Big Law (26 page)

The last time I had an anxiety attack was two years ago, after a Yankee playoff game I attended with Jason. When the Yankees’ fate was sealed in the ninth inning, there was a mass exodus to the exits. The subway platform outside Yankee stadium was so packed I had to pull my purse to my front because there was no room on either side of me to keep it swung over my shoulder. I was at the front of the platform when the train pulled up, causing the crowd behind me to surge towards the doors. Suddenly I was swept up by the powerful wave of people, no longer in control of my own movement, being pushed towards a train that wasn’t even the one I wanted to get on. Thankfully, Jason ended up on the same train. He spent the ride back to Manhattan calming my scarily racing pulse.

This was not supposed to be happening now, just when I reached the goal I’d been working so hard to achieve, was it? I should have been popping into the nearest bar, calling out “drinks are on me,” but instead I only felt like a crate of bricks had been placed on my shoulders.
Get a grip, Mackenzie
, I admonished myself.
Everything’s going the way you always wanted
.
The glittering prize is finally yours.

I kept walking uptown, stepping over the littered coffee cups on the sidewalk, as I tried to quell the questions zipping through my mind—
Is working at F&D ever going to get any better? Can I submit myself to another round of Saul’s abuse? Did Ben really think forcing me to prove my own innocence was simply an “unfortunate event”? If I stay at F&D am I destined to end up like Ben or, worse, like Saul?
They were the antithesis of everything I wanted to be.

I thrust my hands through my hair, struggling to calm my thoughts. I’d never felt so uncertain in my life. I’d always been positive about what I wanted and where I was headed. Now, the sounds
of a nearby jackhammer seemed to be beating like a tribal drum, the city noises chanting,
Is this what you want out of life? Is this what you want out of life?

I considered my life in the last few years—the countless hours, the inhumane work schedule, numerous greasy dinners eaten at my desk or in some windowless conference room. What struck me most was how much I’d changed.

Had I really used an air canister to keep another associate awake? Had I really just sat there and let Vincent call Rita trailer trash? Had I let months go by without seeing Kim? Had I even bothered to email Uncle Nigel back? A hot rush of shame flooded my body. I paused for a red light. I had walked ten blocks. Tension grew in my body and my heart pounded until I could barely breathe. Deep down I knew why I hadn’t left F&D sooner—because I had bought into it. The firm had managed to convince me that working in Biglaw was the only symbol of success and that anything outside Biglaw’s doors was failure. I had drunk the Kool-Aid. The whole damn glass jug with the smiley face on it. Biglaw just does that to you. It wears you down until you see things its way.

I rummaged through my purse with trembling hands, looking for my phone but not yet sure who I was going to call.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out. “I think this fell out of your purse.” A kind-looking older man walked towards me holding out a plastic card. “You look much too young to have such a worn employee ID card,” he observed, smiling.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, reaching out to accept the card. “It’s uh … it’s not actually mine.” He looked at me, confused. “I mean, it is mine. It’s just … thank you.” I smiled warmly, stopping myself from getting too far into the explanation. He walked away as I stared down at Uncle Nigel’s World Trade Center ID, my heart pounding in my chest.

I suddenly knew it with the deepest certainty I’d ever felt. I don’t want this. I don’t want to spend my life in a war room. I don’t want to miss out anymore.

A
LL OF MY PERSONAL
items fit into one banker’s box—my diplomas, three framed pictures, and various toiletries. I bagged up the Seamless rations that filled my shelves and donated them to Henderson’s Bodega—twenty-four granola bars, eighteen Diet Cokes, eleven bottles of water, nine bags of M&Ms, and three boxes of cereal. Some night soon a weary associate was going to need a caffeine and sugar fix and would get it from my provisions. I silently hoped that the winning lottery ticket would come from the proceeds. Everything else went into a giant recycling bin that seemed to magically appear outside my office minutes after I had walked out of Ben’s.

Ben had been surprised when I told him I had to respectfully decline the StarCorp secondment. His surprise turned to irritation when I told him I was also resigning from F&D. There wasn’t any dramatic “take this BlackBerry and shove it.” I simply thanked him for the opportunity and gave my two weeks’ notice.

