Falling in Love (19 page)

The only rule seemingly more important than the no-voicemail rule was the refreshment rule. “The executive secretary will order refreshments for the partner’s meetings with clients. The catering staff would bring up the refreshments but the executive secretary would wheel them into the meeting and serve the refreshments. You may be called upon to assist. If you feel that serving coffee to clients is demeaning or offends your feminist sensibilities, then maybe Whitney, White and Spencer is not for you.”

“Is this a law firm or a tea party,” quipped a young Hispanic woman with tattoos on both arms and two rings in her nose.

Mr. Olsen stared icily at her and replied, “Tomorrow, you will take a test on what you have learned. If you fail it, you will be gone. If I determine that you are not right for this
law firm
,
you will also be gone.”

The next day, the girl showed up without the nose rings and with a long-sleeve blouse covering her tattoos. During the morning break, another trainee kidded her about selling out.

“Damn right,” she shot back. “My aunt is an executive secretary here and she is set for life. For the money she makes, I’d kiss any attorney’s ass. Literally.”

At lunch, I asked Dede how she ended up working for a partner. She shrugged it off. “They were short exec sec floaters one day and bumped me up. But I’m telling you, Adam’s a piece of cake.”

“I have trouble answering one line,” I let her know. “Let alone fifteen.”

Dede laughed. “Look, Sherry, let’s end this right here. Adam gets a ton of calls but he’s the partner. That means Grace and Angie have to help you out, not you having to help them. Occasionally, yes, but you concentrate on Adam. Plus the four associates all work for him. If they think that the call is going be about their deal, they’ll pick it up. It’s nothing really.”

Dede looked straight at me. “Want to know how cool Adam is? Unofficially, the third line is the secretary’s personal number. The three lines are rollovers, so if it is blinking alone, its means it’s for her. Only Adam answers his own phone and usually doesn’t bother to notice if it is the third line. So I came back from the restroom this morning to see a note on my desk saying that my agent called. Only I don’t have an agent and now I’ve got to figure out which of my friends is claiming to be one. But that is how great Adam is. He took my call!” Dede laughed again. “Trust me, Sis. You’ll be fine.”

I didn’t feel fine. But I decided to let the universe decide. I’d try hard on the test and if I failed, I obviously wasn’t ready. I scored an eight-five, with half of the trainees above me and half below me. The universe hadn’t let me off the hook yet. I was going to have to get thrown out all on my own. Of that, I had the utmost confidence.

Dede and Colin, her boyfriend, lived in a forth-floor walkup ‘railroad flat’ in Hell’s Kitchen, consisting of one long corridor lined with two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen before flowing into a large living room overlooking the Hudson River. After this linear tour, Dede began tossing clothes out of her bedroom closet and onto the bed.

I tried on several suits. Dede was blessed with a bigger bust than me but everything she recommended seemed to fit. “How are you with high heels?”

Occasionally I had worn low heels when I acted out or at my big ‘engagement’ celebrations that always turned into disasters but I had never worn four-inches or stilettos. “Not well,” I admitted.

She held out a pair. “These are too small and I never got around to returning them.” They fit okay but I felt like I was teetering. Dede laughed. “Just stand there for a minute before the mirror.” I did. “Now walk straight ahead.” I wobbled forward. Dede laughed again. “Okay. You’ll get used to them in time but for now, just wear flats, and only put on heels for client meetings.” Already I could see myself tripping and splashing scolding coffee over some important client.

Dede kissed me goodbye and said she had to pack for her flight to Miami the following morning and then, hopefully, spend a wonderful final night with Colin.

All weekend, I tried desperately to stay sober and keep my head clear. I spent most of the days with Elaine and most of the nights with Artie.

At 9:30 a.m. on Monday, I reported for my first day of what I suspected would be a very short career of working for Adam Turner at the esteemed firm of Whitney, White and Spencer.

