I timidly knock on the door of the conference room and Mr. Holt nods at me.
"Come in, Riley," he says, as if I've wasted his time by having his secretary look for me, when I didn't even know I was supposed to be here. I knew that there was a round of associate evaluations coming up but I didn't know when exactly mine would be.
I look around, remembering when I first interviewed for this job in this very conference room. And how I was so excited when I found out I had gotten it. I was so naïve back then, thinking it would be a picnic, when sometimes it's more like Hell.
I’m supposedly an up and coming lawyer at the law firm of Holt, Mason and Davis. My goal has been to make partner within the next couple of years. And I think I’ve achieved my goal so far, since I’m not only on the partnership track but according to my bi-annual evaluations, I’m doing sprints around all my fellow associates.
Except for Charles, of course. But he doesn’t have to make much of an effort, considering that he’s Jack Holt's son.
Now that I see the stringent requirements for everyone except Charles, I'm beginning to wonder if my career is really as secure as I used to think it was. It doesn't seem as if interviewing and getting the job is cutting it anymore. Instead, all associates are subject to strict evaluations and "suggestions" for improvement.
I'm beginning to wonder if I can ever possibly keep up with all the hoops they make associates jump through, or if they even have any intention of making us partners, or just finding reasons we're not good enough so they can sting us along as billable hour drones for seven years before cutting us loose to go work at some second-rate insurance defense firm.
"I'm going to keep this performance evaluation short and sweet, Riley," Mr. Holt says, without bothering with any kind of standard pleasantries first. “Your billable hours are great, your work is solid, your networking is as expected."
I nod, glad that all my hard work is being recognized.
“But your pro bono hours are not on track with the other associates’, and the only misgivings expressed by any partner have related to your fit here with the firm," he continues, making me feel crestfallen.
“My fit?” I ask, squirming in the oversized leather chair in the large conference room that is occupied only by Mr. Holt and myself.
I want to ask how I'm supposed to find time to do pro bono hours— volunteering to represent clients for free— when I've already billed more hours than any other associate. But I assumes he expects me to figure that out on my own.
And I'm intrigued— if not dismayed— by his use of the word “fit.” I need to fit in at the firm; I need to make it work. My parents had spent a lot of money on law school and would be furious at me if they knew I don’t make partner because I don't “fit in.”
“As you know, Riley, this firm has a strong and proud military tradition,” Mr. Holt continues. “And you’re the only associate who doesn’t have some tie with the military.”
I think about it and realize he's right: many of the partners had served in the military before going to law school, and many of the associates are in the Reserves. There are lawyers who had gone to West Point, the Air Force Academy, who had been in JAG before being hired by the firm, and who regularly volunteer at the VA, helping with disability cases or access to health care.
Except for your son, I want to point out to Mr. Holt, because Charles is the only other associate with absolutely no connection to the military. But he doesn't count.
Mr. Holt rarely speaks of my relationship with Charles at work, but when he does, it's to tell me that he’s glad his son hooked himself to a rising star: that I'm good for Charles and can keep him on track. I know he says similar things to Charles in private, and I know that's one of the main reasons that Charles and I are still together.
The unspoken assumption is that the normal rules of associate standards don't apply to Charles. He's expected to go to happy hours and golf tournaments with the partners and important firm clients, not slave away as a billable hour slave like the rest of us. And apparently, he doesn't need to have any military connection, although everyone else, including me, needs to meet that requirement.
It's not fair, but such is life.
If Mr. Holt says I need to have some connection to the military, and that I need to volunteer more pro bono hours to be a good fit for the firm, then that's exactly what I'll do. He's clearly signaling that I should kill two birds with one stone and volunteer in some capacity that helps the military.
"I understand your concerns, Mr. Holt," I tell him, always the eager to please associate. "And I'll get right on it. Don't worry."
"I'm glad to hear that, Riley," he says, smiling at me and then looking at his watch, clearly ready for the next victim— I mean, associate who will have the next performance evaluation. He picks up my file and bangs it lightly on the conference room table.
"I'll have my secretary add a note to your file that we've discussed these matters and you're rectifying the situation. I appreciate your diligence and obedience. I just wish I could say the same about my son. But he's been better with your influence, so hopefully you'll keep rubbing off on him."
There goes my plan to talk to Charles about breaking up yet again, I think, as I stand up to leave.
I nod at Mr. Holt.
"Thank you for the evaluation, and have a great day."
"Margaret?" he calls out, before I've even opened the door.
I guess he's so busy trying to tell his secretary that he's ready for the next evaluation that he can't even bid me a good day in return.
That's okay, though, because my day has already been ruined, and nothing Mr. Holt can say at this point will make it any better.