I felt just south of drunk. “Thanks ... Okay, I need to get in the cab,” I said, laughing at my inability to form an eloquent response to one of the most hopeful things anyone had said to me in a while.
He stood there while I got into the cab and then knocked on the driver’s window.
“Get her home safely, please.”
Chapter Nine
Not nearly enough hours later, my left eye squinted open. I thought I heard my cell phone ringing but had no idea where I’d put it.
I glanced at the clock. 7:30 a.m.
No one called at that hour in New York, especially not on a Friday. The 10 a.m. start to the workday is sacred for Manhattan lawyers.
But it wasdefinitelymy phone. I cursed into my pillow, feeling drunker than when I got in the cab and said bye to Charlie. I threw the covers off the bed, spotting my phone on the floor less than a second after my voicemail kicked in.
I hit play immediately. “Samantha. Eddie Kaufman ...”
Fuck.
I couldn’t make any sense of why Eddie Kaufman would be calling me at all, let alone this early in the morning. Before I finished the message, my phone rang again.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.I didn’t have the brain capacity to screen a second call.
“Hello, this is Samantha,” I said, trying to sound as if I’d woken up restfully, or was at least caffeinated.
I pressed my palm anxiously against my forehead.
“Samantha, morning. Look, I’m sorry for the early call, but I got the nicest message last night from Alan Fox saying he met you at the fundraiser and that you struck him as a particularly mature and capable young associate. I just took on a new client late yesterday and I needsomeone junior on it immediately. I realize that I’m technically supposed to ask what your workload is, so just assume I’m asking you—but before you answer, let me just say I hope you have the right answer for me.”
I sank down on the edge of the bed, wishing I could take a pill to defrost my brain. Was I still drunk? How was this happening? Not even Charlie would believe the plan had worked this fast.
“Of course, I would love to help,” I said, trying to muster all the enthusiasm I felt but couldn’t articulate in my altered state.
I could tell he had switched to speaker and was typing emails as he talked.
“Okay, good. Listen, there’s a lot of sensitivity surrounding this client. She’s being arraigned downtown in the Southern District later this morning. She’s not a household name, but most of the people she’s associated with are, so there are going to be cameras. She flew in on the red-eye from LA, and she’s coming back to the office afterward so we can get the full download on whether any of the allegations hold water. I’m confident that this is a matter any associate would kill to be staffed on, but I’m nervous about the sensitivities. I only spoke to her for ten minutes yesterday, and she’s very focused on this not becoming a media circus because of the big names involved and celebrity factor. Given the sensitivity, I need a first-year who is mature enough to deadpan the meeting.”
There was no way this could be the Film at Lincoln Center pro bono matter. My brain couldn’t connect the dots.
“Do me a favor and reserve a conference room for later this morning. We should be back from court around eleven a.m.”
It was definitely not the same thing.
The fog momentarily lifted, and the training from my first week at the firm kicked in.
“Of course. I’ll email you the conference room number and put the client’s name on the visitor list. I just need her name, and we’ll be set for eleven a.m.”
Eddie paused again, clearly distracted by something else. “Just google ‘Andie Reese, Poker Princess.’ There’s aNew York Postarticle online that will give you about as much of the background as I have right now, which is scary given I’m about to appear in court on her behalf in an hour.”
Eddie hung up as I silently cursed myself for overdoing it last night.Of course today’s the day all my dreams come true,I thought to myself, willing the pulsing in both temples to go away.
I got up and stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a few seconds, mentally creating a checklist of everything that needed to happen before I could go out in public.
Forty-five minutes later, I took stock of my reflection. Black pantsuit, mascara, heavy concealer, hair combed, teeth brushed. The irony of being hungover from a night that was curated to get me tothis exact momentwas staring me in the face. I felt like the opposite of a mature and capable young associate. If I pulled this off, I seriously needed to get my shit together.
I glanced at the clock and weighed taking the subway or an Uber. I needed time to read theNew York Postarticle on the way to the office. I punched the Uber app on my phone as I threw on flats.
I had just enough time to run downstairs and grab a coffee at the corner deli. I ordered an extra-large black coffee and spotted the car waiting in front of my building. Juggling my laptop bag and coffee, I swung open the back door of the Toyota Camry and threw my bag across the back seat.
