I pointed to her phone cover. “You seem to have it figured out,” I said, laying it on as thickly as I dared.
She sucked air in sharply, and I wondered if I’d made a misstep. But she looked at the picture on her phone case wistfully for only a moment before smiling and then motioning to the waiter with one hand while slipping her phone into her purse with the other.
“We can order,” she snapped at a server rushing by, even though he wasn’t the one assigned to our table. I reached for the menu and scanned it frantically.
“I’ll start with a Caesar salad. And the chicken paillard,” she said, handing him her menu as he and I scrambled to catch up.
“I’ll have the caprese to start,” I said, trying to pick something different from what she’d ordered. “And the scallops, please.”
“May I interest you ladies in some of our house-made bread?” A second server came over with a bread basket and tongs.
No way she eats carbs.
“One olive and one whole wheat, please,” Vivienne barked. “And can you bring the good butter they have in the back? The whipped kind?” She looked back to me. “Something about the foil makes it taste metallic, you know?”
I didn’t, but I nodded.
“Multigrain, please,” I said, craning my neck over the basket. The roll was warm, and the steam escaped in tiny curls when I broke through its crusty exterior.
“Are you looking forward to First-Year Academy?” Vivienne asked, breaking her bread as well. “I think they schedule the retreat for somewhere warm in February to try to compensate for the fact that first-year associates are expected to work through Christmas and New Year’s.”
Well, that put an end to the conversations I’d been having with Sam about where to go for Christmas vacation.
“Definitely,” I said. Oddly enough, it wasn’t a lie. In theory, spending time in a hotel conference room while the California sun blazed outside didn’t sound all that fun. But in reality, I wasn’t yet comfortable enough in my new financial reality to not be thrilled by an all-expenses-paid trip across the country, a luxury hotel room all to myself, complete with slippers and robes and Egyptian cotton sheets, and unlimited alcohol.
Vivienne was back to reading her emails. “Great,” she muttered under her breath sarcastically as she typed a quick reply. “I have to lead a training this year, so I’ll see you there. Don’t wear a bikini.”
I swallowed before I had fully chewed my roll. “Sorry?”
“Don’t wear a bikini. When you have free time at the pool,” she said, looking at me, her eyes suddenly brighter and her voice lighter. “Your male colleagues see you in a bathing suit once, and they’ll picture you in a bathing suit in every single meeting for the rest of your life.” She must have seen the skepticism on my face. “Trust me on this one.”
I nodded, but felt eager to change the subject. “So, you were a partner at Gifford before coming to Klasko?”
“Yep. It was no cakewalk being the new kid. I found I needed to prove myself. And look the part. You’re lucky, you got in on the ground floor. And you already look the part.” She gave me a small smile to let me know it was a compliment, and I sensed she was suddenly enjoying my company.
I tried to picture Vivienne in anything but perfectly tailored, stylish business attire and wondered what she could have worn before she “looked the part.”
The busboy cleared my plate of crumbs and her plate of two whole rolls, torn apart but still there in their entirety, as well as her untouched ramekin of butter. I felt that she somehow had just purposefully tricked me into eating carbs.
She told me about capital markets work over salads and offered to get me on one of her deals over entrées. I grinned obsequiously and thanked her, despite being terrified at the prospect of working for her. She handed the waiter her credit card as she asked for the bill and signed without reviewing the check and, I was pretty sure, without the addition of “esq.”
We walked back to the office in silence as she typed away on her work phone, and in the lobby we passed Carmen and Roxanne, who seemed to be on their way to grab lunch. Carmen waved and Roxanne gave me a high five, then they went through the revolving door without a word.
Vivienne looked up from her phone. “Your friends?”
I nodded. “My class is great. It’s been really nice to have actual friends as I adjust to life at a big firm.”
Vivienne looked at me intently. “Hmm.” She finally released her grip on her phone and tossed it into her purse. “Erich Fromm once said that intelligence is a man’s instrument for manipulating the world more successfully. You know what I mean?”
I began to nod slowly before I allowed my head to shake instead.
She laughed as though she’d guessed as much. “I’m just saying, be careful. You put a bunch of smart, hungry people in competition for the same prize, and the result is . . . well, people are almost never what they seem around here.” She broke into a large smile. “This was lovely, Alex! Looking forward to doing it again soon.”
I fumbled slightly. “Thank you for lunch. I had such a nice time.”
I didn’t actually know what kind of a time I’d had. It wasn’t a bad time. I felt a bit like I had just lost a game of chicken, but I had never felt like Vivienne was coming at me at all. I exhaled as she waved lightly, almost brushing the air away from behind her head, and started off toward the far elevator bank.
From: Peter Dunn
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: FW: Goldshore
Hi Alex,
See below. The kickoff meeting for Goldshore will be tomorrow. Please schedule. The timeline will be tight, and due to some scheduled vacation time by the senior associate on the deal, you will be the only associate on it for the next few weeks. I know this deal will cut in a bit to Thanksgiving time, but we’ll do our level best to make sure you can enjoy at least Thursday. Should be a great opportunity. And a lot of work. I trust you are equal to the task!
—Peter
From: Alexandra Vogel
To: Peter Dunn
Subject: Re: FW: Goldshore
Hi Peter,
Thanks. I’ll schedule the meeting asap. I’m definitely equal to the task! Looking forward to it.
Best,
Alex
Chapter 11
“Babe, honestly, it’s enough. It’s Thanksgiving,” Sam said, a slight whine in his voice.
He was driving our rental car to my parents’ house in Connecticut, flashing his brights every so often to illuminate the murky suburban road winding before us in the moonless night. I typed furiously at my phone with my computer on my lap, making changes I could save to the system as soon as I got onto Wi-Fi. My plan to float under the staffing partner’s radar hadn’t lasted more than a week. More senior associates had started to travel home for Thanksgiving, and first-years were required to pick up the slack. I found myself heading into the four-day weekend on three deals, the one for Peter and two new ones for Matt.
“I know I know I know! Sorry! I just want to do this now so I can really spend time with you and our families when we get there.”
Sam nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.
“I’m sorry!” I begged.