Big Law

by Lindsay Cameron

  Gavin was asleep in his chair when I burst in to his office. “GAVIN!” I went over and shook him.

  “Get awwwf!” he groaned. I could tell he was more than just fatigued—he was crashing from whatever high he was on.

  “Gavin, where are your notes on the JV agreements you reviewed at Wexler?” I asked clearly and slowly, hoping that would help him understand, but he just stared at me, bleary eyed, and mumbled something incoherent. “Gavin!” I grabbed his shoulders. “Listen. Please.” Somehow I mustered my calmest tones. I knew my ass was on the line if I could not get this information to Vincent quickly. Getting through to Gavin was my only hope. “Vincent needs the details of a joint venture agreement you reviewed. Where are your notes?” My eyes darted around his office.

  He pointed to a pile on his desk and I frantically started thumbing through it.

  “The spiral one, the spiral one,” he groaned.

  I pulled out the spiral notebook and flipped through it. His handwriting was atrocious. I couldn’t tell which notes were for which agreements. I couldn’t even tell if it was English. “Gavin, I need the summary you did for the JV with WorldRes Europe. Can you point to that one?” I asked him in the same tone Margaret uses with Evan when he hides her car keys.

  Gavin grabbed the notebook and pointed to a page of scribbles.

  I squinted at the page. “Gavin, I have no idea what that says.” Shit! Shit! Shit! I felt a surge of panic. Then I had an idea. “Okay, Gavin, you type your summary into an email for Vincent.” I picked up the keyboard, which had been moved off to the side for him to rest his head, and slammed it in front of him. “Like now!” My voice was getting louder and more aggravated.

  Gavin turned to his computer, put his hands on the keyboard, stared at the screen for a moment, and his eyes fell shut.

  “GAVIN!” I yelled, as my frustration bubbled over.

  “I’m awake, I’m awake.” He sat straight up, threw his shoulders back, and started to type. After a few words, his eyes closed again.

  I was in full blown panic mode. It was like I could hear a giant clock in my head. “Tick, tick, tick.” I was MacGyver and the bomb was about to blow.

  Without thinking, I whirled around and grabbed the canister of compressed air from his shelf. It’s normally used to dust keyboards by gusting out a hard blast of air to blow out the dust in between the keys. The warning on the side of the canister says not to spray directly on skin, as it can cause frostbite. With the eyes of a crazy person, I turned and pointed the canister at the back of Gavin’s neck and pulled.

  Pssssssssst. The powerful burst of air startled him awake. Oompa loompa doompadah dee, if you are wise you’ll listen to me.

  He jumped in his chair. “Geez, Mackenzie, what the hell was that?”

  There was a time when I treated people with dignity and respect. A time when I would have put a blanket over Gavin so he could sleep it off, checking his breathing every fifteen minutes to make sure he was still okay. Now here I was, using an air canister as a weapon. The way I was morally spiraling out of control, I was going to wind up the F&D “fixer” à la Michael Clayton. But I was so relieved that Gavin was talking in full, comprehensible sentences that it didn’t matter what method I was using. The only thing that mattered was that Vincent got his answer ASAP. The ends justified the means.

  “I’m just helping you stay awake, Gavin. Now write,” I ordered, pointing towards the keyboard. My heart was pounding, my conscience quietly rubbing against my self-preservation.

  He sat up straight and began pecking away at the keys as I loomed over him, keeping the air canister strategically pointed at the back of his neck. Anytime his eyes closed I pulled the trigger again. Psssssssssst. “Keep writing, Gavin.”

  Walking back to my office after Gavin had sent the email to Vincent, my heart rate started to return to normal and my heavy breathing lessened. I silently congratulated myself for getting the job done. My method may have been unconventional, but what choice did I have? I could hear Ben’s voice in my mind. Those who distinguish themselves in my eyes go above and beyond.

  To: Mackenzie Corbett

  From: Mom

  Hi Honey,

  I hope you’re taking care of yourself and getting enough sleep. Margaret says she called you at 9 p.m. and you were still in the office—that’s too late to be working! Just tell the partners you need your sleep—they’ll understand.

  xo Mom

  To: Mackenzie Corbett

  From: Kim Bawolska

  Haven’t heard from you in a while—everything okay? Do I have to come down there and physically pry you from your desk? Call me!!

