This lunch was going like all of our others had: she typed furiously on her phone, her elbows on the table, while I discreetly did the same on my lap. We ordered. We spoke about the weather—we were both so glad that we were having a warm spring.
“That’s so nice to hear,” I said. “I’ve been working hard.”
Vivienne looked at me. “Are you happy here?”
The question took me by surprise. She and I had yet to speak about anything substantive—we had grown accustomed to pleasantries, not eating carbs, and keeping our phones on the table during these lunch meetings.
I looked at her, wondering whether she wanted a real answer. “Very,” I said cheerfully.
“Good,” she said. “I don’t believe anybody ever asked me that when I was an associate. And it seems people would like you to stick around for a while, so I thought I’d ask.” She took a piece of bread from the basket. “The first months here, before you match into a group, are the worst. It’s all about politics. But soon it’ll be all about the work.” I watched her pluck out the soft interior of the roll and pop the crust into her mouth.
I wondered what had changed to make her eat carbs, and took a piece of bread as well. “I’m okay. I think that ‘happy in my career’ doesn’t exactly look the way I thought it would,” I said, chewing.
She looked up at me, something raw and honest passing between us. “Nothing looks the way I thought it would,” she said wistfully, then caught herself immediately. “We’re practicing corporate law at the biggest firm in the entire world. Whether we know it or not, we’re blazing a trail for women in the future. The key to having it all is redefining what ‘all’ is. I wanted three kids. That means I have two nannies. I want them to eat home-cooked meals every night. That means I have a chef.”
I squirmed in my seat. Was this what trailblazing for all women looked like? Doing coke with clients, betraying my gender by lying to a colleague’s wife, and last but not least, having sex in my office with a partner?
“I can count the number of dirty diapers I’ve changed on my fingers. Not kidding,” she continued, holding up her manicured hands to me.
“My idol.” I brought my palms together in front of my chest and gave a slight bow of my head.
“Should we get wine?” She took her phone off the table and placed it in her gray Moreau, the same one I had eyed at Barneys on bonus day.
I nodded eagerly, and as she ordered a bottle, I had the fleeting thought that I was somehow becoming just like her. Despite our friendly chatter and the smile I kept plastered on my face, the feeling remained until I shoved it down to a comfortable distance with my first glass of wine.
* * *
I walked into the presentation late.
“. . . and because of this volatility, our busted deal arrangements have become a crucial part of engagement arrangements.”
I really didn’t want to go, but I had to. First of all, it was a mandatory training for corporate associates. Second of all, I intended to support Jordan. Third, I still couldn’t resist the opportunity to put myself in front of Peter, as though doing so would somehow remind him that he was attracted to me.
I took a seat next to Carmen, but she barely seemed to notice me as she stared up at Jordan with a slightly stupefied expression. I wondered exactly what was going on. I know Jordan had said that his ending things with Nancy was what had triggered her reaching out to Jessica, and that he regretted that anything had ever happened, but I found it difficult to believe that the infidelity I had caught him in was the one and only occurrence.
“You’re so obvious,” I whispered to her, testing my theory. She looked over at me with an alarmed expression, so I winked. She laughed and put a finger to her lips.
“Shhhh.”
Jordan was standing at the front of the room in a perfectly tailored navy suit, one hand resting in his pocket while the other moved the clicker through the slides. Peter sat beside him, affording the younger attorney the spotlight, but then made a remark that precipitated an eruption of laughter, and I blinked myself back into the room.
“We’re going to need to be perfect . . . PERFECT . . . from here on out. Which means I’m going to be leaning on all of you a lot, because my wife is honestly going to divorce me if I ruin another vacation, and I’m out of here next week,” Jordan added.
The room burst out into laughter again. I looked out of the side of my eye at Carmen, expecting to see hurt on her face at the mention of Jordan’s wife, but she appeared unruffled. I punched in my code and pulled up my email.
From: Peter Dunn
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: Tonight
Dinner at Cipriani?
At the end of the presentation, I watched as a crowd of male and female associates flocked to the front of the room to introduce themselves to Peter and Jordan and ask whatever questions they thought might make them stand out.
From: Alexandra Vogel
To: Peter Dunn
Subject: Re: Tonight
Early? Need to come back to the office after, I’m getting crushed.
I watched as Peter checked his email, taking twisted pleasure in the finger he held up to the young female associate speaking with him, signaling to her that my email was more pressing. He frowned slightly, and I worried for a moment that I had pushed my luck.
From: Peter Dunn
To: Alexandra Vogel
Subject: Re: Tonight
Done. 6:30. We’re on.
A rush of nerves and adrenaline swept over me as I smiled down at my phone.
That evening, as Peter and I walked silently out of the elevator into the lobby, we ran into Carmen, who was exiting a different elevator bank.
“Hi!” I said, waving at her. When I looked back, Peter was already outside.
“Hey.” She was pale, and focused her attention on a stray thread of her scarf.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but she just shook her head.
“I’m just waiting in here until . . .” She looked over her shoulder. “I have a dinner. Are you going to dinner with Peter Dunn?”
I felt waves of judgment emanating from her. “Yeah,” I said casually, “and four bankers. But yeah.”
Why did I just lie about that? Peter and I worked together. We could go to dinner together.
She just looked at me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Just boy stuff,” she said, so softly I could barely hear her.
“Is the mystery man making you sad?” I asked. Carmen had never actually admitted to me that she was dating somebody at work, and she certainly hadn’t admitted it was Jordan. But she had stopped denying it, too.
“He’s just being a jerk,” she said.
“Can we do lunch tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Great!” I hugged her goodbye and walked quickly to meet Peter. When I reached his side, I looked back at the lobby. Jordan was exiting the elevator bank. I saw him head toward Carmen and greet her, their body language tense.
Ugh, what an asshole. Hadn’t he learned his lesson with Nancy? I hope he didn’t think I was going to clean up another of his messes. Then I thought about what I was doing that evening, and felt like a hypocrite.
The Quality Car driver opened the door for us, and Peter gave the driver an address on Fifth Avenue as he slipped into the Escalade behind me. We sat silently in the bucket seats, a few feet apart, the tension between us palpable. I looked out the window as the misty raindrops, flirting with the idea of coalescing into droplets, drifted downward through the prism of street light. Peter took my hand and led me back in a crouch to the third row, where he kissed me. I had craved his embrace more than I had even realized since we last slept together. I didn’t dare play coy. We never did make it to the restaurant.