Julie James: Practice Makes Perfect

In order to honor its commitment to the policies created by the Committee for the Retention of Women, the firm is proud to announce that it has set a goal of increasing the number of female partners by 10 percent by next year.

Payton sat back in her chair, rereading the announcement and considering the reasons behind it. Frankly, it was about time the firm took some action—they were notorious for having the lowest percentage of female partners in the city.

She reached for her phone to call Laney, who she knew would have a similar reaction to the news. Mid-dial, she glanced across the hall and saw J.D. returning from his male-bonding meeting of the Mighty Penis-Wielders with Ben. Payton hung the phone up as she watched J.D. enter his office—she had to see this.

J.D. took a seat at his desk. Just like Payton, he immediately checked his email. There was a moment’s delay as Payton waited in delicious anticipation . . . then—

J.D.’s eyes went wide as he read what Payton could only presume was the email from the Executive Committee. He clutched his heart as if having an attack, then snatched the phone on his desk out of its cradle and dialed someone up with a quickness.

His friend Tyler, Payton guessed. If she were a betting woman, she’d wager that J.D. was just a tad less excited about the email regarding the retention of women than she.

Score one for Team Kendall , Payton thought.

Not that it was a competition between them.

Not at all.

“IT’S HORSESHIT!”

J.D. felt some satisfaction as he smashed the squash ball with his racquet. He’d been in a foul mood all day, ever since he’d seen that ridiculous email from the Executive Committee.

“A ten percent increase in female partners!” he raged on, his breath ragged with exertion. He was definitely off his game that evening. Tyler had barely broken a sweat while J.D.—normally the far better player of the two (if he modestly said so himself)—had been diving all over the court just to keep up.

Tyler returned J.D.’s volley easily. “Still only brings them to twenty-eight percent,” he said good-naturedly.

“Who are you, Gloria Steinem?” J.D. glared at his friend for even suggesting there was any possible defense for the policy change the firm had announced today. “It’s their decision, Tyler,” he continued. “There is no glass ceiling anymore—these women choose to leave the workforce of their own volition.”

“Ahh . . . the voice of equality rings out once more.” Tyler laughed.

“Hey, I’m all for equality,” J.D. said as he hit the ball with another gratifying smash. Frankly, his friend’s lack of concern over the Executive Committee’s email baffled him. After all, Tyler worked at the firm, too, and while he wasn’t up for partner this year, his day soon would come.

“And anyone else who allegedly stands for equality should be against this policy as well,” J.D. continued. “It’s reverse discrimination.”

Tyler shrugged this off. “It’s only a commitment to make a ten percent increase. What difference does it make?”

J.D. couldn’t listen to another word. With one hand, he caught the ball, bringing their game to an abrupt stop. He pointed his racquet at Tyler. “I’ll tell you what my problem is.”

Tyler set his own racquet down and leaned against the wall. “I sense that I should get comfortable here.”

J.D. ignored the sarcasm. “The playing field isn’t level—that’s the problem. Now maybe you’re comfortable accepting that, but I’m not. You know as well as I do that these days, if a man and a woman are equally qualified for a position, the woman gets the job. It’s this socially liberal, politically correct society we live in. Men have to be twice as good at what they do to remain competitive in the workplace. Women just have to stay in the race.”

Tyler eyed him skeptically. “Do you really believe that?”

“Absolutely,” J.D. said. “At least in the legal environment. It’s a numbers game. Because, percentage-wise, so few women stay at these large law firms—again by choice ,” he emphasized quickly, “when one woman who’s halfway decent does come up for partner, she’s a shoo-in. But do guys like you and me have it so easy?”

Tyler opened his mouth.

“You’re right, we don’t,” J.D. finished for him. “No one from the Human Resources Department is telling the Executive Committee they need to increase the percentage of white males they make partner. So we”—he pointed—“have to fend for ourselves by making sure we don’t give them any excuse not to promote us.”

Tyler held up his hands. “All right—just take it easy. I know you’re stressed out these days—”

“—I’m just saying that everyone should be judged solely on merit . No ‘plus’ factors for gender, race, national origin, or—”

“—what with the partnership decision coming up and all, I realize you’re nervous—”

“—so that each person is given a fair chance—” J.D. stopped. He had just caught Tyler’s last words. “Wait—you think I’m nervous about making partner?”

Tyler looked him over. “Are you saying you’re not nervous?”

“Are you saying I have a reason to be nervous?”

J.D. glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why, what have you heard? Do you know something? Wait, never mind—don’t tell me. No, really—what?”

Tyler laughed. “Take it easy, buddy. I haven’t heard a thing. The Executive Committee doesn’t exactly let lowly sixth years in on their partnership decisions.”

J.D. exhaled in relief. “Right, sure.” Resuming his façade of nonchalance, he tossed the ball to Tyler. “Your serve.”

The two played in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the repetitive bounce-smash! of the ball as they volleyed back and forth.

Finally, J.D. broke the silence. “For the record, I don’t believe I’m ‘stressed out.’ ” But if, for argument’s sake, I am a little anxious, it would only be natural. After all, it’s been eight years. It’s my job, you know. It’s—”

“—the only thing you’ve ever done without your father’s help and you don’t want to screw it up,” Tyler cut in. “I get that.”

J.D. stopped dead in his tracks. The squash ball whizzed by, careened off the back wall, and bounced around the court until it finally rolled to a stop. He faced Tyler in stony silence.

Tyler smiled innocently. “Oops—was that one of those things we’re not supposed to say out loud?”

J.D. still said nothing. As his best friend, Tyler understood that the topic of his father was distinctly off-limits.

“But I thought we were bonding,” Tyler continued. “You know, one oppressed white male to another.”

J.D. gave him a look. “Very cute. Laugh now, but we’ll see who’s laughing in two years when you come up for partner and they toss your ass out onto the street with nothing more than a ‘thanks for your time.’ ” J.D. gestured to the court. “Now—if we’re finished with your little personal insights into my psyche, do you mind if we play some squash here?”

Tyler bowed agreeably. “Not at all.”

The two once again resumed their game. Silent. Focused. J.D. was just getting back into his groove when Tyler brought up another topic of conversation he had even less interest discussing.

“So I saw you walk by my office this afternoon with Payton,” Tyler said. “You two looked chummy as always.”

J.D. dove for the ball and narrowly missed it. Cursing under his breath, he picked himself up from the floor and walked it off. He knew Tyler was baiting him once again and was hardly about to give him the satisfaction of being successful at it a second time.