The Love Wars (28 page)

“Excuse me, Ms. Grant. What was that?” says Risa.

“What was what?” I smile at Strand.

“You just rolled your eyes at the judge,” says Risa. I wince. She’s got an ear-piercing shriek.

“I did? No, I didn’t. I don’t think so. Did I roll my eyes?” I ask Strand, who doesn’t answer. “No, I think I smiled.”

“Well, whatever. It’s inappropriate,” says Risa.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings? I was smiling because I’ve gotten to know you, Risa McDunn, over the past months and you really are, without fail, you are a tenacious advocate. I mean, maybe the most tenacious advocate I’ve seen. You just, you know, grab hold of the argument and…you must be exhausted, which just really makes it all the more impressive.”

“Miss Grant?” says Justice Strand.

“Your Honor,” Risa says to Justice Strand, her voice going up at the end as though she’s asking a question. “I can’t really proceed when she’s acting like this.”

“I’m just complimenting her, Your Honor.” Strand nods, so I continue. “She is a great, tenacious attorney. And she also has a lovely jacket today, very soft.”

Justice Strand nods. “Ms. McDunn, I think you should accept Ms. Grant’s compliments, leave it at that, and let’s get back to the Walkers.”

Risa turns red, shakes her head and continues. She’s saying something about having an expert examine Fern.

“Ms. Grant?”

“Huh?”

Risa talks loudly and slowly. “As I was saying, it’s only fair that we have an expert examine Ms. Walker. I mean, Ms. Walker’s mental state is obviously at issue, which you’ve been arguing the whole time it isn’t, so which is it now, Ms. Grant?”

“Ms. Grant?” Strand is looking at me encouragingly.

I blink. I know what I want to say, but the words, the words won’t come. I manage to hold up one finger.

Roland cuts in. “If I may? Those are medical professionals testifying to a past condition, so it’s not the same as examining Fern’s mental state. Current mental state, that is.”

Strand nods slowly. “Good enough for me. And might I also add that it was lovely to see you all in such good spirits today and so kind to each other. Let’s exchange our lists, wrap up our business, and I’ll see you in early June for the first of our hearing dates. Sorry for the delay between today and the start date, but—”

“We understand, Your Honor,” I say, nodding. “Your removal.”

The rest of the conference is somewhat blurrier, but I manage to convey to Fern that it all went fine and make it outside without talking to anyone else. On my subway ride home, my happy buzz starts to evaporate until I am wincing in pain, a metallic taste in the back of my mouth that quickly travels to the pit of my stomach and ends in a sprint to the ladies’ room.

When I am done retching in the Bacon Payne ladies’ room, I splash some cold water on my face and slink to Henry’s office. He’s out, which is a relief, as humiliating little snippets of the morning start to return to me. I scrawl a note of everlasting thanks and tape it to his monitor.

Then I let it sink in that I just made a court appearance while drunk off my ass. And that somehow, it went far better than any court appearance before Strand that I’ve made sober.

____

D
espite the heat lamps and the torches around the wooden deck, it’s as freezing as it always is at the Bacon Payne Beach Retreat. It’s early April, not the balmiest time of year for the coast between Westchester and Fairfield counties, and I pull my pashmina tightly around me.

“Want my jacket?” Caleb puts a languid hand on my back.

“Thanks.”

According to the firm’s party line, nothing—not even Paris—is more beautiful than the Long Island Sound in early spring. More widely believed is that Dominic Pizaro, whose membership allows us to hold the event at the Sound Club, refuses to waste a summer Saturday on anything involving the associates.

It is gorgeous out here, though. The cocktail hour is held on a wooden deck with steps leading down to the beach. Now dusk, the light is low and the sky and the beach are the same color, a shade between purple, blue and gray that extends forever into the horizon.

Caleb picked me up in his Mercedes SUV, a far cry from my first year, when I was one of the groups of junior associates trekking out to the suburbs via subway to Metro-North to the Rye Cab Company taxi. Rachel and Liz, themselves renting a car, were on hold to pick me up if Caleb had canceled at the last minute. (Not that I would’ve blamed him for canceling. I was still
surprised he wanted to go.) He had been at my apartment when I got the cream calligraphic invitation to the beach retreat. Knowing what it was, I had tossed the letter off to the side.

