I nodded slowly and considered that for a minute. “That’s actually good advice,” I said. “Depressing … but good.”
“It’s the Tao of Alex.” He grinned, lifting his coffee cup to toast me.
On Friday I was enjoying a rare moment of reprieve and doing some online shopping, wondering if I could find a good pair of work shoes that doubled as going out shoes. I hated wasting time going home to change. Not that I was actually doing a lot of going out lately, but, like a Biglaw Boy Scout, I wanted to be prepared. After Saul’s diatribe in the Monday morning meeting, things started looking up. With Patrick, Gavin, and Sheldon ripping through the due diligence, we were reviewing the documents faster than Highlander was providing them. This meant I could stay on top of Saul’s daily demands. I didn’t dare expect a Saturday off—that would be the old, foolishly optimistic me—but I was getting some free time, allowing me to slowly recover emotionally. I’d even managed to return to my routine of grabbing lunch with Jason and Alex. They’d welcomed me back to the land of lunch outside the office by treating me at my favorite sushi hole in the wall. We’d stuffed our faces with spicy tuna rolls and the large knot in my stomach uncoiled just a little bit. All I needed now was some retail therapy and I would feel like myself again.
I was idly scrolling through Saks’ new arrivals, wondering whether I could justify spending six hundred dollars on a pair of shoes, when a voice interrupted my thoughts.
“We need you in Dallas.”
I looked up and saw Sarah hovering in my doorway. “We need you in Dallas,” she repeated casually, as if the task was routine. “How soon can you get there?”
I gazed at her like a deer caught in headlights, leaving the Saks website open on my screen. “Um … Dallas? What do you mean?”
“What I mean is how soon can you get to the airport and fly to Dallas?” she asked impatiently. “It turns out the target company has a bunch of highly confidential documents we haven’t seen. Apparently they think they’re too voluminous to copy or make available online.” She paused briefly to roll her eyes at the apparent ignorance. “So someone will have to go to Dallas to review them. That someone is you, Mackenzie.” She pointed at me with both hands like I’d won a prize.
“They’re willing to keep their offices open all weekend so if you work efficiently you’ll be back in time for the Monday morning meeting. I’m sure Saul will want a status update about your review. I’d go, but someone’s gotta stay here and man the fort.” She paused just long enough for me to see she wasn’t even trying to suppress her smile. She was clearly delighted that I was the one who would have to provide all the information to Saul. I was the messenger and everyone knows what happens to the messenger. “Anyway, it looks like you have plenty of time on your hands.” She motioned to my computer screen, displaying a pair of red patent peep toe Jil Sander shoes. Price tag: $579. “Those look really cheap by the way.” She turned on her heel and sauntered away.
I sat still in my chair, a string of expletives lodged in my throat. My dislike for Sarah had evolved into full blown loathing. I hated everything about her. I hated the wisp of bangs that fell over her eyebrows, the overly shiny gloss she smeared on her lips, how tightly she cinched her pants with her belt. There really was no giving this woman the benefit of the doubt—she was a total bitch. Maintaining the sanity to restrain myself from running down to her office, throwing myself across her desk, and grabbing her skinny little neck might just require full blown therapy—forget retail.
“Riiiita,” I whined as I approached her cubicle, using the same tone as I did with my mother when I needed help with a problem. Rita might as well have been my mom given how much time we spent together lately. And, like Mom, she was always telling me I needed to get more sleep … or wear more under-eye concealer. “You look like ya’ have two black eyes,” she’d say. “You’re the post-ah child for why they make conceal-ah!”
She couldn’t understand that no amount of makeup was going to camouflage the dark bags I was carrying around these days, but she was my sounding board when I needed to complain about the lawyers I was working for. She’d murmur, “What an asshole!” and I’d return the favor by listening to her complain about her latest dead-beat boyfriend, giving an equally emphatic, “What an asshole!”
