Unclean Hands, page 8
"I was thinking about when we started at WOMS," Rick said. "Newly minted lawyers, fresh out of law school, and we thought life was going to be so easy. We got to work at a major law firm and make serious money with the assurance fancy restaurants, fat clients, and unlimited hot women would all be waiting for us."
Arnie shook his head. "We were young and naïve. What's your point?"
"None of it turned out to be true. They sold us a bill of goods, a dream which had no opportunity of becoming reality. We worked hard and never had a chance of succeeding. I understand my drinking was a significant factor in my downfall, but I don't think I ever was going to be accepted. The partying was only an excuse they latched onto to dump me."
"You're still bitter about how they treated you, aren't you?"
Rick shook his head.
"They screwed me up when they walked me out the door. I had no expectation they were about to throw me out, so it was a real gut punch when they did. So yes, I had a lot of rancor which sent me into a bit of a downward spiral. My marriage was breaking up, but getting canned didn't help. I drank a lot more after I left the firm. My wife walked out on me and my relationship with my daughter isn't the same.”
"How they got rid of you really sucked. They never offered you any help."
"I don't look at my firing the same way. I think they did me a favor. We all have lawyer friends who can't cope and end up drinking themselves out of the profession, or worse. All this crap happening around the same time–losing my job, wife, my kid, and my dignity–probably was the best thing for me. It's taken a while, but I'm getting my life back together somewhat. I maintain a practice, if that's what you want to call my sad group of clients. My ex still talks to me and my daughter hugs me when I show up. It's a lot better than it might have been. Plus, I'm not drinking anymore."
Arnie smiled. "Dude, from all outward signs, you're doing great. Nobody could tell anything adverse has happened to you. Keep doing whatever you're doing."
Rick patted him on the arm. "I miss hanging out with you. The best part of working at the firm was spending time with the guys. Before I got married, we would work hard, party hard and start over again the next week. We had fun, back then."
"Yes," Arnie said, "but none of it was real. We were kids and being used. We had no concept of the overall picture, and weren't players like Spencer and Crotec. You remember how they would ingratiate themselves with the power brokers. Only three years ahead of us, but they acted like they owned the firm even as young associates–and people responded. You would always say, 'Perception is more important than reality.' They acted like pricks, but they schmoozed the right partners, joined the proper clubs and got accepted as leaders in the firm while we only cared about going out and raising hell. We were kind of stupid."
Arnie made grunting noises while banging his chest.
Rick chuckled. “I probably was the stupidest of all of us. It’s amazing I lasted as long as I did. I hurt a lot after they fired me, but it’s helped me find my way to a better place, I think. Remember the last time we talked about a year ago?”
Arnie nodded. “I was pretty rough on you.”
“No, you were being honest. It was hard to hear someone tell me I was drinking my life away. Other people had told me similar things before, but coming from you, it resonated.” Rick looked down at his lap. “I was pissed, but I took what you said to heart. I think I’m in a better place now, because you were so honest with me. So, thanks.”
Arnie smiled. “I had a hard time telling you what I thought, but you needed to hear it. I thought you were pissed.”
"I’m over it. Water under the bridge. I took some time to figure out what’s important. Still working on it, but I know holding onto friendships is essential. Which leads me to my next question: How are you doing?"
Arnie grabbed his water and twirled the ice like the glass was filled with bourbon.
"My career is going down the toilet. I told you last time they kindly informed me I wouldn't make partner, ever. So now I'm dead man walking. Everybody gives me a little more room in the hallways like I'm carrying the plague, and they don't want to catch it."
"You got a plan?"
"Sort of. I'm talking to everyone I've ever met. Legal jobs are in short supply. Firms would rather hire someone right out of law school. They think they’ll work even more for less money. Just like when we graduated." Arnie grimaced at the realization.
"Ironic, isn't it?" Rick added.
Arnie nodded. "If I had a book of portables, I could write my ticket to any firm, but I don't. I developed some business over the years, but the firm took over those clients. Last year, Spencer and Crotec received distributions on two clients I had brought in. I didn't receive anything." Arnie paused. "My only option is to keep working at the firm for as long as they will let me. I'm not in much of a position to bargain."
"Let me throw something out." Rick leaned forward. "All of a sudden, my practice is getting a little busier. I can handle the influx, I think, but that's the problem with running your own shop—it’s your responsibility to manage every crisis. I was thinking that finding a release valve would help. I got these two cases heating up and thought you might want to jump ship and help me out."
Arnie stared at Rick with his mouth ajar. "You're joking right? You don't want to be working with this outcast. You're offering me some charity."
Rick shook his head. "No, you're wrong. You're a talented lawyer. I remember when you argued two summary judgment motions first year and you convinced the judge to grant both. Few lawyers would have got him to rule in their favor. You understood the facts. You massaged the law and you tied them together compellingly. I read depositions you've taken. You're able to manage witnesses and force them to lean their testimony in your direction. Your skills are top rate–and you're a friend."
"I'm not sure. Since my first year in law school, my image of me is as a big firm lawyer. I haven't thought about working for any of the mid-sized firms in town, let alone a firm like yours. No offense."
