Chapter Eight
Thursday night, Charlie and I took our seats at a table reserved for Lincoln Center’s most prominent benefactors because someone had clearly expected Eddie and his guest to fill the seats.
Instead, we were getting our first real Big Law perk: a charity gala where the guests could have paid off our student loans at the snap of a finger.
“Listen to this,” I overheard someone say across the table.
“My wife and I wrote one check about twenty-five years ago, and then someone—presumably our accountant, because it sure as hell wasn’t me—just kept writing that check every year, and now our nineteen-year-old goes to school with her last name etched on the college gymnasium. ”
I had never been in a room with so many influential people. Half the conversation was fluff, but the air buzzed with possibility. Everyone looked like their life was more fascinating than the next. I secretly wished that someday I’d have a real reason to be there.
If anyone could appreciate the people watching more than me, it was Charlie.
“Kind of makes you want to just become an observer of human behavior,” he said as he bit off a huge chunk of a breadstick. “It’s why I majored in anthropology.”
We didn’t know anyone else at the table, but it was clear they weren’t there to fill seats.
The woman on the other side of me was Pamela Klaflin, a journalist turned film producer whose documentary was premiering in a few weeks at the New York Film Festival.
Charlie was seated next to a veteran film composer who had worked with Jerome Robbins and Leonard Bernstein.
We explained that we were associates who worked at Eddie Kaufman’s law firm.
“I see,” Pamela said. “Have you met Alan Fox? He recruited Eddie to the board.”
I shook my head. “I just joined the firm. We’re here representing A&K,” I explained. “What’s it like to have a film premiering at the festival?”
“It never gets old seeing people watch your work. I’ve had films at festivals all over the world, but screening at my home festival is still a thrill.”
I nodded. “It’s really a dream just to be here. I love so many movies that came out of the festival.”
“What’s one of your favorites?” she asked.
“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,” I answered quickly. “I had never seen a French film before. But I went to see it in theaters after the New York Film Festival reviewed it, and I fell in love.”
She folded her napkin and smiled triumphantly. “Come with me.”
We walked to a table at the front of the room where she tapped a man on the shoulder. “Alan, this is Samantha. She works with Eddie Kaufman, and she’s a huge fan of Julian’s.”
I reached out to shake his hand, hoping I looked more at ease than I felt. I could feel my nerves beneath the wine buzz. “I just joined the firm a few weeks ago,” I added.
“Julian Schnabel? I think he’s here somewhere. Julian loves a fan.”
“I loved The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. It would have been magical to see it screened here.”
“Well it’s nice to meet you, Samantha. We’re all Eddie Kaufman fans here. The festival is lucky to have him in our corner. Especially with the red tape we’re dealing with fighting the city.”
“The pro bono matter, right?” I asked quickly, hoping it seemed like I had some idea of what he was talking about.
He nodded. “Are you working on ‘festival-gate’ too?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. But if there’s an opportunity for me to pitch in, I’d love to help any way I can,” I added.
“We’re going to need all the muscle the firm can give. The kickoff meeting is next Tuesday. Do you have a card?”
I was so grateful I hadn’t left my Longchamp behind. “Absolutely,” I said, digging into my bag.
Pamela looked satisfied with having made the connection. “Shall we head back to our seats?”
“Very nice meeting you, Sam. Give Eddie my regards,” he said enthusiastically. My brain was firing in all directions. I knew I’d be checking my email obsessively between now and Tuesday.
Charlie was reading an email on his phone when I got back to the table. I leaned over as soon as Pamela started talking to the person next to her.
“You’ll never believe who I just met.”
“Robert De Niro.”
“Close. I met the guy who convinced Eddie to join the board.”
“No way! What did he say?”
“I think he’s going to email me. He mentioned something that I’m pretty sure relates to the pro bono matter Eddie’s working with them on.”
“Sick.”
I laughed. “When I wake up tomorrow, is any of this actually going to be real?”
“You mean, my genius plan is working.”
The gala ended promptly at nine o’clock.
“Nightcap?” he asked.
“Did you learn that word from Mad Men?” I asked.