  21

  I TOOK A SIP of my sparkling water and looked around the restaurant. Barbara Walters was two booths over, and Henry Kravis, founder of the powerhouse private equity firm KKR, was in the booth behind us. I was pretty sure I spotted John Kerry in the corner. The Four Seasons Grill Room was a plethora of white collar pseudo-celebrities. As the restaurant of choice for power-lunchers in New York, the annual income of the lunch crowd was probably bigger than the GDP of a small nation, making it the perfect place to recruit potential candidates to F&D.

  “The restaurant selection for the interview lunch is paramount,” I remember the Head of Recruiting preaching at the “Successful Recruitment Techniques” seminar last year that I, along with many of my fellow associates, was required to attend. We needed to learn the fine art of courting law students before we could be released into the wild to spread the word about F&D. We were the select “normal ones,” I’d realized, looking around at those attending the seminar. They hadn’t invited Cheese Boy or the associate that spontaneously fell asleep during conversations. They’d conscripted a select few to fulfill the warm, friendly, female quota that was evidently lacking at the partner level. “We’ve provided a list of appropriate restaurants in the packet I’ve passed out.” He’d held up the recruiting packet the way an evangelist would hold up a bible. “You’ll recognize the names Le Cirque, Four Seasons, and the like. Don’t go off the list without consulting me first,” he’d warned us before moving on to the last page of the packet, “Be Truthful, but Don’t Overshare.” “Look,” he’d started. “Everyone knows lawyers work long hours, but you don’t need to dwell on that. Everybody wants to eat the sausage, but nobody wants to see how it’s made, if you get my drift.” I remember writing that sentence down and underlining it twice, not entirely sure I got his drift.

  “So, Spencer, what else can we tell you about F&D?” Ben asked the prospective summer associate he was attempting to woo, bringing me back to the present.

  I stabbed at my endive salad with my fork and struggled to focus on the conversation. Normally I would’ve been thrilled to be treated to a lunch that cost the equivalent of my monthly food budget, but when Ben asked me to join him on a recruiting lunch this morning my first instinct was to decline. With my mile-high to-do list, the last thing I could afford was a two hour lunch. But I quickly realized Ben wasn’t asking me, he was telling me. So here I was—having a long lunch while the pile of work sitting on my desk haunted me.

  Even with the free food, these interview lunches bordered on painful. The recruits always fell into one of three categories: (1) the painfully awkward introvert, whose red face and stuttering makes you even more uncomfortable than him; (2) the pretentious overachiever who only takes a break from telling you about her list of volunteer work to ask you your thoughts about an obscure court decision she just read about in law school; and (3) the well-connected, naturally intelligent frat boy who spent much of law school hung over, but still managed to wind up top of his class. This last guy usually had a Wall Street job lined up, but still wanted to be taken out for a free lunch by each Biglaw firm hungry to recruit him. But the most exasperating part about these lunches wasn’t the personalities of the recruits; it was how phony it all was. I was an integral part of preventing people from seeing how the sausage is made, meaning whenever I opened my mouth lies came out. Yes,
the partners are very approachable! Of course pro bono work is always encouraged! I always felt like I was chanting the mantra of some wacky cult. But it’s the circle of life, I suppose—I was fed the lines and now I was feeding them to the next generation.

  I put a forkful of salad in my mouth and chewed while looking up at the sparkling chandelier hanging from the cavernous ceiling, blinking my dry eyes in an effort to keep them open.

  “Well,” Spencer responded. “How would you describe the atmosphere among the associates?” There’s a question straight out of his law school interview brochure, I thought, sneaking a surreptitious peek at my watch. Spencer fell into category number one, which made the lunch even more excruciating. I chewed fast to clear my mouth to answer, but Ben had already started.

