TWENTY-FIVE #2
I froze. “Yes?” What, were they asking for a raise? More days off? Were they all sick of our little lab experiment already, and going back to the safety of a juggernaut like Parsons Valentine?
“We were thinking that it’s time we had a firm outing. All the other firms do it. You know, take a day off and spend it somewhere fun. Just the seven of us. While the weather’s still good.”
Was that all? I was so happy in my relief that I laughed.
I leaned back in my swivel chair and gave myself a little scoot off my desk, gliding gently toward the windows.
I raised my arms and laced my fingers together behind my head.
“Look. I’m fine with you guys taking a day off, you know that, but I think you also know that the Oak Hollow Country Club just really isn’t my style. ”
She gave a vehement shake of her head. “Who said anything about a country club? Are you kidding? None of us would want it to be there. But what about someplace completely different? Someplace that’s the total opposite of Oak Hollow.”
I laughed. “What, like Coney Island?”
Her eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
Andrea stopped just outside my door, her arms loaded with files. “What’s this about Coney Island?”
“We will be holding our first annual Yung and Associates official firm outing at Coney Island,” I informed her. “You’re all cordially invited.”
Andrea grinned. “Seriously? No forced golf, squash, or tennis? We don’t have to eat a catered chicken puck at a white-tablecloth dinner?”
“No forced golf! No chicken pucks!” I confirmed.
Andrea and Cameron high-fived each other in the air.
We had 100 percent attendance at the Yung & Associates firm outing. Actually, more than 100 percent, if you counted Tim Hollister, who came along as my date.
Yes, that Tim Hollister. I’d bumped into him a month ago at a Corporate Legal Ethics CLE at the New York City Bar, and he’d stopped me on the way out.
“Ingrid, it’s great to see you,” he’d said.
“I hear your new firm’s going really well.
That’s terrific.” I remember scanning his face for any signs of a smirk. I couldn’t find anything amiss.
I admit to being a little cautious, both because Tim’s still a partner at Parsons Valentine and because I hadn’t really dated anyone since the whole debacle with Murph, but Tim seemed genuinely happy for me.
We made plans for coffee the next week, and then lunch the week after that, which lasted for three hours, and led to dinner the following week.
Which lasted til the wee hours of the morning. So we shall see.
As we all meandered along the boardwalk, Tim and I polishing off a funnel cake between us, Cameron and Jason suddenly stopped short, looking up ahead.
“Oh, it’s on,” Jason said.
Cameron nodded. “It is so on.”
I looked. They were staring straight ahead at the Cyclone.
Cameron and Jason insisted on waiting three extra rounds just so they could get the first car of the roller coaster.
But when it was finally their turn to ride in front, and the train came roaring with a loud clackety-clack into the rickety old station, the two of them stepped aside and motioned for me and Tim to get in the front car.
“Seriously? You guys just waited three extra turns for the front,” I said.
“Please. We insist.”
“You sure?” said Tim.
The muscular, impressively tattooed ride attendant looked at the crowd waiting behind us and growled, “Yeah, yeah, they’re sure. Come on. Today, people.”
Tim grinned and grabbed my arm, and together we clambered into the front car of the Cyclone. Cameron and Jason, Margo and Sofia, and Dave and Andrea climbed into the three cars behind us.
I looked down and scrabbled at the sides of our car. “Where’s the seat belt in this thing?”
The ride attendant strode over and gruffly pushed the single crossbar down across our laps. “No seat belt required.”
The train began to move. I grasped the single lap bar so hard my knuckles whitened.
As the famous old wooden coaster slowly climbed to the crest of the first hill, I snuck a sideways glance at Tim.
He was smiling at me, peering down at the straight drop below and darting gleeful looks backward at the others, who were already squealing and pumping their fists in the air.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been on a roller coaster. I used to really love them as a kid.
The rickety clicks grew louder and slower and farther between, and suddenly we were stopped, as the train balanced for one precarious moment high on top, as if bracing itself before it went down for its first drop.
Tim nudged my elbow. “Okay. Now let go.”
“What?” I yelled, as we slowly nosed forward.
“Let go!” he yelled back. As we started to dip, and everyone behind us began to squeal, Tim lifted his arms from the crossbar and let out a loud, joyous whoop.
I slipped my hands off the crossbar and raised my arms high above my head in the precise moment that I felt the coaster pitch all the way forward.
My stomach dropped, and I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The wind rushed in my ears and my hair was loose and whipping across my face.
I felt wildly free. I felt both young and fearless.