“You’re making an irreparable mistake,” Ben snarled. “If you pull out of this race, there’s no way to reach the finish line.”

I wanted to tell him that the race he was running was unwinnable. Biglaw was like a perpetual marathon, where someone from the sidelines passed you a Dixie cup of water that you swigged, crumpled up, and tossed back. You could be sustained, but you’d never be fulfilled. “I’m okay with that,” I replied confidently.

Perhaps thinking that I was going to grab a megaphone and lead a mutiny of Biglaw associates everywhere, Ben had rejected my offer
of two weeks’ notice and suggested I leave today. “It’s for the best that way. Just provide me a list of all of the matters you’re working on so we can assign them to another associate,” he’d ordered before giving a curt nod of his head.

“Will do,” I’d replied. All the work I’d obsessed over like the future of the human race depended on it would be reassigned to some other hungry young associate. The Biglaw beat would go on without me. There would just be one less Storm Trooper in the Death Star.

When I pulled his office door shut behind me, I noticed my hands were shaking. Not with fear, but with relief.

“Mac, I just got your email!” Alex swept into my office now, looking flustered. His eyes grew wide as he took in the state of disarray. “Holy crap, this is all going down
today
?”

I nodded, a little shell-shocked myself. Luckily, I didn’t need the money that came along with two more weeks of work. I had saved up enough from expensing my life away to last me about three months. Pawning the earrings Jason gave me would give me another two months. And then … then I’d have to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I was nervous, but felt lighter than I’d ever felt before. I was twenty-eight years old and could do anything I liked. As Kim pointed out to me, I was living in the city
designed
for people reinventing themselves.

“I wanted to tell you before you heard it from Sadir’s latest,” I said to Alex, as I briefly considered popping my car-shaped deal toy into the banker’s box before rejecting the idea and tossing it in the trash.

“I’m surprised he’s not here hiding in this recycling bin to get the nitty gritty details.”

I snickered. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

My BlackBerry suddenly buzzed, causing the Pavlovian response of a tight band of stress around my lungs. Thankfully, this email had nothing to do with work.

Still on. See you at eight
, I replied, reveling in how wonderful it felt to make promises I knew I could keep.

“Wow.” Alex blew out a long breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you won’t be here Monday. Who am I going to grab coffee with?”

“Well, word on the street is you won’t be too lonely …” I trailed off with a mischievous edge.

A look of confusion crossed Alex’s face before it clicked. “Oh, you mean Jane?” His eyes lit up.

“Yes, Jane.” I grinned. Sadir had finally managed to include one interesting tidbit in his “latest” before I left. Alex had been quietly dating the same girl for the past month and a half, an unheard-of length of time for him. “I heard she’s an ar-tist,” I joked, with a hoity tone.

“She is. Can you believe it? Me with a creative type?”

I nodded approvingly. “I can see it.”

He paused for a minute, seemingly trying to decide if he should reveal what was on his mind. “Looks like I won’t be the only one with a creative type.” A tiny grin played at his lips.

Now I was the one who was confused.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The guy you were out with on Monday night at the Pig—Lawrence Brogan. He’s the author of all those vampire books that turned into movies. Didn’t you know that?”

I shook my head. Lawrence was a writer? A famous one? I hadn’t even Googled him.

“I thought you knew, but I guess you haven’t had a lot of time for reading lately. See how much you’ve been missing out on?”

I smiled, considering this. “I can’t really remember the last time I read for pleasure. I can actually read a book now.”

“Maybe you’ll even discover some hidden talent, like they do in the movies. Hey, you could always write a book about this crazy world.” Alex gestured grandly towards the bustling office outside my door. “There’s a mountain of outrageous material just dying to be exposed. I’ve always thought I sensed creativity in you that was just being stymied by this place. Maybe dating a creative type will bring it out.”

“You never know.” I shrugged, blushing slightly.

“Just make sure you don’t lump me in with these idiots. Make sure I’m a good guy.”