  “Our associates are extremely supportive of one another. Other firms may cultivate an overly competitive, ‘kill or be killed’ environment”—which he air quoted—“but that’s not F&D.” I nodded in agreement, playing along, and started to tune out his rehearsed answer. “Instead of hoarding the work, our associates look out for each other. In fact, Mackenzie and I are working together on the kind of deal that any corporate lawyer would kill to be involved in. And instead of resenting her for her opportunities, another associate advocated for Mackenzie to work on the two biggest deals in the firm simultaneously.”

  Wait a second. Rewind. What did he just say? Another associate advocated for me to be on the deal with Saul? The one that had my ruined my anniversary dinner, jeopardized my chances of impressing Ben, and put my mental stability at risk?

  “Wow, sounds like a great opportunity,” Mr. Introvert responded eagerly, looking at me. My smile was pasted on my face, and I think there may have been a piece of lettuce dangling from my mouth.

  “Yeah,” Ben continued. “I was worried Mackenzie had too much on her plate.” Ben grabbed my shoulder in praise. “But you balanced both deals handily, just like Sarah said you could.”

  Back in my office two hours later, my mind was in overdrive. I picked up the phone to call Jason, but after I dialed the first number I hung up. Unloading on him about this now would probably just annoy him and I didn’t want another wedge planted between us. I fired off a quick IM to Alex simply saying, “Can you come by?” and waited. He’d become my personal Buddha when it came to work issues, keeping me grounded and centered. When I was berating myself for crying about a public dressing down at the hands of Saul, it was Alex who explained it was normal to cry when someone yells at you. “I’d worry about you if you didn’t cry — it would mean you’ve become a robot,” he’d reassured me. And when Ben demanded that the deal team pull back-to-back all-nighters to prepare for a contract negotiation meeting after coming off a week when I’d billed over one hundred hours, it was Alex who brought me Advil for my caffeine-induced headaches while patiently reminding me the worst would be over soon, like I was in treatment for some terrible disease. He would know how to handle this. At the very least, he could be a craziness barometer and keep me from going down to Sarah’s office and scratching her eyes out.

  When I still hadn’t heard back an hour later, I called his secretary, who informed me that Alex was out of the office at the Financial Printer. “Said he won’t be in all week!” she exclaimed. That explained why I hadn’t seen him today. This was the third time Alex had worked on a large stock offering requiring him to be at the Printer, and each time it was akin to falling off the face of the earth. Lawyers, bankers, and clients hunker down in conference rooms of cavernous Financial Printer offices for weeks, sometimes months at a stretch, banging out what will be the final copy of publicly filed documents.

  “It’s like being in purgatory,” Alex said after the first stock offering he worked on, requiring him to spend six weeks at the Financial Printer. “Once you enter, they might as well seal the doors behind you because you’ll be there for an eternity.” Apparently these Financial Printers have developed ways to keep you from noticing the long wait for the revised proof. “They’re staffed with a cast of characters whose only job is to cater to your every whim,” Alex explained. “You want a Häagen-Dazs bar at 2 A.M.? Done. Too cold and need a sweater? Someone will run to Saks and buy you one. Need to be entertained while the workers reset the printer for a new proof? Just play a game of billiards or Grand Theft Auto on the sixty inch plasma screen. Not pleased that the Red Bull isn’t diet? Then diet Red Bull you’ll have!”

  It sounded completely bizarre to me, but, as with most perks, it was done to keep you happily working around the clock, giving you no need to stop, fuelling you with as much caffeine and aspartame as you needed, and all of it, of course, charged back to the client. Nothing in Biglaw is free.

  With my Buddha stuck in purgatory, I was going to have to handle this latest crisis on my own. I attempted to force myself to concentrate on the director’s resolutions I needed to draft. I shook my head. Focus, focus, I repeatedly commanded myself, but the lunch conversation kept playing like a movie reel in my head. There was no way Sarah had advocated for me to work on the Saul deal out of the kindness of her heart. Her motives were obvious. She was trying to sabotage my chances with StarCorp.

