Lawfully Yours (9 page)

Amber hustles in. I hurry out.

I go to Leila’s office. I hold up the box of chocolates in one hand and close her door with my other so we can talk in private. The story I give her is truncated. Obviously I have to leave out the part where I ask Jordan for his confession.

“You mean you don’t know who sent them? That’s so romantic.”

“Leila, please stop seeing only the bright side of things. It’s really uncomfortable for me to not know who sent this.”

“It’s like a romance-mystery. You’re the luckiest person I know.”

Nope. Later that day while at my desk, I get a call.

“Sue? This is Jerry. I hope you still remember me from Dave Rudlett’s party. And I hope you like the box of chocolates I had delivered to you today.”

“Jerry? You’re kidding! Yes, I got them. Thank you.”

“I saw you when I was over at your firm last week. That’s why I thought to call you again. I’m still interested in getting together.”

“You were at my firm? Why?”

“Grovas & Cleval represents me in all of my land deals. Jordan Grant handles my family’s work, too. Do you know him? Actually, of course you do. I saw you walking out of his office last Thursday. Small world, huh?”

I try to speak, but it takes me a moment to voice any words. “Yes, I know Jordan Grant,” I say slowly, “and I’m sure you did see me by his office. He’s my boss.”

He laughs hard. “Your boss!” Jerry then calms down. “Is it a problem for you that I’m his client? In terms of our getting together for a martini, I mean?”

“I think so, yes. But I am flattered you thought of me, and that you sent me the chocolates. Thank you.”

“I’ll think about all this,” he says with formal politeness. “Until then, enjoy the chocolates.”

I hang up realizing I forgot to reuse my original lie, that I’m dating someone. Had I remembered, I would have tacked on that excuse, too. Turning down a date from your boss’ client is not a fun situation. For me, anyway. Leila’s plenty entertained. “Sue,” she gasps, “for a quiet person, your life is getting better than a soap opera.”

After the chocolate fiasco, it seems like Allen wants to make his claim on me more substantial. I’m still mad at him for his two-timing accusation, but I’ll give him another chance anyway. I want so much to finally make a love connection and wonder if being physically intimate with Allen will help create this for me.

I don’t need to wonder long because in his car, Allen kisses me. But instead of passion, questions engulf me. Is Allen really the right guy? Does Allen respect and care about me? Do I really want to be with him? I do my best to block out my questions and insecurities, and to focus on him. I lean into him, kissing him back. The effect is immediate, and not what I intended. Allen slides his hand up my shirt. He strokes me over my bra. I feel—well, nothing. I give him an extra minute of playtime to change my mind. Nope. Not a thing. The scent of the pine air freshener hanging from his rear-view mirror is actually more intoxicating. Gently, though still kissing him, I pull his hand away.

“What?” Allen complains, a sharp edge to his voice.

“Allen, I’m sorry, this is just too soon for me.”

“Too soon? We must have gone out at least a half dozen times. Any slower and we’d be a couple from the 1800’s.”

“I’m sorry, Allen, I really have to connect with someone first. I need more time. Especially because we work together.”

Allen grumbles but doesn’t argue with me further. Though he hurt me with the two-timing comment, it wasn’t my goal to hurt him. But being with him simply because I don’t want to hurt him isn’t going to work either.

There’s no denying that the physical intimacy with him is bland. Sure, I don’t have much to compare it too, but I don’t think Allen’s kiss (or anything else he tried) is what poets write about or what women dream about. In any case, none of it belongs in my dreams. We are going to have to just be friends.

The next time I speak to Allen is awkward. We’re alone by the library. I tell him I’m not ready to date anyone seriously, and I don’t want to play with his mind by sending him mixed signals. I say I like being friends and not being tied down to any one person, and we have been seeing each other too exclusively.

“No, we’re not,” he protests. “You’re seeing whoever that guy is who gave you the chocolates, and I still see Rochelle on Fridays. I thought you were into open relationships.”

“Uh, no. I’m not. I have no mystery lover. But I’m glad you’re seeing someone else.”

Not knowing what else to do, I pull my usual disappearing act. Turning to go back to my office, I don’t ask who Rochelle is. I’m guessing it really doesn’t matter. Whoever she is, I wish her more luck with him.

In my office, I chew on a muffin as well as on what transpired. Putting down my snack, I walk into Leila’s office. “I let him go, Leila.”

“That was quick. Why?”

“Three reasons, one—he still thought I was seeing other people, two—he was seeing other people, and three—he wasn’t a very good kisser.”

“Oh well,” says Leila, with a sympathetic smile, “so much for office romances.”

My office romances better not turn into office dramas.

CHAPTER 13

Leila walks into my office with a grin so wide it could stretch from New York to L.A. “Hey, Sue,” she sings, “guess what I have in common with a mountain?”

