exhausted me.
I was right. Vanessa was wrong and I was right. It was done. It was over. Jack and I were over. Before we’d even had a chance to really begin. Whatever Jack and I had built, I had broken. And it couldn’t be fixed. Jack didn’t want it to be fixed.
As I swiveled around to my computer, certain that work would take my mind off Jack, the telephone rang. I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID, but I picked it up anyway.
“Hello?” I said into the phone, completely forgetting to be professional and answer the phone with a crisp “Brooke Miller.”
“Hi, is this Brooke Miller?” a voice asked.
“Yes,” I said, sitting up in my chair.
“My name is Michelle Berger and I do attorney placement. Do you have some time now to talk?”
I laughed to myself.
“As a matter of fact, Michelle,” I said, clicking the Healthy Foods memo off my computer, “I do.”
28
It’s amazing how similar a job interview is to a date. As I hobbled on my crutches across town to each of the small law firms where Michelle had secured me an interview, I couldn’t help but notice that all of the same benchmarks were there: you worry about your outfit; you stress out over what you will talk about; and everyone is trying to put his or her best face forward. There is little to no room for error; the slightest faux pas and you could be back at square one, jobless, or worse yet, single.
The screening interview is like a date over drinks or coffee — the other party hasn’t committed yet to the idea of giving you more than thirty minutes of their time. If said other party deems you good enough, then you get to the real interview, where you meet four or five members of the firm, and you curse the fact that you wore your best suit for the screening interview and told all of your best anecdotes. But still, it’s a second date.
All of the parties smile a lot and highlight their most positive attributes and leave out any negative ones. Everyone laughs at everyone else’s jokes and keeps their elbows off the table. I tried hard to remember how to fold my hands in the ladylike way my aunt Myrna taught me to when I was younger. The same topics are taboo — no one discusses politics or sex — except in the job interview, you are encouraged to immediately express how much you love the firm and how you want to stay there until your dying day.
In both the job interview and dating, you hope and pray for the Holy Grail — the job offer/marriage proposal — and then soon learn that the courting was actually the fun and easy part.
Michelle had set me up on six screening interviews/first dates, which I then parlayed into three second- round interviews/ second dates.
After interviewing at all three firms that had invited me back, I had secured offers from two of them.
I agonized over my decision for days, in striking contrast to the on-campus recruitment season when I was in law school. Back then, Vanessa and I sat in the Law Review office in the height of interview season and discussed our options:
“Which firm did you like the best?” Vanessa said.
“I was so busy trying to get them to like me that I wasn’t really paying attention to them….” I said as I leafed through
“Gilson Hecht is on Park Avenue, is only three blocks away from Saks and has the most attractive lawyers,” Vanessa said. “Probably because they’re close to Saks and can get really cute work outfits.”
“But,” I asked as the managing editor of the Law Review walked into the office, “where do they rank on the
“Good questions, Brooke,” Vanessa said, practically biting a hole in the side of her cheek as she tried not to laugh. We had decided early on in the on-campus interview process that all of the big firms were practically identical, so we were best off finding a place where we would just fit in and get along with the other associates. “I’m also curious to know the partner-to-associate ratio.”
The managing editor nodded at both of us as she grabbed the mail from her mailbox and left the office. We both fell into hysterical laughter the second she walked out of the office.
This time around was different, though. I actually cared about things like level of responsibility given to associates and the partner-to-associate ratio. I paid attention when I was at each firm, to every person, every word uttered, the subtext in what they said to me, the way they interacted with those around them, their body language. Because this time, I would not make a mistake. This time, I would not make an important life decision for the wrong reasons.
My first offer came from Anderton Frommer, another Park Avenue law firm like Gilson Hecht, with a similarly long and illustrious history. Much smaller than Gilson Hecht, it was a small intellectual property “boutique” firm with about fifty attorneys. I felt immediately at home when I walked into its offices. Michelle told me that it was the sort of place that attorneys who want to leave big firm life gravitate to; it still had the creature comforts you were used to at your old big firm, and you still would get the same thrill out of telling people where you worked.
My other offer was from Smith, Goldberg and Reede. I’d never heard of them before, but Michelle told me that they were a relatively young up-and-coming firm whose reputation in intellectual property work was growing due to their excellent work product and high ethical standards. Lawyers who worked with them and litigated against them routinely praised them for the way they did business.
Their offices on Third Avenue weren’t nearly as posh as Gilson Hecht’s offices, or even Anderton Frommer’s, for that matter, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter anymore once I began to meet the people who worked there. There was no mahogany, no imported marble, and no room dedicated solely to supplies. More importantly, though, there was also no cafeteria — SGR attorneys weren’t expected to work through dinner.
I met two associates whom I really liked. One was junior to me and the other would be senior, and I could see myself working with both of them. I also met one of the founding members of the firm, Noah Goldberg, and was immediately impressed that he would take the time out of his schedule to meet a prospective new associate. He wasn’t as old as I expected him to be. None of the named partners were even still alive at Gilson Hecht, nor were they at most of the city’s large firms.
As Noah talked about his vision for the firm and the type of lawyer he was looking to hire, I began to remember why I’d wanted to be a lawyer in the first place — I loved to write and I loved to work with people. He talked about helping clients and being creative and working with good people. Hearing him talk about intellectual property law and why he chose the field got me excited about the law in a way I hadn’t been since my second-year Trademarks class. The work was what was important, not whether or not your case got into the paper. Having a life outside of work made you happy, not merely having the ability to tell people that you worked at a prestigious firm. As we talked about intellectual property law, I realized that I’d truly gotten excellent training at Gilson Hecht and that I was very much prepared for more responsibility and a new opportunity, which was what SGR was offering me.
Noah introduced me to my last interviewer of the day, a partner named Rosalyn Ford. Introducing the female candidates to a successful female partner was a trick the big firms used that I remembered from interviewing the first time around (“This firm is great for women, we’ll prove it to you by dangling a female partner in front of you!”), but I still appreciated the effort.
“Brooke Miller,” Rosalyn said as we shook hands and she helped me set my crutches next to my seat. “It can’t be easy running around Manhattan with these.”
“No, it’s not,” I said with a smile, noticing a picture on her desk of her and two toddlers.
“Now that I work here I actually get to
“Oh,” I said, trying to formulate a response.
