Chapter Twenty-Nine
I was eating a salad at my desk on Wednesday when Charlie and his suitcase rolled into the office from yet another Texas deposition.
“Did you come back just for the Fordham recruiting event?” I asked.
“You bet. You’re still going, right?”
“You think I’d miss the chance to help the firm recruit the next Charlie Bronstein?”
He looked at my bandaged left wrist, which I’d self-wrapped to avoid taking time to go to the doctor. It still hurt like hell four days later.
“Shit, what happened to you?”
“I’m fine. I tripped over a pair of shoes in the middle of the night. It’s just a sprain.”
There was no way to explain ripping a towel holder out of a wall without sounding like a deranged drunk.
“Did you get an X-ray?”
“I’m just icing it.”
He looked suspicious. “You tripped, huh?”
I nodded. “You can add ‘clumsy’ to the list of adjectives when you introduce me to all the awkward law students tonight. The worst part is I’m a leftie, so I can’t write, and I’m typing like a five-year-old.”
At six, we packed up our laptops and took a cab to Fordham’s Lincoln Center campus. The security guard pointed us toward a banquet hall filled with black suits. We found our name tags and stood awkwardly off to the side.
“Drink?”
I shook my head. “I’m going to try doing this without alcohol. I want to see if I can win people over with my unaltered personality.”
“Seems a little unfair to the firm. We’re here to recruit the best and brightest.”
“Then you can bait them with your personality, and I’ll swoop in and talk about how magical the work is.”
“Just don’t forget to tell them you’re consulting for a famous screenwriter. It’s the only reason I invited you.”
He grabbed a Heineken and surveyed the room.
“Divide and conquer?”
I wasn’t so into that idea—I thought we’d at least be fielding stilted conversations together—but said sure anyway as I watched him cross the room.
Half an hour later, I was sandwiched between two international students running through a synchronized script of questions. I couldn’t tell if it was my problem or theirs, but I’d never been more bored. I really wanted a drink.
I finally excused myself and escaped to the restroom. I locked myself in a corner stall and texted Charlie an SOS.
My phone buzzed with a text from Emilie.
He just broke up with me. It’s over.
I texted Charlie again.
OK now I actually have to go. Friend emergency.
Still no response.
Fuck it, I muttered as I exited the restroom and picked up a prosecco from a table of prepoured glasses.
I scanned the room and spotted him in a corner talking to a blond who looked like a potential recruit.
He looked over and gave me a wave. I pointed toward the door to signal I was heading out. He held up two fingers and mouthed, “Two minutes.”
I wasn’t feeling patient. I drained the prosecco and unpinned my name tag. I shot an irritable look back in Charlie’s direction. It looked like she was putting his number in her phone.
He strolled over and held up his empty beer bottle.
“Did you see a recycling bin anywhere?”
I laughed despite my agitation. “Over there. Did that student just give you her number?”
“She did.”
“So that you guys can talk more about life at the firm, or . . .?”
“I can’t tell if you’re making a joke.”
“I’m making a point. She’s a law student who might be an intern next summer. Remember the summer bubble?”
“She’s interested in real estate and asked if we could have a follow-up conversation.” He shrugged. “She seems like a great candidate, and it sounds like she’s considering multiple firms. She’s third in her class. I can swing a phone call if it helps the cause.”
I pointed to the empty bottle. “Okay Mr. EPA. Chuck it so we can go. Emilie texted an SOS, and I’m trying to track down where she is.”
“Wait! Almost forgot—we have to check out the rooftop before we head down. That girl said the view is unbelievable.”
I still hadn’t heard from Emilie where she was, but I couldn’t say no to someone who’d lived in New York for years and still got excited about a view. I could imagine a slightly younger law student being charmed by someone like Charlie. A high-powered lawyer who recycled.
The top of the Empire State Building seemed so close you could almost touch it. We stood there quietly as I texted Emilie again.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
His face was backlit by the city. I tried mirroring his look, but it was unreadable.
“Yes, counselor?”
“Have you really not slept with anyone—sober—since you got divorced?”
I shot him a look. “How many beers have you had?”
“Three.”
“Is that where this is coming from?”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean your question feels like it came out of nowhere. Like a three-beers-in question.”
He shrugged. “I was just thinking about it.”
“Why?”
“What about the date you went on a few days ago, with the bartender guy?”
“Waiter. Are you asking if I slept with him?”
“I guess I am.”
“We didn’t. And no, I wasn’t exaggerating about the sober sex. Or lack of it.”
“Damn.” He looked away. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know. Sober sex is so much better than drunk sex. Personally, I’ve had enough drunk hookups to last the rest of my life. At a certain point, it just feels like masturbating with someone else in the room.”
My mind was trying to decide if I was comfortable having this conversation. “That’s . . . visual.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Forget I asked. You know how nosy I get after a few beers.”
I smiled sympathetically as we rode the elevator down to the lobby. “I really need to get home, but I have to find Emilie first. And then there’s a screenwriter waiting for me to blow him away with my explanation of federal sentencing guidelines.”
“How many times a day do you use that line?”
“I’ve lost track.”
He grinned. “Get on the sober sex train, Sam. You won’t regret it.”
“Bye!” I rolled my eyes as I jumped in the next cab.
I still hadn’t heard back from Emilie, so I decided to stop by her apartment to see if she was home.
“West Twelfth and Fifth, please.”
I stared out the window, Charlie’s question repeating in my head. It was an intimate question, but it didn’t feel intrusive. The idea of him thinking about my sex life made my heart beat a little faster.
