Lawyers

I was still one of the "Young Turks," despite the fact that at the time I was in my seventh year with the firm. Most of my colleagues were in their late 40s or 50s, with a fair number of the partners well into their 60s or even 70s and fast approaching, at, or well past, retirement age -- maybe that's why Cahill, Swann & Moore had hired so many new attorneys this year. I, on the other hand, was only 35, but looked even younger, or so I've been told.

Maybe it was because I wasn't married, though it's not that I wasn't looking for someone! But when I started my career, I was one of those young adults that had entered the new millennium with the delusion that I could "have it all" -- career, spouse, family, big house, fancy car, and still find happiness, success, self-satisfaction, and true love.

I was beginning to think I been sold a bill of goods on that one. I had chosen to put most of my efforts and focus on becoming a good attorney, and so something had to give. I guess what "had to give" was everything other than my career. Besides, in my you-can-have-it-all mindset, I had also concocted some impossibly high standards. I was looking for a woman that was smart, funny, beautiful, driven, principled, passionate, and loving. But I digress.

As was the tradition, all of the company's new attorneys were introduced to the current employees at a week's worth of annual meetings that were held each year in February at this posh resort in Scottsdale. It was something I looked forward to -- flying down in the middle of winter to the warmth of the Valley of the Sun for a week of great food, golfing, wild parties, and an opportunity to meet some of the new female lawyers that the company decided it required in order to achieve "gender equity." If attaining gender equity meant hiring hot, young female attorneys in their 20s and 30s, then I was all for it. Besides, most of them that I had met were great lawyers.

But frankly, gender equity didn't sit well with some of my colleagues. The older men who had been with the firm for nearly 20 or 25 years, like my closest friends, Paul Houlihan and Tom Durant, resented the youngest and the prettiest of our new associates.

I guess people like Paul and Tom had already concluded that because of their age and their marital status, they had no shot with any of the new female lawyers, so they might as well despise them. They also assumed that none of them were actually competent to practice law based on the assumption that the only thing that had earned any of them a job at CS&M was their gender. So from the get-go, they turned up their noses at the sight of any woman under the age of 50 that found her way into our gigantic law firm.

I was surprised from the very beginning when I started at CS&M that I got along so well with some of the older attorneys like Paul and Tom. I thought that they would regard me in the same way that they did the younger women that were being hired now. But I came to realize that there were two differences between me and the young, female attorneys that had come to CS&M in the past three or four years.

The first was obvious -- I was male, and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that there were a good many sexists among "the good ol' boy" crowd. Most of the chauvinism was latent, though some of it was blatantly overt and explicit.

Like the brilliant woman who joined us straight out of Harvard Law, who, when she lost a case that she had absolutely no chance to win, was told by several colleagues that in any future litigation, she needed to ask for help from the male attorneys during "that time of the month," since she had "clearly come across too emotionally" in her closing statement.

She had been thrown to the wolves by her older, male colleagues, all of whom were afraid to take the case themselves because they knew it was unwinnable. The result was predictable: she left after only a few months. It wasn't difficult to understand why.

The second difference was that unlike a lot of the younger attorneys, both male and female, being employed now, I actually had what was considered an impressive resume when I was hired, having had five years of solid experience in litigation, specializing in Intellectual Property and Patents cases.

I had worked at a medium-sized, but respected firm in Pittsburgh before coming to CS&M. Being hired by CS&M had been an opportunity for more money, more opportunities for advancement, and a chance to return to Cleveland, my hometown. But that had nothing to do with gender, since there were as many young male attorneys being hired straight out of law school as there were females.

So, when Paul, Tom, and I, along with a handful of our other colleagues from the Cleveland office were seated around a table for the opening of last year's annual meeting, I knew that I would be hearing a fair number of pointed, sexist comments directed at the new female hires as soon as the meeting convened.

The partners always started every annual meeting by introducing the new attorneys from each of our ten regional offices: New York, Washington, Miami, Dallas, Cleveland, Chicago, Denver, Phoenix, L.A., and Seattle. Since our corporate offices had recently moved from Cleveland to Phoenix, the new Phoenix attorneys were first up -- like lambs to the slaughter, I thought to myself.

