by Wan, Helen
“What do you mean? Are you okay?” Murph sounded concerned.
“I’m fine,” I said, definitely not sounding fine.
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
A few moments later, Murph slipped inside my door and closed it behind him. “Hey. What’s up? You sounded kind of—weird on the phone.”
I was standing against the window, leaning my full body against it, pressing my forehead and fingertips to the cool surface of the glass.
Murph nudged my arm. “Don’t do it,” he whispered. “You’ve got so much to live for.”
I pretended to smile, but this didn’t make me feel better. For a few moments, Murph and I just stood there silently, looking down at the endless stream of yellow taxis moving up and down Madison Avenue. It seemed to me that a long time passed.
Gently, he touched my shoulder. “So what happened? Only if you want to talk about it, that is. We don’t have to.”
I sighed softly. “It was a complete fucking disaster, is what happened.”
“Come on. I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”
“It was bad, Murph.”
“I’m sure you’re the only one who noticed anything was wrong.”
I looked at him. “The purchase price was off by three zeroes.”
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Uh, yeah.”
Murph let out a low whistle. “What the hell happened? You think it was that Keating kid? You always told me he was kind of useless, but I wouldn’t have thought he could fuck up that badly.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Anyway, ultimately, it’s my fault. The buck stops with the lawyer, not the paralegal.”
Murph was shaking his head. “But that doesn’t sound right. It’s not like you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said. “It’s done.” I pressed my forehead against the window again and closed my eyes. When Murph moved next to me, I stood up on tiptoe and kissed him. Not a sweet thank you for comforting me in my time of distress kiss, but a real one, deep and unchaste and on the mouth. He seemed surprised at first, but then obligingly followed my lead, leaning into me, turning me around to face him, pressing my back up against the window. I just wanted Murph and me to go away somewhere, someplace far away from here, far, far away from Marty Adler and Jack Hanover and Justin Keating and Hunter Russell and Gavin Dunlop and partnership votes and firm outings and rap song parodies and softball quotas and diversity consultants and Corporate Department meetings and all the rest of it. All I wanted—all any of us here wanted—was to be able to work hard and succeed on my own terms. Was that so much to ask?
Murph pinned me against the window in my darkened office, kissing me. I guided one of his hands around my waist, and then farther down. I shivered. “Let’s go somewhere,” I whispered. “The R&R suite! You think anyone’s up there?”
He didn’t answer, pulling my wispy silk top loose from the waist of my skirt. Through the thin fabric of my blouse, I felt the cool, smooth hardness of the window glass pressed against the length of my back, and the warmth from Murph’s body pressed against my front. It was thrilling. This was definitely the most fun I had ever had at the office. Why hadn’t we ever done this before? I actually thought this, and then laughed. I was really laughing. This made Murph laugh, too, a little, before gently pressing me flat against the glass again and leaning down to kiss the hollow of my throat. I closed my eyes. We were making enough noise that neither of us heard the door open.
Murph tore away suddenly, slamming his leg hard against my desk.
Justin was staring at us with his mouth open. His body was frozen in midstep, one foot in front of the other. Justin looked stunned. If not for my own predicament, I knew I would have enjoyed the fact that I’d actually managed to shock him. For once, the smug know-it-all smirk had been knocked clean off his face.
Justin took a few awkward stumbles backward and banged into the door, hard. “Sorry, I—I just—I’ll come back later,” he mumbled.
And then he was gone.
SIXTEEN
“Ingrid. Seriously. Just let it go.”
“I can’t. How long do you think he was standing there? What, exactly, do you think he saw?”
It was Sunday night, and I was sitting with my legs tucked up beneath me on the couch in Murph’s living room. Steve Buscemi was curled up in my lap, asleep and purring. Murph was on the other end of his couch, head tilted back, eyes closed, listening to me. Takeout containers were strewn across Murph’s coffee table, along with two glasses and a nearly empty bottle of Jameson’s that Murph had basically killed by himself. It was one thirty in the morning, and I was anxious.
