She was the newest addition to the law clerks at the firm, a recent graduate, in her first real job, excited to be there and to learn and grow as a professional. Already, things were not quite as she had imagined. There were seven lawyers at the firm: three partners, four associates, one big-haired legal secretary, one remarkably crotchety bookkeeper (who seemed to come and go as she well pleased), one incredibly nice and incredibly abused driver, and then the clerks, four of them—Valentina, Kunyu, Laura, and finally her, Becky. All of the clerks were recent grads. All of them had higher aspirations than clerking.
At the end of the first week she realized that there was not going to be any formal, or informal, for that matter, job training. She was doing the best she could.
When Becky arrived, just a few minutes past nine, not a single attorney’s car was in the lot. She recognized Valentina’s beater Toyota, with peeling red paint, and Kunyu’s bike was locked inside the courtyard.
She entered through the kitchen.
“Hey!” Kunyu had a phone tucked between her head and shoulder. She was also in the middle of doing a huge stack of dishes. Attorneys, Becky had quickly learned, were violently allergic to doing their own dishes.
“He—hey,” Becky stammered, not wanting to interrupt Kunyu’s conversation.
“It’s okay,” Kunyu gestured at the phone. “It’s just the fucking court. They put me fucking on hold again. Hello? Yes, I’m calling on behalf of attorney Nicole Ryan? Is this department 47? Good. Yes, she wanted to let you know she’s going to be fifteen minutes late. Yes. Yes, that’s all she told me. That’s all she told me! Okay, bye.” She hung up. “Fucking court clerks.”
The door slammed, and Laura, the clerk-receptionist, traipsed through on her way to the front.
“Oh hey, hey, hey!” she grinned, “ready for another fun-filled day at NAB?”
Kunyu rolled her eyes.
Becky’s office was at the far back upstairs corner of the second building. She spent most of the morning trying to decipher and execute a task that Tom, the head attorney, had given Valentina, which Valentina in turn had given her. None of it had been very clearly explained, and even if it had been, it was still stultifying boring. She slogged through a huge box of documents, trying to figure out what information was relevant, and compiled notes into a memo she eventually intended to give to Tom. She kept at it for a couple hours, but then finally reached a dead end where she really didn’t understand what to do. Grabbing a pen and paper, she headed downstairs and across the courtyard to throw herself on Valentina’s mercy. Valentina had been at the firm for the longest, and as such had been promoted to the position of Tom’s exclusive law clerk (why anyone would want, let alone accept, this promotion, Becky mused, was a mystery). If anyone would be able to decipher these directions, it would be her.
Becky went back in through the kitchen door again. She was greeted by the sight of Kunyu violently kicking the photocopier.
“Fucking—oh hey! Yeah, it’s not working again. Sometimes if you just kick it…”
“Right…” said Becky, “yeah, sure. Uh, I’m just going to go ask Valentina a question.”
Kunyu didn’t hear her. She was busy slamming doors on the machine, and listening to its machinations. Becky inched around her, and crossed the lobby into Valentina’s front office.
Valentina was typing like a madwoman. Her back was to the door.
“Uh… Valentina?” Becky queried.
“Yes?” Valentina whipped around. She had dark unkempt hair, and an aquiline nose, on which were perched a dainty pair of reading glasses. She peered over them, still typing while looking in the other direction.
“Oh!” she stopped typing, finally. “How are you? It’s crazy around here today!” she chortled. “Except, no really. It’s crazy.” She grabbed a document and walked over to the fax machine.
“Uh… fine? Actually, I was hoping I could ask you a question.”
“Sure, sure,” she smiled, “oh shit, though, is this about that Hunsaker stuff? Cause I have no fucking idea. I don’t even think Tom knows what he wants.”
Becky’s heart sank in her chest.
Valentina took a look at it, and gave some suggestions. They weren’t hard and fast answers, but Becky supposed they were better than nothing. She headed back over to the other building, stopping through the kitchen again to get a cup of tea. Liz, the big-haired legal secretary, was helping herself to a bagel. It always seemed like Liz was in the kitchen.
“Better have a bagel…” she muttered, in a strong Long Island accent, “before ya start to get shaky!”
Becky had a very hard time understanding when Liz was talking to her or talking to herself, now and in general. Becky opted for just smiling and nodding. Not to be vicious, but looking at Liz, it was hard to believe that the woman would hurt from any lack of food. Becky tried to estimate how tall Liz was without the hair and six inch heels that she always wore—5’1”? 5’2”? Becky grabbed her tea and retreated from the kitchen before she could become entrenched in conversation with Liz. It was known to happen.
Becky kept at it with the Hunsaker documents, counting down the minutes until lunch. Finally it was 12. She went over to Kunyu’s office, which was right next-door, intending to nonchalantly ask her if she’d like to have lunch in the courtyard together. Becky was still semi-awkwardly trying to make friends.
Kunyu was slumped down in her swivel desk chair, one hand holding a phone to her ear, the other holding her forehead. A strange device was sitting at her desk, and momentarily forgetting to feel awkward, Becky picked it up and started looking at it. It appeared to be a set of goggles, but with two large plastic appliances attached to each side of them.
“Yeah, alright,” said Kunyu. “I’ll try that again.” She hung up the phone.
“What are these?” Becky asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Tom’s audio swim goggles,” sighed Kunyu. “Apparently they’re state of the art. Too bad they don’t fucking work!”
“They play music? To listen to under water?”
“Audiobooks, actually. Tom prefers LeCarre mystery novels.”
“Novels?” Becky was amazed. “I didn’t know Tom was much of a swimmer.” Or a reader, come to it. Tom was a very, very, large man, who suffered from diabetes. Swimming was difficult to imagine.
“He’s not. He hates exercising. That’s why he needs the novels.” Kunyu shrugged.
“And you’re fixing these?”
“Yep.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. We’re in the middle of a double-homicide case, our client is facing a lifetime in prison, and I’m spending my time fixing swim goggles. It’s fucking ridiculous.”
Becky laughed. What else could you do?
“You want to have lunch?”
“Yeah, okay. I think Tom is at Le Maison for lunch, anyways. He won’t be back for at least an hour.”
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