The Associate

"Thank you."

The waiter presented menus while the water was poured. Doug chomped on a bread stick, more crumbs flying across the table. "Your billing is above average; in fact, it’s very impressive."

"Thanks." No surprise that any evaluation at Scully & Pershing would begin with how much money one was raking in.

"I’ve had nothing but positive comments from other partners and senior associates."

"Drinks? Something to start with?" the waiter asked.

"We’ll order some wine with lunch," Doug said, almost rudely, and the waiter disappeared.

"At times, though, you seem to lack commitment, as if you’re not fully on board. Fair?"

Kyle shook his head and thought about a response. Doug was a no-nonsense type, so why not level with him? "I live, eat, and sleep at the firm, like every other first-year associate, because that’s the business model some guy came up with years ago. The same way medical residents go twenty hours a day to prove their mettle. Thank God we’re not treating sick people. I don’t know what else I can do to prove my commitment."

"Good point," Doug said, suddenly much more concerned with the menu. The waiter hovered, waiting.

"You ready?" Doug said. "I’m starving."

Kyle had yet to look at the menu and was still stinging from the criticism of his commitment. "Sure," he said. Everything looked delicious. They ordered, the waiter approved, and the sommelier appeared. At some point during the serious wine discussion that followed, Doug mentioned a "first bottle" and a "second bottle."

The first was a white burgundy. "You’ll love it," Doug said. "One of my favorites."

"I’m sure."

"Any problems, complaints?" Doug asked, as if he were clicking off the items on the evaluation checklist.

With perfect timing, Kyle’s FirmFone vibrated. "Funny you should mention it," he said as he pulled it from his coat pocket and looked at the e-mail. "It’s Karleen Sanborn, looking for a few hours of light lifting in the Placid Mortgage mess. What shall I tell her?"

"You’re having lunch with me."

Kyle typed the e-mail, sent it, then asked, "Can I turn this off?"

"Of course." The wine was being presented. Doug sampled it and rolled his eyes, and two glasses were poured.

Kyle pressed on. "My complaint is this damned phone. It has become my life.

When you were an associate fifteen years ago, they didn’t have cell phones and smartphones and FirmFones, and so – "

"We worked just as hard," Doug interrupted with a wave of dismissal. Stop complaining. Get tough. With his other hand he was raising his wineglass to inspect its contents. He finally took a sip, then nodded his approval.

"Well, my complaint is this phone."

"Okay, anything else?" Another check mark in another box.

"No, just the usual complaints of associate abuse. You’ve heard them before, and you don’t want to hear them now."

"You’re right, Kyle, I don’t want to hear it. Look, as partners we know what’s going on. We’re not oblivious. We survived it, and now we reap the rewards. It’s a bad business model because everybody’s miserable. You think I want to push myself out of bed at five every morning so I can spend twelve crazy hours at the office so, at the end of the year, we can divide the spoils and be at the top of the rankings? Last year APE’s partners averaged $1.4 million. We were at $1.3 million, and everybody panicked. We gotta cut costs! We gotta bill more! We gotta hire more associates and grind them into the concrete because we’re the biggest! It’s crazy. No one ever stops and says, "Hey, you know, I can live on a million bucks a year and spend more time with my kids, or more time at the beach." No sir. We gotta be No. 1."

"I’ll take a million bucks a year."

"You’ll get there. Evaluation’s over."

"One quick question."

"Shoot."

"There’s a cute first-year associate, and I’m growing rather fond of her. How big a deal is it?"

"Strict prohibition. How cute?"

"Getting cuter by the day."

"Name?"

"Sorry."

"You gonna do it at the office?"

"Haven’t got that far yet. There are plenty of sleeping bags."

Doug took a breath and leaned forward on his elbows. "There’s a lot of sex around the place. Come on, it’s an office. You put five thousand men and women together and it happens. The unwritten rule is this: Don’t screw around with the employees. Secretaries, paralegals, support staff, clerks, those who are considered somewhat below us. We call them the nonlawyers. As for your fellow associates, or partners for that matter, no one really cares as long as you don’t get caught."

"I’ve heard some great stories."

"They’re probably true. Careers have been ruined. Last year two partners, both married to other people, started a hot affair, got caught, and were kicked out. They’re still looking for jobs."

"But for two unmarried associates, come on."

"Just don’t get caught."

The first courses arrived and sex was forgotten. Kyle had a leek and cheese tart. Doug went a bit heavier with a salad of Maine lobster with fennel and black trumpet mushrooms. Kyle drank less wine and more water. Doug was determined to polish off the first bottle and get to the second.

"A bit of a shake-up is coming down," Doug said between bites. "I’m sure you’ve heard."

Kyle nodded with a mouth full.

"It’s probably going to happen. Five of our litigation partners are leaving with a bunch of associates and several clients. The mutiny is being led by Toby Roland, and it’s not pretty."

"How many associates?" Kyle asked.

"Twenty-six as of this morning. It’s a free-for-all. They’re waving money and twisting arms and no one knows how many will eventually leave, but it will knock a hole in litigation. We’ll survive."

"How do we fill the gap?"

"We’ll probably raid another firm. They didn’t teach you this in law school?"

They both laughed and returned to their food for a moment.

"Will this increase the workload for those left behind?" Kyle asked between bites.

Doug shrugged as if to say yes. "Maybe. It’s too early to tell. They’re taking some big clients with some big lawsuits. In fact, that’s why they’re leaving."

"Is Trylon leaving or staying?"

"Trylon is an old client, and it’s firmly within the protective custody of Mr. Wilson Rush. What do you know about Trylon?" Doug was eyeing him closely, as if they were moving into territory that was off-limits.

"Just what I’ve read in the newspapers and magazines. You ever worked for them?"

"Sure, several times."

Kyle decided to push on, just a little. A waiter removed their plates. Another poured more wine.

"What’s this Bartin dispute all about? The Journal said the court file is locked away because the issues are so sensitive."

"Military secrets. Huge sums of money involved. The Pentagon is all over it. They tried like hell to stop the companies from fighting, but it blew up anyway. There’s a lot of technology involved, not to mention a few hundred billion dollars."

"Are you working on it?"

"No. I passed. There’s quite a team, though."

Fresh bread arrived to cleanse the palate. The first bottle was empty, and Doug ordered a second. Kyle was carefully pacing himself.

"The partners and associates who are leaving," Kyle said, "how many are working on the Bartin lawsuit?"