I Was Told It Would Get Easier(2)

“Who told you that? Me?”

“No, my grandmother.”

“The one that’s a judge?”

“No, the one that’s a hairdresser.”

“Right.” I paused. “So . . . you’re ready?”

“I’m ready, and so are you. Go on your trip and don’t let him ruin it by coming along inside your head.”

“That’s a horrible thought.”

She stood up, again appearing to defy the laws of physics. “You’re welcome.” She turned and walked to the door, pausing once more. “Plus, if you can handle a sixteen-year-old girl, you can handle a fifty-five-year-old guy.”

“You would think.”

She left, and I swung my chair around and gazed out the window. Across the canyons of downtown Los Angeles was a skyscraper that featured a glass slide on the outside of the seventieth floor. My daughter Emily and I had gone down it once, and I’d been much less scared than I’d expected. The thought of the lawsuit that would arise from dropping a tourist a thousand feet onto a busy stretch of downtown LA told me they’d probably made the slide strong enough to drive a truck down. Emily had stopped halfway down the slide to examine the construction and post pictures to Instagram, and afterwards we’d had one of the few conversations in recent memory that hadn’t devolved into an argument about her future. I thought about our upcoming trip to visit colleges, and wondered if we could work something life-threatening into the itinerary every day in order to maintain the peace.

Laurel buzzed me. “Jessica, John wants to see you in his office when you have a minute.”

“Alright, let him know I’m on my way.”

But I waited ten minutes, because, you know, power move.



* * *



? ? ?

John was sharpening his scythe as I came in—wait, did I say scythe? I meant pencil.

“Ah, Jessica.”

I wondered if he always said ah before he said my name, and I’d somehow failed to notice it. Maybe he thought my name was Ahjessica?

“John,” I replied, proving that we were at least each talking to the right person. I started to sit down, whereupon he told me to take a seat, as if I’d been waiting for permission. That BS might work on a junior lawyer, but I’d been at this game too long.

“Already taken, thanks,” I said. “How can I help you?” By phrasing it that way, I put him on the back foot, because he’d actually requested my presence, not my help. Pay attention, folks, it’s a master class in here.

“You can’t,” he laughed, which is why he’s the boss. “But I wanted to talk to you about Valentina.”

I nodded and waited.

He leaned forward. “Look, you and I are similar people. We know how things work, right?”

Forced teaming. Google it. It’s what manipulators do to make you feel a connection they can then exploit. I’ve read The Gift of Fear (which everyone should), so I said, “I don’t think we’re all that similar, John, and you wanted to talk about Valentina?”

Sidenote: I actually like John, despite the fact he often behaves like a jerk. He’s an incredible lawyer who thinks better on his feet than most people do sitting down, and he’s taught me everything I know. But I trust him only because I know how he lies.

John smiled. “I like Valentina, she’s extremely capable.”

“Yes.”

He regarded me narrowly for a moment, then relaxed his face. It’s his way of miming, I’m not sure I understand you . . . Wait, now I get it because, damn, I’m smart. He must practice in a mirror. “I know you think she should make partner this year.”

“I thought she should have made partner last year.” My face betrayed nothing, which I’m long past practicing in a mirror.

“But there is the issue of the board.”

My breathing was steady. “In what sense?”

“Well, you know . . .”

“No, I don’t.”

“The board wouldn’t want it to look like we were, you know, reacting to current events.”

“Which current events, John? Please speak plainly.” (Again, sidenote: When buying time, phrase your delaying tactics as mild criticism—I’m sorry, that didn’t make sense/Please restate that, it wasn’t clear/Your language is garbled, please remove that scorpion from your mouth. It makes your conversational opponent scramble a little. Side sidenote: If your questioner has a scorpion in her mouth, deal with that first.) He appeared to be mildly uncomfortable, which is one of his tells. John has never been mildly uncomfortable in his life; he was about to lay on a thick layer of BS.

“Well, the #MeToo thing, the harassment thing . . .”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“The board is concerned if we promote too many women at once, it will look like we’re reacting to social pressure.”

“Social pressure to promote capable people?”

“Women.”

“Which other women are up for partnership?”

“Janet Manolo. Just Janet.”

I took a breath. “And the board thinks making two women partner in one year is too many? Last year you made three men partners and no one wondered about that.” I suddenly thought of the RBG quote about enough women on the Supreme Court being nine.