The names of six people were called, four young women, and two guys -- one already in his late 40s and the other, a black guy fresh out of law school. All stood before the assembled crowd, nervous and fidgety, as their bios were read out loud to us. My eyes were immediately drawn to the young woman on the far right. She was stunning -- a gorgeous face poised atop a body that could not be hidden beneath her corporate attire.

She was the last of the six introduced. Her name was Kerri Parson, and she had graduated top her class from Georgetown Law and had worked for two years at a D.C. firm whose name I recognized -- Rowland & Mauer. As I listened to her credentials being ticked off, I was certain that even the most ardent, old school chauvinist would regard her background as impeccable and beyond reproach.

I was wrong. To my right, Paul whispered under his breath to Tom and me, "She's not going to win any cases by being pretty," to which Tom replied, "They're going to eat her alive down here in the desert." I kept my own feelings to myself, and when a round of obligatory applause for Kerri and the other five newbies concluded, I was pleasantly surprised when Counselor Parson took a seat at the table in front of me, seated in profile directly in my line of sight. I would be able to stare at her the whole day without anyone questioning my motives.

She was spectacular! I estimated that she was in her early 30s, though I couldn't be certain. She had brown hair that was streaked with light brown and blonde highlights, and the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen, suspended under slender, arching eyebrows. Her nose was delicate, her lips pouty, and a beauty mark accented her dimpled left cheek. She sported a dark tan, and long, toned legs, and it was clear that she worked out regularly.

But it was, as usual, her bosom that caught my attention. Despite being wrapped securely in a stylish, pinstriped business suit, it was straining the buttons of her jacket, pushing upwards and outwards under her silk blouse. Her tailored jacket accentuated her tiny waist and shapely hips. I stared at her the entire day, but I tempered my attraction to her with the sobering assumption that she was spoken for -- probably married to some hotshot athlete or at least to some guy that was so rich that he could buy her affections with a massive house or a fast car.

That evening, the company hosted a lavish dinner, which was accompanied by, what always promised to be, a fairly decadent night of drinking. It was not uncommon for some of my colleagues to find willing partners to drag back to their respective rooms, and though drinking to excess was almost encouraged, fraternizing with colleagues was very much not.

Paul, Tom, and I made our way down to the opulent ballroom about 6:30 p.m. for the de rigueur cocktail hour that preceded each of these dinners. We walked to the bar, and once each of us had a double Glenlivet on the rocks in hand, we began meandering about the room, making conversation with our brothers and sisters in law.

When Paul and Tom engaged an old timer from the Chicago office named Pat Pendergast in a long and boring conversation about a Mergers and Acquisition case that Pat had just won, I decided to mosey on to find a younger crowd.

I saw a group about my age from the Phoenix office laughing and gesturing animatedly, and I recognized a few of the faces in the crowd, in particular that of Grayson Little, a young gun with whom I had worked on a Patent case last year. I wandered over.

"Yo, Stevie boy, what's shakin,' brother?" Grayson called out in a booming voice, smiling broadly my way as he interrupted his raucous colleagues' merriment.

"Hey, Grayson! How are ya?" I responded, smiling and shaking his hand firmly.

"Couldn't be better, Steve. I am feelin' no pain!" he laughed loudly. "You remember some of these bums?" he asked, nodding toward the five young attorneys gathered around him. I recognized most of them from the previous year, especially the pretty blonde that had her arm around Grayson's waist, as well as the brunette that was facing him. The blonde's name was Catherine or Cameron, or something like that, and the brunette was Stephanie.

"This is Dan Gregory," he said, nodding toward a tall, dark, athletic-looking guy to my right that I very vaguely remembered. "Dan's our Corporate Law guru. And this is Stephanie Cutler, who does all of our Anti-Trust work. I think you know her!" Stephanie was a very short, slender, stylish brunette that I knew pretty well from the two months I had spent in Phoenix last year. She had taken me out for dinner and drinks one night, and I thought there might have been a spark between us, but the case ended before I could "advance the ball up the field." This was the first time I had seen her since then. I said hello to her, gave her a polite hug, and smiled broadly.