“Yes, and I’m bringing it back.”
I laughed. I felt like I was on a networking high. “Okay, sure. Maybe somewhere between here and the West Village?”
Charlie smiled. “I’m sure we can stumble into something.”
I stood up slowly, willing my heels to get me to whatever bar we stumbled into.
Charlie quickly hailed a cab outside Cipriani’s. “Moore and Greenwich Street?”
The driver shot up the West Side Highway, making such impressive time that before I knew it, we were being dropped off at Smith & Mills, an unassuming bar in an old carriage house across from the Greenwich Hotel.
We found two corner seats, and Charlie ordered a Montauk Ale.
“I think I just need a second,” I said to the bartender, who nodded and went to get Charlie’s beer while I looked over the cocktail list, trying to decipher ingredients that might as well have been written in French.
“Do you think they can just do a vodka soda?” I asked.
Charlie leaned over the bar. “A Ketel and soda, please.”
I feigned offense. “I can order my own drink, you know.”
He looked genuinely embarrassed.
“Hey,” I said, lightly punching his shoulder. “I’m like two months into swimming in a man’s world. I have to joke about this stuff when I can.”
He peeled off the label of the beer.
“Was tonight everything you never expected when you imagined yourself at an outrageous charitable event?”
I reached for the vodka soda.
“I think I have one of those in me for every billable quarter.”
He laughed. “At least you’re picking up the nerdy lawyer jokes.”
I toasted my tumbler against his beer bottle. “Fake it till you make it?”
“Exactly.” He folded and refolded the beer label.
“So, I wasn’t planning to bring this up—at least, I wasn’t sure if I was going to .
. . but I went for beers with some of the guys from your summer class, and they mentioned you were married when you interned at the firm last summer.
But you never mentioned it, and I didn’t want to be nosy.
But I mean, we basically spend all our time together, and I guess at the end of the day I’m just a tipsy, nosy schmuck,” he said, looking embarrassed again.
I felt myself sit up straighter. It wasn’t that I’d intentionally kept Ben from Charlie—I just figured it would come up at some point. At least now that it had, I could blame the unlimited wine and a vodka soda for pretending I wasn’t as self-conscious about it as I was.
I told Charlie about meeting Ben in college, then getting married soon after I graduated. Deciding to go to law school. Long days of class and long nights of studying and making lunches and dinners in between. Interning in New York. Growing apart. Wanting more from life.
“Law school changed me so much. Sometimes I didn’t even recognize myself.
I could feel myself evolving past our life together, and as much as I tried to ignore it at first, I was just so unhappy.
When I told him I was leaving, I thought he knew it was coming.
But he didn’t. At least, he said he didn’t.
He expected me to finish school and go back to the life we had before. But everything had changed.”
Charlie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. He didn’t say anything right away.
“You’re a cool girl. I’m sure it sucked for him to lose you.
But at the end of the day, you deserve to do what makes you happy, and he deserves to be with someone who’s happy with him.
He’ll find his person. You can’t feel bad for outgrowing someone.
Now that you’re here, just give it everything you’ve got, and make it worth the growing pains. ”
I nodded, a quiet sense of relief loosening in my chest. “I’m actually glad you asked.”
“Tough having secrets when you share an office.”
I looked down at my watch. “And—we have to be at work in about seven hours,” I said, mentally calculating the glasses of water I needed to drink before I let myself fall asleep so I wouldn’t wake up a total zombie.
“Yeah, we should head out. But seriously—anytime you want to talk about stuff, I’m here. Literally, I’m here, twelve hours a day, five days a week, right next to you.”
“Forced proximity therapy. I’m very into the efficiency of that,” I said as I felt around to slip my feet back into my heels.
“I’ll walk you home and then hop in a cab,” Charlie offered.
I shook my head. “I should just get a cab. It’s a twenty-minute walk for me, and these heels aren’t going to make it.”
He hailed a cab and opened the door for me.
“Hey. I think your story is going to work out just the way you want it to. Whatever that is.” He smiled. “Thanks for a fun night.”
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.”