Lawfully Yours (5 page)

CHAPTER 6

The day of Jordan’s Planning and Zoning presentation is finally here, set to start at 7:00 p.m. I’m to be in the office to help him with any last minute items. This is the first time I’m to work a whole weekday in the office. It’s weird to suddenly be a part of it.

My being around is apparently weird for the staff, too. Amber stares at me when I set up shop. I’ve picked the only space available, a conference room taken over by the project’s maps, plans, reports, and drawings. Closing the door, I fantasize that this is a real office, my office. The place is a mess, but I could clean it, maybe add a potted plant to make myself look settled.

But before my butt can even warm the chair, Jordan shoves open the door with his foot, barks new orders at me, scowls, then flies off. This crazy pattern continues for hours. I leave the door open to avoid having black scuffmarks mar the door. Obviously this is never going to be my office, it’s just an extension of his.

When lunchtime rolls around, a Greek salad appears on my desk with my name scrawled on it. I would have preferred a Jewish deli platter, but hey, someone thought enough of me to realize I eat and ordered me something. Maybe I’m moving out of the professional basement. Nope. Jordan comes back and barks more orders.

Finally it’s 6:00 p.m. and it’s time to leave for the presentation. The staff is gone and only Jordan and I remain. I poke my head into his office and see him frantically scratching away on a legal pad. He’s obviously panicking. And here I thought panic only happened to me.

“Jordan,” I say gently. “We really have to go.”

“Can’t. A new component of the buildings’ specs just came in, and I need to make sure I address them. So here’s what we do—you go and stall the P & Z Board.”

“Umm. And how would I do that?”

“By using better communication skills than you’re using right now.”

“I’m serious. How am I supposed to stall a government board?”

“When they call our matter, don’t waive any rights. That will force them to read into the record all the metes and bounds of the parcel. That will take them about an hour.”

“But won’t that aggravate them?” I ask incredulously. From the very little I know about this field, most lawyers waive this formality because having the boundary lines read into the record is an enormous waste of time. The P & Z Board will either think we’re crazy or that we’re stalling. Either way they’ll be right.

“Yes, it will,” he agrees flatly, going back to his work. I gather he’s done with this discussion. I put the box of materials on an office trolley cart and wheel it down to my car.

I pay no attention to the road because now I’m in a panic, too. I do manage to pay attention to my heart banging away inside my chest, threatening to bust out of my body. Luckily, a part of my brain must be able to navigate to this place automatically because somehow I make it to Canton, despite the tremendous traffic.

Driving around the parking lot twice, I finally settle for the only free spot, partially over-taken by two mini-vans. After two aborted attempts, I manage to successfully slide the Volvo in. Opening my door a hair’s breadth almost dents the left mini-van. I scrunch out of the car. Hustling to the back of the car, I grab the box out of the trunk and balance it on my hip while jogging into town hall. The materials slosh around. I pray they don’t fall out.

Once in town hall, I quickly go to the hearing room. The dual swinging doors are banged open by my box. The room is huge and packed with people. Angry people. One side of the room has tall, formal looking chairs with placards on a large semi-circular table that identifies the names of the P & Z members. The table also holds a projector.

Because of the traffic, I’m right on time for the clerk’s reading of the agenda. So much for being early like I’d planned. Glancing down at my copy, I see our matter is number eight on the list. I’m hopeful that the agenda will move so slowly that I don’t have to try to stall.

An hour and half later, it’s almost time for item number eight.

Jordan should have been here half an hour ago. Maybe I can get one of Grovas & Cleval’s criminal attorneys to represent me when I kill him.

I am jolted from my dream of justifiable homicide when our agenda item is called. I jump up and shout “Here!” Silence falls. Everyone looks at me. Was I not supposed to say this? Involved in my anxiety, I hadn’t really been listening to what anyone else did. Oh, sweet God above, have I just blown protocol? I feel my cheeks immediately flush. Sweat breaks out on my brow. I open my mouth, about to say we will not be waiving any formalities, when Jordan walks in.

He’s looking at me, obviously trying to surmise what’s happening. Surreptitiously I give him a nod to let him know he’s on. Immediately he composes himself.

Seconds later, I notice the two people he’s with. One is a tall, thin, well dressed, and very attractive blonde woman. The other’s a short, squat, middle-aged man with a protruding gut and receding hairline. I gather these are the clients.