"You were introduced to Jared, this morning," Grayson said, gesturing toward a short, stocky, but ruggedly handsome black guy that I remembered had just been hired straight out of USC Law School. "Jared McAllen, this is Steve from the Cleveland office." I told Jared that it was nice to meet him, and we shook hands.

"And, last but not least, Tim Gainey, one of our Personal Injury litigants, and, of course, the lovely and talented Catherine Carpenter, our Labor and Employment Law specialist and currently my better half, but don't mention that news to any of the partners!" He smiled, winking at her, while simultaneously, I noticed Catherine giving him a playful, but secretive little pinch on the butt.

"Guys, this is Steve Floyd, CS&Ms resident expert on Intellectual Property law."

"And Patents," I inserted. "Don't forget that case from last year, Gray! We made this company a small fortune, if I recall correctly!"

"You're right -- Patents! We worked last year on this Patent Infringement case," he explained to the others, "and earned a ten million dollar settlement! I don't know about you, Steve, but the partners have liked me a lot more ever since then!" Everyone laughed.

Just as the laughter began to die down, I spotted the statuesque Kerri Parson approaching our little group. Soon, she was standing between Dan and me. "Speaking of Intellectual Property and Patents, here's somebody that can give you a run for your money, Steve. Kerri Parson, this is Steve Floyd from Cleveland."

She smiled at me warmly, and said, "Hello, Steve," and I began to melt. I reached out a hand to shake hers, and as she took my right hand, she covered the top of it with her warm, soft left hand as well. Though I stared straight into her eyes, my eyes managed to stray down momentarily to her left hand, and I noticed that she wore no ring.

"It's nice to meet you, Kerri," I said cordially, more interested now than I had been only a few seconds earlier.

"Cleveland, huh? That's where I grew up," she said, her brown eyes glittering with warmth. "How is the 'Mistake on the Lake' these days?"

"Well, the Cuyahoga hasn't started on fire for 40 years, so things are looking up! Then, again, the Browns still suck!" I joked. She giggled, in a feminine, natural way that further captivated me. Then, I realized she didn't have a drink. "Can I get you something from the bar, Kerri?" I wanted to appear chivalrous, even if my cordial manners were obviously and tactlessly prompted by ulterior motives.

She looked at me, and it seemed she was a little surprised by the offer. "Oh, I can get it myself," she said diplomatically, "but that's so kind of you to offer."

"Come on, let me get you something," I begged, "I'm feeling really generous tonight," I said sarcastically, "considering the open bar!" Everybody laughed.

"Looks like you need a refill yourself," Kerri said, nodding toward my almost empty rocks glass. "Come on, I'll go with you!" "Yes!" I thought to myself. We started a leisurely stroll across the huge room toward the bar at the other end. I looked back over my shoulder to see Grayson smiling at me in admiration. I knew exactly what he was saying to the others at that very moment -- "He works fast, doesn't he?"

"So, what are you drinkin,' Shriner?" I asked smiling at Kerri with a newfound sense of confidence. She turned and stared at me, stopped walking abruptly, and began to chuckle.

She didn't answer my question. "The only other person that I've ever known who called people 'Shriner' was my father!" she said with amazement. "He did it all the time! It was an ongoing joke with him. And the funny part was that he really was a Shriner! How 'bout you, Steve, are you a Shriner, too?"

"I would be, but they could never find a fez to fit me!" I joked. "Besides, my legs are too long to fit in those little cars!" She laughed again, that same feminine laugh, and I knew immediately I liked her. A beautiful woman that laughed at my jokes was truly worth her proverbial salt!

"Where did you go to school, Kerri?" I asked, switching to a more serious subject, trying to show how interested in her I was.

"High school? I went to Villa Angela Academy. Then, on to Ohio State for undergrad."

"Oh, a good, Catholic girl, huh?" I said, smiling in remembrance of the former all-girls high school on the city's east side, fast to the shores of Lake Erie. When I was in high school, Villa Angela had merged with an all-boys school, St. Joseph High School to become Villa Angela -- St. Joseph. VASJ was one of my high school's biggest rivals. Apparently, I was too overcome by Kerri's good looks to figure out right then the age difference between us.

"Catholic, to be sure, but I don't know how 'good'!" she answered. "How 'bout you, Steve? Where did you go?"

