The Associate

They ate on a small square table, their knees almost touching. Even at home and completely relaxed, conversation did not come easily for Dale, the mathematician. He could not imagine her in a classroom in front of fifty students. And he certainly couldn’t picture her in a courtroom in front of a jury.

"Let’s agree that we will not talk about work," Kyle said, taking the lead. He took his fourth sip of wine.

"Agreed, but first there’s some great gossip."

"Let’s have it."

"Have you heard about the split?"

"No."

"There’s a rumor, I heard it twice today, that Toby Roland and four other partners, all in litigation, are about to split and open their own firm. They may take as many as twenty associates."

"Why?"

"A fee dispute. The usual." Law firms are famous for exploding, imploding, merging, and spinning off in all directions. The fact that some unhappy partners wanted their own show was no surprise, either at Scully or at any other firm.

"Does that mean more work for the rest of us?" he asked.

"I sure hope so."

"Have you met Toby?"

"Yes. And I hope the rumor is true."

"Who’s the biggest prick you’ve met so far?"

She took a sip of wine and thought about the question. "That’s a tough one. So many contenders."

"Too many. Let’s talk about something else."

Kyle managed to shift the conversation around to her. Background, education, childhood, family, college. She had never been married. One bad romance still stung. After one glass of wine she poured another, and the alcohol loosened her up. He noticed that she ate almost nothing. He, though, devoured everything in sight. She pushed the topics back to his side of the table, and he talked about Duquesne and Yale. Occasionally, the law firm would get mentioned, and they would find themselves wrapped up in it.

When the wine and food were gone, she said, "Let’s watch a movie."

"Great idea," Kyle said. As she looked through her DVDs, he glanced at his watch. Ten twenty. In the past six days he’d pulled two all-nighters  –  he now owned a sleeping bag  –  and averaged four hours of sleep each night. He was physically and mentally exhausted, and the two and a half glasses of quite delicious wine he’d just consumed were thoroughly soaking whatever brain he had left.

"Romance, action, comedy?" she called out as she flipped through what appeared to be an extensive collection. She was on her knees, the skirt barely covering her rear. Kyle stretched out on the sofa because he didn’t like the looks of either chair.

"Anything but a chick flick."

"How about Beetlejuice?"

"Perfect."

She inserted the disc, then kicked off her heels, grabbed a quilt, and joined Kyle on the sofa. She wedged and wiggled and snuggled and pulled the quilt over them, and when she was finally situated, there was a lot of contact. And then there was touching. Kyle sniffed her hair and thought how easy this was.

"Doesn’t the firm have a rule against this sort of thing?" he said.

"We’re just watching a movie."

And they watched it. Warmed by the quilt, the wine, and each other’s bodies, they watched the movie for all of ten minutes. Later, they could not determine who fell asleep first. Dale woke up long after the movie was over. She spread the quilt over him, then went to bed. Kyle woke up at 9:30 on Saturday morning to an empty apartment. There was a note saying she was around the corner at a coffee shop reading the newspapers, so stop by if he was hungry.

THEY RODE THE subway together to Central Park, arriving around noon. The litigation section of the firm threw a family picnic on the third Saturday of each October, near the boathouse. The main event was a softball tournament, but there were also horseshoes, croquet, bocce, and games for the kids. A caterer barbecued ribs and chicken. A rap band made its noise. There was an entire row of iced kegs of Heineken.

The picnic was to promote camaraderie and to prove that the firm did indeed believe in having fun. Attendance was mandatory. No phones allowed. For most associates, though, the time could’ve been better spent sleeping. At least they were not subject to being dragged into the office for another all-nighter. Only Christmas, New Year’s, Thanksgiving, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur afforded the same protection.

The day was clear, the weather perfect, and the weary lawyers shook off their fatigue and were soon playing hard and drinking even harder. Kyle and Dale, anxious to avoid even the possibility of gossip, soon separated and got lost in the crowd.

Within minutes, Kyle heard the news that Jack McDougle, a second-year associate from Duke, had been arrested the night before when a narc team kicked in the door of his apartment in SoHo and found a substantial stash of cocaine. He was still in jail and likely to remain there over the weekend until bail could be arranged on Monday. The firm was pulling strings to get him out, but the firm’s involvement on his behalf would only go so far. Scully & Pershing took a hard line on such behavior. McDougle would be laid off pending the charges. If the gossip turned out to be true, he would find himself unemployed in a few weeks.

Kyle paused for a few minutes and thought about Bennie. His chilling prediction had come true.

LITIGATION HAD 28 partners and 130 associates. Two-thirds were married, and there was no shortage of young, well-dressed children running around. The softball tournament began with Mr. Wilson Rush, senior of all seniors, announcing the brackets and the rules and declaring himself the acting commissioner. Several lawyers had the guts to boo him, but then anything was permitted on this fine day. Kyle had elected to play  –  it was optional  –  and he found himself on a ragtag team with two people he’d met and seven he had not. Their coach was a partner named Cecil Abbott (of Team Trylon), who was wearing a Yankees cap and a Derek Jeter jersey, and it was soon evident that Coach Abbott had never run to first base in his life. With a cold Heineken in hand, he prepared a lineup that couldn’t beat a decent T-ball team, but then who cared? Kyle, easily the best athlete, was stuck in right field. In center was Sherry Abney, the fifth-year associate Bennie was stalking as Kyle’s entree into the Trylon-Bartin case. As they came to bat in the first inning, Kyle introduced himself and chatted her up. She was visibly upset by the McDougle arrest. They had worked together for two years. No, she had no idea he had a drug problem.

Mingling was encouraged, and after Coach Abbott’s team was finally saved by the mercy rule in the fourth inning, Kyle plunged into the crowd and said hello to every strange face he encountered. Many of the names were familiar. He had, after all, been studying the bios for six weeks. A notorious partner, Birch Mason, also clad in Yankee garb and half-drunk by 2:00 p.m., grabbed Kyle like an old friend and introduced him to his wife and two teenage children. Doug Peckham took him around to meet some of the partners. The conversations were all the same  –  where’d you go to school, how’s it going so far, bet you’re worried about the bar exam results, life gets better after the first year, and so on.

And, "Can you believe McDougle?"

The tournament was double elimination, and Kyle’s team distinguished itself by becoming the first to lose two games. He found Dale playing bocce, and they headed for the food tent. With plates of barbecue and bottles of water, they joined Tabor and his rather homely girlfriend at a table under a shade tree. Tabor, of course, was on a team that was undefeated, and he’d driven in the most runs so far. He had urgent work at the office and planned to be there at six the following morning.