J'adore New York (7 page)

“Really?” He responds, looking embarrassed to admit having a personal life in front of Scott.

“Yes. A banker named Patrick.”

“Patrick? I don’t know any Patrick.”

“Well, he knows you.”

“Oh, Patrick. Yes, yes, I do remember him,” he adds after Scott has moved out of earshot. “Listen, I don’t
have
a girlfriend, okay? She’s just a friend.” The purple in his face has now turned to a bit of a blush. “Can you call Mel back on the PLC file? I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”

After I’m done with Mel, I call Lisa to get the details on what happened last night.

“Quite a night, wasn’t it? You were smashed.”

“I know. How did I get home?”

“I put you in a cab and paid the driver a little extra to make sure you got there safely.”

“I don’t even remember. How did your meeting with your boss go?”

“Great! He confirmed that I’m up for partnership in the next year.”

A sudden wave of envy washes over me. I should be completely thrilled for Lisa, not jealous, but I can’t help it. I do my best to sound sincere.

“Congratulations! We need to celebrate! But not tonight, I’m totally dead.”

“Don’t worry. I’m meeting Charles after work tonight. He’s treating me to dinner at the Gramercy Tavern.”

I regret having thought badly of Charles—that’s really thoughtful of him. For a split second, I feel sorry for myself but try to regain my composure.

“How sweet of him.”

“I told you he cared about me,” she says pointedly. “Anyway, we need to work on your drinking endurance. It’s way too low.”

Our conversation is interrupted by screaming in the hallway. I hang up and rush toward the photocopier. In front of Antoine’s office is the kerfuffle that Rikash had predicted only last week.

“It’s a simple fucking document!” Antoine screams from his office.

“I’ve just about had it with you and your goddamn simple documents. You can shove them you know where,” Maria screams from behind her desk. “Ask someone else to change the font twenty-five times ‘cause I’ve really fuckin’ had it. I’m going home and might not be back. Ever.”

She puts on her coat and makes her way down the hallway with her breasts bouncing beneath her
I don’t give a rat’s ass
shirt.

Rikash stares at the scene with his manicured hand pressed to his mouth, Mimi shakes her head in disbelief, and Roxanne runs to meet Maria near the elevator. A heavy silence looms as all the other lawyers in our department remain behind their desks, speechless.

Antoine walks out into the hall a few minutes later looking visibly distraught. “I don’t understand her behaviour, it’s completely unacceptable.” He walks into Scott’s office and slams the door behind him. After about an hour, Antoine exits Scott’s office, puts on his coat, and leaves for the day, shocking everyone with his early departure.

This is my chance to go home and get some sleep.

I
t is better to be silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt, my father always used to say. I try to keep that in mind when Nathan saunters in for a visit.

“When’s the new partner moving into this office? I thought this was only temporary?”

“Not sure. I heard there might be a delay with his start date.”

He answers with a frown, then reaches over to shut my door. “Did you see the article about the firm in today’s
Wall Street Journal
?”

“No. I didn’t get the chance to read the paper yet.”

“Well, you’re missing out on some important info.” He leans against one of my visitor chairs with his arms crossed on his chest.

“Oh?”

“I’m assuming you’re aware that large New York firms have raised lawyer salaries in recent years?”

“Of course.”

“Apparently the partners are a bit resentful and there’s talk that they’ll be raising the minimum billable hours quotas. Have you heard anything about
that?
” he asks while surreptitiously scanning every item on my desk, looking for evidence that I might know something he doesn’t.

“Not a thing.”

Raising the billable hours quotas? Is that humanly possible? I’ll have to set up a tent and shower in between my desk and door. On second thought, a set-up like that might not be so bad if it could help keep people like Nathan out. I find his insecurity to be disconcerting (refer back to character trait #1 of type-A personality); he couldn’t possibly bill more hours unless the firm added a Johnny-on-the-spot in his office and delivered his meals intravenously.

“Have you heard that some senior partners are leaving to start their own firm?”

Rikash had mentioned it at lunch, but I’m not going to let on that I know anything.

“Really? Haven’t heard about that either.”

He squints in disbelief. For some reason, he thinks that I would know more about firm politics than he does. It’s oddly flattering.

“If you do, can you please let me know?” he says with obvious exasperation at my lack of inside information. “If the most senior partners leave, it’ll be all about the survival of the
fittest around here.” He gives me a look of superiority as if to say that a) I am definitely not part of the fittest, b) my chances of survival in the event of a reorganization are close to nil, and c) he will rule the new world order. I shoot him one back that suggests d) he might want to be a little more careful until he knows where he stands.