I needed a male perspective. Before I could change my mind, I dialed Connor.
Gillian answered in a whisper. “Hi Sam, it’s Gillian. Connor’s asleep. He pulled an all-nighter.”
I heard a groggy voice ask who was calling as she passed him the phone.
“Sam? Is everything okay?”
“Looks like someone is still burning it at both ends even though you rejected lawyerhood.”
“Yeah, yeah. Seriously, what’s up? I don’t think we’ve ever talked on the phone before, and if I can be completely frank, I’m much more of a texter.”
“I just wanted some . . . guy advice,” I said, feeling lame.
I could almost hear him sit up straighter.
“Well, Sam, I’ve been waiting for this moment. I’m your one honest male friend, and I’ve been massively underutilized.”
“This is your time to shine, then,” I mumbled, starting to regret the decision to call.
“I heard that you and Christophe made a night of it. Very proud of you. So are we talking about him, or that waiter Emilie said you went out with?”
I took a breath. “It’s about Charlie.”
“Officemate Charlie?”
I told him about the drunk confession I’d made in the Catskills and how Charlie randomly brought it up tonight, out of nowhere.
“I just wanted your thoughts on why he would still be thinking about it. The conversation happened over a month ago.”
Connor didn’t respond for a few seconds, and I held the screen up to see if he was still there.
“Hello?”
“I’m thinking. I guess there’s a chance he’s hearing you tell him that you haven’t had good sex in a really long time, and now wires are getting crossed, and his brain is telling him that he needs to be the guy to save you from your dry spell. Totally possible.”
“For the record, I said it was a sober sex dry spell.”
“Are you into him?”
I scoffed. “No! He’s my officemate.”
“I thought you guys were friends.”
“We are. But it’s not like that.”
“It isn’t till it is, love.”
I sighed exasperatedly. “It’s not. And I don’t think any wires got crossed. I just wanted your thoughts on why he brought it up again.”
“You asked and I answered. Either he’s crossed from the friend zone into the attraction zone, or he’s just swooping in to save your arse from more drunk sex—either way, my point is that you should figure out how you feel about him before you ask, because it could get pretty awkward if you’re not on the same page. ”
“The same page of what?”
“You’re painfully overthinking this. I’m hanging up.”
I swiped my Amex as the cab pulled up to Emilie’s apartment.
“Okay. I can’t say this was helpful, but I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”
“Just stop putting rules on everything. Charlie’s a nice laddie, but all guys fantasize about their lady friends at some point. I know you girls still binge When Harry Met Sally like it didn’t come out the year you were born.”
I got out of the cab as the doorman waved me up.
Charlie was more than an officemate. He had quickly become one of my closest friends.
I knew from the basement sushi dinner gone south just how destabilizing it was to be knocked off our easy camaraderie.
I couldn’t imagine gambling with the idea of crossing an emotional or physical line.
The doorman waved me up to Emilie’s floor. I knocked lightly on the door and waited. No answer. I dug around in my bag for a Post-it. I was mid-note when the elevator door opened and Emilie stumbled out, her left arm draped around the shoulder of a man I intuitively knew was Stephen.
“Almost there,” I heard him say as I stood there uncomfortably. There was nothing good about this situation.
“Hey, Em,” I said.
“Oh, fuck,” she slurred, stopping short when she saw me.
I looked at Stephen. “What happened?”
He sighed heavily. “She’ll be okay, but she’s very intoxicated. I don’t think she should be alone.” He ran his hand through thick, wavy hair. “Can you stay with her tonight?”
I nodded. “Yes, of course.”
He looked pained. “I just don’t think I should be the one . . . given I’m the one . . .”
“I get it.”
She stared down at the hallway carpet, swaying back and forth. I hated that he was seeing her like this.
“She told me she took a Valium, so she should fall right to sleep. I just wanted to make sure she got home safely.”
“Thanks, I can take it from here.”
I could tell that he was trying to make the best of a miserable situation, but I also knew how bad this was for her, on so many levels.
“The keys should be in her bag,” I said.
“I’ve got one.” He looked embarrassed. “I should leave it with you.”
We helped her onto the bed. Neither of us said anything. I was struck by how normal he looked, like a younger version of Ed Harris with corporate clothes and lots of hair.
“You must be Sam.”
I nodded. “And you’re Stephen.”
“Thanks for staying with her.”
He nervously cracked the knuckle of his right index finger. “I’d appreciate your discretion on this. Our world is very small.”
Emilie was passed out with her head on the pillow and her feet still on the floor.
“I’d ask the same of you, I guess. For her.”
“Of course. She’s a brilliant mind. It would be a shame if she left the firm.”
I winced, thankful she wasn’t awake to hear that.
“I should go.” He held up the key. “I’ll leave this next to the door.”
“Thanks. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
I didn’t even know about Stephen two weeks ago, but somehow he had a key.
I watched him leave and waited until I heard the door close behind him.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
I carefully took off her boots and covered her with a blanket. I poured a glass of water and left Advil on the nightstand, then took an extra pillow and made a small makeshift bed on the floor next to her.
I went to the kitchen and opened my laptop to answer an email from George Brenner, then went back to check on Emilie. I stripped down to my bra and panties and pulled the couch throw over me. I lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering if she’d remember anything in the morning.
My phone lit the room with a text from Charlie.
Emilie OK?
I sent back a thumbs-up.
She will be. See ya in the morning.