by Abbi Waxman
“Good morning, Jessica,” said a familiar voice. John thinks his Southern charm makes up for a lot. He’s wrong.
“Good morning, John,” I said. “How can I help you?” I crossed my legs and started bouncing the top one. Cardio for the day.
“Well, Jessica, you can actually help me quite a bit, because Arthur Ostergren is getting rather difficult, and you’re around the corner.”
“I quit, remember? Ostergren was Jackson’s client. It’s international shipping and maritime law. I don’t know anything about it. Can’t someone else deal with it?”
“No,” said John. “And he is your client, because you’re a partner in the firm and all the firm’s clients are your clients. You quit, but you said you wouldn’t make it official until you got back.” He paused. “I scheduled a board call to discuss it, by the way. I’ll do what I can for Valentina.”
“And Janet.”
He sighed. “And Janet.”
I frowned. “Ostergren is in Baltimore.”
“Correct.”
“I’m in Washington, DC.”
“Again, nothing gets past you. Baltimore is less than fifty miles away. Eloise is sending a car now. You’ll be at their offices before lunch.”
I checked my watch. Damn it, he was right.
“But, John, I’m in the middle of something of my own here.”
“I’m sorry, Jessica, but with great power comes great responsibility.” This was a favorite joke of his, usually cracked when he was getting you to do something he didn’t want to do himself. “Call me in ten minutes and I’ll bring you up to speed. I’m giving you back to Eloise now. Give her your location and she’ll sort it all out.” He went away, presumably to go back behind his curtain and work the controls of that giant floating green head.
Eloise, his assistant, politely gathered information from me, and told me a car would be there in fifteen minutes. No one gets angry at Eloise, but she clearly got that I was annoyed, because she apologized for the last-minute notice.
“No problem, Eloise,” I said, “but I need to rejoin the group.”
She assured me it was all in hand, as she had a copy of the tour itinerary (which I hadn’t given her, so that was weird, but Eloise knows everything), and I went back into the lecture room to tell Emily. She was going to be thrilled.
“What about dinner with Grandpa?” She was whispering, but still managed to sound annoyed. “And what about drinks with your friend? I can hardly have drinks with a total stranger without you.”
“I’ll be back in time, I promise.”
“You always do this.”
I opened my mouth to say (a) what is this, and (b) how is it possible I always do it, but then I remembered the futility of arguing with her when she’s pissed. I grabbed my bag and went in to kiss her. She ducked away. I love it when she does that; you can see everyone wondering if they should call Child Protective Services.
My phone buzzed. The car was outside. It would have been funny if it weren’t also so deeply, deeply irritating.
“See you later,” I said.
“Whatever,” said Emily, not even looking at me.
* * *
• • •
I sat in the car as it moved across campus, and watched the students walking to class, filled with their own thoughts, their plans for the day, the week, their entire future. They knew so little and hoped so much. From the other side of youth things seem far grayer, the ups and downs of life softened into the folds of a quilt rather than the mountains and valleys they appear to be when you’re twenty. That’s the thing with data; if you pull any graph out far enough, the peaks and troughs flatten out. Live long enough and life averages out.
The phone rang. It was John. “Jessica, are you listening? Ostergren is peevish about his representation. I need you to go over there and smooth his feathers.”
“Jackson’s been gone for months. Ostergren’s feathers should be totally glassy.”
“Well, they’re not. It’s not a big enough account for me to fly someone out, but you’re right there. You’re good at placating clients, it’s those Mom skills.”
I rolled my eyes. This kind of drive-by, benevolent sexism is completely invisible to those who use it, and women are as guilty of it as men. If you’re a mom, it’s assumed you have people skills others, non-moms, don’t have. If you’re a man with children, no one makes the same assumption. I remember when I was made partner, one of the older women cornered me in the office.
“In my day,” she’d said to me, “you had either a career or children, never both. I had to make the choice.” She’d regarded me coldly, her St. John business suit as much a uniform as camouflage and khakis. “I had two abortions in the eighties and still didn’t make partner until I was fifty.”
“Uh . . . I’m sorry?” I had said, my coffee growing cold in my hand.
“I don’t regret it,” she replied, “but if I think you’re slacking at work, you can rest assured I’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks. I voted against you for partner, you know, and I’ll vote against you for a board seat when that rolls along.” She pointed her finger at me. “What if you’re needed in court and your child is dying? You’ll pick the child, we’ll lose the case.” She shrugged. “And the kid will probably still die.”
“Um . . .” I’d said, not sure what I was supposed to say to that. She went completely gaga a year or so later and had to be gently but firmly removed from the board. But she wasn’t alone: It was made clear, in dozens of subtle ways, that I was theirs first, my daughter’s second.
I realized John was waiting for me to speak. I said, “You promise you’ll talk to the board and make them change their position?”
“Yes.”
I sighed. “Okay, send me any background I need.”
“Eloise is taking care of it. Call me after the meeting.”
He hung up and moments later a file buzzed into my in-box. I pulled it up and started reading, trying not to think about Emily.
