Big Law (3 page)

“How are things going with Quinn anyway?” I asked.

Just hearing his name, Kim’s face brightened. “Welllll … He wants me to meet his
family
.” She drummed the table in delight.

“What?” I squealed.

Kim nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s huge!”

“I know, right?” She picked up her wineglass and took a long, wistful gulp. “Remember that guy I dated in college who I thought wanted me to meet his family and it turned out he just wanted me to babysit his kids?”

“Yeah, you’ve come a long way from dating that gem.”

“Who’da thunk it?”

Our waiter suddenly materialized, balancing the plates on his arms. “Just put them all in the middle,” Kim instructed. He set down the caprese salad, brown butter gnocchi, and beef ravioli in the center of the table and an empty plate in front of each of us.

I speared a piece of gnocchi with my fork, grateful for Kim’s indiscriminate ordering. It melted in my mouth in a ball of yummy, buttery goodness. Nights like tonight made me feel beyond lucky that the paths Kim and I had taken had led us both to New York.

“So, if you and Quinn get married and have babies, do you realize how cute they’d be?” I pointed my fork at her. “You two owe it the world to procreate.”

She snorted. Never one to look too far into the future, she quickly changed gears. “Hey, do you think you’ll be free tomorrow night? Every Friday is 90’s movies trivia night at Quinn’s bar—winner gets a $100 tab.”

“Oh, we could so win that!” I raced through my mental checklist of work to-dos. With Stay Puft’s deal now done, I planned on laying low for a while and enjoying a social life again. Lately it felt like I was taking up residence at F&D, but now I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I’m in.” I grinned.

Kim clapped excitedly.

But I must have had one too many glasses of wine because I had momentarily forgotten the one truth, the biggest truth I’d learned: In Biglaw, the light at the end of the tunnel is always—always—an oncoming train.

“M
ACKENZIE
,” R
ITA’S VOICE BURST
out of my speaker phone. “Ben Girardi needs to see you in his aw-fice.”

“Did he say what it was relating to?” I asked, silently praying it wasn’t a new deal. I didn’t want to be smoked out of my hole a mere twenty-four hours after the merger was announced.

“No, but it bett-ah be about givin’ you a raise for all the haw-d work you’ve been puttin’ in lately.”

Sadir let out a laugh from the other side of the partition. “Not likely,” he scoffed.

It used to bother me that Sadir was privy to nearly everything that happened in my life on a daily basis. He could hear one side of every personal conversation, knew that I sometimes snored in my sleep, and could rattle off my schedule better than I could. But after he witnessed my attempt to discretely shave my legs at my desk one morning, I came to grips with the fact that there were never going to be any secrets between us.

“Have you heard anything about a deal Ben would be staffing?” If anyone would be in the know, it would be Sadir.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you’ve been picked for the associates committee.”

The newest thing in Biglaw propaganda was to have an “associates committee” that supposedly dealt with associate satisfaction issues. In reality, the committee would meet with the partners once a month and suck up to them by telling them they were all doing a
bang-up job and the associates were blissfully happy. What associate would risk saying anything to the contrary? No one. Then the committee would institute something like “Jamba Juice Fridays,” and somehow this was supposed to miraculously increase morale. Like a free Jamba Juice made up for our indentured servitude.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I responded sarcastically, grabbing my notepad and heading out the door. But inside I was secretly hoping that Sadir was right. Ben was a partner who had many roles in the department. I could see him being the one responsible for staffing the associates committee. Or it could be any number of things—he wants to know how the CLEs are going? Suggestions for the next department lunch? My opinion about the success of Jamba Juice Fridays?

I reached Ben’s office and noticed two first year associates were already sitting on the couch off to the side of Ben’s desk, legal pads perched on their laps. Ben was in a large leather chair behind his desk, his greying temples framing what anywhere else would be considered an average looking face, but in a law firm was considered handsome. I felt as if I was walking the plank as I took a few slow steps from the door to the seat across from Ben’s desk. Patrick O’Shea, another first year associate, entered the office last and took the last spot on the nubby maroon couch. Ben continued to scan his email, ignoring us, while we waited to hear our fate.