"Oh, none taken. This may not be a dream job for you, but we would make a helluva team. I'm not offering you charity, but I also realize I'm not bidding against anyone."
"So, you're saying I would be taking a cut in salary."
Rick snorted. "I can't compete with the blue bloods. I want you to think about what I said, and if you're interested, we can figure out the details.
"I didn't think this lunch was a job interview, but you got my attention. Maybe it's because you're the only girl at the dance who has talked to me, but I'm listening. Let me think about what moving across town would be like, and then we can talk some more."
For the rest of lunch they reminisced about assorted escapades from their time at the firm and argued over whether Spencer or Crotec was the bigger ass. They couldn't come to a consensus, but when the check came, Rick grabbed and paid it. They walked out together, neither sure of Arnie's next move.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The cell phone rested on the desk, but Rick had no difficulty hearing the voice screaming from it.
"Those ass wipes. I got back to my office, and they acted like I was a rookie. I worked in my office for the last four years, but all that remained was the desk, the credenza and the two chairs."
Rick had returned from lunch after running a couple of errands and picked up the call from Arnie, who offered no pleasantries and no idle conversation. Instead, launching into grievances with Rick unable to interject to slow the expletive laden tirade.
Rather than forcing himself into the conversation, Rick put the call on speaker, rested the phone on the desk, and leaned back to listen.
"I thought they would fire me, but no, that would have left me with some dignity. Instead, they lead me down the stairs to the bottom floor–the one where the messengers hang out and extra support staff gets thrown before they are assigned a station. There's no carpet on the floors, nothing hanging on the walls. In fact, the walls haven't been painted for twenty years."
Arnie took a moment to suck in a gulp of air before continuing.
"So they walk me past all the partners on the floor where my office was, down the stairs and then past everyone who works on the bottom floor. Then they lead me to the far end and point to a door next to the bathroom. Crotec leans against the wall beaming and says, 'Here's where we're putting you. Some new Ivy League recruits start soon, and we need the office space. Don't be glum. I'm sure we can move you back upstairs soon.'"
A banging on the other side of the call erupted from the phone, which Rick assumed was Arnie slamming his hand against the top of his desk.
"I took a step inside the office and audibly gasped. This little desk sat against the side of the office with a tiny wooden chair I'm supposed to sit on. The office is devoid of shelving or bookcases, so I have nowhere to put my files. It's so small I don't think anything else would fit, even if I wanted. I stared at Crotec and Spencer like they were playing a joke, but they gave me their pitiful, paternalistic smiles and then left. The whole way down the hallway they were giggling and backslapping each other."
Arnie lapsed into silence and Rick realized now was his turn to speak. "That's rough. You won't enjoy working on the lower level after spending so much time upstairs."
Rick pictured Arnie's former floor with a row of opulent offices overlooking the river. Each of the partners spent thousands of dollars selecting coordinated office furniture and even more on the art hung on the walls and the knickknacks scattered on tables and shelves. Even the assistants' and paralegals' cubicles were decked out–much more so than any space on the bottom floor.
The sound of a loud car horn honking came through the phone.
"Where are you, man?" Rick asked.
"I'm walking in town. I couldn't sit in that office, so I left."
Arnie paused for a moment. "I remember when they kicked you out of the firm. I was so mad because they tried to shred your dignity by having you do the walk of shame. Now they're doing the same thing to me, but it's worse, because they won't fire me. They want me to crawl past everyone in the firm every day–just for their enjoyment."
"Can you take it?"
"I could, but I don't want to. I'm not groveling to those bastards anymore. The next call I make is to Crotec to tell him to shove my little office up his ass. I'm quitting–which is why I called you. I might like to talk to you about the job you sort of offered me at lunch."
"What job are you talking about?" Rick teased.
"The one with the small salary and no benefits."
"Oh, that one. I think it's still open."
"Good, because I don't have any other options at this point."
Rick leaned forward and grabbed a pen. "Hey, buddy, why don't you keep walking to my side of town? The one with the strip malls and gravel parking lots. You big firm lawyers don't come over here very often, but I think you might find the change of scenery welcoming. Come over, and we can talk about the terms of our new partnership."
"I'll be at your door in fifteen minutes."
Rick detected a different tone in Arnie's voice and told him he would be waiting for him no matter how long he took.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A long Friday night was winding down. Rick's shirt hung untucked over his butt, and he had dirt caked on his face. A weariness coursed through his back and up into his head. If he placed his head on a pillow he would be asleep in ten seconds, but rest would not be coming to him until he dealt with the little dynamo running in circles from his dining room, through the family room and then into his small kitchen.
The dervish stopped in the hallway and snuck a peek behind her, detecting nothing. She glanced in front and still, only silence. She slowly turned her head back behind her and saw her dad, army crawling on his belly, slithering towards her.
He snatched her leg and yelled, "You are captured–finally. Now is time for Princess Sammie to return to the castle for her beauty rest. Not that she needs any, because she is rather beautiful, but because all princesses must sleep, or they will be cranky in the morning."
