In Your Corner
Page 5
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“You seem the same.” But the words are true only in the sense that he still takes my breath away.
His mouth tightens in a thin line, and for the briefest second I see the hurt beneath his steely gaze.
“Maybe on the outside.” He pulls open the door, and I grab my legal pad and follow behind him.
Looking back over his shoulder, he gives me the briefest of smiles. “I can see myself out.”
“It was nice to see you again.” My soft, wavering voice makes me cringe. But not as much as when he turns and walks away.
I guess it wasn’t nice to see me too.
Chapter 2
GO. TO. HELL.
What a disaster.
After I return to my office, I sit and stare at my computer. The Farnsworth & Tillman logo bounces slowly across my screen. Associates are allowed a choice of two screensavers. The first, the initials “F & T,” looked too much like “FAT” for my taste, and I turned it down. Not good for the self-esteem. Who wants to see an accusatory FAT FAT FAT upon returning from the firm cafeteria or a client lunch? So I chose door number two. A full scale “Farnsworth & Tillman.” Big, bold, and bouncy.
The logo blurs before my tired eyes. I bill nothing for two hours. At Farnsworth & Tillman, we are required to account for every six minutes of our time. Two hours of nothingness is going to earn me a visit to HR and possibly the firm shrink. Lost in memories of the short time Jake and I spent together, I can’t bring myself to care.
Two months. For some people, two months is nothing. For me, it was the longest relationship I’d ever had. My parents were bitterly disappointed when I told them I was dating yet another “unsavory character” and hanging around a fight club, but there was no resisting Jake. He was warm, affectionate, and kind—everything my parents were not—and fun and adventurous in the bedroom, more than willing to try anything I asked.
But the more time we spent together, the more demanding he became of me. He didn’t want just fun and games. He wanted something more, something I couldn’t give. And when I realized I was falling in too deep and he was getting too close, I took the first chance I could to push him away. Trusting people—opening up to them—in my experience, invariably led to disappointment and heartbreak. I’ve learned the hard way the only person I can trust is me.
Clearly disconcerted by my inactivity, Penny breezes in and out of my office on all manner of false pretenses. “Just doing the weekly check on the computer cables.” She tugs on the cords at the back of my computer and smiles. “Nice and tight.”
Ten minutes after the cables, she waters my plastic plants. Then she sharpens my already sharp pencils and dusts my clean desk. Finally, she slams the door closed and folds her arms. “This is the first time you’ve missed your session at the community legal aid clinic, something I only thought would happen in times of war, plague, or natural disaster. I called to tell them you couldn’t make it and they thought you were seriously injured or dead. What’s wrong?”
Other than Makayla, no one knows as much about Jake as Penny, so I reveal the horror of my meeting in a barely audible monotone. She comforts me British-style by bringing me a cup of tea. Then she tries to talk me out of my plan to get back into Farnsworth’s good graces by suggesting he put his lap dog, Evil Reid, on the case instead of me.
“If you do that, you’ll never convince Evil Reid you actually hate him. He’ll think you were doing him a favor. You’ll spend the rest of your career fighting off his advances.”
“I’ve been fighting him off since I joined the firm,” I say with a shrug. “Not a big deal.” Two months after I turned down Evil Reid’s post-party nookie offer, he tried again. This time by trapping me in a meeting room after a firm seminar and sticking his tongue down my throat. My response was a swift and firm smash of the knee into the family jewels and a report to HR. He didn’t take it well. Nor, surprisingly, did he give up. His methods just became more circumspect—a brush against my arm when passing me in the hallway, the occasional knee fondle when we had to share a cab. He is the admirer I never wanted to have.
Farnsworth’s evening secretary calls to tell me the lord and master is ready to see me. After a final check in the mirror, I take the elevator up to the top floor and traverse another mazelike set of corridors. Despite the late hour, the office is buzzing with activity. Farnsworth & Tillman attorneys live to serve their clients’ needs twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Fire, flood, earthquake, or tornado, in sickness or in health, war or peace, a Farnsworth & Tillman attorney will be available to meet every client need.
Till death do they part.
Unless, of course, the client doesn’t want the associate in the first place.
***
Farnsworth is seated at his massive glass desk when I arrive.
“Come in, Amanda. Close the door.”
Close the door? Farnsworth & Tillman has an open-door policy. The partners like visibility and transparency. They do not like associates wasting billable hours surfing the net. Computer screens face the door. Walls are made of glass. Cameras are visible in the hallways. Associates quickly discover that the sleeping pods and washrooms are the only places for a little privacy or to get down and dirty with their colleagues.
Farnsworth motions me forward, and I close the glass door behind me, jumping at the unexpected click of the latch. For a moment I am disoriented. And then I realize my claustrophobia is a result of Farnsworth’s totally frosted walls. Privacy. For real.