I’d never worked for Ben before, but had attended a dinner at his house when I was summer associate. Every summer the partners with the nicest houses hosted a dinner for the summer associates. A sort of “this could be yours” party. Personally, I think the plan backfires because you end up getting a rather unfortunate glimpse into their lives. Of course, Ben’s house was amazing—a huge old brick colonial home on a large piece of land in Scarsdale with a pool, tennis court, and a circular driveway that took visitors to the private parking lot behind the house. Inside, there was a grand staircase ascending down into the foyer—wide enough that a car could probably drive down it. From the foyer, double French doors led to a large room where the furniture had been cleared out to accommodate the party. It was clear from the food and drink that
the dinner had a Mexican theme—waiters holding silver trays with sangria and pomegranate margaritas greeted everyone at the door and tiny empanadas and spicy shrimp were being offered by waitresses circulating through the crowd. Ben had done his best to portray the “laid back fun partner” look, wearing a cream colored linen shirt rolled up to the elbows and matching linen pants. To me it ended up looking more like a pair of oversized pajamas Hugh Hefner might wear.

Ben’s wife, Katrina, was easy to spot. She was the petite, blue-eyed blonde floating through the crowd with a blinding amount of diamonds around her wrist and neck, talking a little louder than everyone else. Her tanned skin was flawless and perfectly set off by her white, flowing linen dress. She’d be the first to tell you she was from a prominent Russian family and clearly embraced her roots in her home decorating. Large, gilded arm chairs and ornate tables were proudly displayed in the foyer, but didn’t really mesh with the exterior of the house. Clearly their decorating plan was simply “anything expensive and showy” rather than one particular style. The party was meant to impress us, but, even though I couldn’t put my finger on it, there just seemed something a little tacky about the whole thing. Did we really need to be taken on a tour of Ben’s luxury goods? And be forced to listen to the silly reasons for each purchase? I mean, he actually told us he bought a piece of art for three hundred thousand dollars just so he could out-bid George Soros at the Sotheby’s auction.

Of course, just when I thought the party couldn’t get any more over the top, our attention was directed towards the foyer where a five-piece mariachi band descended down the grand staircase, singing and playing their large stringed instruments, making the whole setting unquestionably one of the most bizarre firm events I’d witnessed. A mariachi band. For a dinner party. As if a further element of absurdity needed to be added to the whole situation.

The mariachi band continued to play throughout dinner as we feasted on lobster ceviche and braised short ribs. I sat two seats away from Katrina, who downed red sangria like it was water and regaled the table with stories of their extravagant vacations.

“’Scuse me please, but it’s time to kick this up a notch,” she slurred to the table midway through dinner and stumbled towards the band. We all turned to see what would happen next as she grabbed a microphone and started to sing. And by sing, I mean rolling her tongue and shrieking, “Ya ka ka ka ka” while clapping to the rhythm and swinging her hips. The members of the band looked puzzled, but kept playing. She dropped the microphone and stumbled back and forth attempting to dance with one of the band members. Finally, the train wreck ended and she returned to the table and fell into her chair.

“Ben just hates it when I sing,” she announced to no one in particular. “But Ben hates just about everything I do, don’t you, Benny?” She patted his face a little too hard. Ben just sat there stiffly, clenching his teeth together like his jaw was wired shut. “Awww … now I’m being ignored.” Her lower lip dropped into a pout.

“Nothing a little Xanax can’t fix though, right, sweetie?” She laughed and swilled back more of her drink.

I can personally attest to the fact that nothing kills a dinner party faster than the hostess talking about her happy pills. We were ushered to our coats just as she was breaking out in song again. After that night I couldn’t look at Ben without thinking of his medicated wife and his pajama outfit. Now here I was, in Hugh Hefner’s office.

“Okay,” Ben started, looking down at his clasped hands. “I just got off the phone with a new client and we’ve been given the go ahead to start work on their latest acquisition. And it’s a big one. Big.” He looked around the room significantly. “We’ve been retained by Pegasus Partners, the private equity firm that made headlines last year for their unfortunate foray into the arms manufacturing business. The bad publicity cost them two major investors.”

I looked up from my notepad as though this wasn’t news to me.

