remind you that you have an obligation that runs directly to the client in this matter.My client, Noone Pharmaceuticals. Noone is almost as big as SmithKline and growing by leaps and bounds. Noone is not a client I would like to lose. You understand that, don’t you?”
I nod, dry-mouthed.
“Good. I thought as much.” He plucks the brief from his desk and hands it to me. “Rework this according to my comments, which you’ll find in red. Spend time in the library. Get authority for your position. If you can’t find the cases, I want your assurance that they don’t exist.” He makes a note in his day journal to bill the two minutes it took to dress me down. “I need it by the end of the day.”
“I can’t, Timothy. I have-”
“You’d do it by the end of the day for Sam Berkowitz, so you’ll do it by the end of the day for Timothy Jameson. End of discussion.”
“Okay…I’ll postpone some things.”
“Fine.”
I leave his office, red-faced, with a rose garden abloom on my chest. As I hurry by Stella’s desk, she hands me a Styrofoam cup of coffee on a tray. “Don’t take it too hard, Mare,” she whispers. “He’s got no one else to piss on, you know what I mean?”
I escape to my office and collapse into my chair. I feel like crying, and not just because of the brief. My life is going haywire. The center isn’t holding. My work is going downhill; I’m forgetting depositions, offending clients. The partners are bad-mouthing me. Somebody’s harassing me, maybe even breaking into my apartment. What goes around comes around.
And it’s coming after you, says the voice.
“Mary, you in there?” says someone at the door.
Before I can answer, the door opens a crack and a white paper bag pops through the opening, followed by Ned’s handsome face. His expression darkens as he comes in, closing the door behind him. “Mary?”
It’s no use, I can’t hide it. I feel wretched. It has to show.
“What’s the matter?”
Ned looks so concerned and his voice sounds so caring that I lose it. I start to cry and find myself in his arms, which only makes me cry harder. I cry about Mike, who’s not coming back, and Jameson’s brief, which I can’t possibly rewrite in one day, and Angie, who would rather talk to God all day than to her twin. I cry about my apartment, myhome, which I’ll never feel safe in again. I cry like a baby, freely and shamelessly, while Ned holds me close.
In the next moment he’s kissing me on my forehead and on my cheeks. It feels so comforting. I hug him back, and he lifts me onto my desk and burrows into my neck. I smell the fresh scent of his aftershave and can’t even begin to think about what’s happening between us, as I hear my Rolodex tumble off the desk, followed by the splash of a cup of coffee and the creak of my office door.
“Mary! The carpet!” shouts Brent, who looks in, astounded, and slams the door shut with a bang.
It breaks the spell. I push Ned away and wipe the wetness from my eyes. “Jesus. Jesus Christ, Ned. I must be out of my mind.”
“Mary, there’s nothing wrong with-”
“Yes, there is. I shouldn’t be. I can’t.”
“I want to be close to you, Mary. You need that, I can see it. I used to be just like you, keeping everything in-”
“Please, Ned.”
“Tell me what’s happening. I can help.”
“You want to help? Then stop sending me notes. And stop following me.” It’s a test. I watch his face for a reaction.
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you break into my apartment?”
“What?” He looks shocked.
“Did you write the note?”
“What note?”
“The note. ‘Congratulations on your partnership.’ It has to be you. Nobody else makes sense.”
He puts up his hands. His mouth goes dry, I can see it. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What are you saying? Why would I do something like that to you?”
“Tell the truth, Ned. Have you written me a note or followed me in a car? Like to my parents’ house?”
He touches my shoulder. “Why would I do that, Mary?”
“Answer the question.”
“No. No, of course not.”
I look directly into his green eyes to see whether he’s lying, but I’m thrown off by the honest feeling that I find there. The door opens narrowly and Brent slips in. He carries a stack of paper towels and a plastic jug of Palmolive dishwashing liquid. He doesn’t look at me or Ned but immediately sets to work sopping up the coffee spill.
“Maybe I’d better go, Mary,” Ned says.
“Maybe you’d better!” snaps Brent.
Ned’s barely out the door when Brent hits the ceiling. “Mary, are you out of your mind? Have you lost it completely? Have you gone totally fucking loco?” He scrubs the rug so vigorously the detergent lathers up like shaving cream.
“Brent-”
“Fucking on the desk!” He glares up at me, the veins on his slim neck bulging.
“Brent, slow up! We weren’t-”
“Do youknow what they would do if they caught you? If you sneeze without a hankie, they cut off your balls with a cuticle scissors! What do you think they’d do if they caught youfucking on the desk? Huh?”
“I would never-”
“I’m sure you’re not practicing safe sex!”
“Brent, we didn’t-”
“Suicide! Mary, it’s suicide! I go to a funeral every weekend! Everyone I know is sick, except for me. And now Jack.” He throws down the paper towel.
I feel a chill. “Jack?”
He looks up at me, his eyes full of tears.
My God. Brent is going to lose Jack. My own eyes sting. “Jesus, I’m so sorry.” I kneel down and rub his back through his thin black sweater. He returns to cleaning the stain, mechanically.
“I’ve known for a while, Mary, so it’s not sudden, like it was with you and Mike. And you don’t have to worry about me. I’m HIV negative. We always practiced safe sex, even from the beginning.”
“My God.” I hadn’t even considered losing Brent. I couldn’t lose him too. We’ve been together for eight years. I don’t know what would happen to me.
“It’s no joke, Mary. It’s real. Anyone can get it, even Magic Johnson, even you. You’re playing with fire.”
“We didn’t do it, Brent.”
“You were going to.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I wasn’t going that far, but I did feel something for Ned when he kissed me. And I felt something else, a flicker of physical need that I thought had been buried with Mike. It thrilled me; it frightened me. I look down at the stained carpet and Brent does too.
“All that work,” he says, “and it’s only gone from coffee brown to Palmolive green.” He offers me a paper towel and takes one for himself.
I blow my nose. “It looks like Hawaii.”
“No. It looks like Placido Domingo.” He wipes his eyes and throws an arm around my shoulder. “So tell me, Mare. Why is it always the Catholic girls who are doin’ it on the desks?”
“Brent!” I shove him.
“With Waters yet, who writes you poison pen letters. Who follows you around!”
“It’s not him.”
“He’s mind-fucking you, girlfriend. That man is a mind fuck.” He gets up and pulls me to my feet.
