Part 12 (1/2)
Chapter 11.
”'Commercially reasonable condition' and 'reasonable condition' do not mean the same thing. We've got to go with 'commercially reasonable' or I'm hanging up this phone right now.”
The threat to hang up on the conference call came from Louis Madwell, senior partner and head of the white-collar crime division at Crohn and Hitchens, one of Baker Smith's rivals. Their office was located on Third Avenue in what was commonly known as the Lipstick Building due to its shape, but which Evie thought looked more phallic. Based on how Madwell was acting, her vision of his workplace was more fitting. He was a member of the Brighton board of trustees, and, as he told everyone at the start of the call, would be ”running the show” for the school. His services were being offered to the school gratis, another fact he brought up at the outset when he urged everyone to be mindful of his time.
”'Reasonable' means 'reasonable,'” Joe Cayne, a member of the opposing counsel, whose name Evie immediately noted rhymed with cocaine, chimed in. ”And that's all we're willing to agree to. Besides, you're not selling anything. This is a school. Why do you need to put in the word 'commercially'?”
Madwell snorted for the benefit of all fifteen people on the call. ”At forty thousand dollars a pop, we d.a.m.n well are selling something. We're selling an education. Which is why when your client turns over the keys to their building so we can put in a G.o.dd.a.m.n award-winning computer lab, I want the contract to say it will be in 'commercially reasonable condition.' I don't want to come in and find holes in the walls and a rat infestation. You hear me?”
”With all due respect, Louis, my client was running a high-end art gallery in her s.p.a.ce. There are no rats in the building. And I can a.s.sure you there are no holes in the walls,” Caine retorted.
”No holes in the walls? So how did she hang the d.a.m.n paintings?”
Good point, Madwell. It was time for Evie to interject.
”Gentlemen, we're getting off track here. Can I make a suggestion that I think might please everyone?”
Silence on the line.
”Why don't we change the clause to read that the building will be delivered in 'reasonably habitable' condition? That way we take out the word 'commercially,' which I think we can all agree is making the other side uncomfortable. And our side can feel good that the building will be deemed habitable for students, which I'm sure is what we're all concerned with. How does that sound?”
”I can live with that,” Madwell said. ”I have a three-billion-dollar lawsuit on my hands right now and I'm trying to keep a client from rotting in an upstate prison for the rest of his life. That's more important than this s.h.i.+t. Joe, can you agree to what the girl said?”
Evie did not enjoy being called ”the girl,” but she'd heard female lawyers called worse before. There was whispering on the call, which she a.s.sumed was Cocaine conferring with his client.
”That's fine with us,” he said. ”I'll shoot your team over a new draft of the contract and let's try to get this sale wrapped up by the end of the week.”
”Thanks everyone for a productive call,” Evie said. ”Have a good day and please call me if any further issues arise.” She rested the phone in its cradle and took a deep breath. Her first a.s.signment as interim in-house counsel at Brighton was going fairly smoothly. She was an old pro at rehas.h.i.+ng the meaning of everyday phrases. Similar minutiae in the M&A world might have included a week-long debate on what was better for her client: ”Management will report promptly to the investors whenever a significant issue arises” or ”Management will report to investors without delay whenever a significant issue arises.” It all felt like a futile exercise in dictionary wars. If any problem arose, the matter would be settled out of court. n.o.body would consult the contract to pa.r.s.e the meaning of an adverb. This was Evie's first legal a.s.signment outside of a firm, but it wasn't proving to be that much different. Maybe some lawyers got a high from sparring on conference calls and throwing around words like ”G.o.dd.a.m.n” for emphasis, but she wasn't one of them.
”Hey, I know you. Mrs. Loo's friend.”
Evie looked up to find Jamie Matthews, the texter from Tracy's cla.s.s, hovering near her with his book bag slung over one shoulder and a tiny paper cup in his hand.
”If I'd known I'd have an office buddy today, I would have gotten two espressos.” He plopped down in the abandoned cubicle next to hers and pulled out a pain au chocolat from a crinkled brown bag.
”Yes, hi, I'm Evie. Evie Rosen. I mean Miss Rosen,” she stammered. What the h.e.l.l should she call herself? She wasn't a teacher. But some level of decorum felt necessary. ”I'm filling in as in-house counsel for a while.”
”Hi, Evie, I'm Jamie.” Apparently he decided what she would be called. Whether he knew what an in-house counsel was didn't seem to matter. ”We're going to be office mates. Hope you don't mind.”
”Aren't you a student?” she asked, sitting up straighter, forming what Caroline's daughters called ”happy back” from ballet cla.s.s.
”Yep. But I got into a little bit of trouble last year and I kind of made a deal with the headmaster that I would help out in the office during my free periods so that-”
”So that what?”
”So that my suspension wouldn't show up on my student record. I'm applying to college this year. I do filing, make copies, etcetera. Whatever anyone needs, which I guess now includes you.” He gave her a devilish smile.
”I'm okay. I don't need any help.”
He shrugged. ”Suit yourself. I'm here if you need me.”
