. People rarely closed their office doors at the firm. It was considered rude, as if going against the atmosphere of “collegiality” that Parsons Valentine was forever touting in its glossy brochures. It was also a good way to get the firm’s rumor mill in gear.
I waited until he was seated behind his desk again before speaking. First, I needed to make it clear I was not here of my own free will.
“Dr. Rossi,” I said, “I hope you won’t mind my being totally honest here.”
He smiled. “Well, I certainly hope you will be, Ingrid. And please call me Stephen.”
“Fine. Stephen.” I spoke in a rush. “I just want you to know that I’ve really got a lot on my plate right now. I’m closing a particularly high-worth acquisition in a few weeks, so I’m hoping this won’t take up too much time today. My understanding is that I’m just here to help you encourage participation from other associates and brainstorm ideas for the diversity event the firm will be organizing.”
Confusion flickered across Dr. Rossi’s face, but only for a second. He folded his hands neatly on his desk. “Well, Ingrid, I’d be grateful for any help you might provide in getting the other attorneys to participate. But now let me be totally honest. I was specifically instructed by the partners on the Diversity and Inclusion Committee that you would be a particularly good associate to interview, so I was hoping that we might have our first session today.”
Our first session?
From the moment this guy was introduced I knew he’d be a pain in my ass, but I had promised Adler I’d cooperate. In any way possible, I’d even said.
I crossed my legs, leaned back in the armchair opposite his desk, and sighed. “Fine. I’ll be happy to answer some questions, though I can’t imagine what I could say that would be all that helpful. What do you want to know?”
“Thank you, Ingrid. I appreciate that.” He took a small tape recorder and a yellow legal pad out of a desk drawer.
I sat up. “You’re taping our conversation?”
Again he looked puzzled. “Well, I often find it helpful to tape these sessions, but I certainly won’t do so if it makes you uncomfortable.”
I wished he would stop calling this a session. He wasn’t my shrink.
“It makes me uncomfortable,” I said.
“No problem.” He slid the tape recorder back into his desk.
I sat back again and glanced at my watch. “Now, what is it you need to ask me?”
“Well, to begin with, let me ask you why you think the firm gave me your name first as someone I should interview for the report.”
The answer to this was so obvious I laughed out loud. “Well, you’re reporting on diversity at this law firm, right?”
He tilted his head slightly. “And?”
“And,” I said, with a ferocity that surprised me, “how many other nonwhite nonmales do you see around here who’ve
stuck it out for eight years?”
I pressed my lips together. I’d already said more than I’d planned. Watch it.
“That’s an excellent place to start,” said Dr. Rossi, producing a pen from his shirt pocket. “So you feel that you’ve been singled out by virtue of being”—he paused and looked at me searchingly—“a woman? Or an Asian American?”
As if one could be disentangled from the other. “Well, both,” I said. “Corporate firms love a twofer like me.”
He looked up. “Come again?”
“A twofer,” I said. “You know, like landing on a double-word square in Scrabble.”
Dr. Rossi laughed quietly, jotting this down. “I like that, Ingrid. Do you mind if I use it?”
“Be my guest.”
“So, to start off, let me ask you this. How many, as you describe them, ‘nonwhite nonmales’ are there at the firm who you believe are actually on the partner track?”
The directness of his question took me by surprise. Immediately, I thought about Tyler. He’d confided to me that he had gotten a couple of second- and third-round interviews to go in-house, and would probably be giving notice in a matter of weeks. I pretended to smile and said lightly, “I feel a little weird naming names. I mean, this isn’t the McCarthy Commission, right?”
Dr. Rossi didn’t smile back. Instead he took off his glasses and began kneading the bridge of his nose. “Ingrid,” he said, “believe it or not, I’m on your side here. The reason I’m here is so that the firm can improve the quality of life for all of its associates. But I can’t do my job if people aren’t willing to be forthcoming with me.”
He blinked up at me. If he had whipped out a guitar and burst into a rousing rendition of “Kumbaya,” I would not have been surprised.
He let out a breath. “Okay, tell you what. Let’s get at this another way.” He made a big show of pushing away his legal pad. “What made you decide to become a lawyer in the first place?”
I pretended to consider this. Actually, I knew exactly when the idea had been planted in my head.
When I was in elementary school my mother had started a tradition in our house called Library Night. Every Wednesday, after my mother got home from work, no matter how tired she was, or what shape dinner was in, she would drive me to the library, where she would upend the canvas tote bag filled with last week’s books onto the counter to be checked in, and then help me carry the canvas tote bag filled with new books I checked out. I was allowed to check out as many books as I wanted, even ones from the adult section. My mom and dad didn’t know what any of these American books were, so by the fourth grade, I was reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover and Clan of the Cave Bear and Wifey. I’d sit on the couch in our family room—in plain sight—and my parents were none the wiser. As far as they knew, I was just reading for school.