His mouth tightens in a thin line, and for the briefest second I see the hurt beneath his steely gaze.
“Maybe on the outside.” He pulls open the door, and I grab my legal pad and follow behind him.
Looking back over his shoulder, he gives me the briefest of smiles. “I can see myself out.”
“It was nice to see you again.” My soft, wavering voice makes me cringe. But not as much as when he turns and walks away.
I guess it wasn’t nice to see me too.
Chapter 2
GO. TO. HELL.
What a disaster.
After I return to my office, I sit and stare at my computer. The Farnsworth & Tillman logo bounces slowly across my screen. Associates are allowed a choice of two screensavers. The first, the initials “F & T,” looked too much like “FAT” for my taste, and I turned it down. Not good for the self-esteem. Who wants to see an accusatory FAT FAT FAT upon returning from the firm cafeteria or a client lunch? So I chose door number two. A full scale “Farnsworth & Tillman.” Big, bold, and bouncy.
The logo blurs before my tired eyes. I bill nothing for two hours. At Farnsworth & Tillman, we are required to account for every six minutes of our time. Two hours of nothingness is going to earn me a visit to HR and possibly the firm shrink. Lost in memories of the short time Jake and I spent together, I can’t bring myself to care.
Two months. For some people, two months is nothing. For me, it was the longest relationship I’d ever had. My parents were bitterly disappointed when I told them I was dating yet another “unsavory character” and hanging around a fight club, but there was no resisting Jake. He was warm, affectionate, and kind—everything my parents were not—and fun and adventurous in the bedroom, more than willing to try anything I asked.
But the more time we spent together, the more demanding he became of me. He didn’t want just fun and games. He wanted something more, something I couldn’t give. And when I realized I was falling in too deep and he was getting too close, I took the first chance I could to push him away. Trusting people—opening up to them—in my experience, invariably led to disappointment and heartbreak. I’ve learned the hard way the only person I can trust is me.
Clearly disconcerted by my inactivity, Penny breezes in and out of my office on all manner of false pretenses. “Just doing the weekly check on the computer cables.” She tugs on the cords at the back of my computer and smiles. “Nice and tight.”
Ten minutes after the cables, she waters my plastic plants. Then she sharpens my already sharp pencils and dusts my clean desk. Finally, she slams the door closed and folds her arms. “This is the first time you’ve missed your session at the community legal aid clinic, something I only thought would happen in times of war, plague, or natural disaster. I called to tell them you couldn’t make it and they thought you were seriously injured or dead. What’s wrong?”
Other than Makayla, no one knows as much about Jake as Penny, so I reveal the horror of my meeting in a barely audible monotone. She comforts me British-style by bringing me a cup of tea. Then she tries to talk me out of my plan to get back into Farnsworth’s good graces by suggesting he put his lap dog, Evil Reid, on the case instead of me.
“If you do that, you’ll never convince Evil Reid you actually hate him. He’ll think you were doing him a favor. You’ll spend the rest of your career fighting off his advances.”
“I’ve been fighting him off since I joined the firm,” I say with a shrug. “Not a big deal.” Two months after I turned down Evil Reid’s post-party nookie offer, he tried again. This time by trapping me in a meeting room after a firm seminar and sticking his tongue down my throat. My response was a swift and firm smash of the knee into the family jewels and a report to HR. He didn’t take it well. Nor, surprisingly, did he give up. His methods just became more circumspect—a brush against my arm when passing me in the hallway, the occasional knee fondle when we had to share a cab. He is the admirer I never wanted to have.
Farnsworth’s evening secretary calls to tell me the lord and master is ready to see me. After a final check in the mirror, I take the elevator up to the top floor and traverse another mazelike set of corridors. Despite the late hour, the office is buzzing with activity. Farnsworth & Tillman attorneys live to serve their clients’ needs twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Fire, flood, earthquake, or tornado, in sickness or in health, war or peace, a Farnsworth & Tillman attorney will be available to meet every client need.
Till death do they part.
Unless, of course, the client doesn’t want the associate in the first place.
***
Farnsworth is seated at his massive glass desk when I arrive.
“Come in, Amanda. Close the door.”
Close the door? Farnsworth & Tillman has an open-door policy. The partners like visibility and transparency. They do not like associates wasting billable hours surfing the net. Computer screens face the door. Walls are made of glass. Cameras are visible in the hallways. Associates quickly discover that the sleeping pods and washrooms are the only places for a little privacy or to get down and dirty with their colleagues.
Farnsworth motions me forward, and I close the glass door behind me, jumping at the unexpected click of the latch. For a moment I am disoriented. And then I realize my claustrophobia is a result of Farnsworth’s totally frosted walls. Privacy. For real.