He laughed. “That was cold. You’re just ignoring that wedding invitation?”

“What? Oh, no, it’s a work thing.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” I did my best lockjaw and handed him the envelope. “The firm beach retreat.”

“It’s for you and a guest?”

“Technically, yeah.”

“Technically?”

“People bring guests. I just never have.”

“Why not?”

“Why? You want to come?”

“I do need to talk some deals with your people.”

“Well, I don’t think much business actually gets done there. My people will be distracted making mind-numbing small talk with each other’s spouses.”

“Ah, to be so naive.” He patted my head. “Business gets done everywhere, you know.”

“Okay, Stephen Covey.”

“So, anyway”—he held up the invitation—“is it fun?”

“Not historically.” I paused when I saw he looked a little disappointed. “I think we could make it fun, though.”

__________

T
he next day, walking to work, I concluded that I’d underestimated Caleb by balking at the idea of bringing him to a firm party. Maybe we were ready for the step up in labels—introducing him to people as my boyfriend, recalibrating the terms of our arrangement. Maybe I owed it to my college self—who I know would have been screaming in frustration had I not invited him—to run with it, to not be too scared to jump.

So, here we are. Lillian is only showing up to the dinner part this year, so Rachel, Liz and I joined forces in rebellion and skipped the day festivities: an extraordinarily painful stretch of time where lawyers and their families play awkward rounds of tennis, golf or croquet or sit shivering by the pool, wrapped in layers of sweaters.

Caleb and I take slow steps, following the crowd pushing through the opened glass doors to the dining room. Kevin is in a group of corporate associates to the right of the doors. I reach for Caleb’s hand so he’ll follow me, but somehow he’s already spotted someone else he knows in the group and has beelined away.

Kevin looks back and forth from me to Caleb. Eyes bugging, he clutches his chest in mock shock. “You brought a date?”

I roll my eyes.

“How healthy and normal,” he says. “Between the firm spirit and the evidence of a healthy relationship with an actual person, I hardly recognize you.”

“You don’t need to worry,” I say. “I can still access deep pockets of resentment.”

He laughs. “But, seriously? Life is as good as it looks?”

I nod, unable to tell him the truth.

“It’s so funny.”

“What?”

“We’re only four months away from the five-year mark, but the closer we get, the happier you become.”

I manage to maintain my pleasant expression as someone grabs a microphone and begs us to find our tables. The seating gods haven’t been too cruel. We’re with Henry, a junior litigation partner and a pair of Trusts and Estates associates, two bland-seeming women with identical honey blond straight hair, olive skin, pearl earrings and pink mouths set in straight lines.

Henry looks at me. “Nice jacket,” he says. “You doing a Charlie Chaplin skit later?”

I forgot I have on Caleb’s coat. I shrug out of it, drape it over my chair and spot Caleb still talking to one of the corporate associates, a seventh-year named Marissa. I wave at him and he smiles in return.

I slide into the seat next to Henry and pat his shoulder. “How are you?”

“Great.” He flashes a huge fake smile. “This event is a fave.”

“Me too. Which do you like the best? The stale laughter or the hypothermia?”

“I’m a hypothermia man myself.”

I grab us each a warmed roll from the basket in the middle of the table. “So did you play golf?”

“Yep.”

“Ah. How’d you do?”

“It was fine. How about you? Tennis again?”

I look around quickly before replying in a quiet voice. “Actually, printing out pictures of Claire at society functions. And making five copies of them.”

“You’re becoming a real slacker, Grant. Ditching the retreat? That’s a new level of disregard.”

Caleb comes back to the table. I push out the chair next to me. Still standing, he turns to Henry. “Oh, hey, man. I’ve seen you before.”

Henry gives a small nod. “Yes, you have. Duck’s Halloween party.”

“Oh right.”

I pat the empty chair, but instead of sitting down in it, he crouches next to me. “Hey, um, you know how I said I wanted to do some deals here?”

I nod.

He points across the room to a table in the middle. “Well, Marissa says there’s an empty chair at her table.”

“Marissa?”

“Yeah, she’s an associate in the finance group, but she says she’s doing a lot of new-media projects. My buddy has worked with her before, actually.”