“You’re both drippy,” I answer, giving her a goofy smile.

“No, silly,” she says, blowing off my dumb joke. “We both have rocks!”

I stare at her, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. Before I can ask, she holds out her hand. A ring with three diamonds set in platinum adorns her. The middle diamond, sparkling and round, does in fact loom as large as a mountain. The two little ones are set on either side, giving the mountain its peaks and valleys.

“Leila, it’s beautiful. Congratulations.” I get up from my desk to embrace her with the biggest hug. “When are you and Marcus getting married?”

“We want to do this quickly since both of us hate to wait. We’re hoping for a date in June.”

“Good. That should give me enough time to get a date.”

“Well, you may want to move faster than that. This Friday, Marcus and I are inviting everyone at work to the pub downstairs to meet him.”

I must have blanched because Leila adds hurriedly—”Don’t worry. It’s an informal thing. No need to bring a gift. Or a date. Really. It’s just hanging out at the bar.” She looks at me looking at her. “You have to come. For me.” She gives me puppy dog eyes and an exaggerated frown.

“Of course I’ll be there for you. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll all celebrate.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind that Allen’s coming.”

“Great.”

“I can’t not invite him! I’m inviting all the other first and second years. It’d be rude, and people would ask why he wasn’t there.”

“I understand. It’s your party anyway, so whomever you invite is okay with me.”

She throws her arms around me then bounds away, Tigger-style, to tell someone else her good news. Always the Eeyore, I feel less cheerful. How awkward is it going to be to face Allen after our “break-up”?

I head downstairs for the engagement party with some of the people from our section. Leila must have asked the pub to turn off the televisions. Songs from The Police are playing over the speakers instead. Looking around as discreetly as I can, I scan to see if Allen’s here, but there’s no sign of him. After about twenty minutes, I start to talk, laugh, and relax. Relaxation ends as soon as I see Allen turning the corner of the bar, making his way to our group. But I’m too distracted by the tall blonde on his arm to focus much on him. I’m starting to feel really awkward around people with tall blonde dates.

He comes right up to our circle, says hello to everyone, and politely smiles at me. “Everyone, I think you all know my date, Rochelle Van Houten.” I look her over. In her form-fitting violet dress, she looks a hell of a lot better than I do. I don’t have a chest anywhere near that size. The same could be said for my stomach, which is inversely related to her waist size.

Slipping away from the crowd, I busy myself in the bathroom and then re-emerge. I get a lemon tea and head over to the other side of the room. My new social plan of action is to join another group, maybe hang out with the people at Comm Lit. In my haste to make my way over there, I practically run over Jordan. Bumping into him, I spill my tea all over my stockings and shoes. When Jordan recovers from his surprise at almost being knocked over, he looks down and sees the splatter.

“Just like the day we met,” he says, observing my hot, sticky shoes.

“Yeah, well, I like this look.”

“What’s the rush? Running away from your first and second year colleagues?”

“No, not running away. I just wanted to find Leila to congratulate her again.”

“But Leila’s over there with the first and second years,” he says, pointing in that direction. Then he stops. I can tell he’s noticed something. He looks like he was just run over, again.

“Umm, Jordan? You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. I just didn’t expect to see the person you replaced, that’s all.”

So that’s where I’ve heard her name before! Leila told me about Rochelle Van Houten’s lovesick story months ago. And here I am, trying to douse the torch I’ve been carrying for the exact same guy. Have women not learned over the eons how easily we can be forgotten and replaced? That thought irritates me, and I want to share my annoyance.

“Oh, Rochelle and I have already been introduced. She’s Allen’s date.” I act like I’m completely unaware of the sordid details of Rochelle’s history with Jordan. “She’s cute, isn’t she? A Barbie-esq Esq.,” I quip. “Speaking of Barbie types, where’s Melba? I was sure you were going to bring her.”

I try to sound lighthearted saying all this, but it comes off as sarcastic. Jordan stares at me, eyes narrowed.

“I suppose I could ask you where your chocolate-loving ex-lover is, but I see Allen is right over there. Apparently you already know he’s now with Rochelle.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demand, my face hot.

“Nothing, except last week someone heard you and Allen break up near the fifteenth floor library.”

“We weren’t really dating. We just saw some movies on a couple of Saturday nights,” I lie. “I told him we shouldn’t hang out anymore. I didn’t want to give him, or anybody else, the wrong idea.”

“I told Melba something similar. So you see, you shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“Okay,” I mutter, not really meaning it. I don’t know what else to say. But he is right. I don’t know a damned thing about anyone’s relationships. Including mine.

Another partner from the firm comes over to chat with Jordan, and I leave the two of them. I’ll have to deal better with these situations; Jordan, the engagement party, the gossipy firm. Heading back into the throngs of first and second years, Leila comes up to me.