“Come on, Yung. It’s late. Let’s just go to bed. Tomorrow could be the big day. Don’t you want to look all bright and shiny?”
The buzz around the office was that the firm might be announcing the new partners tomorrow. No one knew for sure, because Parsons Valentine never disclosed exactly when the Partnership Committee met to make its decisions. Unlike most other big firms in the city, Parsons Valentine held their vote in the summer, with membership becoming effective in the fall. This peculiar tradition was an idiosyncrasy that Parsons Valentine prided itself on—they liked to keep people guessing.
I shook my head. “Don’t you get it? That’s exactly why I need to know what Justin saw. Do you think he would tell Marty Adler or the other partners about us?”
Murph sighed wearily, his eyes still closed. “So Justin Keating saw us together. So what? Why would he care? Justin’s not some gossipy little girl. We’re not in high school anymore, Yung.”
We might as well be. But I didn’t say this to Murph.
“That’s easy for you to say. We know you’re in for sure” was what I murmured under my breath, more to myself than to him.
Murph opened his eyes and slowly turned his head toward me. “What did you just say?”
“Never mind.”
“No. What did you say?” He pushed himself forward from his reclining position. He sounded wide-awake now. “I really want to know. ’Cause it sure sounded like you said, that’s easy for me to say.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Calm down,” I said. “I just—”
“Well, I’ve gotta tell you, it’s not easy for me to say. Not easy at all. I have no fucking clue what’s going to happen tomorrow. You know what? As long as I’ve known you, Yung, you’ve always seemed to carry around this idea that I don’t have to work as hard as you do, that somehow I’ve got some sort of inside track. Well, here’s a news flash for you. I don’t.”
His little speech floored me. I had no idea where this was coming from.
“Murph, I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” He leaned forward suddenly, and the remote control clattered off his lap onto the floor. “Huh? Didn’t what?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m not sure why you’re getting all pissed off.”
He laughed unpleasantly. “Oh, well, allow me to break it down for you, then. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sort of the odd man out lately.”
“What are you talking about?”
I was baffled.
The idea of Jeffrey Devon Murphy—he of the dazzling smile and amazing bachelor pad and endless one-liners and winning home runs and Cape Cod summers and model girlfriends and trail of broken hearts he’d left all over Manhattan … Mr. Fucking April himself, camping it up in his beefcake photo, the only guy I knew who managed to be both heartthrob and class wit at the same time and somehow made it all click, somehow just made the smart-jock charm and easy affability seem effortless—the very idea that this guy could be the odd man out of anything was, frankly, ridiculous.
“Everybody says you’re a shoo-in, Murph,” I told him.
“Oh, really, is that what they say? And just what the fuck do you think they say about you, Ingrid, huh?”
I was stunned. I had no idea what I’d done to provoke this, but I knew I didn’t need this drama. �
��I don’t know, Murph. And you know what? I really don’t care. You’ve had way too much to drink. I should go.”
“Wait,” he said, reaching out and placing his hand on my arm.
I hesitated.
“You really don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
I knew what I should have done. I should have gently shaken off his hand, told him good night, and hopped in a cab home. Instead I said, “Enlighten me.”
“Think about it. They only make two new Corporate partners every year. That was just fine for us, til Hunter’s father-in-law came along and handed him Great American Trust on a platter. That pretty much seals the deal for him.”
“Okay, fine. So Hunter’s a special case. Maybe they make all three of us partners this year.”
Murph laughed. “God, you’re naive. Haven’t you been paying attention? Business is down, Yung. M&A isn’t moving. Bankruptcy is. This isn’t the year to dole out three new slices of the pie.”
“Even if that’s true, they’ve always thought Hunter was a joke, and they’ve always loved you.”
He snorted. “Love ain’t the same thing as being the relationship attorney for Great American Trust, honey.”
I had never heard him talk this way before. I had never imagined Murph could be so ugly.
