THE NEXT DAY
When I sit down at the shared floater computer to find out my assignments for the day, a new email notification pops up on the screen. The subject is intra-firm memorandum, so I click on it.
Dear Firm,
We are saddened to have to say goodbye to Cameron Sanchez’ assistant Shirley but we wish her all the best in retirement in Florida.
I pause here and giggle to myself, thinking of Cameron’s comments yesterday. Then I keep reading.
We are going to be hiring a new assistant for Cameron and we would like to do it quickly so that Shirley can train her replacement before she leaves. This is an official call to all law firm staff who are interested in applying for the position and advancing from within. We will also be interviewing applicants from outside the firm but we wanted to give first opportunity to members of our firm. Madilyn St. Clair is forming a hiring committee for this task and they will begin interviewing interested candidates tomorrow at 9:00 am in Conference Room B. The sooner we can find the right person for Mr. Sanchez, the better.
Sincerely yours,
The Law Firm of Marks, Sanchez and Reed.
I stare at the phrase that talks about finding “the right person for Mr. Sanchez.”
I shake my head and tell myself to forget about it. I have no experience as a legal assistant other than the few weeks I’ve been working here doing menial tasks as a floater. There’s no reason they’d hire me.
And it’s not like me to even want to apply. I’m no ambitious go-getter. I’m just here to pay my bills and line up my new future. I can’t be calling attention to myself, either. I need to just keep my head down and stay under the radar.
I switch to the firm calendar and check my tasks for the day.
Oh great.
I’ve been assigned to babysit Mr. Mack again. He’s a 93-year-old partner who has lost most of his memory and is half senile. But he’s been here since the firm started and he insists on coming to the office every day. He has nothing better to do.
He can’t drive or do anything else for himself. That means I have to go pick him up, bring him back to the office, bring him a newspaper and his Earl Grey tea and check in on him as he sits there half reading his newspaper all day.
He brings his little Chihuahua named Ted. And he falls asleep more often than Katie does.
Then I take him home. The only good part about the days when I’m assigned to Mr. Mack is that I get to go home early because he likes to be driven home at three thirty so he can watch Judge Judy at four o’clock. Apparently, he’s been a diehard Judge Judy fan for longer than he’s been a partner here at the firm.
I carry out my tasks for the day, quite sure this is one of the most boring days ever. At one point, Mr. Mack calls me into his office yelling, “Ruby! Ruby!” hysterically.
“Yes?” I ask, afraid he might be dying.
This is it, I think. Of course, he’s going to kick the bucket on my watch. I hope they don’t fire me for not somehow managing to keep him alive.
But instead he just points at a picture in the newspaper.
“Do you know this person?” he asks me.
His bony finger is crooked and accusatory.
“No.”
I shake my head.
Ted barks at me as if he doesn’t trust my answer. But I’ve never seen the guy before.
“This was the first President of the University of New Mexico School of Law and he just passed away,” Mr. Mack says.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry?” he says, cupping a hand to his hear. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
“I said I’m sorry,” I practically yell.
“Don’t be,” he says. “He was a dick.”
I do my best to suppress my laughter, not that I think Mr. Mack would be able to hear it. The word around the firm is that Mr. Mack is quite the dick himself.
“Do you know that I was in the first graduating class at UNM Law School?” he asks me.
“No,” I tell him. “I didn’t know that.”
“There was only one woman in my class,” he tells me, looking me up and down, as if to let me know he doesn’t approve of my kind. “And she wasn’t smart enough to graduate with the rest of the class. So, no women graduated with me.”
“I see,” I tell him, not sure how to respond to that. During comments like this I’ve begun to see why people say he’s a dick. “Did you need anything else, Mr. Mack?”
He shrugs.
“What time is it?”
“It’s nearly noon,” I tell him.
“Not time for Judge Judy then, I guess,” he says, looking out the window as if he wishes he could go home. Perhaps he thinks he’s a prisoner in the law firm he insists on coming to every day.
“Not yet,” I tell him.
“That is one lady who would probably have been smart enough to have graduated with my class,” he tells me. “She always gets everything right. She’s tough on these youngsters who show up in front of her and try to pee on her leg and tell her it’s raining.”
I laugh and he smiles, looking pleased at himself.
“Would you like me to bring your lunch?” I ask him.
While most of the firm eats their lunch in a large cafeteria style conference room, with a small room off the back that has a refrigerator and microwave, Mr. Mack prefers to eat his food— which resembles baby food such as mashed bananas or applesauce— by himself in his office. Often, he doesn’t want to eat anything at all.
“Not yet,” he tells me. “But I’ll holler when I want it.”
“Okay, Mr. Mack.”
I head to the file room, if only for the excuse of passing Cameron’s office. But he’s not in there. Damn it. This is definitely the most boring day ever.
I can’t help but think about how nice it would be if Cameron was in there and we could flirt with each other like we did yesterday. I don’t know if it counted as flirting but I sure did. And all I want is for him to make me laugh like he did yesterday. To be near him. To see him.
Cameron Sanchez is driving me so crazy. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to work here without going mad with desire. I’m going to need a cold shower every day. But first I’m going to have some hot fantasies.