Jordan starts his presentation, and it’s wonderful. Even though he’s representing a private developer the community wants to lynch, somehow he’s able to persuade this angry mob to settle down and listen. They watch the video I made showing the lack of traffic congestion. He explains the map markings I made, showing how many homes could be developed on the parcel, and then explaining how many homes the developer will voluntarily forgo to make the community less crowded. He shows my setback lines and speaks about extending them so the community will be obscured from the road. He talks about site work and the mature trees that will be planted around the development for privacy and aesthetics. While the community isn’t ready to throw him roses, they’re no longer ready to throw him out of the room.

By the time our presentation’s done, it’s 11:00 p.m. The P & Z Board goes on to item nine, and we put on our coats and gather up our things to go. I walk out with Jordan and the clients. Leaving them, I walk to my car, ready to head home when their conversation stops me.

“We’re going out to celebrate the world’s greatest law firm,” the male client says.

“Gerard,” the blonde answers, “I’m going home. It’s 11:00 p.m.” She leans over to Jordan and gives him a kiss on the cheek. Was she just being friendly? Or very friendly? I can’t tell. I walk toward my car again, plunging my hand into the depths of my purse to find my keys. The client, Gerard, spots my move.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re coming too!”

I start to protest, but Jordan steps in.

“She’d be delighted. Gerard, I’d like you to meet my newest hire, Susan Linkovitch.”

I catch on quick. This is a direct order, albeit one at 11:00 p.m.

“I’d be delighted to join you gentlemen,” I say, putting on what I hope is a fetching smile. Gerard moves to walk in between us. He puts his arm in mine, as well as Jordan’s, and marches us to our cars.

Due to the late hour and a lack of real civilization in Canton, we wind up at a Denny’s. Not as highbrow as our multimillion-dollar development deal, but I don’t mind the plain atmosphere. It gives the night a gritty feel that lets me know the good time I’m having is real. We finish off our coffees and Denny Burger Combos while Gerard happily recaps all the details of the P & Z meeting. Jordan’s reaction is smiling, but predominately silent. After glowing comments and hearty good-byes, Gerard gets up to leave. Jordan gets up, shakes Gerard’s hand, and then confuses me by sitting back down. I’m already standing up to leave. Upon seeing Jordan sit, I don’t know what to do. I sit back down, too. The waitress who was on her way over to clear our table pauses, and then turns around to walk back into the kitchen.

“Not leaving?” Gerard asks Jordan.

“I want to brief Sue on tomorrow’s assignments.” He waves over another waitress. “More coffee over here, please.”

Gerard looks at me with pity. “Well, sorry for that Sue, since it’s 12:30 a.m. I hope a good portion of what I pay Jordan goes to you, considering your hours,” Gerard says before he leaves.

I turn to Jordan, incredulous. He’s going to give me more assignments now?

“Sue, I wanted a minute alone with you to say something. I know I put you in a tight spot tonight. I am sorry for that.”

The waitress comes back with the coffee. “More creamers over here?”

“No thanks,” he says, and she scurries away. “Sue, I want you to know I’m appreciative.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“It sounds like you don’t believe me. You should. Standing up there, ready to launch into that crazy stall act you thought you’d have to do took a serious amount of moxie.”

“I’m seriously glad I didn’t have to make the P & Z board read the metes and bounds into the record.”

“But you would have, and I’m sure you would have pulled it off just fine.” He pauses. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, did you forgo a lot of personal plans these past few weeks in order to get this job done?”

I’m not sure that I need him to know I don’t have a life. I hesitate. “Don’t worry about my personal life. I’m here for you.”

I think maybe I’ve said something wrong, given the strange way he’s looking at me. He’s been acting so oddly since we got to the restaurant, first silence, and then stares.

“You must have a personal life,” he says, before pausing again. “If it won’t ruin your relationship with the boyfriend I’m sure you have, I’d like to take you out to dinner at a more formal restaurant to show you how much I appreciate you.”

Confused, I find myself staring back at him. To my surprise, his expression is warm and more intent than a lighthearted conversation would ordinarily command. His light brown hair flips forward onto his forehead in an almost childlike way. I stare at his jawline, chiseled out of rock. Or maybe steel, because he is starting to look like Superman. Except for his lips. They’re almost sensual, too soft and full to belong to a man from a DC comic. My face burns so hot I probably look like a red balloon. I need to cover my horrific reaction. Say something to normalize the situation. “Uhh, the firm already celebrates my efforts with a very generous paycheck. You don’t need to spend any of your time or personal money on me.”

“I didn’t realize that buying you a fancier meal would take so much of my time or my money. Now I know.”

My conversation filler has failed. I hurry to smooth the situation over. “It’s a kind offer, Jordan, but unnecessary. Just telling me that you appreciate my effort is enough of a thank you.”