“Well,” I said, “what makes you so sure this screws you over, instead of me? If they’re still only making two partners, they could just as easily take my spot and give it to Hunter.”
He laughed again. “Jesus Christ. You’re kidding me, right?”
Something in his tone, and the way he looked at me, made me brace myself.
“Do you see the firm hiring any expensive consultants to figure out how to make more white male partners, Yung? ’Cause I sure as hell don’t.”
“Careful,” I said quietly.
He ignored me. “They’ve been dying to announce a female partner in Corporate for years! Problem was, all the women kept leaving. Then along comes Little Miss Goody-Goody here—the impeccable Ingrid Yung—and you came and you stayed. Hallelujah! Give her another gold star, folks! A woman and a minority! Are you fucking kidding me? Hell, you’re a law firm recruiter’s wet dream!”
I leapt off the couch. Steve Buscemi woke with a startled mew and bounded across the room.
“It’s all right, cat. She was just leaving.”
I stayed rooted to the spot. Murph and I stared at each other angrily.
He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re really something, Yung, you know that? Really, really something.” He shook his head, grinning, as if I had just played a very good joke on him. “Man, you’ve got everyone totally fooled, don’t you. You’ve got us all just eating out of the palm of your little hand.”
My face felt hot. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“That night at the firm outing. In the clubhouse. All that stuff you told me about not knowing how to play the game. Oh, but it all comes so easily to you, Murph.” He made his voice high and affected in imitation of me.
I willed my arms and legs to move, but they would not.
“Well, I gotta tell you, Yung. Seems to me you know exactly how to play this game. Seems to me you’re a fucking Jedi Master at it.”
“Murph, I—”
“Please. All that oh please feel so sorry for me crap. You’re so full of shit. You really have all the partners going, though. You should win a fucking Academy Award.”
“Fuck you.”
Trembling, I went down the hall to Murph’s bedroom, snatched up my handbag, and slipped on my shoes. I looked wildly around the room, my eyes blurring with tears, and spotted a tank top and cardigan I’d left there a few nights ago. I stuffed them savagely into my bag, along with my toothbrush and hair dryer from the bathroom.
When I returned to the living room, Murph was blocking the front door with his body. I tensed up. This was no good. I wondered exactly how ugly Jeff Murphy could get. This seemed a very dumb way to find out.
“What are you doing?”
Murph folded his arms across his chest. “We’re not finished with our conversation yet.”
“Oh, yes we are.” I made a reckless lunge for the door and—to my surprise—Murph made no move to stop me. I crashed my right shoulder hard against the metal door frame.
“Ow!” I winced, rubbing my shoulder.
He took a step toward me. “Here, let me see. Are you hurt?” he said, placing a hand gently on my injured arm.
“Get away from me, Murph!” I hissed. “Never touch me again.”
His face darkened. “Oh, so now you’re breaking up with me, is that it?”
“Breaking up with you?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? I can’t believe I never saw through you before! Now I know why none of the girls you date ever last very long. It’s because they’re onto you. You’re a real asshole.”
He looked at me and laughed.
“No, really, I get it now,” I said. “The reason you’ve never dated any smart, successful women before is that you can’t handle it. You can’t stand the idea that a woman might be better at this than you.”
Murph clutched his chest. “Oh, now that stings.”
I had my bag slung over my shoulder. My shoes were on. My hand was on the doorknob. But something kept me from walking out of his apartment. It seemed like there was still something else in the air, something more that one of us wanted to say.
“I thought you said you were leaving,” he said.
“I am.”
He sauntered back over to his couch and lowered himself into it. Now that there were a few yards of distance between us again, I knew I should get the hell out of there, get home to the safety of my own apartment, and try to forget this had ever happened. But I couldn’t.
Murph reclined on the couch and clasped his hands leisurely behind his head, flashing me a condescending smirk. “So, what are you waiting for?”