Rita had two children, by two different fathers. She claimed she wanted to settle down, but that all the good ones were taken. That didn’t stop her from continuously looking, though. Singles events, night clubs, bars—all the worst places in New York to find men—Rita was there. “My son’s fath-ah looked just like Mario Lopez,” she’d say as she pointed to her little boy’s school picture pinned up on the wall of her cubicle. “I want to find a guy that looks just like him who isn’t such an asshole.” Looks didn’t appear to be a big factor in her selection process, though. She’d hooked up with Freddie Pearson, the partner with the gross habit of picking his nose whenever he was nervous (which was anytime a member of the opposite sex was around). “He took me back to his place, which was HUGE! And right on Pawwk Avenue,” she’d told me the day after their first hookup. “Terrible in bed, but I could put up with that if I got to live in that apawt-ment.” Unfortunately for Rita (or fortunately), things never progressed any further than that. “Guess he just doesn’t think I’m ‘marriage material’” she’d said with air quotes, without the slightest bit of self-pity in her voice.
“Yeeeess, hon?” Rita responded as she continued filing her nails. She was starting her Friday afternoon beauty routine early, which included doing her nails, putting her hair in large rollers and applying her “going out” makeup, all while simultaneously answering the phone and typing up documents. All this in preparation for another Friday night out with her sister, both of them hunting for a husband.
The first time I saw her sitting at her desk with pink foam rollers in her hair I did a double-take, but now it was just a reminder that it was Friday afternoon. Even Sadir knew the beauty routine. “Geez, is it Friday already?” he’d ask on his way into our office, passing Rita’s desk, noting the one indicator we both had that the weekend was upon us. There was a certain comfort for us in the routine.
I glanced down at the color of polish she was applying today—Burlesque Show, Red. She only wore that color when it had been a long dry spell. Poor Rita. “Pretty.” I gestured to the bottle of nail polish.
“Yah—cross your fing-ahs it works and gets me some action. What can I do for ya?” Rita cut to the chase.
“I need to go to Dallas. Apparently, ASAP.” I let out a big, exhausted sigh. “Can you find me a flight? It’s for Project Montauk.”
“Working all weekend again?” She shook her head in disbelief. No matter how long Rita worked at F&D she was always surprised that lawyers had to work on the weekends. “Lemme guess …” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “The Ice Queen?”
I nodded, looking over my shoulder, hoping people walking by didn’t overhear our conversation.
She scrunched up her face in disgust. “That bitch! Someone really needs to dislodge that huge stick up her butt. Maybe get her laid or somethin’.” Rita cackled at her own joke. Now I really hoped nobody could hear our conversation. “Leeeet’s see …” She turned her attention to her computer screen and clicked away with her mouse. “First class, I assume?”
I nodded. Hell, why not? If I had to get on a plane today I might as well be offered something more than peanuts to eat.
“Hm. Hm. Hm.” She clicked the keys with her long fingernails “Okay, there’s a flight in an hour and a half out of LaGuardia and the next available one isn’t until 6 A.M. tomorrow. Which one you want?”
The flight gods were shining on me—I couldn’t pack and get out to LaGuardia that quickly, which meant I wasn’t going to be able to get to Dallas tonight. “Just a sec. Be right back.” I scurried down the hall to Sarah’s office to break the news.
“What don’t you understand about the word TODAY?” she hissed when I finished the run-down of the f
light schedule.
“No, I know, listen—the only available flight today is in an hour and a half, sooo …”
“And?” She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
“Aaand that wouldn’t give me enough time to pack and make it out to the airport,” I reasoned.
She took a deep, exaggerated breath, like I was trying her patience. “Mackenzie, I really don’t have time for this amateur act. It’s not rocket science—leave now, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.” She waved her hand at me dismissively.
I gave her a puzzled look. Why couldn’t she ever give straightforward instructions?
She let out a bigger sigh and shook her head in disgust at my perceived hopelessness. “Get a Town Car. Go to the airport now. Get on the plane.” She paused between each instruction like she was explaining something to a five-year old. “Purchase a change of clothes once you’re in Dallas and charge it to the client. They do have clothes in Dallas, you know.”
