Brenda Janowitz - Jack With a Twist

“Well, yes,” I say, “I know that you wanted to get to know me a bit better, but—”

“It’s Jean Luc,” Monique says, cutting me off, her eyes welling up with tears. I wonder why the mention of her fabulous husband would make her cry. Those don’t exactly look like tears of joy…. I reach for a tissue, but then remember that Esther’s dumped the entire contents of my desk into a drawer, so I grab a deli napkin out of my purse instead. “Things are not working out,” Monique blurts out.

And with this, she begins to cry. Delicately. Lightly. Like a lady, barely making a sound. I’m marveling at the fact that she can cry in such a feminine manner. When I cry, it sounds like a foghorn and my nose begins running like a sieve. It must be because she’s French.

“Oh, Monique,” I say, as I open the drawer to look for some real tissues to offer the poor woman—clearly, deli napkins are not going to cut it here. As I open the drawer, I feel something extremely hot drip onto my legs.

“I don’t really handle divorce,” I explain, “I’m more of a commercial litigator, but I can certainly help you find someone great who can help you.”

“I’m sorry, Brooke,” Monique says as I locate the tissues and pass a few to her. “It’s not that I want a divorce…. It’s not the marriage. Yes, the marriage isn’t going too well, either, but I think that the problem is that we work together, live together, do everything together. That’s why I’m here. I’m looking to dissolve the business partnership I have with my husband.”

“Monique, I’m so sorry,” I say, as the coffee continues to drip onto my leg. I subtly try to find the offending cup, but can’t figure out how to do so without appearing like I’m not listening to Monique.

“You did say that you specialize in commercial litigation, yes?” she says.

“Yes,” I say, taking a few tissues from the drawer and draping them over my legs, which are beginning to sting.

“I thought that maybe by coming to you we could keep this out of the press?” she says, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “That’s why I thought it would be wise to come here.” I wonder why she hasn’t gone to Vanessa at Gilson, Hecht, seeing as she is friends with her mother, but I decide not to press my luck. Especially since the piping-hot coffee is beginning to hurt my legs. Is that the smell of burning flesh?

As Monique fills me in on the background of her business with her husband, I try to take notes even though all I can think is: That blue good luck ribbon that she sews into every dress must not really work.

Twenty minutes later, we wrap up our meeting and I’ve officially secured my first client. I hope that when I stand up from my desk, Monique won’t notice the huge puddle of coffee that has gathered in my lap and is now dripping all the way down to my ankles.

“I cannot thank you enough, Brooke,” Monique says as we walk out of my office, me brushing off my skirt and dripping brown liquid all over the carpet, “and of course, your discretion in this matter is very much appreciated.”

“Think nothing of it,” I say, hoping she doesn’t draw me in for a hug. The ivory-colored pants she’s wearing are no match for my coffee-infused skirt. And it would be a shame to lose a potential client over a dry-cleaning emergency.

“Thank you,” she says.

“There is just one more thing, Monique,” I say, as I walk her to the elevator banks. I’m rubbing my legs together to evaporate the coffee that’s dripping down them, my hand placed over the spot on my skirt where it’s all spilled, “and, I mean, this is just strictly business. I mean, this is something that the partners would want to know, you know, inasmuch as it may relate to your case.”

“But, of course, Brooke,” Monique says, “whatever you need to know.”

“You’re still going to design my wedding dress, right?”

“And the best part is,” I tell Noah Goldberg, one of the founding members of the firm and the “G” in the SGR, “she’s still designing my dress!”

“Well, she can’t design your dress if you’re representing her,” Noah says with a laugh.

She can’t? Why can’t she? Should I have consulted the rules of ethics before I came into this meeting? Surely there’s some provision about associates and their wedding dresses? “But, I am thrilled for you. Your first case!”

My wedding dress, is all I can think. I love that dress more than anything in the world. More than the French love Jerry Lewis. More than the Germans love David Hasselhoff. I manage to eke out: “My first case!”

“I’m really excited for you, Brooke,” Noah says, “you remind me of myself when I got my first big case.” It’s never a good sign when a partner, founding or otherwise, tells you that you remind him of him. That can only mean one thing—you’re about to be slammed with more work than you ever thought possible. “And I think you’re ready.”

“For what?” I ask. More traumatic trips to wedding boutiques with my mother? I know that Noah sees me as a big-time lawyer who can handle anything, but I am so not ready for that.

“To take the lead on this case.”

“What an honor,” I say. “What a thrill! Who will be working with me on it?” I’m secretly hoping that he’ll say that Esther can work on the case with me, but I don’t want to sound as if I don’t appreciate the opportunity. I will just act thrilled and enthused no matter what associate he tells me he’s going to assign to this case. There are five different first years that I’d be happy to work with—Jordan, Ethan, Spencer, Oliver and Ruby are all great, and there are four other second years that wouldn’t be bad, either—Stacey, Jon, Jen or Lee have great reputations, too. Maybe I’ll even get two junior associates to work with! And I won’t complain or say a word if one of them’s not Esther.

“I don’t know if you need any more manpower on the case just yet,” he says. “Let’s start off by staffing it lean and mean and take it from there, okay?”

Um, that is so not okay.

“Okay,” I say, trying to hide the look of horror that is no doubt crossing my face at this very instant. At my old law firm, Gilson, Hecht, such a case—a complicated commercial litigation with a fabulously famous client—would have been staffed by at least four attorneys. And Noah wants me to go it alone?

I immediately rush back to my office and start researching the cause of action of dissolution of partnership. Next, I draft a very professional e-mail thanking Monique for her business and asking her to gather the partnership contract and various non-compete agreements that she had with her husband, and then arrange for a messenger service to pick all of it up from her brownstone. After that, I pick up the phone to call Vanessa.

What? After getting all that work done, I think I deserve a little work break, don’t I?

“There’s no such thing,” Vanessa interrupts.

“There is, too,” I say in a stage whisper, careful not to let any partners walking through the halls hear me.

“Brooke,” Vanessa says, “there is no such thing as ‘wedding dress law.’”

“Could you please just research it for me?” I ask, eyes darting furtively to my office door.

“And what client should I bill this to?” she asks. I can’t see her since we’re on the phone, but I get the distinct sense that she’s tapping her foot at me as she says this.

“Healthy Foods,” I say, invoking one of Gilson, Hecht’s biggest clients, and one that I worked for almost exclusively when I was still at the firm, “I don’t care!”

“You want me to bill it to your old client?” Vanessa asks.