”Thanks.” She turned around to face her computer, agitated by the invasion of her already cramped works.p.a.ce. Who was this kid anyway, with his espresso and French pastries? In high school, she ate Pop-Tarts. At least he was cute, in a boyish sort of way.
She turned her attention back to the contract revisions, but found herself thoroughly driven to distraction by Jamie's presence. His cell phone buzzed every ten seconds, whistling something high pitched and clawing each time a text arrived. She threw a disparaging look his way, but he took no notice. The words from the doc.u.ment on her desk lifted off the page, the phrases ”fee simple,” ”eas.e.m.e.nt,” and ”right of first refusal” doing a legal circle dance. It was time for more caffeine. She rose to fill her mug from the communal pot with the plastic handle (how she missed Baker Smith's Nespresso machines on every floor) and noticed a striking young girl enter the office and head straight for Jamie's chair. He moved over to accommodate her tiny b.u.m, and the two of them sat nibbling on his pastry and giggling.
”Evie, this is Eleanor, my girlfriend,” Jamie said when he caught Evie staring.
”Eleanor Klieger,” she said with poise, adding her last name, as though it was supposed to mean something to Evie. Maybe it was. ”It's nice to meet you.” She had one of those enviable raspy voices. Like she was on day four of a cold and all that was left to show for it was a s.e.xy hoa.r.s.eness and a throaty laugh.
”It's nice to meet you too,” Evie said, feeling suddenly ancient in front of these two.
While she doctored her coffee with milk and sugar, Evie watched Eleanor's lithe body movements as she tucked Jamie's long hair behind his ear and popped a piece of puffed pastry into his mouth. She admired Eleanor's ensemble-cropped jeans, a red-and-white-checked s.h.i.+rt and navy ballet flats with discreet double Cs on the side. The clothing hugged her body enough to show off her excellent figure but was loose enough to make it seem like she didn't want anyone to notice. Evie knew this sort of girl. She woke up with perfectly tousled hair, had an infectious laugh, and was a good student without being too intimidating. She was ditzy when it was cute to be ditzy; clever when it was cool to be clever.
”I have to get to study hall,” Eleanor said, popping up from the chair and planting a kiss on Jamie's cheek. ”Let's meet at the vending machines before practice, okay?” Of course Eleanor played a sport. Field hockey or lacrosse most likely.
”I'll see you there, babe.”
Evie looked back at her contract. The words had quit their pesky dancing and she was able to concentrate. Jamie moved about the office doing random tasks, many of which involved him reaching into upper cabinets, taking his polo s.h.i.+rt northward to reveal a chiseled core. When he was done with his work, he tapped her on the shoulder and said, ”Great to see you. I'll be back tomorrow.”
Later that day, in the faculty bathroom, Evie ran into Tracy, who was struggling to snap an elastic belt she was wearing to support the weight of her tummy. Evie fastened it for her.
”One of your students works in the office right next to me. Jamie, I think,” Evie said. ”His desk is about a millimeter from mine. I've already met the girlfriend.”
”Oh yeah. That's Jamie Matthews. I think his parents helped make that arrangement. He was apparently about to get tossed out of Brighton. Half the kids here wors.h.i.+p him. I'm not quite sure why.”
”He seems nice enough,” Evie said.
”Not very good at English, though.”
After a week of sartorial failures, the nadir of which was the pants-splitting episode, Evie decided it was time to invest in a wardrobe that was more suitable for Brighton. With the smug Jamie punching in for duty almost daily and Malibu Barbie Eleanor dropping in for visits, Evie felt compelled to take her look up a notch. She asked Stasia to accompany her on a shopping outing.
She was still peeved that Stasia had never returned her call, especially knowing that Rick must have shared that her grandma was sick, but she let her curiosity about wanting to sniff out a baby b.u.mp override her grudge. They met at the J.Crew in the Time Warner Center, which was the closest thing Manhattan had to a mall. Evie loved walking into the front entrance of the shopping center because of the two giant nude Botero sculptures, known as Adam and Eve, who stood in permanent greeting. At twelve feet tall each, they made Evie feel delicate and childlike, and when she walked right up to them they reminded her that her issues were quite inconsequential in a city of eight million people with struggles of their own. Oddly enough, Evie found the feeling of not mattering all that much comforting.
Evie waited for Stasia at the base of these two sculptures, and when her friend showed up ten minutes late looking haggard and ill, Evie felt sorry for making her travel all the way from SoHo for a J.Crew run. But then again Stasia still hadn't officially announced the baby, so it wasn't really fair for her to expect special treatment. She didn't even giggle when Evie pretended to reach for Adam's ma.s.sive genitalia.
After an hour fussing in the cramped dressing room together, Evie was satisfied their mission had been a success. She found periwinkle and hunter green corduroys, two A-line skirts, an a.s.sortment of cashmere crewnecks, and a hot pink peacoat with chunky b.u.t.tons. Stasia provided decent commentary but seemed preoccupied the entire time. When she didn't even try anything on, Evie grew more convinced of a pregnancy.
”How's the new job going?” Stasia asked while Evie compiled all of her garments to take to the register.
”Proving to be surprisingly similar to my old one.”
”Well, that's good, right?”
”I'm not sure. At least I know what I'm doing.”