"St. Ignatius, the Fightin' Wildcats!" I responded with feigned school pride.

"Oh, a fellow Catholic, and a Jesi! I went to Georgetown, so I had the whole Jesuit experience! A pretty intense bunch in my humble opinion, but I did get a great education in the Jesuit tradition. Are you as arrogant as the rest of the tribe?" she asked half-joking.

She'd set me up, considering she knew something about Jesuit education, so I decided to jump in with both feet. I figured if I kept hearing her laugh, it was going to be a good night. "So, did you hear the one about the Jesuit, the Dominican, and the Franciscan?" I asked, laughing at the idea that I was actually going to tell a canned Catholic joke to impress a woman.

"Oh, God no, not another Jesuit joke!" she giggled. She pretended to boo, but I didn't let it deter me.

"So, a Jesuit, a Dominican, and a Franciscan are walking along a road, debating the virtues of their respective religious orders, when suddenly, an apparition of the Holy Family appears in front of them. There's Jesus in the manger, and Mary and Joseph on bended knees praying over him."

"So, the Franciscan, he sees the vision, and he falls on his face, overcome with awe at the sight of God born into such poverty and with such humility. And then, the Dominican, he sees the specter, and he falls to his knees, adoring the beautiful reflection of the Holy Family and their unmistakable bond of love."

"Finally, the Jesuit walks up to Joseph and puts his arm around his shoulder, and says, 'So, have you thought about where you're going to send the boy to school?'"

She reacted immediately, laughing really loudly and for a quite a long time, and then after ten seconds or so, she simulated a drummer's crashing rim shot. "Are you always such a funny guy, Steve, or are you just trying to impress me?" she asked, still laughing.

"Yes, to both questions!" I answered smiling.

We were standing in front of the bar now, "So, what can I get you, milady?" I asked.

"I think maybe an extra dry, Bombay Sapphire martini, straight up, dirty and with extra olives." She smiled. "I know what I like!" she said explaining the precision of her order.

Now it was my turn to be amazed. "Wow, that is exactly, and I mean exactly, absolutely precisely the way I drink my martinis, that is, when I drink martinis. So, are you always such a classy girl, Kerri, or are you just trying to impress me?"

"Yes, to both questions!" she responded slyly. I smiled back at her. It had taken her no more than a few minutes to completely win me over.

I ordered our drinks and tipped the bartender handsomely when I saw how he mixed Kerri's martini. He used a trick that I had used myself, years ago when I bartended while in college -- he kept the dry vermouth in a spray bottle that delivered about two drops of vermouth per spray into the mixing glass. One spray was all a dry martini drinker needed.

Then, I watched him spoon about a tablespoon of olive juice into the same mixing glass, along with a scoop of ice and a generous two jigger pour of Bombay Sapphire. Then, he fastened on the lid and began shaking the concoction, before using a strainer to pour it carefully into a chilled up glass. Then, he garnished it with four large Spanish olives with pimento on a spear.

Meanwhile, I stuck with my Glenlivet. Anyone who has ever drunk martinis knows that once you've started drinking anything else, you are playing with fire if you mix it with gin. Before the cocktail hour was over, both Kerri and I shared one more round, and then I went back to check on Paul and Tom.

When I found them, they made it clear that they had been watching my every move. "Hitting on one of the new hires, huh, Steve?" Paul asked teasingly.

"Yeah, the prettiest one in the joint, to boot!" added Tom.

"She's a nice lady," I said, defensively, "a Cleveland native, by the way. I know how important that is to you provincial types." I was going to feed it right back to them. "Hey, in all seriousness, do you guys mind if I sit with some people from the Phoenix office?"

"'Some people from the Phoenix office!' Why don't you just admit you want have dinner with a girl?" Paul asked gleefully at my expense. "Just remember the fraternization policy, Steve, my boy! Not that anyone in that damn Phoenix office actually abides by it."

"Knock yourself out, Steve. Just be careful," Tom warned. He was dead serious.

I could see they didn't approve, but, come on. All I wanted to do was sit next to the woman at dinner. Besides, they were both married and had been ever since they were in their mid-20s. I was ten years older than that now. If they were single at my age, they'd both be looking for eligible women too.