EMILY
Unbe-fricking-lievable. My mother has left the building. She vanished to do some stupid work thing, leaving me to deal with two colleges, a bus ride, and a hotel check-in. Thank god Cassidy was there. Her eyes glittered when I pulled her aside to tell her what had happened, and I could tell she’s into a suddenly missing parent. She has prepared for this; it’s the tiny emergency she goes over in the middle of the night. She patted me on the arm as we toured American, and told me not to worry. I hadn’t been worrying, but as she hadn’t told me not to seethe, I kept seething.
The mood definitely picked up when we saw the E3 College Coach. With one fluid motion we all pulled out our phones and started snapping. It’s a regular coach-type bus, right, quite a nice one, like a rock band on tour or something, but someone had the brilliant idea of painting it like a school bus. At first glance it worked—we were all like, Huh, an oversized school bus—but then it suddenly dawned on us that the proportions were all wrong. Will said it was like an episode of The Magic School Bus. It’s a school bus . . . and yet also a blue whale. He’s funny.
Inside it was pretty cool, actually. I spent a year on the soccer team at school—don’t ask, it was hideous—so I’m an expert on school buses. This was nothing like. The seats were comfortable and actually had seat belts, and there was a bathroom and a shower, although why on earth we’d need a shower is beyond me. I saw Alice eyeing it thoughtfully; maybe she’s hoping to join the bus equivalent of the mile-high club. What would that be? The twenty-feet-off-the-ground club? Less impressive.
“Don’t forget to tag us when you post,” called Cassidy. As if realizing it was unlikely any of us would be giving her free publicity and admitting we were on a college tour, she then gathered us at the back for a group shot and tagged it herself. The parents have all been posting up a storm, of course. At one point the previous day we’d all compared e
mbarrassing “Can you believe s/he’s looking at colleges?/tearful emoji” posts, to which all their friends added shocked faces and commented on the passage of time, yawn. Some of them went for the comparison post (Here’s a picture of little Wanda in her Dorothy costume at four, here she is at sixteen; Oh my god I feel so old because this rite of passage is about me, not the one actually passaging), while others went for the sarcastic shot of their kid on their phone with a caption about looking forward to the future. They love to criticize us for being on our phones, despite the fact that their generation created the phones, marketed the phones, and are profiting from the phones. They’re drug pushers making fun of the junkies, which, if you think about it, is lame AF. Besides, any day now those same junkies are taking over the street corner, so they should try being nice. I’m not actually sure what I mean by that; don’t judge. And why do they all have phone cases that open like little books and make it difficult to take photos in the first place? They created the monster and don’t even know how to use it properly.
Anyway, after the posed shot, we all ended up sitting in the back of the bus together, which was good, because the enthusiastic parental questioning after each university is exhausting all of us. Will sat next to me but spent the whole trip talking to Casper, so that was confusing. I would have joined in but they were talking about Zelda, about which I know nothing. I know I’m supposed to be into video games, but I’m not. Only Minecraft, which I still enjoy from time to time, no shame. The kids kept giving me dollar bills to fold. It was fun. Even Alice gave me one, although of course she gave me a twenty. I folded her a pig, which may be the smallest act of rebellion ever recorded.
JESSICA
I’d never been to Baltimore before; it turns out it’s really pretty. Ostergren’s offices were near the harbor, and his windows were filled with the masts of yachts and flags. It resembled a highly festive forest. He was less festive.
“I don’t like it, Ms. Burnstein, I don’t like it at all.” He was one of those old men who thinks he’s still good looking; he wore a handsome tie and matching pocket square, and his shoes were handmade and polished by someone whose only job it was to polish his shoes. “I realize I am only a relatively small account for your firm, but when Mr. Jackson left the firm—after apparently wasting my fees on drugs and loose women—no one really stepped up to fill his spot. I have only associates on my account.” He shot his cuffs, presumably so I could see his fancy cuff links. “If the acquisition I’m planning goes ahead, our annual revenues will more than double.”
I smiled at him and felt relieved I had worn appropriately professional clothing to the tour that morning. I’d debated jeans, then decided I lacked the confidence to be casual, if you know what I mean, and had stuck with slacks and cashmere. I was even wearing pearls; thank god for fashion insecurity.
“Firstly, let me reassure you that Mr. Jackson didn’t spend any of your money, only his own. There was certainly bad behavior on his part, but no hint of financial impropriety.”
“Humph,” said Ostergren.
“Secondly, the lawyers on your account are highly capable, and all accounts have access to a partner whenever it’s called for.” I leaned forward. “Having said that, have you come across a lawyer called Valentina Guerrera?”
He nodded. “I think she was on a call once, advising about a specific tax issue.”
I nodded back at him (mirroring body language, very important). “Valentina is about to be made a partner and is extremely capable. Brilliant, in fact. You should request her. I happen to know she’d love to run an account as interesting as yours.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The intricacies of international shipping are like catnip to her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, only the other day she was talking about the Abandoned Shipwreck Act of 1987 with a great deal of enthusiasm.”