  Six hours of stewing later, at just after eleven o clock, with my director’s resolutions nowhere near done, I’d formulated a plan for dealing with Sarah. I’d casually asked Sadir what Sarah was working on these days and he’d launched into a lengthy description of an asset purchase deal that Maxwell was running that was keeping her in the office late every night. I knew Sadir’s clandestine data collection on the work habits of his co-workers would come in handy at some point. I decided to wait until after midnight, go down to her office, and confront her face to face. Because of the late hour, there would be fewer curious ears to hear if things got loud, which was a very good possibility. I wasn’t going down without a fight. Or at least a catfight.

  I took a deep breath and picked up the phone to call Jason on his cell phone. I wasn’t going to unload on him, I promised myself. But I’d decided I didn’t want to do this without him. He wouldn’t be in the office this late, but maybe if I could just hear his voice it would feel like he was here beside me. It went straight to voice mail, which meant there would be no craziness barometer to consult—I was going rogue.

  The theme song to Rocky played loudly in my head as I silently rehearsed what I was going to say: “Sarah, I’ve wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt,” (Risin’ up, back on the street; Did my time, took my chances …) “but I now realize that this is personal.” (Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive …)“And it has to end. Now.” (It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight; Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival …) “Because if it doesn’t, you’re going to have a full blown catfight on your hands.” (And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, and he’s watching us all with the eye of the tiger!) Determination was coursing through my veins as I headed down to her office ready to finally have it out with the Ice Queen.

  Standing outside her closed office door, I hesitated for a moment. Was this really the right thing to do? Was it really the right time? Maybe I should just do this over the phone or email. Or at least wait until I’ve run it past an appropriate craziness barometer, rather than the theme song to a 1980s Sylvester Stallone movie. A muffled groan coming from Sarah’s office interrupted my self-doubting thoughts.

  It sounded like she might have been crying. Maxwell probably just chewed her out, I deduced. Maybe I should come back later. I turned to leave, but my feet wouldn’t let me. No, I need to do this now! I need to have this out with her or this will never stop. This is it. I took a deep breath and turned the handle of her office door.

  My bleary eyes had trouble deciphering exactly what I was looking at—a headful of messy brown hair, the flash of a side of butt cheek. Oh. My. God. There was a naked man on top of Sarah! A naked man! She wasn’t moaning from frustration, she was moaning from … oh, it was too gross and terrib
le to think about. I quickly closed the door before I could be noticed.

  And then I froze. Time seemed to stand still as my mind caught up to what my eyes had just seen. My heart fluttered in my chest. I know that hair … I know that butt cheek. I knew with sickening certainty what I had just walked in on. Now my pulse was thumping in my ears. I opened the door again.

  “Jason?” I sputtered.

  “Mackenzie!” Jason jumped up and attempted to get to his feet, frantically pulling up his pants, which hung down on one ankle. I could feel tears rising up in my eyes. I backed out the door, turned, and quickly started down the hallway.

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I couldn’t produce a cohesive thought. Jason. Naked. Sarah.

  22

  “MACKENZIE,” JASON CALLED DOWN the hall. I whirled around, flushed with rage.

  “You know what, Jason—if you wanted to break up with me, all you had to do was man up and tell me. But cheating on me? With HER? Like this? You have got to be kidding me,” I fumed, not caring who heard.

  “You were never around,” Jason cried. “You can’t just expect me to camp out at your apartment, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.” He walked towards me, his expression softening. “I wanted to talk to you, I did. I tried …”

  His words hit me like a slap. “Never around? Never around?” I repeated furiously. “Your little woman in there is the reason I was never around.” Then the pieces slowly began to fall into place and the anger started to burn through me. “You … you were the reason she wanted me to work with Saul. She was trying to remove me from the picture completely. Did … did you know about that? Did you two PLAN it? Hell, were you two screwing on my desk when I was away?” The fury in my voice took me by surprise. I noticed Jason flinch.

  “Mackenzie,” a quiet voice called out behind him. “We didn’t plan it. It just happened.” I looked over to see Sarah walking towards us, looking disheveled and contrite. I fixed a steely glare in her direction. Adrenaline and humiliation were pulsing through my body. “Sarah, you claim to be committed to your career, but you’re just a two-faced bitch out to steal everyone’s happiness because you can’t find any of your own.” With that, I turned away, blinking back the tears that were prickling in my eyes, and ran to the sanctuary of my office.