Mrs. Flanigan, an attractive middle-age woman with red hair and freckles, saw right through my hopeful smile. She let me know me that the only reason I was working for Mr. Turner was because Dede was the best temp she had ever had and that she was expecting big things from me and that I had better not disappoint her or my tenure at the firm would be very short. At least, we agreed on something.

The secretarial stations were mahogany with some lovely inlay. My corner station was slightly bigger and more ornate than the adjoining two stations. Grace and Angie were already at their stations. I introduced myself to them both. Grace, who sat next to me, was typing a document and acted too busy to acknowledge my existence, while Angie, a lovely young woman with an awesome tan, gave me a sweet smile and motioned for me not to worry about Grace.

Mr. Turner was in his office, making corrections to a document while talking on the phone. He waved for me to sit down and I sank into a soft leather chair. When he hung up, he welcomed me to Whitney, apologized for not being better with a computer and that when we were alone in his office I was to call him Adam. He then presented me with a pile of documents and left for a meeting with the managing partner.

When I finished revising the documents I took them into his corner office and noticed for the first time how beautiful and spacious it was. He had an antique mahogany desk with an antique Persian rug that gave you the feeling that this centuries-old firm was going to be around forever. Two walls were almost all glass displaying spectacular views of the churning New York harbor. Another wall was a bookcase mostly of pictures of Adam and his beautiful wife and his two lovely young daughters. From the summer beach photos to the wintry ski slopes, they all looked so happy that I was enormously envious. I desperately craved to have such a beautiful family one day.

I picked up one picture of Adam’s wife teaching their youngest daughter a soccer move when Adam walked in. Embarrassed, I quickly put back the picture. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled. “You play soccer?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Your wife looks like she was pretty good.”

“All-State. Turned down several top college scholarships.” I was stunned. I couldn’t conceive why anyone would do that. Adam laughed. “She was also her high school’s valedictorian and got a full academic scholarship. We met at Harvard Law. She was second in our class and for as long as we live, she will never forgive me for being first.”

I was more intimidated than ever. “Where does she work?” When I got fired from Whitney, I wanted to make sure I never ended up with her.

“At home. We decided that one of us would make a living and the other would raise our kids. Lisa works hard but it’s all pro bono. She’s working on the Denison case.” I didn’t know what that was. “Mary Denison, the Murder Mom?” I admitted that I had seen some headlines about her in the New York tabloids. Adam explained that Denison was a devoutly religious woman who had killed her husband and daughter. Because she felt that she deserved to be executed as a punishment for her sins, she wasn’t cooperating with the appeals being filed on her behalf. “Lisa is trying to keep her alive, due to the ‘extenuating circumstances’ that never came out during her trial,” Adam explained.

That afternoon, I answered the phone to hear a small voice ask, “Is my Daddy there?” I soon learned that no matter how busy he was Adam almost always took calls from wife and his daughters.

Dede had been right. Adam was a dream to work for and wanting to stay with him as long as I could I tried not to screw things up. I still drank and acted out. But I also bought a big purse and stuffed it with a thin dress, so I wouldn’t wear the same clothes to work two days in a row, as well as breath mints and a very loud alarm clock set for 7:30 a.m. every morning. That definitely pissed off a few guys. But despite my precautions my penchant for self-destruction got the best of me.

After acting out all night with several fraternity guys, I arrived at work still drunk and out of breath mints on the morning of an important meeting between Adam and a group of Japanese investors. Having kicked off my sneakers, I was wrestling with my high heels when he Adam came out, took one look at me and asked, “Can you type?”

“Sure,” I said defiantly.

“Good.” He pulled a packet of breath mints from his suit pocket and handed them to me, saying, “Just sit there quietly and type, okay?”

He turned to Grace. “Would you please show in the Osaka group and handle the coffee?”

After giving me a disgusted look, Grace smiled sweetly at Adam, saying, “Of course, Mr. Turner. I will take care of everything.”