“FYI,” she says, “the fact you dated Allen is out, and it wasn’t me who said anything.”

“I know that, Leila.”

“Good. Glad you’re not irritated. Oh my gosh, look over there! Isn’t that Rochelle talking to Jordan? Maybe now the two of them will hit it off. Wouldn’t that be funny, after she quit her job over him? Well, gotta go back into the masses to rescue Marcus. See you later.” She bounds off in search of her fiancé.

“Yeah, hilarious,” I say out loud to myself. Definitely not in a laughing mood. Still, I learned from David how to survive even the most grotesque social situations. Arming myself with a glass of chardonnay, I work the room by saying hello to all the partners, starting with the ones seated at the bar. Love-life aside, it is bonus season. I’m not willing to be seen as the “old Sue,” some wallflower, standing in a cloud of confusion. Wallflowers don’t inspire the partners to shell out the big holiday bonus bucks. Unfortunately, I’m too aggravated to know if I’m successful.

I get home and fall into a deep sleep, but I don’t feel much better when I wake up. Clearly I have situations I’ll need to confront head on.

CHAPTER 14

The new clients I’ve brought in, the ones who hired us to handle their Planning and Zoning battle in Farmington, are stressing me out. They never seem satisfied with anything I tell them and constantly demand to talk to Jordan. Though my advice has been solid, one tiny little miscommunication with them has created the impression I’m still a novice.

They asked me whether it was probable they could get a variance to the town’s setback requirement. When I explained that Planning and Zoning approval needed to be obtained, they took this to mean this was something they would automatically get as long as they applied. It never dawned on me to explain that Planning and Zoning approval was something that required an extensive application process and then a public hearing. Like any other public board or commission, Planning and Zoning approval is not something that can be assumed. My new client is ticked off at me. I’m mad at myself for not explaining the process better, and I’m worried that they will complain about me at one of David’s cocktail parties. Getting blamed for not explaining what I thought was a matter of common knowledge makes me feel worse.

It’s awkward having to filter my clients through Jordan, which now has to be done. It’s not only inefficient—it’s embarrassing. I feel like I, the bad and/or stupid child, needs daddy to help. Jordan doesn’t rub my minor disaster in my face, much, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make me feel better about the situation, either. It seems like ever since Leila’s engagement party he’s more annoyed with me than ever.

Besides Jordan and my new clients, Allen made it clear he’s also still teed off at
me. In return, I’m now pissed at Allen, since he’s a two-timer, and potentially the one who told the firm about our break-up.

Adding to my irritation, Jerry keeps calling me. His latest voice-mail message asks whether I want him to call Jordan to get “clearance” for our dating. That’s all I need Jerry to do—it will be just enough to put me over the edge. I would call Jerry and demand he not do this, if I didn’t think returning his calls would encourage him.

I figure if Jerry calls Jordan, so be it. Jordan probably already thinks I’m interested in anyone other than him, anyway. As far as I’m concerned, Jordan can think anything he wants. Despite his denial that he’s dating Melba, the office rumor mill says he is.

Leila and I are getting along fine of course, but she’s distracted by her wedding plans, spending all her free moments, including her lunch hours, working on bridal arrangements.

My professional environment is now once again my worst-case scenario. Figuratively I’m back at Stone & Sommers—isolated at best, disliked at worst. Either way I’m utterly alone. My previous good mood has vortexed
into a black hole.

Worse, I’m stuck dealing with the first business project I actually want to end. But the project isn’t going away. The P & Z board keeps questioning each and every aspect of our proposal, requiring us to re-work the whole project and present it all over again. The client is losing patience and so am I. Jordan remains calm but coldly silent over the situation.

Whatever good faith I had built up between my friends, the firm, and my pool of clients is seriously in doubt. I catch myself having anti-fantasies, where I congratulate Leila on winning the award for best young associate. What the heck?

I’m apprehensive and mopey. If anyone’s noticed however, they haven’t called me out on it. Except for my mother. Surprisingly, she offers solid advice. “Go talk to these people and fix the situation.” Though she knows only of the client situation, I find her advice really applies to all my problems with the firm. Speaking up is not something I like to do, but I’m learning the potential pay-off is worth it. I’m going to take my mother’s advice, and I’m actually looking forward to doing so.

The first thing I have to do is contact my clients. I’m not sure what to say or what environment to say it in. I decide that speaking with them needs to be out of the office. Otherwise, they’ll automatically start looking around for Jordan and want him included in the conversation. I want to try to salvage the relationship on my own. Because there are two clients working together, I call the one I was friendlier with before things broke down. I call him up, ask him to meet me for lunch at a very popular Mediterranean restaurant and to bring his partner along. He accepts, as I expected. It’s a trick I learned from David, offer free food at a popular place and even reluctant people will accept the offer.