Dressed in a flowing pink gown and bedazzled in necklaces and earrings, Sammie locked her arms across her chest. "It's too early, plus we're having fun." She lowered her head, stuck out her lower lip, and batted her eyes at her dad.
Rick mimicked Sammie by crossing his arms, but did not give in. "It's past your bedtime and if you don't fall asleep soon, your mom will not be happy with me. Let's go brush some teeth."
Sammie pondered her options for a moment, but turned towards the bathroom. "Can I sleep in my princess outfit?"
"Of course, but no jewelry in bed."
She again paused, but grabbed the earrings and necklaces, and dropped them on the floor. Rick considered making an issue of her transgression, but bent over and picked up the mislaid items and tossed them on the small table in the hall. Five minutes later, Sammie plopped into the small bed in the tiny bedroom at the end of the hall.
"Thanks for the new pictures on the wall," she said, pointing to the two posters of kittens and flowers Rick put up earlier in the week."
"You're welcome. Now what does this little five-year-old girl need to fall asleep?"
"Can you tell me a story?"
Rick reached over and grabbed a kid's book off the pile on the nightstand, but Sammie protested. "How about a made up story?"
Rick rolled his eyes. "Whatever the little princess wants."
He then launched into a whirlwind of a tale about a young girl on a magic horse who travels to a faraway land and gets lost. She visits many houses to ask how to return to home, but nobody can help her. She finds a magic tomato and befriends a gigantic cat, but ultimately gets into a speeding car that turns into an airplane which drops her into her bed, safe, secure, and very tired.
The story was a bit of a mess, with perhaps a few too many adult undertones, but Sammie didn't pick up on them. Rick nodded his head with pride as her eyes drooped, and she fought falling asleep for the climatic ending. As he whispered the final line, he pushed away her blonde curls and kissed her forehead.
"I love you, daddy," she mumbled as the last vestiges of being awake drifted away.
"I love you, too. We can play more in the morning." Rick eased off the bed and tiptoed out of the room.
Once planted on the couch, Rick realized he had promised Molly an update after Sammie went to sleep.
He texted her, "Princess in bed. We had a fun evening. Pizza, carrots, and milk for dinner. Not too many treats after. We played for a while and then got ready for bed. No issues. Thanks for letting me pick her up a little early."
Five minutes later his phone dinged with Molly's response: "Thanks. Be here by ten. The princess and I have plans, so don't screw them up. Please have her here on time."
Slow down on the passion. Don't want me getting the wrong idea. He chuckled and remembered the mixed-martial fight which would be much more entertaining than the home improvement show, which popped on when he turned on the TV. He would avoid getting any fix-up clues for his place, which would remain in its usual state of chaos, and would watch two muscular men try to beat the crap out of each other
The sixth round of a welterweight battle played on while Rick scarfed down a final piece of pizza. He occasionally threw a jab or sidekick to assist the fighter in the yellow shorts who was beginning to wear down his larger opponent, except doing so caused the remnants of his food to fly towards the action and nestle in the green area rug in front of the couch.
He bent down to pick up the crumbs when an ear-piercing scream came roaring in from the back part of the hallway. He flung himself erect and sprinted to the second bedroom. As he entered, Sammie sat straight upward, stiff, yanking on her sheets.
"Sweetie, are you okay?" Rick asked as he sat next to her and tried to put an arm around her.
Sammie smacked his arm away and continued to scream. Her eyes were open, darting side-to-side, but she didn't recognize anything. Rick presumed she was still sleeping, having a nightmare. This continued for five minutes until she lied down and rested her head on the pillow, still asleep.
Rick got no response when he asked if she was awake. He sat next to her with his hand on her back, her top covered in sweat.
The fight continued as Rick slumped onto the couch distressed at his daughter's outburst, yet before he had a chance to contemplate its significance, the screams returned with even greater fervor. He ran to Sammie's room and, again, after about three minutes she returned to sleep.
By the time midnight rolled around, he had been back in the bedroom three more times in a futile attempt to alleviate the cause of the terror. In his own bed with his phone in his hand wondering if he would be able to get some uninterrupted sleep, Rick sent a text to Molly. "Oh my god, she's been up screaming five times. What am I doing wrong?"
Molly wrote back: "That's what it's been like for the past six weeks. Every night. She’s terrified of something, but she won't remember anything in the morning."
"My nerves are standing on end," Rick texted. "I'm fried. No way I'm getting to sleep anytime soon."
"Welcome to my world."
The conversation had come to an end.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The small office, though far from immaculate, was in better shape than a few days earlier. It still retained the remnants of months of non-use with a few boxes piled in the corner and a broken desk lamp sitting on the floor.
Rick kicked a rolled up magazine behind the desk. "The mess was worse before I spent a few hours over the weekend throwing away the crap piled in here."
"I can only imagine," Arnie said as he bit down on his lower lip. "I got a few boxes of my stuff in my car. I grabbed my diplomas and the few files I managed to lay my hands on my last day. Once I bring those up, I can take a shot at fixing up this space." He placed a hand on Rick's shoulder. "I'm not worried about the office. My blood pressure is returning to normal now that I'm out of that place."
