“Seems like a solid game plan.”
He checked his watch, then waved for the check.
“Okay. I have an insider tip, but I’monlygiving it to you because I think the movie business is a dying industry, which means we’re not competing for work. Seriously. Anyone who sinks millions into a terrible business model shouldn’t be bailed out.”
“Hit me.”
He leaned in. “Every Thursday, the paralegals get a list of new clients and the partners who brought them in. There’s usually a one-line description of what the matters are about too. Lena leaves it in my mailbox. She’s the supervising paralegal. It’s only supposed to be for them, so if I share it with you, you gotta keep it confidential. But we can look at it together in our office if you want.”
He half jokingly looked over his shoulder. “It’s not like we’rereallygaming the system—you still have to fish out which senior associates are doing the heavy lifting for partners in terms of how they staff the case, that kinda thing ... but it just gives you a little lead time to get there first. We can see what looks good and come up with a game plan.”
“Why are you being so nice to me? Even if you’re not competing with me for entertainment stuff—what’s your angle?”
He shrugged. “I worked with a lot of associates when I was a paralegal, and you seem different. You admittedTo Kill a Mockingbirdmade you want to be a lawyer. It takes balls to be that cliché.”
“Okay, Aaron Sorkin.”
He grinned. “Everyone needs a partner in crime, especially in this place. Officemates unite, or something cheesy like that.”
We called them Thank You Thursdays. Lena put the list in Charlie’s mailbox at 9 a.m. We’d meet at Joe’s Coffee in Grand Central on the way in, then swing by the mail room before heading to our office to divide and conquer.
The first few lists had more matters Charlie was interested in than I was. While I kept plotting a way to get on Eddie Kaufman’s radar, I tried to set meetings with senior associates who worked with him. It was even harder than I thought. He either worked with one or two associates on most cases or handled them solo. He also spent a lot of time in Los Angeles, which made it more difficult because when he needed to staff a matter, he only needed LA people. It was starting to feel like I needed to cast a wider net and find work outside of the entertainment practice. Luckily, the firm gave new associates six weeks to ramp up before the billable-hour requirement kicked in, but the end of the grace period was hurtling toward me. I couldn’t keep spinning my wheels.
On the fourth Thank You Thursday, I complained to Charlie as we walked back from Joe’s.
“I’m thinking of reaching out to the Intellectual Property group to get on some copyright cases. At least that wouldn’t feel like a total failure. Copyright is kind of in the realm, right?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Maybe take on a copyright case just to get some hours in, but it’s way too soon to give up.”
He pushed the elevator button and grinned. “Besides, we got the list. Something is bound to turn up on there. You just need one little break, and you’ll be golden.”
Charlie closed the office door behind us. “Damn, there’s six pages this week! Here, take the first four. I have a good feeling about those.”
“Here goes,” I said hopefully.
There were four new Eddie Kaufman matters on the first and second pages alone.
“This is interesting,” I said cautiously. “It’s a pro bono matter for Film at Lincoln Center. I didn’t even know someone like Eddie did pro bono.”
Charlie smirked. “He probably has associates do it all. Could be cool, though. Work with Eddieanddo something good for the world. Besides, not a lot of associates want to do pro bono because the firm only lets you bill half your time. So you might actually have a shot. Maybe you should email Patricia.”
He explained Patricia was Eddie’s longtime assistant who notoriously scheduled his entire life.
“And say, ‘Hey, I’m dying to work with Eddie and willing to only bill half my time to do it’?”
“We can do a little recon on the Lincoln Center thing. I’m sure it’s some kind of relationship, and he’s doing it for optics or whatever.”
I couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect opportunity. “Film at Lincoln Center puts on the New York Film Festival,” I explained. “The biggest filmmakers in the world screen their movies there. Everyonefrom Ingmar Bergman to the Coen brothers . . . Godard, Truffaut, Kurosawa, Tarantino. Absolutely insane.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ve heard of at least two of those names.”
Through a combination of Google and Charlie’s paralegal moles, we learned that Eddie had recently become a board member of Film at Lincoln Center. Beyond that, no one seemed to know what the case was about. I just needed an in so I could prove myself.
Chapter Six
Later, I met Emilie and Connor at a martini bar downtown. Emilie had just started at a boutique litigation firm that was ranked the top appeals firm in the country. Connor ditched law entirely and was working for a private equity firm known for buying distressed companies.
“What can I say. I’m just really good at finding diamonds in the rough,” Connor responded when we asked him how it was going, his Scottish accent in full force from having just been home.
