THIRTEEN #4
I laughed out loud—softly, and just once, but out loud. Sid Cantrell shot me a fast disapproving glance.
I extinguished my smile and slid my BlackBerry into my lap.
Are we free at last? I wrote back.
Across the room, I saw Marcus laugh. Then, just as quickly, I watched him delete my message, put away his BlackBerry, and stare back up at the podium, calm and straightfaced. Oh, Marcus was good. He was very good.
Following Marcus’s example, I turned primly back toward the stage, pasting a contemplative look onto my face.
There was nothing like one of these lavish corporate-style celebrations of ourselves to make me feel like I was just sitting on my hands, marking time. A willing pawn. Tyler had been smart not to come. I knew that now.
“So tonight,” Adler boomed, “we pay tribute to those leading the charge. This evening, we are thrilled to have with us our keynote speaker, Professor Charlton James Randall from the Harvard Law School, who will be introduced by Dr. Marilyn DuBois, of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund. I look forward to hearing from them both later this evening. And now, please, eat, drink, and enjoy.”
As if on cue, a squadron of waiters appeared from nowhere bearing salmon filet and wine.
The conversation at our table was restrained by the presence of Jack Hanover.
That much was clear. Whole minutes would slink by with only the sounds of forks and knives scraping delicately against our plates, our water glasses clinking against our wine goblets as we raised them gently to our lips.
Tim Hollister and Pam Karnow, both young, recent partners, seemed especially anxious not to say anything wrong in front of Hanover.
So the politics of sucking up didn’t end with partnership.
Both Tim and Pam called him Jack but seemed to swallow the syllable a bit, as if still unsure of their right to use it.
Jack Hanover, for his part, seemed perfectly comfortable chewing in silence, with just his salmon for company. The only time he initiated any conversation was when he waved his empty wineglass, looked around for our waiter, and murmured, “Now where’s one of those little guys when you want him?”
At the front of the ballroom, Professor Randall stood and made his way to the podium.
I’d never seen the revered Charlton James Randall in person before, but I knew who he was, of course.
We all did. In law school, I’d been assigned his Constitutional Law casebook and had done a preemption check on an article of his published in the Columbia Law Review.
A tall, bespectacled, African American man in his sixties, with a very dignified mien, he withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and smoothed it out in front of him.
“Thank you, Marty, for inviting me to speak tonight at this wonderful gathering. First off, I must commend Parsons Valentine and Hunt for taking such a strong leadership role in the cause of diversity and inclusion in the corporate workplace. Let’s have a round of applause for our gracious hosts.”
The crowd complied with cheers and applause. Professor Randall took a sip of water and began.
“On an occasion such as this, and in such esteemed company, it may be hard to believe that it was only fifty-odd years ago that Chief Justice Earl Warren handed down the famous unanimous decision proclaiming that separate is inherently unequal, and that it was only some forty years ago that Thurgood Marshall became the first African American justice to serve on the United States Supreme Court . . .”
Jack Hanover was shoveling chocolate truffle cake into his mouth.
Surely a black-and-white cookie would have been more appropriate, I thought, and smiled at my own joke.
Twenty minutes later, Professor Randall wrapped up his keynote address to thunderous applause.
My hands hurt from clapping. My face ached from holding a fake smile.
I stifled a yawn and glanced at my BlackBerry.
It was past ten. The waiters had cut off the wine supply ages ago.
Now they’d stopped making rounds with the coffee and tea.
Adler, beaming and still applauding, walked to the podium, heartily clapping Professor Randall on the back. “Thank you so much for those inspiring words. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to say a few things in closing.”
You could hear a collective sigh go up from the audience as people shifted impatiently in their seats, poised to flee, evening bags clutched in laps, programs dog-eared and discarded onto dessert plates. The attention span for celebrating diversity was apparently three hours, tops.
Adler cleared his throat. “On behalf of all my partners at Parsons Valentine and Hunt, let me just say how pleased we are that you have all joined us for tonight’s celebration.
By choosing to be here this evening, we are sending a message—loud and clear—that we cannot .
. . indeed, we will not tolerate exclusion of any kind in the courtrooms, the chambers, the legal boardrooms, and the hallowed halls of corporate America.
Tonight we recognize this truth: that all of our institutions are only enriched by the inclusion of women and people of color.
Racial and gender diversity is not just a trend, is not an albatross thrust upon us by political correctness.
No, diversity is not merely an aspirational goal.
It is one of our strongest assets. And I’ll let you in on a little secret: It is the only way any of us can hope to stay competitive in the dynamic, global marketplace of the twenty-first century. ”
My mouth was dry, and my head was positively pounding. I noticed a single glittery black bead coming loose from my clutch purse and pulled at it.
“We at Parsons Valentine and Hunt have recognized this truth for years, and it is borne out in everything we do—from reaching out to deserving communities in need through our pro bono practice to our efforts in recruiting and hiring, and then developing, promoting, and mentoring our nontraditional attorneys at every single stage of their careers.”
I picked absently at the loose bead. I glanced at my BlackBerry and scrolled through three new messages.
Adler continued, “And I am extremely proud that we have with us tonight one of the best examples of these efforts—truly a successful product of all of our recruiting, mentoring, and retention programs—Ingrid Yung, one of our most promising young attorneys in the Mergers and Acquisitions group. Ingrid, would you please stand?”
I snapped my head toward the stage. My BlackBerry banged onto the floor. He did not just say that. Did he?
“It’s all right, Ingrid—don’t be shy!” boomed Adler into the mike.
Everyone was staring at me. Marty Adler led the crowd in applause and smiled beatifically in my direction. Sid Cantrell and Jack Hanover were looking at me expectantly, clapping.
Pam Karnow and Tim Hollister looked on, appalled.
“That’s you, kid. Stand up,” Jack Hanover directed in a stage whisper.
I saw Tim’s pleading look, shaking his head slightly, willing me not to. He opened his mouth and formed the word No.
The crazy thing about it was, I did it. I couldn’t believe I was doing it, but on shaky legs I stood and smiled weakly at the crowd.
I think, in my daze, I actually even gave a sheepish little wave.
It couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds that I stood there in the spotlight, held up for the crowd’s appraisal, but it felt like an eternity.
It was the longest moment of my life, either before or since.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was incapable of saying no to people.
I was busy pleasing everyone else but myself.
When I finally sat back down, I felt faint. I could barely see.
My face was aflame. I felt a deep and burning shame, and regret.
Regret that I’d been so, so stupid. That I’d been played, but even worse, that I had let it happen.
I had seen it coming and just stood back and invited them in.
They were only doing what came naturally—it was my job alone to protect myself and watch my own back.
But I had failed spectacularly. I’d been a fool.
I looked back up at the stage and spotted Adler. I felt a profound and concentrated rage, a hatred so strong it scared me.
Adler grinned at the crowd. “Together, we can make a difference and level this playing field. Together, we truly can overcome!”