Well, it sounded pretty easy when she put it that way. Maybe I should have pieced that one together myself, but I still wasn’t schooled in the multitude of ways Biglaw lawyers spend their clients’ money. I’d charged lots of things to clients—Town Cars, meals, hotels—but never clothes. I guess when their bills are in the millions clients just don’t notice a few hundred dollars’ worth of clothes. I left her office feeling a little stupid, which was quickly becoming my default feeling after any conversation with Sarah.
Ninety harried minutes later, I sat alone in a plush leather seat in first class, thankful for the lack of BlackBerry service on airplanes. For four blessed hours, I was completely inaccessible and it wasn’t my fault. What a luxury. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the runway in Dallas will be backed up. Never before had I wished for a flight delay so badly.
I pushed my bag underneath the seat in front of me and began thumbing through the airport magazine. I knew I should be doing some work, but I’d never sat in first class before. They actually gave me a drink and a pair of slippers before we even took off! I wanted to savor this moment of peace … and I was so tired … and the seat was so comfortable …
“Gooooood evening, this is your captain speaking,” the intercom boomed, startling me awake. Dazed, I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes. “We’ll be landing in Dallas in approximately thirty minutes. Please return your seats to the upright position and stow your tray tables …”
Landing? I looked around frantically. I must have slept the whole flight. “Shit,” I hissed and slumped back in my seat. There went my plan of getting any work done on the flight. I raised the shade and peered out the tiny window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Dallas skyline. Seeing nothing but fields, I leaned forward and squinted towards the windows on the other side. Next to me, a man with dark hair and big brown long-lashed eyes was looking back at me. He must’ve sat down after I fell asleep. Without intending to, I noticed the dimple on his chin and the faintest five o’clock shadow. He was seriously cute. With his muscular arms, he reminded me of someone famous—Ben Affleck, maybe? Was I still dreaming?
“Rise and shine,” he said, smiling.
I smiled back at him flirtatiously. If I was still dreaming I might as well make the most of it.
“You must’ve been tired—you were out before we even took off.” He gazed down at his shoulder. I followed his gaze, but couldn’t figure out what he was showing me. It was a nice Zegna shirt he was wearing … was he fishing for a compliment? Then it clicked. Oh my God … I’d been sleeping on his shoulder. I had fallen asleep on a complete stranger’s shoulder! A really cute stranger, but a stranger nonetheless! Oh God, had I snored? Talked in my sleep? Please, please don’t let me have drooled!
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammered awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to …”
“Raise your seat back, please,” the flight attendant interrupted, patting the back of my seat as she walked by.
“Sorry,” I repeated, fumbling with the button on the armrest, aware that my cheeks were flaming. “Um … I haven’t really been sleeping lately. I mean, I have been sleeping, but very little. Between work and … well, work … it just hasn’t been my best week.” I paused. “Or my best month for that matter,” I heard myself saying. “See, I’m working with the reincarnation of the devil which is wreaking havoc on my ability to impress the person I’m trying desperately to impress, my so-called mentor has become the bane of my existence, and getting drenched with rainwater on the way to the airport was the closest I’ve come to showering in two days.” I took a deep breath. It had all come out so fast and completely uncontrolled.
Oh my God, why did I just say all that? Where had my filter gone? Clearly it was still asleep.
He eyed me curiously, and I felt myself turn redder. “I … I don’t know why I just said all that,” I stammered.
“Feel better?” he asked, cocking his head at me.
I nodded.
“Maybe you just needed to get that off your chest. You did seem a little …”
I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
“Tense,” he finished, smiling. “Lawyer?”
I nodded again. “How’d you know?”
He shrugged. “It just seems to be the one profession where people announce how long it’s been since they’ve showered like it’s a badge of honor.”
I grimaced. He was dead on. Sadir was always pointing out his lack of time to attend to personal hygiene. “Haven’t had time to change my suit in seventy-two hours—too busy billing!” he’d exclaim, like it was something to be proud of. Now here I was, doing the same thing.
“If it’s making you so miserable, it’s probably time to quit.”
I frowned. Was I really being chewed out for my chosen profession by some stranger on the plane? Cute stranger, but still. I lifted my chin, trying to hold on to a modicum of dignity. “I’m not miserable. I’m actually very happy, in fact.”
