Even if I didn’t get the job, the meal was a miracle.
They assured me they had lives outside of work: Jorge had a fiancée, Clark an abiding fondness for hours-long poker games. As I chewed my last bite, I felt desire stir in my chest. I wanted to work at Skadden too. I wanted to breathe the rarefied air of a fancy law firm just like Clark and Jorge were.
We parted ways outside Emilio’s, and I walked down Ohio Street toward Michigan Avenue. My smart navy shoes clicked on the sidewalk as I turned down Michigan Avenue, past Tiffany, Cartier, and Neiman Marcus. My feet fell into a perfect staccato rhythm, and my spine was pillar straight. My stride was that of a woman who was first in her law school class. It might have been a second-tier school, but only one person had done it. The truth of that number—one—sizzled through my body, finally something more than abstraction or shame. It was energy, and it belonged to me.
By the time I slipped my key into my door, I believed I deserved an offer from Skadden—in part, because I was first in my class, but also because down the street was a wacky doctor with an impressive pedigree who told me I was brilliant. And even if I didn’t believe I was brilliant, I did believe that he believed I was.
I ended up with two job offers: one from Bell, Boyd & Lloyd, where I’d done my internship, and one from Skadden. Clare said I should go back to the smaller firm because Skadden would work me to death. Hadn’t the point of therapy been to keep me from taking a job that would suck the life out of me? I didn’t want a life consumed by work. My favorite law school professor told me to go for Skadden because I was young and energetic and it was too good an opportunity to pass up.
With twenty-four hours left to make the decision, I took it to group. I’d left lunch with Jorge and Clark, high on serrano ham and convinced I could succeed at Skadden, but doubt crept in. Would Skadden suck me dry with billable hours? Skadden could be my nightmare come true if work left me no time to work on my relationships.
Dr. Rosen disagreed. “It will be easier to practice law around other brilliant people.” There was that word again. “You could call now and accept the offer.”
It was one thing to tell a hot guy from school that I was a cocktease, but it was quite another to turn a decision like this—the genesis of my legal career—over to Dr. Rosen. I told him I needed a few minutes to think about it. He did his “suit yourself” shrug and turned his attention to someone else.
With fifteen minutes to go in the session, that stirring of desire and ambition in my chest returned—quivering, translucent, fragile as a bubble. After my first year of law school, before my initial call to Dr. Rosen, I downloaded the application for Northwestern Law School. With my class rank, I could have transferred there and enrolled at the number eight law school in the country. I filled out the application and put the pages into a thick manila envelope. But at the mailbox in front of the law library, my fingers wouldn’t grab the small metal handle on the door. My elbows wouldn’t bend, my biceps wouldn’t curl. The future that beckoned on the other side of that mail chute required more of me than my body could give. I didn’t belong there. I was a second-tier person. I walked ten paces back toward the library and chucked the envelope in the trash.
Skadden was prestigious, and I didn’t know if I belonged, but my fear of not measuring up was suddenly not as strong as the propulsive yes in my chest. It seemed absurd to let insecurity and fear hold me back from all Skadden was offering. Plus, they would pay me enough that I could afford rent, student loans, and therapy.
As the group session ticked down, I stared at the peak of the sooty Jewelers’ Building a few blocks away. I held still to keep this brand-new vision from evaporating: My business card on heavy white card stock. My five-figure bonuses. My updated wardrobe. My Tumi briefcase. My cases and clients. Could I take all of this in? Could I try?
I wanted to try.
I held up my phone like a torch. “I want Skadden.”
Dr. Rosen gestured with his hands, like go right ahead.
I flipped open my phone and dialed, but hesitated before pushing send. Patrice scooted her chair toward me and put out her hand. I placed mine into her open palm.
The recruiting partner’s voice mail picked up. When it beeped, I looked to Dr. Rosen for a boost. He nodded.
I inhaled quickly. On the exhale, I stepped into my future.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said, when I flipped the phone shut. “This is my life.”
“Maybe you’ll meet your husband there.” Dr. Rosen smirked. I freed my hand from Patrice’s and flipped him the bird. I wasn’t taking a job to find a husband. He laughed and rubbed his chest with gusto.
I had a new job to go with my new home.
A few weeks earlier, Clare, my friend from law school, called and announced: “Tater, I need a new roommate.” I thought she’d ask her boyfriend, our fellow classmate Steven, to move in, but she said they weren’t ready for that step yet.
Clare’s Gold Coast condo had a marbled lobby, a twenty-four-hour doorman, and a pool. It was walking distance to school and three El stops from Dr. Rosen. Deep purple curtains held by gold velvet sashes hung in her living room. I’d have access to the gym and a parking spot. My whole body trilled with pleasure at the invitation.
