Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"Where is your office?" I asked.

"Upstairs. Do you want to take the elevator or the stairs?"

"I think the stairs are more elegant."

"Tell me about yourself," Zach said as we made our way back to the lobby.

"I'm a second-year student at Georgia and grew up in a rural area in the northern part of the state."

Zach glanced at me. "When you're asked that kind of question this summer you need to open up a lot more. People want to learn about you so they can decide whether you'll be a fit for the firm after you graduate."

"That makes sense."

The staircase was designed for a woman wearing a regal gown. However, the upstairs was a different world. In both directions there were open areas divided into small cubicles. It was like a beehive.

"This is where a lot of work takes place," Zach said. "Except for the partners' executive assistants, all the clerical, word processing, and bookkeeping is performed here." He pointed to an enclosed office. "That's where the office manager works."

"Ms. Patrick?"

"Right."

We came to a row of small, separate offices, each with its own window. Several of the doors were closed.

"These are for the associates and top paralegals. The closed doors mean someone is pretending to work on a Saturday."

"Why do you say pretending?"

Zach stopped, knocked on a closed door, and opened it before any one inside could respond. A young woman dressed in casual clothes was sitting behind her desk with papers spread out in front of her and a dictation unit in her hand.

"This is Myra Dean, a paralegal in the litigation department," Zach said. "She is working, not pretending."

He introduced me.

"Sorry to interrupt," I said.

"No problem," she replied in a voice with a Midwestern accent. "Zach should have known I wouldn't be sitting here reading the sports page."

"Except in the fall when Ohio State is playing football."

The woman smiled. "On my own time."

Zach closed the door and continued down the hall.

"Myra was a bad choice to catch goofing off. She's in Joe Carpenter's group. If she wasn't a hard worker, she wouldn't have lasted a week."

He stopped at another closed door. "This is a sure bet."

He knocked and opened. A balding man was sitting with his feet propped up on his desk and holding a book about golf

"Zach, knock and wait for an answer before barging in here!" he snapped before he saw me. "Oh, who's your lady friend?"

"Tami Taylor, one of our summer clerks. Just giving her a tour. This is Barry Conrad. He works in the transactions area."

Conrad held up the book. "And on my slice. Are you a golfer, Ms. Taylor? It's a great way to develop client relations."

"No, I play basketball."

Conrad looked at Zach. "Do we have any clients who play basketball?"

"I don't know. Who's paying for your golf study?"

"The firm. I'm billing it to professional development. Mr. Braddock wants me on the course at four o'clock this afternoon with the management team for Forester Shipping Lines. If I don't do something about my driver and hold up my end of our foursome, it could cost us thousands."

"Keep your shoulders square to the ball and don't rotate your hips too soon," Zach said, adopting a pretend golf stance.

"Get out of here."

We left the office, and Zach shut the door.

"Is Mr. Conrad a partner?"

"No, he's a permanent associate. He swallowed his pride when he wasn't asked to join the firm. It's not a bad life. The pay is good by Savannah standards, and there's no management responsibility."

"How long has he been here?"

"Maybe fifteen years." Zach added, "That's fifteen years averaging fifty to sixty hours a week working plus time spent in his office reading a golf manual or following his fantasy football team."

We stopped before an open door.

"This is my space," he said. "Come in and have a seat."

I hesitated. "I really need to be on my way."

Zach held up his right index finger and shook it. "What is lesson number one?"

"Open up and tell about myself when asked a question by one of the lawyers."

"Good. Rule number two. Don't miss an opportunity to talk to one of the lawyers when given the chance to do so. We're all busy and won't ask you to spend a few minutes with us unless we intend to use it efficiently."

"Yes sir."

"Don't call me sir or mister. My name is Zach."

"Okay."

"Come in."

He led the way into a small office. Directly in front of me was a window that overlooked the parking lot. I could see my car with Zach's motorcycle beside it. Two miniature motorcycles rested on the front of the lawyer's desk. In neat rows on the wall were framed diplomas and other certificates.

On the corner of his desk facing me was a picture of a very attractive young woman with a white flower in her blonde hair. Next to that picture was a photograph of an older couple I guessed to be his parents. The man in the picture had long hair that was gray around the edges, and the woman was wearing a dress that would have looked in style in the late 1970s. Zach picked up a legal pad and took a pen from the top drawer of his desk.

"Tell me about your spiritual journey," he said.

"My spiritual journey?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes, it's an allowable question under the antidiscrimination guidelines."

"Why do you think I have a spiritual journey?"

Zach held up three fingers. "Rule three about being a successful summer clerk. Never answer a question in a way that makes you seem evasive. It's easy to spot a phony. Better to be forthright and honest than beat around the bush and give what you think is a politically correct answer that will help you land a job upon graduation."

"I'd never do that."

"Good. Start by giving me a straight answer."

I sat up in my chair. A head-on challenge required fearlessness in the face of attack. Zach Mays probably didn't have the power to revoke the summer job offer, but even if he did, I wouldn't compromise.

"I've been a Christian since I prayed with my mother at the altar of our church when I was a little girl."

"Did your spiritual journey stop there?"

"No, it's a lifetime relationship with Jesus Christ that affects every aspect of life. I'm always trying to learn and grow."

"Do you believe there are other ways for sincere people to find God?"

"No, there is only one way."

"It's your way or the highway?"

I didn't like to be mocked, but it was part of the persecution of the righteous. At least I knew where I stood when an assault came.

"My beliefs aren't based on my opinions. The Bible says that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through him."

"Doesn't that sound narrow-minded?"

"It is narrow-minded. But truth doesn't depend on popular consensus or opinion polls. The Bible also says the road that leads to eternal life is narrow, and only a few find it. Pretending that someone who tries to live a good life or believes in the god of another religion will make it into heaven is a cruel deception."

"And you're convinced about your religious perspective?"

"Enough to tell you what I believe without beating around the bush." I looked directly into his eyes and took a deep breath. "If you had a wreck on your motorcycle later today and died on the side of the road, would you go to heaven?"

The corner of the lawyer's lips curled up. Whether in a smile or a sneer, I couldn't tell. He pointed to the picture of the beautiful woman on his desk.

"Who do you think that is?"

"I don't know."

"That's my older sister. She's a nurse at a clinic in Zambia."

I wasn't going to be easily deterred. "My question deserves an answer."

Zach ignored me. "She's a missionary in Africa."

"A Christian missionary?"