“Pegasus has decided to target Highlander Hotels and Resorts, hoping that a move into the more PR friendly hotel industry will scrub their image,” Ben went on. “They reached a handshake deal last night. We’re looking at a purchase price well north of seven billion.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now we’ve got to do the diligence and paper the deal. They want a fully signed purchase agreement by the end of February and the deal closed by the end of May.”

I felt a bubble of dismay growing inside. Taking a multibillion dollar acquisition from a handshake to a fully signed purchase agreement typically took over six months. We had four. Couldn’t I just give him my thoughts on Jamba Juice Fridays and call it a day?

“Mackenzie, set a kick-off meeting for today at two.”

I nodded, scribbling orders on my notepad.

“Any questions?” Ben asked, clearly expecting none.

The room fell silent.

“Great.” Ben smiled. “Pegasus usually uses Skadden for their M&A work, so if we bring this one home it could mean a lot more work for us from these guys.” Ben pushed back his chair and stood. The rest of us followed suit.

“Oh, Mackenzie, hang back for a second. The rest of you can go.” He dismissed the first years with a curt nod of his head.

I stood awkwardly, not knowing if I should sit back down. I noticed Patrick turn and give me a look on his way out that said,
Better you than me.

Ben waited for them to scurry out of the office before fixing his eyes on me, “Mackenzie, I’m sure you realize what a privilege it is for a second year associate to be entrusted with this deal. Your efforts on Maxwell’s deal didn’t go unnoticed and Maxwell is a hard guy to please. It’s not easy for an associate to stand out at F&D. There’s a lot of driven and smart associates here. That’s a given.” He hesitated. “Those who distinguish themselves in my eyes go
above
and
beyond
. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

I nodded, not entirely sure I did.

“Good.” He folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Then I’m sure you know that I’m the partner responsible for picking the associate that lands the StarCorp secondment.”

My pulse quickened. Every year the firm selected one mid-level associate to work for the firm’s largest client, StarCorp Investments, for six months. Not only does the lucky associate get an opportunity to work on the business side, gaining valuable experience, but the hours were far less demanding, essentially amounting to a six month break from the grind of Biglaw. It was the most sought after reward for a corporate associate at F&D and landing it was essentially a
declaration that you were on partnership track. Every associate that has been selected for the plum position has gone on to make partner. Every single one. And the last three associates that had been graced with the opportunity made partner a year earlier than expected.

“So.” Ben blew out a long breath of air. “This deal isn’t just an opportunity for the firm, but an amazing opportunity for you as well. I’m a good guy to impress.” He grinned, ensuring we were now both in on the same secret.

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can count on me, Ben.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. This one is going to require a Herculean effort from you and your team, but I’m sure you’re up to the task.”

“Absolutely,” I said with more certainty than I felt.

Walking back to my office, a whir of emotions was spinning inside me. If I performed well on this deal, I was basically guaranteed the StarCorp secondment. Just thinking about it made me feel like I was levitating from elation. And being involved in an acquisition of this magnitude would definitely bring accolades. I always got a major adrenaline rush whenever my name made the list in New York Law Journal’s “Lawyers Working on Billion Dollar Deals.” The first time my name appeared, I’d cut out the article and sent it to Mom and Dad, eager to show off my newfound celebrity status. Mom put it in the scrapbook, which was mostly populated with articles showcasing Margaret’s athletic achievements. “And your name is in bold!” Mom had cooed.

But, being handed the opportunity to work on this deal also came with the tremendous responsibility not to screw it up. I didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if I didn’t perform to Ben’s standards. His Herculean standards.

“Well?” Sadir called out when I entered the office.

I leaned against the wall, my head still spinning. “You know, when you didn’t have the inside track on a big deal being staffed by Ben I
really did think that it might be something as benign as the associates committee.”

“Yeah, sorry about lying to you, Mackenzie.” He nodded somberly. “I already heard through the grapevine that Ben was staffing a monster deal. I just had to give you some hope, though. It’s like putting a blindfold over someone’s eyes before they’re about to be executed,” he explained. “You just have to do that for a person. It’s the humane thing to do.”

I snickered and flopped down in my chair. “He did say it was an honor to be put on this deal—a
reward
for earlier work.”

“Well, welcome to the pie eating contest … where the only prize is
more pie
.”