“Check,” Jordan demands of our waitress, who is chatting in a corner with the rest of the wait staff. My boss has, once again, dismissed me. About to get into my car, I realize he never did tell me what assignment he wanted to dole out.

It’s a whole hour later before I finally get home. Crawling into bed never felt so good. In seconds, I am fast asleep.

My dreams are usually so calm, so rational. But I am dreaming now, and this dream is totally different. I’m at the beach at sunset, cooling off after the day’s feverish heat. Walking along the darkened shoreline endlessly, listening to the seagulls and the waves, I’m happy to be alone, to have no one’s noise drown out the ocean’s sounds.

I hear a man’s voice. “I have an assignment for you,” he says.

The voice is Jordan’s. He’s only a few feet away, partially illuminated by the little bit of moonlight shining in the dark sky. Despite being at the beach, he’s in office attire, striped navy trousers, and a white oxford shirt. Sand covers his bare feet. I’m angry he went this far to find me. He wants me to do work for him now? But I can’t deny the flattery that’s felt, too. Maybe he can’t live without me, my dream-logic rationalizes. My initial anger with him ebbs, and I open my arms wide to take from him the files and books I think he’s holding. But he steps into my arms instead, and I’m holding him. The moonlight, getting stronger, highlights his features. Like the sand, his eyes reflect warmth. Leaning down, his cheek brushes gently against mine.

In a voice so soft the words themselves wrap around me, he asks, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

In a move contrary to my conscious self, I assuredly answer him, “Yes.”

I take his hand and place it on my waist. I kiss his lips, first lightly and then deeper, quivering with anticipation. Entwining myself in his arms, I feel his heartbeat thumping strong enough to be my own. He breathes heavier, his body hardening. His passionate response ignites me. I burn.

Awake, my nightgown clings to me, damp from sweat.

CHAPTER 7

I’ve noticed things have changed at the office. Because my boss appreciates me, I have a confidence I haven’t had before. The development deal now done, I spend less time in town halls and more time in the office. I’m starting to recognize more attorneys. I even say hello to them. Weirder, some of them have introduced themselves to me. Is this office congeniality? I’m not sure, I haven’t experienced it before.

Deep down I want friends at Grovas. Friendship is as tempting as chocolate donuts to a dieter. Luckily, the introductions have kept on coming.

One such introduction is even friendlier than the others. I’m standing by Amber’s empty desk, rummaging around for a phone number Jordan needed. Having just come out of Jordan’s office, I’ve left his door open. A tall guy, looking about my age, comes up to me.

“You must be Susan,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Allen Regan.”

“Hi, Allen,” I say, shaking his hand.

“I work in commercial real estate too, but upstairs where the rest of the first and second year associates are. I’m a second year. Are you a first year?”

“Yeah.”

Allen grins broadly. “We call you guys ‘fresh meat.’”

I laugh. “Do I want to know why?”

“Well, let’s just say that with the hours Grovas makes us work, we take sick pleasure in watching the enthusiasm of the first year associates fade.”

“Should I be worried?” I say with a smile.

“Nah, it doesn’t seem like you scare easily. Too bad. Well, maybe I can scare you a different way—would you like to go downstairs to the building’s pub on Friday to meet the rest of the first and second year associates?”

“That’s really nice, Allen. I’d love to go, if I can get away at a reasonable hour.”

“I hope you can make it. I like to invite good looking women.”

I’m floored. Good looking? Me? Sure, my mother keeps telling me I am, but who would rely on something like that? I’m always taken by surprise whenever a guy shows interest.

My relationships never work out anyway. My thoughts flash back to my school years. Being an introvert, plus admittedly gawky (especially back in high school), it isn’t too surprising I wasn’t asked out. Luckily at college, I found the small classes to be very conducive to making friends. I spoke to quite a few guys in my English classes. I hung out with them but never clicked with anyone in particular. The guys were too much into fraternity life or obsessed with intramural sports to be a real love interest. Still they were fun, and we’d have group “dates,” all of us going to the student union’s movie theater or bowling alley. In law school, everyone—including me—spent all their time languishing in the library. Keeping up grades was a full time affair.

My eyes catch the movement of Allen’s fidgeting, and I pop out of my trance, re-focusing on Allen. He isn’t bad looking. A slight build, a runner’s figure. Mousy hair color like mine. Straight nose, which is good. He certainly comes across as presentable and seems nice enough.

Jordan walks out of his office. “Allen, here are the documents Carl wanted. Please deliver them to him now.”

Allen nods stiffly, takes the papers from Jordan, and walks away. “Let me know,” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Okay, thanks.” I turn around. Jordan’s door is now closed. I want to walk into his office and tell him that he acted very dismissively toward Allen. But, remembering my ability to pay my rent, I keep quiet.