I do my best at lunch to break the ice. After the appetizers but before the meal starts, I tell them I think I’ve created some tension by not explaining the P & Z process better. I tell them that although I’m very good at the “lawyerly” things like presentations, negotiations, and drafting, I’m still a little green in dealing with clients. I’m honest in my telling them that, although I understand the process, I should not have assumed they did. In fact, I should have assumed the opposite. Clearly, if everyone was an expert in everything, they wouldn’t need to hire lawyers. The one I had been friendlier with, the man, starts to warm back up to me. His partner, a woman, is slower to come around.

“What do you mean we’re not experts?” she demands.

“You are experts in your field. But you would never want to be a lawyer. You’re too smart and make too much money.”

That eases her tension a little. At that point, lunch is served. The wine bottle is eventually emptied and the conversation becomes more amicable and animated.

By the time lunch is over my heartbeat assumes a normal pace. I pay the bill, walk them to their car, and watch them wave and leave. A free lunch may not completely fix things but it’ll do wonders for the repair. I’m sure they still want Jordan to lead the case, but at least they’re not going to run to David to complain about me.

The next few calls I get from them (when they can’t get ahold of Jordan) are much more upbeat, and they do start to ask for my advice. Knowing they trust my judgment again is comforting. I make sure my answers are as thorough as possible without being patronizingly elementary. I find the best way to do this is by simply telling them up front to let me know what they want me to explain, and that I’ll try to catch for myself what I should highlight for them.

Slowly our conversations get a flow that seems to be satisfactory. Whether they will ever refer business to me I don’t know, but at least they’re not going to pick up their business and leave, so that’s some progress made at least. But I need to keep going. There are other relationship problems that need to be solved.

The next problem to tackle is Jordan. Not as a potential boyfriend, but as a partner in the firm and my boss. I find him in his office. He glances up at me and immediately stops writing. His pen hits the legal pad with a soft
thunk
.

“I came in to thank you for your help with the Farmington folks.”

“No problem.”

“No, it was a big problem for me. I thought I could handle dealing with them and I couldn’t.”

“You’re young yet, Sue, and the other clients love you. So don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it. I’m worried if you hadn’t been around to smooth things over I would have lost the business.”

“Blow it off, and move on.” He picks his pen back up. It looks like he is moving on from this conversation. But I’m not.

“I also want to apologize for my Melba crack. I shouldn’t have said anything about the two of you because it wasn’t any of my business. My comments were invasive of your personal life and I apologize.”

He puts back down his pen, opens his mouth, lets his jaw hang for a moment, then shuts it. We look at each other for a few seconds, no one saying anything. I finally break the silence. “I just wanted to clear the air. Thanks for all of your support. I hope to say more of what I’m thinking.”

I’ve made tremendous strides by doing all that. But, in the end, I’m still the same old me. I give him a meek little smile, turn, and hightail it out. I haven’t given him a chance to answer me and don’t know if he had wanted to.

Lastly, I tackle my relationship with my mother. I’ve been swiping at her for as long as I can remember, and it’s time to stop. I really am all alone in the world. I think about my small family. I don’t talk much to my dad. He divorced my mom many years ago and moved to New Mexico. My dad, only twenty years old when I was born, left us to become a new age hippie. Though I tried throughout the years, I can’t relate to him at all. Talking to him about my problems proves pointless. All he does is send me cases of cactus juice from the health food store where he works, assuring me it helps boost moods. If only cactuses could solve everything.

So I don’t have much of a dad and no siblings. I do have aunts, uncles, and a few cousins, but I don’t know them all that well. I’ve learned to be my own support system. To count on no one. Is this the reason why I freeze everybody out?

Sure, my mom can be judgmental and pushy. But she loves me and never gives up on me. I think about her having to continuously embrace an iceberg. Hardly anybody would find that a warming experience. I decide to let our relationship thaw. “Mom, I’m calling to apologize. I may not always take your advice, but I appreciate you doing your best to help me. I’m going to try to listen to you more and be less sarcastic.”

“Are you okay, dear? Did something happen? Was it bad? Very bad?”

“Nothing bad, Ma. I’m just getting older. I’m starting to see things differently, and one of those things is you. I shouldn’t be so bitchy when I talk to you.”

“You’re not bitchy, dear. Well, not too bitchy. We’ll just say you have moxie. Some men like a girl with a little moxie. Which is good because I really want you to hurry up and get a man. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

As I listen to her “spouse and house” sermon again, my neck and forehead grow hotter by the second. The minute I tell her I appreciate her input, what do I get? More input. I don’t want to hear about how I’m not fulfilling her goals. Hanging up, I exhale hard. Some things can’t be fixed so quickly and easily.