After Nathan leaves, Maria knocks on my door. She’s wearing an uncharacteristically conservative navy suit and frilly beige librarian blouse.

“I would like to formally apologize for my behaviour yesterday. It was completely unacceptable and I promise to never do it again.”

I try not to let my shock register on my face. “No apology necessary. Listen, you’ve been working long hours these last few weeks and it’s okay to feel tired. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

Surprised by a sympathetic ear, her face brightens.

“I’m completely exhausted. Antoine and Bonnie have been working me around the clock. I haven’t had a day off in nine months and I’ve been here most nights ‘til midnight.”

“I know.”

“It takes me an hour and a half to get home; and then when I do get home, I have to do laundry and, if I’m not too late, cook dinner and help the kids with their homework. I don’t know if I can keep this up for much longer.”

Her daily routine boggles my mind. I can’t even begin to fathom what it must be like; I usually collapse on my couch after a ten-minute walk from the office.

“I understand. Listen, if you ever want to chat, my door is always open, okay?”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. Not many lawyers around here care about the support staff.”

“It can be a bit of a cold place.”

“A bit cold? How about freakin’ freezing.” She looks down and hesitates before going on, but my willingness to listen prompts her to continue. “It’s getting pretty nasty around here…I’m not sure what’s going on.” She pauses again, hoping I might say something, but I remain silent. “Everyone’s been playing dumb, but I’m not stupid…I see what’s going on…and just so you know, I don’t play games. I tell it like it is.”

It occurs to me that our entire department seems preoccupied with the poisoned firm climate. Maybe
I
should start worrying too.

“You’re right. Honesty’s always the best policy.”

She stands and walks toward the door with a pained expression. “Not always.”

It must be difficult to put up with childish power plays and the tiresome behaviour of spoiled lawyers. I’d be exasperated if I were carrying her load. I vow to myself never to treat Rikash with disrespect.

My phone rings seconds after Maria leaves.

“Counselaaar, where’s the memo you promised? We’re anxiously waiting for it.”

“Hi, Mel, I’ll have it to you by ten o’clock.”

At 10:04
, the phone rings again.

“Counselaaar, no sign of your memo in my inbox yet.”

“It’s on its way, Mel. Just give me another twenty minutes or so. I need to proofread it before I send it to you.”

“Maybe your little secretary should stop filing his nails and type a bit faster. He doesn’t work at a spa.”

“Listen, he’s not to blame here. I need a bit more time to make some final revisions, okay?”

At 10:10
, Mimi calls to remind me of an upcoming meeting about the firm’s new employee benefit program.

At 10:13
, Antoine wants to know if I’ve had any dealings with Hart-Scott-Rodino. In the split second before I admit that I haven’t had much direct involvement with this legislation, I can’t help but think that he’s referring to a) a B-movie actor represented by our entertainment group, b) a new form of prenatal childbirth classes, or c) the leader of some local Italian mafia ring.

At 10:15
, the NYPD inspector in charge of the Trademark Infringement Unit returns my call.

At 10:19
, the SEC wants to discuss a recent filing for one of Antoine’s clients.

At 10:22
, the delivery guy from the corner deli calls from the lobby to deliver my breakfast. (I missed the firm’s breakfast cart
again.
I’m now becoming seriously addicted to American style egg sandwiches: I need to pick up that book about French women not getting fat otherwise I’ll soon become an exception to the rule.)

At 10:23
, my new Citibank representative wants to know if I want to invest in mutual funds.

At 10:25
, Bonnie is looking for a precedent she asked me to find for one of her acquisitions. (And doesn’t understand
why the hell it is taking me so long to find it.) “You better make damn sure I have those poison pill documents for my meeting tomorrow. If you can’t get the fucking job done, I’ll get someone else to work on it.”

Poison pill? It sounds like something I’d like to drop into her morning coffee.

At 10:27
, Nathan wants to know how many hours I’ve billed so far this week. (I lie and tell him that I’ve billed twice what I’ve actually docketed.)

At 10:28
, Bonnie calls again, telling me that I need to check with her before accepting any new mandates from Scott or Antoine since she has complete dominion over my time and workload.

At 10:29
, Lisa wants to know whether I have time to join her for a manicure and pedicure at Rescue Beauty Lounge before our dinner tomorrow night. (Completely out of the question.)