I knew I shouldn’t do it. I really did, even in that moment. Yet I just couldn’t help myself. I guess I just really wanted to know. I did care what people said and thought about me. Of course I did. I cared too much.
“So just tell me, then, Murph. What do they say about me behind my back?”
Murph grinned. “That you’re a shoo-in for partner.”
This was not what I had expected.
Then he continued.
“That you’ve got a nice rack. Smallish, 34B—some of the guys had a bet going, so I checked your lingerie drawer last time I was at your place—but really nicely formed. Really decent legs, too. Particularly in those pencil skirts you’re always wearing around the office. Gavin Dunlop likes when you wear those, especially.”
I stood frozen at the door, horrified.
“And let’s see, what else.” Murph cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “That they’re all glad they waited til they could find a hot minority chick to tap for partnership. If you’ve gotta have one around, might as well throw in some eye candy, right? Oh, and just so you know, I wouldn’t worry about whether little Justin Keating blabbed about walking in on us. Because the whole firm’s known about it for weeks. I told Hunter the very first day after I got into your pants.”
“Fuck you, Murph,” I whispered.
He clucked his tongue. “Is that any way to talk to a future law partner of yours? Can’t we all just get along? If not, our weekly partnership meetings are going to be really uncomfortable for everyone. You and I are going to have to learn to play nicely together in the sandbox.”
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” I lied.
“Believe what you want.” He shrugged. “I was there. You weren’t.”
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a human being. I feel sorry for you.”
“Oh-ho-ho. Don’t shoot the messenger, Yung. Remember, you asked. Never ask a question if you’re not prepared to hear the answer.”
If there had been something large and heavy within reach I wo
uld have hurled it directly at his head. Instead, I drew up my shoulders, took two deep breaths, and said as calmly as I could manage, “Actually, Murph, in case you hadn’t heard, I’m going to be bringing in the SunCorp acquisition for an on-time announcement. I’ve negotiated a pretty damn good deal in five weeks flat. The CEO loves me. And aside from a random computer glitch, Marty Adler seems pretty damn pleased with the way I run a deal. I think that’s why I’m going to make partner, Murph. Not any of this disgusting bullshit you’re spewing.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“And by the way,” I continued, “unlike you and Hunter, I didn’t have to beg or schmooze or play softball with Marty Adler to get staffed on SunCorp. As you recall, he didn’t pick either of you. Adler handpicked me to lead the biggest deal in the office.”
Murph let out a big mean bark of a laugh. “Why don’t you ask Adler sometime why that was, huh?”
I shook my head and turned around to go.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, that I’d like to see. Why don’t you just ask Adler sometime about SunCorp’s vendor requirements, huh, Yung?”
I whirled around. “What are you talking about?”
Murph laughed. “Minority vendor requirements, Yung. Look it up. Turns out, a lot of Fortune 500 companies these days can’t hire outside counsel unless they can bring at least one minority or woman lawyer to the beauty contest.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying, if you think Marty Adler handpicked you to run the biggest deal in the office based on merit, keep kidding yourself. SunCorp’s board passed a rule that they can’t hire a law firm unless it can staff the deal with a team that looks like a Benetton ad. And guess what, Yung? You’re just what the client ordered.”
“Good-bye, Murph.” I walked out of his apartment, slamming the door behind me.
SEVENTEEN
I sat there in the calm morning stillness of my office, arms folded neatly on my desk. I felt so tired. So very tired, and incredibly sad. Directly across from me, as if accusing me of something, was the wall of polished cherry bookcases that housed all of the deal books and closing sets for every transaction I had ever worked on during my career here at Parsons Valentine. There was my prized collection of deal toys—a glittering menagerie of polished silver and glass figurines and trophies and cubes and globes. There was the tiny bronze soccer ball from the acquisition of a large sporting goods retailer, the first deal I’d ever closed at the firm. It was nestled next to a gleaming model jet plane—a souvenir of the merger of two commercial airlines I’d successfully handled the year before.