“Oh, yeah. I know Marissa.”

“So, I was thinking I should sit at her table for dinner.”

“You’re going to sit over there?”

He gives me a strange look. “You’re okay with this, right? It’s why I came tonight.”

“Yeah, of course.” I can tell my tone is harsh.

He looks about to say something but doesn’t and walks away. At my table, Henry and the litigation guy are talking about junior years abroad. I’m guessing this is because it’s the last time either one of them left the office for more than three consecutive days.

Everett comes over to our table. His eyes light up when he sees the empty seat next to me. “Is this free?”

Henry looks at me.

“As free as it could possibly be,” I say, gesturing to the chair with a flourish.

Henry gives me his own strange look and turns to Everett. “You making the rounds?”

“Exactly. I like to circulate at functions like this,” says Everett. “So, how is everyone doing?”

“Great,” Henry and I say in unison.

“Good,” says Everett, not picking up on our flat tones. “Molly, did you see what the box office winner was last night? I know you’re into those stats.”

Everett proceeds to prattle on about the detective sequel that beat out the animated sequel, apparently to the shock of him and Factsination! screens everywhere. I turn my head slightly in order to watch Caleb and Marissa. They’re absorbed in conversation, their foreheads leaned in together, laughing pretty hard for people discussing corporate structuring. I’ve never noticed just
how curvy she is. Of course, she doesn’t usually strut around the firm in a strapless emerald green cocktail dress.

One of the Trusts and Estates associates starts talking about her year in Cologne. Everett asks her about the beer, and Henry leans next to me and follows my gaze. “What’s happening there?”

“He wanted to talk to her about a deal.”

He gives a skeptical look just as Marissa throws back her head and laughs so loudly we can hear it over the din. “Is it serious between you guys?”

“Nope. A loose end from college.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” he says, his tone brusque.

“Well, all right, then.” I tear my eyes away from the Caleb-Marissa tête-à-tête. “Where’s Julie?”

“Not here,” he says in a way that stops me from asking any follow-up questions, and imagining Henry heartbroken, I feel a twinge of protectiveness.

I try again. “So, you did a semester in Spain? That’s cool.”

“Verdad,”
he says, turning away from me and focusing his attention on the Trusts and Estates associates, who are talking with Everett about the headiness of the bouquet on a sparkling Shiraz.

A painful two hours later, Dominic Pizaro starts his welcome speech. He’s so glad to be able to share his slice of paradise with us and so grateful for all the hard work we do every year. How nice to spend time together as a family, without the pressure of the office. Everett leans forward in rapt attention, but almost everyone else is hunched over a BlackBerry, ignoring Dominic’s remarks in favor of dealing with some pressure from the office.

When the servers start bringing around dessert—the ubiquitous molten chocolate cake—I know it’s finally safe to leave. Caleb and Marissa are nowhere to be seen, having disappeared somewhere prior to Dominic’s remarks. At least those two are getting a release from the pressures of the office.

I nudge Henry. “I’m going,” I whisper. Not that he’ll care. He’s basically been ignoring me all evening.

“Wait,” he says, turning away from patio furniture or whatever mind-numbing thing he’s been discussing with the litigation partner. “How are you getting home?”

“I’ll try to get a ride with Liz and Rachel. Or I’ll just take the train.”

He looks at his watch. “It’s past ten.”

“Trains run past ten.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I don’t want to make you leave early.”

He gives me a look that says he’d be happy to leave. “You have everything? You need to say good-bye to anyone”—he glances at Caleb’s jacket on the back of my chair—“or return anything?”

“Nope,” I say. “You?”

“Nope.”

He gets up.

As I start to rise out of my seat, Everett grabs my arm. “Where are you going?” he says, his voice urgent and low. “You can’t leave before Lillian does.”

“Do me a favor, man,” says Henry, leaning down. “I’m leaving, but I’m worried about missing more remarks. Will you cover for me?”

Everett cocks his head. “You shouldn’t miss anything. There’s usually not remarks after Dominic.”

“But if there are. Can you tell me what’s said? You know, just because this is my first retreat as a partner and what if someone asks me about it? I’d be really grateful.”