I wanted to be me so bad I was on fire.” He gazes out of a massive window at the best view in the city. From his vantage point, you can see all the way to the Delaware River and the snaky black border it makes between Pennsylvania and New Jersey. An occasional tourist ferry travels in slow motion under the Ben Franklin Bridge. We ain’t the port of call we used to be.
“I would have killed to be me,” Berkowitz says absently. Suddenly he snatches a pack of Marlboros from his desk and lights one up, belching out a puff of smoke so thick it looks like the Industrial Revolution took place in his office. I pretend the smoke doesn’t bother me, which it does, mightily. I try not to breathe.
“But you’re not interested in this shit and neither am I. You’re wondering why I called you up here.” He takes a slow drag on the cigarette and squints at me through the smoke.
I nod, yes.
“Two reasons. One: That was a helluva result you got on the motion before Bitterman. I saw him at the Rules Committee meeting”—at this he winces—”and he told me you had great potential.”
“Uh … thank you.”
“He’s an ugly bastard, isn’t he?”
I laugh.
“Two: Harbison’s GC is sending me a new case. You know how they like to spread their business around, get all the firms competing with each other. They sent the case to Masterson originally, but the GC thinks we can do a better job. We can, right?”
“Right.” So we stole a case from Masterson, Moss & Dunbar, the firm at the apex of the holy trinity. We must have snaked them with our win before Bitter Man and some pillow talk by Berkowitz. He doesn’t say these things, but I don’t need a crib sheet to translate Latin One.
“It’s another age discrimination case. They demoted a CFO, so it’s very high-profile. And they won’t settle. They want to crush the bastard.” Berkowitz blows an enormous cloud of smoke upward, which is something he does at meetings when he thinks he’s being considerate. “I’m assigning the case to you, Mary Mary. You make all the calls, just be sure you blind-copy me on the correspondence. I don’t want to look like a smacked ass if the GC calls. There’s a pretrial conference scheduled for today at three-thirty. It’s your baby. Any questions?” He sucks on the cigarette throttled between his thick knuckles. Its red tip flashes on like a stoplight.
“And … Martin?”
“Forget Martin!” he says, breathing smoke. “You don’t need Martin, do you?”
“No, I just … I thought he handled your matters.”
“Well, he doesn’t. I told him the other day. He’s fine with it. You want this case or don’t you?”
“I do. I do.”
“Good. Then we’re married.” He erupts into laughter.
I laugh too, with relief and wonder.
“Now get out of my office. Can’t you see I’m a busy man?”
I laugh again, but the meeting is over. I get up to leave.
“By the way, Ned Waters was in here bitching today. He heard that only two of you will be making partner in June. You hear anything like that, Mary, Queen of Scots?”
“No,” I lie.
“Fine,” he replies, knowing I’m lying. “It’s not true.”
“Good,” I reply, knowing he’s lying.
As I leave his office, I see that Delia’s headset is off, resting at the base of her neck like a cheap choker. As I walk by, she’s sipping tea in a genteel way from a white china cup. An affectation she’s picked up from Berkowitz, who likes to stub out his Marlboro in the saucer.
“See you later, Delia.”
“Ready to play with the big boys, Mary?” She looks daggers at me over the delicate cup.
Her expression bewilders me. “Guess so.”
“You’d better be.” Her lovely eyes glitter with hostility as she sets the cup down. It makes an unhappy sound when it crashes into the saucer.
“Are you mad at me for something, Delia?”
“You, Mary? Never. You’re little Miss Perfect. Hail Mary, full of grace. He forgot that one, didn’t he? But that’s not one he’d know.”
Before I can react, Berkowitz’s hulking frame appears in the doorway. His cigarette is burnt all the way down to the V between his index and middle fingers, but he seems heedless of it. “Delia, I need you in here,” he says gruffly.
“But I’m having a nice conversation with Mary, Mr. Berkowitz.” Her full lips curve upward in a sly smile.
“Now!” It sounds like a gunshot.
I jump, but Delia doesn’t. Still smiling, she stands up and unfolds slowly, from her perky breasts on down. She and Berkowitz lock eyes, with him looking the stern principal to her naughty schoolgirl. As I turn to go, I hear the door of Berkowitz’s office close behind them.
“Oh-ho!” Brent whoops behind the closed door of my office. “She’s jealous of you, Mare. Sammie’s giving you your big chance, and it’s killing her. This ain’t a law firm, it’s a miniseries!”
“You think she’s jealous?”
“That girl needs a spanking, and I bet I know who’s gonna—”
“Jealous enough to send me that note?”
His face falls. “My God, Mary. I didn’t think of that.”
“Is she capable of it?”
“I only know what I hear about her. Sure, she’s the type to send a hate note—she’d do it in a minute. But follow you around in a car? That’s a bit much. I’d sooner believe that of Waters. And he has more of a reason. It’s his partnership you’d take.” Brent bites at a thumbnail.
“I don’t think it’s Ned.”
“Why?”
“Something tells me it’s not him. I don’t know; if anything, he seems kind of vulnerable. And why not Delia? Look, I don’t know if she’s having an affair with Berkowitz, and it doesn’t matter. What if she has a crush on him and he’s favoring me? Maybe that’s enough to piss her off.”
“They’re having an affair, Mare. He left five minutes after her Monday night. Janet won four bucks.”
I flash on the way Berkowitz looked at Delia before they closed the door. “Okay. So maybe they’re having an affair. That would make her even more jealous, wouldn’t it?”
He shakes his head, examining the ragged nail. “It’s not her,” he says with certainty.
“How