Friday evening comes and goes without me showing up at the pub. The heap of work Jordan piles on me at 5:00 p.m. on Friday, telling me it’s due at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday, must surely be a coincidence of bad timing.

Despite the long hours, am I jinxing myself by admitting things are going well? I’m making solid money and I have no fear of being fired. (Imminently, anyway.) And despite my missing the evening at the pub, I have now met several of the first and second year associates. I am really enjoying getting to know them.

One attorney, Leila, has incentivized me to break out of my shell. She is my age and African-American. Six-foot tall, she overshadows me. Her high cheekbones heighten the fashion model effect. But what makes her truly beautiful is her full, broad lips. They are locked in a perpetual smile.

Leila’s the first female attorney to reach out to me. Her initial greeting was gregarious, which is exemplarily of Leila. “Hi, Sue!” she said. “I’m a one woman welcome wagon and I’m taking you out to lunch. Don’t worry—you’ll love me. Where do you want to go?”

I figured that someone who made such an effort to seek out, and then reach out, to the newcomer must be a special person.

At my old job the entire firm had been female, but none of them had any interest in being my friend, or even friendly. This made me appreciate Leila’s efforts all the more. We grabbed lunch that day and continuously thereafter. It didn’t take long for us to start hanging out after work as well.

Wanting to get a gift for her boyfriend, she asks me to help her shop. Input from me on mall shopping? Stunning. I have only the vaguest idea where the mall is. It might as well be in another solar system since I’ve never had the money to indulge or the know-how on what to buy. But here I am in the West Hartford Mall, filled with upscale stores catering to the well-to-do.

When we pass a lingerie store, Leila makes a comment that could have come from my mother. “I think you are really pretty, Sue. Your eyes are large and deep brown, and you’ve got Angelina Jolie lips. I don’t want you take this the wrong way, but you could dress a little . . . I don’t know . . . sexier. Is there a reason why you wear clothing that blanks out your body? I mean, you’re thin enough to pull off something form fitting.”

“Hmm. Be the Victoria’s Secret’s girl I’ve always longed to be? Awesome.”

Leila’s brows crease, her hands go on her hips. “I’m not asking you to parade around in negligees.” Suddenly her mouth drops, a gaping frown. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that you wouldn’t look good in a—”

“You’re right, I would look terrific in one. But I’m going to need some black leather, too. Along with some spikes, a whip, and some thigh high boots. You know, the works.”

Leila ignores my laughter.

“I meant you would look good in clothes that flatter your body. You know what they say, look successful to be successful. You have to play the game to get ahead.”

“Okay, got it.” I sigh. “I agree with you, I need a new look.”

“I recommend clothing that’s less conservative,” Leila says with a smile.

“I’m sure you do,” I say, grinning back.

Unlike my mother, Leila’s way of correcting me is more flattering, more low-key, and definitely less naggy. I’m actually going to seriously consider her suggestion.

It’s Friday and I’m here, by myself, at the mall. My goal is to get acclimated, look around, and absorb everything. I walk into a nail salon and get a manicure. Before I can stop myself, I book my next appointment. In two weeks I’ll be getting my new acrylic overlaid nails filled in.

Having my nails done is a subtle transformation, but a powerful one. I’m feeling like a somebody. A somebody with money, a job, and prestige. I’m looking at my nails every few minutes, spreading my fingers out wide. They are French styled so I fit in with all the other female attorneys at Grovas. As an extra perk, the hard acrylic makes it impossible for me to bite my nails down anymore.

I’m back home before I can do more. I can’t take too much change in one day. My newfound courage has limits.

I keep my nail appointment, and the next, and keep going. The owner, a Vietnamese lady in her fifties, always fits me into her schedule and doesn’t charge me extra for French styling. I think she likes me because I asked about the figurines on the reception desk. She saw that I took an interest in her culture. “We are Vietnamese you know. I do not tell my customers this. I am afraid they won’t go to me because of the war.” I tell her that, to the contrary, I find her background fascinating. She tells me about coming to America, and prejudice, and eventually starting her own business here. I like that she’s a strong woman.

She opens up to me and I learn about her biggest problem, the possible loss of her business. The mall is not going to renew her month-to-month lease. A new, trendy store with more square footage will be coming in permanently. The mall wants her out in a few weeks.

I know I can help her. But it takes guts to speak up and offer my services. She could think I’m pushy, egotistical, or simply too inept to hire. Speak up, Sue. What’s more important? Protecting yourself, or protecting her?