As she headed off toward reception, I jumped up and rounded my station, saying, “I can handle it.” First, the room started swirling around. Then someone smacked me hard on the forehead. I looked around to hit them back before I realized that I was lying face down on the carpet and Adam and Angie were trying to lift me up.

“Are you all right?” Adam’s voice was filled with concern. “Do you need treatment?”

“I’m fine,” I retorted as they sat me down in my chair.

Grace was returning with the well-dressed Japanese group. Adam instructed me, “Just sit there.” He ushered the clients into his office and then returned, telling Angie, “Please get me another secretary for today and call a car to take Sherry home. See that she gets into it.” He turned to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when I hope you are feeling better.”

He returned to his office and shut the door before I retorted, “I’m fine, thank you very much.”

In the car, I burst into tears. I was hopeless, absolutely hopeless. I couldn’t believe that Adam expected someone as worthless as me to return to work the next day. He had to be some kind of a weird masochist.

At home, I collapsed onto the sofa and passed out. It was dark when I woke up. Although I desperately wanted a drink, I instead lay on the sofa, petting Robie and watched
Charade
four times.

The next morning, maxed out on caffeine but stone sober, I arrived early at my work station. As I was finishing a note of apology and saying that I was quitting, Adam arrived, called me into his office and closed the door.

I didn’t know exactly what to expect but I expected the worst. By now, I figured he knew what kind of girl I was and wanted some, too. I hated that a man with a lovely-looking family was now going to turn out to be one more scumbag. Only he was one day too late. He should have had me when I was smashed out of my mind.

“What do you want to do with you life, Sherry?”

I hadn’t anticipated that question. “Adam, Mr. Turner, ah, look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I promise it wouldn’t happen again.”
How many times have I repeated that lie?
“But I was thinking that maybe this isn’t the place for me.”

Like a nice but stern father that I never had, he repeated, “What do you want to do with your life?”

Was I supposed to scream, Just survive? What business was it of his if I spent every day semi-suicidal?
I was just a temp. Then it hit me! Maybe he wanted me to become his mistress and pay my bills? With those lovely daughters! “Why do you want to know?” I asked bluntly.

“Maybe I can help you.”

That was it. He wanted to help me into bed. Did Dede screw him? Had she expected me to do him, too?

“Sherry?” He was still waiting for an answer.

“I want to teach primary school children,” I blurted out.

“How far along are you with your education?”

I didn’t think that was any of his business either but answered, “Not very far. I want to go back to school but…” I stopped. What was the point? If I did become his mistress he’d probably still want me to stay his secretary for a quicky now and then. Which meant he was a fool, because I would surely screw up again like yesterday and be doomed anyway. I was leaving and would never see him again, so why does he have to know all of my problems?

Finally, he said, “The firm’s health insurance pays for a dependency clinic. I can probably get you twenty-eight days but you’d have to go full-time with the firm and, hopefully, stay on afterward.”

I couldn’t believe it! That was the last thing I had expected him to say.

“Mr. Turner, I don’t really drink that much,” I lied. “I just had a bad night.”

He looked at me for a long moment and then said, “Well, the offer stands, if you want to take it.” The meeting was over.

I walked out stunned. He didn’t want an affair? That was worse! Then I knew I definitely didn’t deserve to be with him. I had to get out of there before I screwed things up so badly that I jeopardized
his
job. I stayed all day and managed not to screw up. I didn’t even react to Grace’s spitting whispers reminding me, “You don’t deserve him,” and “You don’t deserve to be here.”

I went to group that night, grateful for a place to go beside a bar. During the break, I stepped outside for a cigarette but my purse contained an empty pack. I dreaded the two-block trek to the Korean deli. Then I noticed a tall, fortyish man wearing an expensive pinstriped three-piece suit. He was staring at me. I had seen him at previous meetings but never before close enough to see how handsome he was. He held out a cigarette and lit it was a gold lighter.