The Associate

At the small town of Guilford, he stopped at a convenience store and finally found some Tylenol. He washed it down with a soft drink and was about to drive back to New Haven when he noticed a diner across the street. He had not eaten since lunch the day before and was suddenly famished. He could almost smell the bacon grease.

The diner was packed with the local breakfast crowd. Kyle found a seat at the counter and ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, coffee, and orange juice. He ate in silence as the laughter and town gossip roared around him. The headache was fading fast, and he began plotting the rest of his day. His girlfriend might be a problem: no contact in twelve hours, a night spent away from his apartment  –  highly unusual behavior for someone as disciplined as Kyle. He certainly couldn’t tell her the truth, could he? No, the truth was a thing of the past. The present and the future would be a life of lies, cover-ups, thieveiy, espionage, and more lies.

Olivia was a first-year law student at Yale, a Californian, UCLA graduate, extremely bright and ambitious and not looking for a serious commitment. They had been dating for four months, and the relationship was far more casual than romantic. Still, he did not look forward to some stuttering tale of a night that simply vanished.

A body closed in from behind. A hand appeared with a white business card. Kyle glanced to his right and came face-to-face with the man he had once known as Special Agent Ginyard, now wearing a camel hair sport coat and jeans. "Mr. Wright would like to see you at 3:00 p.m., after class, same room," he said, then disappeared before Kyle could speak. He picked up the card. It was blank except for the handwritten message: "3:00 p.m., today, room 225, Holiday Inn." He stared at it for a few minutes as he quickly lost interest in the remaining food in front of him.

Is this my future? he asked himself. Someone always watching, following, waiting in the shadows, stalking, listening?

A crowd was waiting by the door for seating. The waitress slipped his bill under his coffee cup and gave him a quick smile that said "Time’s up." He paid at the cash register and, outside, refused to scan the other vehicles for signs of stalkers. He called Olivia, who was sleeping.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes, I’m fine."

"I don’t want to know anything else, just tell me you’re not hurt."

"I’m not hurt. I’m fine, and I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologize."

"I’m apologizing, okay. I should have called."

"I don’t want to know."

"Yes you do. Do you accept my apology?"

"I don’t know."

"That’s better. I expect some anger here."

"Don’t get me started."

"How about lunch?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I’m busy."

"You can’t skip lunch."

"Where are you?"

"Guilford."

"And where might that be?"

"Just down the road from New Haven. There’s a great little place for breakfast. I’ll bring you here sometime."

"Can’t wait."

"Meet me at The Grill at noon. Please."

"I’ll think about it."

He drove back to New Haven, refusing every half mile to glance at his mirror. He slipped quietly into his apartment and took a shower. Mitch, his roommate, could sleep through an earthquake, and when he finally staggered out of his bedroom, Kyle was sipping coffee at the kitchen counter and reading a newspaper online. Mitch asked a few vague questions about last night, but Kyle deflected them nicely and gave the impression that he had bumped into a different girl and things went extremely well. Mitch went back to bed.

COMPLETE FIDELITY had been agreed to months earlier, and once Olivia was convinced Kyle had not cheated, her attitude thawed a little. The story he’d been working on for several hours went like this: He’d been struggling with his decision to pursue public-interest law instead of taking a big job with a big firm. He had no plans to make public-interest law a career, so why go there to begin with? He would eventually work in New York, so why delay the inevitable? And so on. And last night, after his basketball game, he decided he had to make a final decision. He turned off his phone and took a long drive, east for some unknown reason, on Highway 1, past New London and into Rhode Island. He lost track of time. After midnight, the snow picked up and he found a cheap motel where he slept for a few hours.

He had changed his mind. He was going to New York, to Scully & Pershing.

He spilled this over lunch, over a sandwich at The Grill. Olivia listened with skepticism but did not interrupt. She seemed to believe the story about last night, but she was not buying the sudden change in career plans. "You must be kidding," she blurted when he hit the punch line.

"It’s not easy," he said, already on the defensive. He knew this would not be pleasant.

"You, Mr. Pro Bono, Mr. Public Interest Law?"

"I know. I know. I feel like a turncoat."

"You are a turncoat. You’re selling out, just like every other third-year law student."

"Lower your voice, please," Kyle said as he glanced around. "Let’s not have a scene."

She lowered her voice but not her eyebrows. "You’ve said it yourself a hundred times, Kyle. We all get to law school with big ideas of doing good, helping others, fighting injustice, but along the way we sell out. Seduced by big money. We turn into corporate whores. Those are your words, Kyle."

"They do sound familiar."

"I can’t believe this."

They took a couple of bites, but the food was not important.

"We have thirty years to make money," she said. "Why can’t we spend a few years helping others?" Kyle was on the ropes and bleeding.

"I know, I know," he mumbled lamely. "But timing is important. I’m not sure Scully & Pershing will defer." Another lie, but what the hell. Once you start, why quit? They were multiplying.

"Oh, please. You can get a job with any firm in the country, now or five years from now."

"I’m not so sure about that. The job market is tightening up. Some of the big firms are threatening layoffs."

She shoved her food away, crossed her arms, and slowly shook her head. "I don’t believe this," she said.

And at that moment Kyle couldn’t believe it either, but it was important, now and forever more, to give the impression that he’d carefully weighed the issues and had arrived at this decision. In other words, Kyle had to sell it. Olivia was the first test. His friends would be next, then his favorite professors. After he’d practiced the routine a few times and the lying was finely tuned, he would somehow muster the courage to visit his father and deliver the news that would lead to an ugly fight. John McAvoy detested the idea of his son working for a corporate firm on Wall Street.

Kyle’s selling job, though, did little to convince Olivia. They traded barbs for a few minutes, then forgot about lunch and went their separate ways. There was no goodbye peck on the cheek, no hug, no promise to call each other later. He spent an hour in his office at the law journal, then reluctantly left and drove back to the motel.

THE ROOM HAD changed little. The video camera and laptop were gone, no sign of electronics anywhere, though Kyle was certain every word would be recorded in some fashion. The folding table was still ground zero, but it had been moved closer to the windows. Same two folding chairs. The setting was as stark as a police interrogation room somewhere deep in the basement.