“My law firm can help you,” I manage to say without squeaking. “My boss is one of the commercial real estate partners. He’s very well known, and he’s one of the best. The firm’s very well-known too, one of Connecticut’s oldest—”

“I am not interested in them. I want to know I will have you.”

“Of course. There’s one thing though, the firm’s not cheap. They’ll charge you—”

“That’s not a problem,” she says. “I do very well with this cash business, and I have money from other businesses I own. Just make sure your firm doesn’t take me for granted.”

“They won’t, Mrs. Nang. They’ll watch out for you, and so will I.”

I book my first client for Wednesday at 11:00 a.m.

It’s the next morning and I’m walking into the office like a hunter who just bagged a bear. I saunter all the way into Jordan’s office.

“Wednesday at 11:00 a.m.,” I say without further explanation. I try to look serious, but the smile I can’t stifle creeps forth.

“Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. is what?”

“Your first meeting with a client.”

“Now you’re booking my clients? What happened to Amber?” He cranes his head to peer over in the direction of his secretary’s desk. “Did something happen to her? Did she quit?”

As amusing as this is, I’m a little offended. Is the concept of my bringing in business that far-fetched?

“Which client is it anyway?”

“Nhu Nang, d/b/a Fashion Nail Plus.”

“Sue, you’re a lousy secretary. Get Amber in here. This is not one of my clients.”

He is obviously losing patience. So am I. “No, she’s one of my clients.”

Finally he seems to get it. “Oh. You got your first client. Congratulations. You’ll get a third of what the firm gets paid on this, in addition to your salary. What’s her issue?”

I explain to him the mall eviction and that she needs immediate help. When I’m done explaining he says “good job,” which means I should leave his office. I hesitate a moment.

“It’s more than the money, it’s that I want to help her,” I say. “I told her to come to Grovas because we can solve her problem.”

“Yeah,” he says without looking up.

I am not sure how to take his response. Somehow I feel a little deflated.

Whatever ambivalence Jordan had about Mrs. Nang is gone by the time he meets her. He listens to her problem, reads the lease I had her bring, and says he will most likely be able to negotiate a satisfactory resolution. Best of all, Mrs. Nang says she wants to work with me.

Because this is my client, I get to play the most active role since I came here. I had much more client interaction at Stone & Sommers, but this was because Stone & Sommers cared less about impressing their clients. Having less freedom at Grovas is actually a step up for me.

The amazing thing is that Jordan is listening to what I have to say when we discuss strategy. Odder still, when it comes to negotiating, he lets me do it. I manage to get Mrs. Nang an alternative space in the mall. She’ll have to vacate her current space in only another week’s time, but in exchange she’ll get plenty of perks—anchor store proximity, bigger square footage for no additional rent, a loft that can be dedicated to tanning booths, and a sign at her old space announcing the new location. It’s a hard bargain for the mall, but my feeling is that they’re getting pressure from the new tenant to have the space vacated.

Mrs. Nang is thrilled because the mall inks the deal. My first client is a happy one. I’m ecstatic, too. I was able to help her because I spoke up.

Happy clients lead to other clients. Mrs. Nang has sent her new neighbor, Sophisticated Clothing, to me as well. Sophisticated Clothing is true to its word, carrying upscale fashion clothing from European and American designers. They’re a small store that wants to expand. In fact, they want to acquire all the square footage belonging to the shoe store next to them. Bringing them to the firm, I start a three way negotiation process, shuttling between Sophisticated Clothing, the mall, and the shoe store next door.

I give Jordan credit for not blocking me from my own business. I’ve heard horror stories about partners who wrestle clients away from their own associates. Jordan doesn’t seem to begrudge the business I’m bringing in. I figure he realizes that he’s making money, too.

Soon Sophisticated Clothing’s lease is completed. Because the shoe store wants to move to a strip mall a few miles away, I negotiate a lease with a smaller landlord. Though the shoe store is willing to undertake the risk of expansion, they’re still nervous as to whether, in an area where consumers don’t know them, they could sustain larger square footage. Despite their skittishness, we help them work out their lease with the strip mall.

Though Jordan listens to my comments about the lease, working with him on the strip mall project has its problems. The biggest point he and I argue about is over my insistence that the landlord agree to a three-month notice of termination clause instead of the usual six months. Jordan’s stance is that I can’t succeed so I should drop the issue, and focus instead on meatier sections of the lease. While the clause doesn’t have a lot of flashy pizzazz to it, I figure it will give the client comfort. This clause would mean that, if the strip mall location doesn’t work out, they could move their business to a new location without having to pay out an additional three-month’s rent to the strip mall’s landlord.