“If I ever did write a book, I can assure you, you would be the one anomaly.” I smiled, realizing I would’ve never made it through the past six months without him. “Wait a sec. How did you know that I was out with Lawrence the other night?” Not even Sadir would have been able to collect that information this quickly. Slowly, my mind pieced it together. “You … you came by the Pig that night?”

He nodded, looking the slightest bit guilty.

“But why didn’t you …” I squeaked, my voice shaking.

“I know how much you’ve been through lately. And when I saw you, you looked happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. I figured I shouldn’t interrupt.” He shrugged.

I looked into his eyes and there was a brief charged moment that felt like if the timing had been different with us, things might have gone the other way. Then the moment was gone.

“Thank you,” my voice croaked. “For everything.”

“Anytime, Mac.” He opened his arms for a hug. Without hesitation, I stepped into them.

Before I left the offices at 919 Third Avenue for the final time, I took one last nostalgic look at my office, which had at times filled me with dread and other times been the place where I sought refuge. The desk was clear, the shelves empty, except for a lone air canister. I smiled and threw the canister in the trash. Hide the evidence and remove the temptation for a future diligence drone to torture junior associates. My old office was now ready for its next inhabitant. I took a deep breath and closed the door.

I am deeply grateful to my agent, Allison Hunter, who believed in BigLaw from the very beginning. Allison, you have been an outstanding advocate, therapist, and friend. This book would not have flourished without your tireless efforts.

A big thank you to my talented editor, Jon Malsiak, for your keen insight and making the publishing process virtually painless. Working with you has been a delight and a privilege. Thank you to Sonali Oberg for your contributions with marketing and to the many others at Ankerwyke for helping this all come together. Much appreciation to my publicist Crystal Patriarche and the BookSparks team. Thank you to Kaitlyn Bitner for your creative and eye-catching cover design and to Shari Smiley at Gotham Group for taking this book under your wing.

I’ve been so fortunate to have the support of friends and family during my time working in Biglaw and writing BigLaw. And though the list is endless, many thanks to the following people: Kimberley Hall, Gosia Bawolska, Rick Royale, Paige Moss, Sonja Cameron, Bert Cameron, Lauren Waters, Amber Bagnulo, Michele Murphy, Erik Magraken, James Magraken, Owen Magraken, Chi-Yon Lamprecht, Nigel Lamprecht, Mike and Lis Steinberg, the Bohaker Family, and the Akerly Family.

I owe a special debt to Ellen Montizambert. If you had not gotten on a plane and worked with me to shape this book it would still be collecting dust on a shelf. You’re also the reason I made it through my first year of law school. Is there nothing you can’t do?

Thank you to the friends and colleagues that crouched with me in the trenches of biglaw. I would list you each individually, but then I would miss someone and that’s how rumors get started. You know who you are. Know that your humor and kindness made the all nighters much more bearable.

My heartfelt thanks to Serena Palumbo for helping me keep the faith and for pointing me in the direction of my lovely literary agent. You always have my back and I’m so grateful.

Thank you to my parents for being an endless source of love and encouragement. Dad, on September 11 you walked down 103 flights of stairs and kept going. With your unwavering strength, you taught me the true meaning of pressing on. Mom, you have always been in my corner and are as fierce and loyal as they come. And I know that right at this moment you and Dad are sitting in a restaurant telling the waitress that your daughter wrote a book. Thank you for championing the cause.

Thank you to my sister, Catherine Magraken, who has been a faithful cheerleader throughout. You are the one who convinced me I should be a writer based solely on the Easter bunny story I wrote in the second grade. And to my brother, Michael Lamprecht, who will always indulge me in a good debate about hockey. Gretzky is better than Lemieux. There - last word. Another problem solved.

Very special shout out to everyone who has ever enjoyed a good Happy Hour on the deck at Reef Road. You are my people. Now pass the Fritos.

Last but not least, thank you to the loves of my life. Gord, you always manage to make me laugh in any situation, even when we’re traveling cross-country with children and that’s no small feat. Ethan and Elise, I see all that is good in this world in your smiling faces. You are everything.