At 10:35
, the phone rings again.

“Catherine, it’s Mel again, and he’s getting quite rude with me on the phone,” Rikash complains.

I pick up the call. “Listen, Mel, I’m doing my best here. It’ll be there shortly,” I plead, gritting my teeth.

At 10:55
, Rikash types the final revisions to the memo and I send it off. I’m completely famished but have no time to eat breakfast since I’m due in Scott’s office for a conference call in less than five minutes.

At 10:57
, Scott’s ecstatic voice comes through my speakerphone. “Hey, Catherine, great news! Remember that beauty
contest? We got the deal. Browser hired us and we’ll be lead counsel on their first round of financing. I’d like you to be my point person for this transaction. Can you be at a meeting at the Swiss Bank offices tomorrow afternoon? Unfortunately, I can’t make it. I have another meeting.”

“Sure.”

At 10:58
, I stare out my office window for a brief moment, when Rikash buzzes me on the intercom.

“If it’s Mel, put him into my voicemail.”

“No, it’s your mother. She says she has some good news for you.”

“
Bonjour, ma chérie,
you won’t believe this. Your cousin Françoise just found an amazing job in Paris. She’ll be a senior buyer for Chanel. She’ll be travelling all over Europe and will have an unlimited expense account and clothing allowance.”

“Wow, that’s really amazing.” I picture my gorgeous cousin jetting off to the fashion shows wearing a tailored bouclé jacket, a pair of oversized CC sunglasses, rows of delicate pearls around her neck, and a large leather quilted bag, while my business trips involve sweating my way past aggressive security guards in smelly three-day-old suits.

At 11:03
, Roxanne calls me on the intercom. “Catherine, Scott is waiting for you in his office for the conference call. You’re late.”

I drop my head on my desk and want to weep.

“I
t’s a vintage Louis Féraud from Les Puces.”

At seven on Thursday night, Lisa picks me up in front of my office building in a taxi. She compliments me on my dress as soon as I set foot in the cab.

“Ah yes, Les Puces! I remember being so jealous of the stuff you found there back in school.”

“You have to try it—I find the most incredible things there.”

“I wish I had the patience to pick through pre-worn stuff. I like my clothes to be fresh off the rack.”

Lisa has always been into labels and current trends. For me, it’s not the price tag that counts, it’s how you put it together. I decide to change the subject.

“What’s Charles up to tonight?”

“He’s in Hong Kong for business. He left yesterday.”

“How was your celebratory dinner?”

“Wonderful,” she responds with the dreamy look of someone in love.

“I’m sorry I was so judgmental about him.”

“No worries. You just don’t want to see me hurt.”

“It’s true. And I’m so happy about your promotion. First drinks are on me.”

“Thanks, Cat. I hope it wasn’t a problem to leave the office early?”

“Not really. Convincing Rikash to cover for me only cost a triple Marble Mocha Macchiato and a chocolate eclair.”

We arrive at the Blue Owl, a trendy lounge in the East Village that’s completely packed with men in suits and model types holding a rainbow of martinis.

“Cat, meet my friends Amanda, Leanne, and Beverley.” Lisa waves to three women in their early thirties clad in head-to-toe Prada, Gucci, and Chanel respectively.

I reach over to shake three of the most perfectly manicured and heavily jewelled hands I’ve ever encountered.

“Hello, nice to meet you.”

“Catherine, Lisa told us that you’ve just moved here from Paris. We love Paris, don’t we, ladies?” Beverley (Chanel) says, holding up her martini glass in a mini-toast.

“Oh, yes, greatest shopping ever!” Leanne (Gucci) jumps in eagerly.

“Great? How about fantastic! I nearly emptied the YSL store during my last trip,” Amanda (Prada) throws out.

“Lisa told us you were a lawyer. What type of law do you practise?” Leanne asks.

“Where did you go to law school? Have you taken the New York bar exam?” Beverley asks before I can answer Leanne’s question.

“I went to law school in France and met Lisa during an exchange program at Pepperdine and no, I haven’t passed the local bar yet.”

“My brother passed the exam last summer. He said it was a walk in the park,” Beverley comments.

I’ve heard many stories about the bar exam, but most of them make it sound more like a journey to hell and back than a walk in the park.

“Are you working at Skadden or Sullivan? You must keep crazy hours these days,” Amanda jumps into the question period.

I’m obviously under serious cross-examination by the bling brigade.

