I nodded. He had a point. But I liked being here with Jordan. I liked being at work more than being at home. Was that so bad? Didn’t lots of people do that?
“Okay, Skip. I’m going to try to catch a few hours. Can you cover me?” We both stood up. I felt like my legs might not support me.
“Fuck! I’m so tired! Up! Please?”
Jordan took a vial out of his desk drawer. “You know, Skip, I think it’s time you start buying your own.”
My heart sank. Did I do coke often enough to have to buy my own? “That’s what I have you for! I only do it with you anyway.” I bent low to his desk as I snorted, trying to erase the feeling that I needed the white powder to make it through the night.
While Jordan took a nap in the restoration room, I cleaned every crevice of my office using a Q-tip dipped in Windex. I was taking an air duster to my computer keyboard at four o’clock in the morning when the draft from opposing counsel dinged into our in-boxes. With my knees bouncing wildly under my desk, I took a first stab at comments and turned in changes before Jordan woke up. I flipped the draft to Jordan by ten in the morning and tackled a few more mundane tasks for my other two active matters before losing steam around two in the afternoon, when I passed out, spread-eagle on my stomach, in the middle of my office floor. When Anna poked her head in at six that evening, she shook me awake to make sure I wasn’t dead.
I never knew how I’d feel when I woke up from a nap. Sometimes I felt like I had gotten run over by a Mack truck, my thoughts creeping like sludge through my brain, but other times I was completely fine. I was lucky enough that day to wake up feeling like a million bucks. I dove right back into work.
“Hi, this is Alex,” I said into the phone, grabbing a pencil and readying myself to take notes. Having finished another deal with Peter, during which I noticed a few flirtatious comments from him but no actual overtures, I’d thrown myself into working furiously for Matt and Jordan. I had always enjoyed working for them, but now I also didn’t trust Peter to give me a good review despite the fact that I had leverage over him. If he ever wanted me gone, a bad review would be the way to do it. I needed to be perfect for Matt and Jordan.
“Skippy!” Matt’s voice rang through the receiver.
I put my pencil down.
“I’m here with Didier. You’re on speaker.”
“We missed you last night, Skippy!” Didier’s French accent sounded especially heavy, meaning he was either drunk or hungover.
I looked at my clock. Eleven a.m. Hungover, I hoped.
“I was completely unaware you were going out! Thanks for the invite!” There was a pause, and I panicked that I might have overstepped before I heard Didier grunt in approval.
“Come up!” Matt commanded.
“On my way.”
When I reached his office, I knocked once on the closed door before it swung open and Didier ushered me in with a dramatic bow and shut it behind me. Jordan’s notebook was on the couch, but Jordan was not. Matt was at his desk, looking slightly green. Matt and Didier scrolled through their phones and then pulled the screens closer to their faces and burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked.
“Check your email,” Didier told me.
“Check your sent mail!” Matt corrected him. I furrowed my brow and looked at my phone. The first email in my sent mail was marked urgent, but I didn’t think I’d added the red exclamation mark to a recent message.
From: Alexandra Vogel
To: Salomine, Didier; Morris, Taylor; Rinker, KJ; Matt Jaskel; Sellar, Jordan
Subject: I need to cut loose tonight. I don’t want to just go to a strip club, I want to dance at one!!!
I reread it three times, my eyes bugging out of my head. When Jordan entered Matt’s office, hysterically laughing, I punched him in the arm. “You’re an asshole,” I announced.
“Just teaching you to lock your computer before you leave your office, Skip.”
I didn’t even bother to email Didier’s team to explain that Jordan had actually written it—they would know it was par for the course. The three men, who’d sunk down in their seats, looked miserable. Matt had one finger to his temple, while Didier breathed in with a hand over his stomach as though he was trying to keep from vomiting.
I sniffed the room. “Jesus. You guys reek,” I said, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Jordan.
“Quite a night you missed, Skip,” Matt said. “I slept on that couch because I was afraid to go home to my wife.”
“Yikes.”
“Tell her,” Jordan said. He put his fist to his mouth as he let out a small burp, as though he was afraid vomit would escape.
“I saw that,” I told him. “You are literally the most repulsive human on earth.”
“Didier, tell Skippy what we did last night,” Jordan demanded.
“No! Don’t,” Matt interjected.
“Skippy doesn’t care. She’s cool,” Didier insisted. “She’s one of us.” He turned to me. “I blew coke up a stripper’s ass.”
I felt my jaw drop open. I looked from Didier, who was smiling broadly, to Matt, who was nervously gauging my reaction. I laughed nervously.
Jordan slapped his forehead. “Fuck, Didier! I meant tell her about the new deal we got!”
“What new deal?” I asked, eager for a new topic.
Matt started in on a story of how they were at dinner at Carbone next to the M&A team from our biggest private equity client, and as he rambled on, I picked up my phone pretending to see what messages had come in.
“Yo! Skip! What the fuck?” Didier said. I looked up from my phone. “What are you typing? Who are you emailing?”
“Nobody! I’m not.” I put my phone down.
Jordan grabbed it out of my lap before I had a chance to lock the screen.
“Stop! Give it back!” I pleaded.
“What was she typing?” Matt asked anxiously.
“Don’t worry, Matt, Skippy’s not telling anybody. She’s doing a Google search for ‘cocaine up butt,’” Jordan said, doubling over. Didier and Matt burst out laughing.
“I don’t understand! I didn’t even know that was something people did!” I held my cheeks in my hands as I felt them grow hot.
“She’s ze cutest,” Didier said to Matt, then turned to me. “You should have seen this girl’s asshole.”
“Ugh! You people are pigs. So what deal did you get?” I asked.
“We’re doing the Hustler acquisition!” Didier said.
“Like, the magazine?” I asked.
“We got it last night when we were doing coke with the private equity guys,” Didier said proudly.
I took a moment, then shrugged. “There’s no one way to bring in new clients,” I said, leaning back. “Put that in your business development training, Matt. By the way, who did you staff as the junior associate?” I asked. They shot awkward glances at one another.
“Carmen,” Matt said. “But only because we had to—she was there with us last night!”
My shoulders slumped. Going to a strip club with our clients? She was pulling out all the stops to get into M&A.
“You’re getting good reviews with the partners you’ve been working for,” Vivienne said matter-of-factly at lunch the following week. I gloated inwardly.