The Boys' Club Page 22

I leaned sideways into the door until it touched my ear, only to be greeted by the sound of male and female grunts and moans coming from within. I slammed my fist on the door. I might have been willing to forgo horizontal, comfortable sleep for somebody who needed it more than I did, but not just so two associates could get laid.

“I’ll be back in twenty! I need sleep!” I announced through the door, feeling slightly out of line, but emboldened by the thought that my colleagues wouldn’t want to be found out and would make themselves scarce before I returned.

When I returned, the room smelled of Clorox and the linens looked fresh, but I changed them and wiped everything down again anyway, then fell asleep immediately, jerking my eyes open at the hum of a vacuum outside the door the next morning.

I looked at my phone to see that Jordan had responded to emails while I was sleeping, sent the term sheet out himself when I hadn’t done it within an hour of him telling me to, and instructed me to sleep a few hours and call him as soon as I woke up. I dialed his number.

“I just want to make sure nothing can hold up closing,” he said without so much as a hello. “It cannot slip past today because then we need to wait for all the funds to transfer until Monday. Disaster. Have you confirmed with the real estate team that they’ve filed . . .” I could hear the stress in his voice as he rattled off the laundry list of administrative details I needed to take care of.

A preview of a new email from Carmen popped up in the lower right-hand corner of my screen as I struggled to write down everything Jordan was saying, and I glanced briefly at it.

I signed you in. Saving you a seat in the back.

“Shit,” I whispered to myself as I continued to write. When Jordan finished, I cleared my throat. “So . . . I completely forgot we have the mandatory monthly business development training right now, and—”

“Skip it,” he said tersely.

“Matt is doing the training, and . . .” I knew I wouldn’t need to say more. Supporting Matt in any and every capacity trumped anything and everything else.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Go. I got you covered for the next hour. You’ve done all this anyway, I’m just paranoid the day a deal closes. But be on email. If this deal doesn’t sign by this afternoon, I’m jumping out of my fucking window.”

“Why do you think our windows don’t open, genius?” I asked dryly, the auto-generated response he had come to expect from me during Project Hat Trick.

He snorted. “Keep it up, Skip, and I’m requesting Carmen on my next deal.”

“You suck.” I hung up.

I raised my chin toward the ceiling with my palm and felt the pleasant pop of a joint somewhere at the base of my skull. I stacked the six empty coffee cups on my desk into one another and threw them into the bin below my desk. I made my way slowly to the elevator and rubbed my finger under my eyes. I felt like a fraud. It was the first true all-nighter I had ever tried to pull, and I couldn’t even make it the whole night without passing out in the restoration room.

I let my back rest against the wall of the elevator until the mechanical ding of the doors opening on the conference room on the forty-fifth floor yanked me from my half sleep. A woman with a binder was staring at me, and I gave a small, embarrassed laugh as I brushed by her. I opened the door to the conference room as quietly as possible and slipped inside. Fortunately Matt was speaking, and all eyes remained on him as I let the door ease closed behind me and made my way to the open seat next to Carmen, who looked up at me with concern on her face.

“Skippy! Nice of you to grace us with your presence!” Matt called out.

All fifty-two of my fellow first-years turned to look to me.

I felt the blood rising up from my neck, but I could register that they were more envious of than disgusted by my rapport with the co-head of M&A.

“Your deals don’t close themselves, boss,” I said with a two-finger salute, and slid into the seat next to Carmen, embracing my greasy hair and my wrinkled shirt as a badge of honor. Matt cackled before continuing with his due diligence training, clicking through slides.

Carmen leaned in to me as if to tell me something, then recoiled. “Oh my god, Alex, you need to shower.” She blocked her nostrils with her fist. “No joke.”

“I’m fully aware,” I whispered back. I took out my phone and continued to answer emails about Matt’s deal as he lectured the group on how the firm encourages a healthy work/life balance.

As the presentation was wrapping up, I saw an email from Jordan, subject: “One Yard Line.” Everything was set, and we had a closing call at four o’clock.