“No, I don’t work at Skadden, Arps or Sullivan and Cromwell. I’m with Edwards and White, and yes, you could say that I’m working crazy hours these days. How about you, what do you do?” I ask my interrogators before they can get another question in.

“Amanda’s at a hedge fund, Leanne’s a trader, and I’m a doctor,” Beverley answers in a rehearsed manner.

“You must know what it’s like to work long hours.”

“Yes. It’s been a wild ride,” Amanda replies. “I practically live on an airplane these days. But at least
we
get paid. You lawyers don’t make much by the hour given the amount of work you do.”

Ouch. You’re picking up my bar tab for that one, missy.
Speaking of which, I need a drink. After reviewing the colourful cocktail menu, I opt for the Comtesse; channelling my inner French royalty will make me feel a little less inferior among these princesses. I order two drinks, one for Lisa and one for
moi.
I ask the bartender to make them strong.

“I hope you don’t mind, we made reservations at Daniel for dinner. It’s our absolute favourite. The cheese plate is scrumptious and they have an incredible wine list.”

“Oh, not at all,” I say, pretending to be quite at ease with the idea of spending on dinner an amount that could pay for a day at the spa or cover half the cost of a new armchair for my apartment.

“Why don’t you girls go ahead? Cat and I will catch another cab and meet you,” Lisa suggests while they simultaneously drape themselves in their expensive-looking trench coats.

“Okay, see you there,” Beverley shouts, waving her Burberry scarf.

“How did you meet these women?” I ask Lisa as soon as they’re out of earshot. “They’re kind of, well, obnoxious, don’t you think?”

“I met them at a garden party last summer in the Hamptons. They’re actually pretty harmless.”

“Harmless? They seem more like piranhas in designer suits to me. Did you hear what Amanda said about lawyers being underpaid? That was rude.”

“Listen, you better get used to it. That’s how people are in New York. We’re trained to be fiercely competitive.” The tone of her voice tells me it’s time to back off.

“Sorry, I guess I’m used to people being a bit more discreet. In France, talking about your salary is considered gauche.” I pick up my bag and pass her her scarf from the bench beside me.

“It’s different here. Your salary is worn like a badge of honour. You have to go out there every day and fight for it.”

“I guess I just prefer to keep the details of my financial situation private,” I say as we slip out the door past the hostess and I raise my hand to flag a cab.

“Come on, Cat, lighten up! That’s what makes living in New York so exciting!” Lisa exclaims as we climb into the stuffy car. “Making the money and spending it. These girls are so much fun, you’ll see.”

Although Lisa and I get along, when it comes to friends and acquaintances, we can be oceans apart: I can’t stand mindless chatter and prefer to stay at home watching a movie or reading a good book, while Lisa’s a social animal who needs to go out even when the entourage sounds like a high-maintenance version of Alvin and the Chipmunks.

“Okay, if you say so.”

For the sake of our friendship, I keep quiet for the rest of the ride. I mentally prepare for our upcoming competitive dinner conversation as we make our way uptown to the Upper East Side.

My jaw drops at the sight of Daniel’s decor: soaring ceilings, sparkling crystal glasses, Bernardaud china, and clusters of
roses meticulously placed throughout the room. We take our seats, and, as anticipated, the tone of the evening’s conversation is set.

“I can’t wait for Memorial Day,” Amanda starts. “My boyfriend rented a house for us in East Hampton. We love taking our new Porsche for a ride out there.”

And they’re off!

“Unfortunately, I won’t be there this year. I really need a break from the city. I’m heading to a private island.” Leanne moves into first place.

“So, Catherine, what are
you
doing for the Memorial Day weekend?” Beverley asks perkily.

I give Lisa a panicked look. Long-weekend planning isn’t billable so it’s been the last thing on my mind. Suddenly, I wish I had mobilized Rikash on my summer plans.

“Um, don’t know yet. Frankly, it’s hard for me to make plans these days with work being so hectic.”

All three of them stare at me in silence with a look of disappointment. Clearly we’re not going to be best friends. Despite the fact that I have no interest in being one of these girls, I suddenly feel completely uninteresting and bland.

“Give Catherine a break, she just moved here!” Lisa tries to rescue me from my pathetic social life.

“I can’t wait. I’m getting my hair done at John Frieda next week.” Lisa changes the subject to outrageously priced beauty treatments. I hope she hasn’t lost her down-to-earth side to become as precious as her friends.

“Oooh,” they all coo at the same time.