“Really?” he asked, in a tone that should be reserved for therapists.
“I’m just going through a bit of a rough patch. But I really love my job. I get to work on deals that affect the financial markets, which in turn affect the world economy. I love it.” Who was I kidding? “Love” was a bit strong. “I mean, who really loves their job these days?” I chuckled nervously, switching gears. “But I’ve got a great opportunity to really solidify my future. And I’m sure the hours will become more manageable …” I paused to think about what my point was. “I just keep thinking that this is worth sacrificing for … and I shouldn’t be a quitter …” I trailed off. “Frankly, I don’t know what I’m thinking these days. I’m way too tired to think.”
He stared at me, looking bemused. “Not exactly a great time to be working on very important deals then. And affecting the world economy.” A flicker of amusement passed across his face.
I smiled weakly back at him. Touché.
“You have a little …” He trailed off, brushing his finger to the side of his mouth. I rubbed the corner of my lips.
Oh God. Dried drool! There was a tiny smile playing at his lips.
I was officially humiliated.
I ran hot water into the tub in the hotel bathroom and stripped off the clothes I’d been wearing for the past twenty-four hours. It was 6 P.M. on Saturday and I’d just finished reviewing the contents of the data room. It took me all night and most of the day, but luckily there had not been as many documents as I’d feared. Sarah had been incorrect—there were board minutes in the data room, but no litigation documents or leases. I emailed her my summaries and a brief overview of the types of documents I’d reviewed, then returned to my hotel room, thinking I would just change, grab my things, and go. I’d asked the driver that picked me up at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport the day before to stop off at the closest department store. He drove about twenty miles before pulling into the parking lot of a huge Neiman Marcus. He waited for me while I went in and picked out a bra, underwear, a shirt, and a skirt. Seven hundred dollars’ worth
of new clothes to add to my travel expenses. When I returned to the car with my shopping bags in hand I felt like one of those wealthy Park Avenue women who has a car and driver waiting for her while she shops all day. But those women don’t have to drive to an office and review documents all night. And I did.
The only sleep I’d had in the past thirty-four hours was my three hour nap on some stranger’s shoulder on the plane. My six hundred dollar a night Four Seasons suite, with the California King sleeper bed that Rita joked was big enough for a twenty person orgy, ended up being just a high priced storage area for my luggage. So, when I’d entered the palatial hotel bathroom to retrieve the toiletries I’d bought, I wasn’t able to resist the lure of the swimming pool sized whirlpool tub.
I poured in a whole bottle of complimentary body wash and climbed in, letting myself sink down into the luxuriant bubbles. Shutting my eyes, I tried to mentally release the stresses of the day: let go of the email from Saul calling me “useless” because I couldn’t attend a meeting in his office in five minutes (due to the fact that I was 2,000 miles away in Dallas per his request); let go of the numerous patronizing emails I’d received in the last twenty-four hours from Sarah; let go of the guilt I felt for not visiting Uncle Nigel in months. Let it allllllll go. But lying there in the luxurious bathtub, inhaling the smell of calming jasmine, I found myself feeling anything but relaxed. I should head out to the airport now and get back to New York … there’s so much to do back at the office … but nobody knows where I am right now…. I should savor this. I negotiated with myself. I should crawl into that comfy bed and savor every grain of sleep I can get. But I can’t move. I’m too tired. I patted the bubbles around me and watched as they softly moved between my fingers, marveling at how foreign it felt to be … clean. When did showering become a luxury rather than a necessity? I submerged my hair and attempted to clear my thoughts, but my mind kept racing. Did I really fall asleep on some stranger on the plane? And tell him I hadn’t showered for two days? And DROOL on him? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to eliminate the memory from my mind. This is everything I’ve ever worked for, I reminded myself, forcing my mind back into super achiever mode. All I have to do is survive this deal with Saul, get the Highlander deal closed, and the StarCorp secondment will be mine. I stayed submerged in the tub, staring at the ceiling with my mind racing until the water was cold.
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