He frowned and for a moment I panicked. I’d literally googled “important maritime laws” in the elevator, and that was the only one I could remember.
He relaxed. “It is incredibly fascinating.”
Oh, thank goodness.
“Guerrera, you said?”
I nodded. “You’ll love her.”
“And she’s a partner?”
“About to be. You should definitely call John today.”
* * *
• • •
Once I was in the car on the way to Philadelphia, I called John and prepared to press my advantage. I’d learned early on in my career that the simplest way to succeed at work was to talk like a man, which means removing all warmth, doubt, and softness from every sentence. Try it; it’s surprisingly difficult.
“Hi, I calmed Ostergren down, but he insists on Valentina being put on his account. He wants a partner.”
John’s frown could be heard in his voice. “Valentina isn’t a partner.”
“Well, I told him she was going to be. Now he wants her.” I looked out the window at the world sliding by. “You told me to smooth his feathers, John, so I smoothed them.”
“And made things hard for me at the same time.”
I smiled. “Hiding in every problem is an opportunity, remember?”
“Really? Who told you that?”
“You did, John. Goodbye.”
I hung up and immediately called Valentina. “Hey there, what do you know about international shipping?”
“Not all that much.”
“Well, you might want to brush up.” I told her about Ostergren. “Any word from John on the partner thing?”
“Nothing.” She sounded uncharacteristically uneven. “It’s unofficially going around that Will Maier and Jeff Mako are getting it.” She added, “They totally deserve it.”
“Yes, they do. So do you, Valentina.”
“Maybe it’s not my year.”
“It is. Don’t get ready to fail.”
“I can wait.”
“Yes, but don’t.”
There was a silence long enough to tell me she was thinking about saying something. “Spit it out.”
“Someone said they aren’t making any women partners this year because of Jerkwad.”
Jerkwad, obviously, was what we all called Jackson the ex-partner and total douchebag who’d been fired.
Now I hesitated. “Why would that make sense?” Not an answer, but hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
“I don’t know. I never even worked for him.”
“Listen, Val. Hold fast. Don’t let any of this get in your head. Tell me about your caseload.” As she started telling me about her work, I heard her voice settle. I see this in myself; work is not always my happy place, but it is my confident place. I know what I’m doing with law, it behaves in predictable ways, it takes its time. It gives me a feeling of competence and mastery I don’t get anywhere else.
I let Valentina talk out her work all the way to Philadelphia. As we approached the hotel, I told her we had to break it off.
“Thanks, Jess,” she said, clearly feeling much better. “I’m going home.” She laughed. “It’s strange not having you here. Usually when it’s time to go I can still find you in your office.”
“Well,” I said wryly, “not sure that’s very admirable.”
“I am,” she said. “I do admire it. You’re a great mentor, Jess. Thanks.”
The car pulled up in front of the hotel. “You’re welcome, Val. Gotta go face Emily now.”
“I’m sure she admires you, too.”
I laughed. “Current evidence suggests not, but never mind. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She hung up, and I gave myself thirty seconds to feel good about myself. My colleagues let me help them, and it’s such a good feeling. When Emily was little she needed my assistance constantly, asking me to do up a shoe, to make her a sandwich, to show her how to work this small machine or that one, and when she stopped wanting
my help it was like missing a step in the dark. I still reach for the jar she can’t open, the object that’s too high on a shelf, the thorny problem my weathered hands can untangle. But where she used to smile and run off, happy with the open jar, the tied shoe, the sandwich, now she turns angry eyes on me and tells me sharply she can do it herself: God, Mom, just stop, will you?
I walked into the hotel, feeling my confidence rubbing off on the carpet with every step. Every day the culture shock of leaving the office omnipotent and walking into my house incompetent threatens to overwhelm me. I had hoped this trip would even things up a bit, but so far it’s a bit of a bust.
10
JESSICA
When I walked into our room I found Emily already dressed and ready to go out.
“How was your work thing?” she asked. “Did you save the whatever?”
Her voice was a hair trigger, impossible to judge. I tried smiling. “I did. I saved the whatever and then on the way back I fixed the thingy and talked to Valentina about the whatyoucallit.”
She’d started off smiling back at me, but it was clearly a mistake to mention Valentina. “Valentina gets a lot of your time,” she said, turning away.
“Not really,” I said, taking off my shoes and sitting on the bed. “What time are we meeting your grandfather?”
“Eight,” she said, “but we have drinks with your friend first, remember?”
Damn, I had totally forgotten. I was exhausted and would happily have canceled the drinks part at least, but for some reason she was all gung ho. The whole hanging-out-with-my-friends thing was Emily’s idea; she’d suggested it when we were originally planning the trip.
“Hey, don’t you still have college friends on the East Coast?”
I’d stared at her across the dinner table and frowned. “Uh, yes, I think so. Not sure . . .”
“That’s great, let’s go see them.”
I was surprised. Say what you like about Emily, she’s not particularly nosy about my life. I could be explaining my latest case to her, hoping she might like to understand what I do all day, but then I realize she’s basically listening for her name, like Alexa, and ignoring everything else.