“I’m going for a peel next week at Elizabeth Arden. My skin is so dull looking, I look like I’m in my late thirties—so scary.”

The waiter finally arrives to take our order and saves me from spa hell.

“Mademoiselle
,” he addresses me first. His piercing blue eyes look right through me and this gives me a frisson.

“Bonsoir, monsieur, je vais prendre le ravioli en entrée ainsi que votre filet de sole, merci.”

The three of them gape at me. Score one for Catherine; go ahead, ladies, and try to match that. I watch gleefully as all three awkwardly place their orders, steering clear of pronouncing anything in French on their menu. I spend the next fifteen minutes thoroughly investigating Daniel’s red wine list. Once our meals arrive, Lisa and I dig into our ravioli while the rest of them fiddle with their dressing-free arugula salads.

My savouring the pasta is interrupted by the buzzing of my BlackBerry. I’ve received an email from Antoine.

I need to discuss an urgent matter. Do you have a couple of minutes?

I excuse myself from the table and rush to the ladies room. I need to respond to his message without letting on that I’m out on the town and have had a few Comtesse cocktails and glasses of wine. Just keep your cool, Catherine, and remain vague.

I reply with:

Of course. Can you tell me what it’s regarding? I’m working remotely this evening.

I figure the expression
working remotely
is ambiguous enough that I could be at the courthouse library buried under a pile of statutes and case law. I hold my breath in the marble stall and nervously click on his reply:

I’m going over the American Bank prospectus and need your help with the capital requirements section. You’re the pro on this, not me.

No problem, just send me the draft. I’ll be happy to look at it once I polish off what’s on my plate.

Proud of my smooth comeback, I relax and plant my feet against the stall door. Keep it up, Catherine. So far so good!

It sounds like you’re swamped, wherever you are.

Yes, totally inundated.

Do you need to be rescued?

God, do I ever.
Please save me from the conspicuously shallow trio. I try to end our email exchange before Lisa sends the waiter after me and busts my cover.

I’ll manage, but thanks for the offer. I’ll pop by your office tomorrow morning to go over the requirements.

If it wasn’t so late, I’d suggest reviewing it over a glass of wine.

I’m surprised by the flirty tone of his response. If I wasn’t stuck making polite conversation with a bunch of navel-gazing divas, I would gladly accept the invitation. But these are Lisa’s friends, and I need to play nice.

That would be a welcome treat, but this is no time for temptations. I’ve got other fish to fry at the moment.
Bonsoir,
Antoine. X.

I can’t believe I just ended my email with a kiss! What if he thinks I’m a complete idiot? Or maybe he’ll just think of it as being a French custom. I scramble to find the recall feature on my BlackBerry when it vibrates a few seconds later. I hold my breath and nervously click on his reply:

Bonsoir,
Catherine. X to you too!

Hmm. Not bad. I guess he’s not so square after all. Proud of having got him to play a little and of deflecting a potential outburst over my night out with the girls, I get back to our table for a final round of the over-the-top one-upwomanship contest.

My dining companions give me a strange look as I take my seat.

“So sorry, work.”

“Cat, look what our waiter brought over just for you!” Lisa exclaims.

A plate of delicate chocolate truffles is placed in front of my seat.

I now recognize the look on their faces:
envy.

“I think he has a crush on you!” Lisa gushes. “How sweet.”

If that’s the case, that’s just fabulous news for my ego. I give the waiter a grateful smile. Despite Lisa’s questionable choice of friends, it hasn’t been a bad evening after all: I managed to leave the office at a decent hour, enjoy a cocktail fit for a queen as well as a fantastic dinner in one of the city’s most fabulous restaurants, and flirt like a bandit with not one but two men. Not bad,
n’est-ce pas?

“I’ll have to excuse myself. I’m on my way to San Fran first thing in the morning for a business meeting over the weekend,” Amanda says as she gathers her all-Prada cell phone, keychain, and handbag.

“Bye, girls, see you next week at spinning class.”

Amanda leaves the table without offering to pay her share of the bill.

“Oh, she probably forgot; we’ll just cover for her. She’s so busy these days with work,” Beverley says, staring at the bill.

Busy with work? Nice excuse. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to pay for some obnoxious stranger’s expensive dinner. Especially not for someone who insulted me less than two hours
ago. At almost $300 each, this hasn’t exactly been a Thursday-night snack with the girls.

After I air-kiss our waiter on my way out and thank him for his generous gesture, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry,
mademoiselle.
I’m heading to Staten Island for Memorial Day.”