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.
But it was definitely my 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 need someone 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 a New York Post article 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 to this exact moment was 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 the New York Post article 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.
“I’m so sorry if you were waiting. I always think I have enough time, but then you guys are so quick!” I exclaimed, short of breath.
A bewildered face turned around, and I immediately realized I had jumped into someone’s actual car.
“Oh my God, I wasn’t even paying attention to which—”
I saw a driver across from the car I’d aggressively trespassed honking and waving at me.
I apologized again and hurled myself into the right car, barely hearing the driver say how many times he’d seen people get into the wrong Uber.
I shoved my coffee in the cup holder and googled “Andie Reese, Poker Princess.”
The arraignment lasted an hour longer than expected.
I waited in the conference room, alternating between feeling overly caffeinated and mentally drained.
I tried answering emails. I googled to find out more about Andie Reese, but there was nothing beyond the recent New York Post article.
She didn’t seem to have any social media presence.
Just after twelve o’clock, Eddie emailed to say he’d left Andie in the lobby with directions to the conference room and would join us as soon as he handled another client emergency.
A minute later, the door swung open, and a petite brunette wearing black pants, a cropped pink blazer, and matching magenta heels walked in. She stopped short when she saw me.
“Eddie Kaufman’s assistant sent me to 50B. Am I in the right place?”
I’d been sitting at the opposite end of the room. The walk to shake her hand felt like an eternity. “I’m Samantha. I work with Eddie. He should be back soon.” I motioned to the Olympic-size conference table. “Feel free to sit wherever,” I said.
She forced a smile and took a seat on the other side of the table, dropping her black Céline bag heavily on the table.
I had never done an introductory client meeting. Was I supposed to make small talk? What could we even talk about without Eddie there?
I squinted in the direction of the beverage cart that catering had brought in when I got there an hour earlier.
“Do you need anything? We have coffee, tea, juice. He should be back soon,” I repeated.
She didn’t look up from scrolling. “Sorry, what was your name again?”
I cleared my throat. “Samantha. Sam.”
She nodded, still not making eye contact.
It was clear she didn’t want to chat, and I still hadn’t decided if small talk with a new client was even kosher, so I opened my laptop to reread the article.
According to the Post, Andie Reese had gone from small-town girl to bona fide poker madam, winning over the respect of Hollywood and Wall Street elites and becoming an indispensable player outside of the poker table.
I didn’t know anything about poker, but the article alleged she had built a million-dollar business organizing private games with buy-ins that were multiples of the buy-in of a typical friendly game.
The last game she had run was raided by the FBI.
A week later, federal agents showed up at her door with a warrant and a thirty-page indictment with her name on the cover, accusing her of illegally running poker games in violation of US Criminal Code Section 1955.
The article left off where Eddie picked up. The day before, she flew to New York accompanied by two federal agents, and following her arraignment that morning in Manhattan federal court, she was sitting in a conference room in a midtown high-rise. With me.
The Post article made it sound like we had our work cut out for us.
I typed “US Criminal Code 1955.” The full name of the federal statute came up as “Prohibition of illegal gambling businesses.”
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, reading through the dense statutory text.
I emailed the firm’s copy center and requested three printed copies of Section 1955. Five minutes later, a mail room courier knocked lightly and handed me a sealed envelope. I weighed whether to give Andie a copy but decided to wait.
After what seemed like an eternity, Eddie finally appeared.
“My apologies to you both. Someone filed an injunction against the release of a client’s movie, and we had to file an objection before one p.m.”
Andie nodded expressionlessly.
“Have you two discussed anything yet?”
I shook my head. “I wanted to wait until you were here.” I really hoped he hadn’t expected me to start without him.