From: Alexandra Vogel

To: Jordan Sellar

Subject: Re: One Yard Line

I’ll tell maintenance they don’t need to figure out how to open your window.

Our closing call came and went that afternoon without my having to utter a single word—a reminder that no matter how hard I worked, I was still the lowest attorney on the totem pole, and another silent first-year could have easily stepped in for me. And then we were done. Closed. It was over. I spent the next six minutes making sure I hadn’t missed any urgent emails while I’d been under siege, then shut down my computer and leaned back in my chair. It was four fifteen on Friday afternoon. The sun was shining. I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed for the next forty-eight hours.

“Anna,” I called toward my open door. She craned her neck up over her cubicle. “Can you order me a car home, please? I need to sleep immediately.” She furrowed her brow. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it!”

She appeared in my doorway, looking apologetic. Just fucking DO it, I wanted to say. But instead I smiled. “What’s up?”

“Last week you asked me to book dinner for four at the Nomad for tonight. Should I cancel that?”

Fuck. My parents were coming into the city for dinner.

They had insisted on taking me and Sam out to celebrate my deal closing. My lower lip quivered, and I shook my head.

“Can you shut the door?” I asked softly, afraid speaking louder would scare the tears out of me, then remembered my manners and added, “Please?”

Anna looked at me with pity and shut the door behind her, and the tears started—I was simply too tired to hold them in.

I woke up with my face resting on my hands, flat out on my belly in the middle of my office floor. I stayed there for a moment before sitting up and wiping the drool from the side of my mouth with the back of my hand. I was really starting to understand why people did coke. I looked at my watch. Six thirty. I grabbed my cell phone and texted my parents and Sam all on the same thread.

So excited for tonight! Meet you at the Nomad at 8! ?

I checked my work email. Only sixteen messages, none of them pressing, and a nice thank-you from Matt to me and Jordan. I responded quickly, then grabbed my bag, popped two Advil, ushered them down my throat with a dry gulp, and walked out the door. I headed straight to the Equinox by my office, stripped immediately upon entering the locker room, wrapped myself in a towel, and pushed myself into the thick fog of the steam room, relieved to see I was alone. My pores surrendered with little resistance, anxious for release. I could taste the sour stress in my sweat. It was all leaving me—dripping deliciously down my spine. I rubbed my shoulders, letting my fingers drift over my now-slimy skin. I let my towel drop. I touched my breasts, and I thought of Peter Dunn. I thought of the way his belt buckle sat on his completely flat abdomen, the way his skin was always clean shaven.

I opened my eyes and wrapped myself in the towel again, pulling my legs up on the tile bench to sit cross-legged and forcing myself to focus on my breath. I made my way to the shower and took my work clothes into the stall, where I turned the knob as hot as it would go and let the wrinkles in the silk rise to meet the steam. I scrubbed at myself vigorously, as though I could exfoliate away the exhaustion.

I walked into the Nomad right at eight to find my characteristically early parents speaking to the ma?tre d’.

“Hi guys!” I announced loudly. They spun around. My mom held a bouquet of white roses.

“My little Bunny!” my mom squeaked. I placed my head in between the two of them and fell into their joint embrace.

“You look wonderful! Too thin, but wonderful! Is this what you wear to work? Stunning,” she said, nodding approvingly.

“You do look great,” my dad said.

“I showered at the gym and came right here. It’s been a rough month. Hopefully it’ll be a little slower now.”

“These are for you,” my mother said, thrusting the roses at me.

“Why?” I asked cautiously.

“Because you’ve been working so hard, and we’re so proud,” my mother said, and I made desperate eye contact with the ma?tre d’, who beamed back at me.

“We’re under Vogel,” I called over my father’s shoulder to him. I turned back to my parents. “They’re gorgeous. Thanks, guys. Do you have any Advil?” My mother dug in her purse and handed me two pills, which I swallowed without water.

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