Chapter Three
A panoramic view of the city greets me when I step through the frosted glass doors of Janks and Lowe. A helicopter landing pad is visible on the rooftop of a building below. The reality of how tall this building is settles in, and I make a mental note to google the address to check for information on its earthquake safety rating. Whatever the case, if I get the job, I can bring a survival kit to keep in my cubicle.
A woman with a round face and a chin-length bob the color of cherry cola spins her chair to face me. “Hello. May I help you?”
I adjust the strap of my briefcase and square my posture. “Hi, I’m Katie Capwell. I have an interview today.”
“Ah, yes. I’m Patty Marino, receptionist extraordinaire.” She extends a hand. “Have a seat, and I’ll call the boys.”
She makes them sound like dogs. Would they be annoyed by it, or would they pump their fists in the air and woof in exaggerated deep voices? Their advertising had me believing they’re nothing more than billboard lawyers, but when I researched the firm, I was surprised to learn they’re highly respected. Both Steven Janks and Thomas Lowe were featured as “Best Lawyers in America,” “Super Lawyers,” and “Top 100 Lawyers in California.”
A tall man with angular features strides in, his hand outstretched. “Steven Janks. You must be Katie.”
“Yes.” I stand to shake his hand. “It’s good to meet you.” His pinstriped suit looks custom-made.
“Follow me.” He starts down the hall, and I follow, straightening my navy-blue skirt as I walk. “We’ll meet in Thomas’s office,” Steven says over his shoulder. Reaching a corner office, he peers through the partially open door. “I have Lin Collins-Capwell’s daughter, Katie, here. Are you ready?”
“Come on in.” If his booming voice is any indication, Thomas Lowe is a large man.
Steven holds open the door, and I step inside. A sound dangerously close to a strangled scream erupts from me, and my hand flies to my mouth.
A leopard stands beside Thomas’s desk, ready to pounce. My heart slams against my chest before I realize it’s fake. Or stuffed. Dear God.
“It’s dead,” I mutter through my fingers. Straightening, I add, “Of course. I was just surprised to see a large animal in an office.”
Thomas chuckles heartily, and rolls back in his chair before standing to offer his hand. “Thomas Lowe.”
We shake, and I attempt a smile. To my left, a gray wolf bares his yellowed fangs at me. The air feels thick. Lauren would fall to the ground in sobs if she were to set foot in here. A mounted deer head gazes at me with a sorrowful stare, and below him, an alligator stands watch on a low platform, a glint in his eye. I’d hate to be the one who has to dust that thing. Would he eat me in one bite, or toy with me, prolonging my certain death? I force myself to erase the image and sit on the edge of the guest chair.
“It can be a little much upon the first visit,” he says, his eyes sparkling as though he finds this all terribly funny. “Makes it feel like home for me, though. I’m a big hunter. I’ve been all over the world.”
“Interesting.” I look away, staving off a memory that burns my eyes. My dad traveled the world for animals, too, but not to hunt them. He photographed them. He would’ve said these so-called trophies were an atrocity. I reach into my briefcase and pass a manila folder to Thomas and another to Steven, who takes the chair next to mine.
Thomas slips out my résumé and places it on his desk. “How are you under pressure? Can you handle it?” There’s a hint of a southern drawl in his voice. He doesn’t wear a business suit like Steven, but rather faded jeans with a brass belt buckle, a plaid flannel, and cowboy boots.
“Yes. Absolutely.” I force a polite laugh and fold my hands in my lap. “Animals with beady eyes and sharp teeth might scare me, but I’m fine with humans.”
“That’s an apt description for a few defense attorneys I know.” He slaps his desk, chuckling at his joke.
Steven turns to me. “Look, we need a dynamo to assist Kenneth York, one of our partners. He’s out of town taking depositions, or you would’ve met him today.” He nods apologetically. “Smart man. Great attorney.”
“He can be high-strung,” Thomas adds, “but so can most attorneys I know, present company excluded. This job will include some challenging days and long nights, but I’ll tell you this, Katie: it’s worth it.” His eyes gleam with an intensity rivaling the alligator’s. I get the feeling that under his laid-back, good ol’ boy persona lays a force to be reckoned with. “Does that sound like something you can handle?”
The word “dynamo” rolls around in my head. It’s not a word I’d use to describe myself. Determined and dedicated, yes? But a dynamo wields power. I can learn here. These guys might take on alternative cases, for lack of a better term, but I’m starting to think I’d want them on my side in a fight. I fix my gaze on his. “Yes. I thrive on hard work.” I point to the folder on his desk. “My former boss wrote me a letter of recommendation if you’d like to see it. I also have letters from six of my law school professors,” I say, facing Steven.
He flips through the folder, giving the pages a cursory glance before setting it aside. “I’ll be frank, Katie. I’ve heard great things about you. I understand you graduated at the top of your class. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
He leans back in the guest chair, the picture of relaxed confidence. “Not an easy feat. The competition is relentless.”
His voice is filled with genuine admiration, like he respects the fact that I worked hard. So many people in law school loved to say, Oh, you have it made. You can work for your mom when you graduate. You’re so lucky. Funny how others love to make assumptions.
Steven tents his hands, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “A Janks and Lowe attorney possesses a creative mind and the need to succeed. The cases we bring in are often unique and require thinking outside the box. We fight hard for our clients.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. His gaze is a harsh exclamation point. I’m pretty sure he’d terrify me if I had to appear opposite him in court. “We have positive outcomes because we have a great support team,” he continues. “Our clerks and young attorneys are expected to be meticulous in their research. There is no room for error.” Thomas nods in agreement.
I assume no room for error means an unceremonious dismissal if you screw up. Good thing I don’t make mistakes.
“We’re looking for another clerk to begin as a first-year attorney once he or she passes the bar. I understand you took the exam last month?”
“I did.”
“Do you think you passed?” Thomas asks.
“Absolutely.” Results won’t be here until November, but I know I passed. It’s what I do.
He chuckles. “Good response. I like your confidence.” Standing, he says, “It’s been a pleasure. We’ll be in touch.”
That’s it? When I interviewed for Bradshaw, Burke and Doyle, I sat with the partners for a good forty-five minutes. “Thanks for taking the time,” I say. “It would be an honor to work here.” Glancing from Thomas to Steven, I say, “Your work on the Hartford case was remarkable.” I’m sure they hear it all the time, but I had to say something to let them know I did my research. Hartford wasn’t their biggest win financially, but it set important new precedent.
“Duly noted,” Steven says. “Be sure to tell Lin hello.”
“I will.”
Thomas’s smile reminds me of a television grandfather. I half expect him to say, Have a great day, kiddo, but of course, he doesn’t, and I leave his office wondering what kind of impression I’ve left.
As I step off the elevator, I head for the revolving doors instead of the parking structure. I need time to think before battling afternoon gridlock.
Taking my phone from my purse, I find Hannah’s number from my short list of favorites and type a text:
Hey, you free to talk?
Yes! Calling you now. I need something to get me off Netflix. Gah!
I smile. Seconds later, my phone rings.
“Hi.”
“Hey. Oh my God. I’ve become completely obsessed with Law and Order: SVU. It’s so addictive. But enough of that, what’s going on?”
“I just had an interview,” I say, strolling along the busy sidewalk.
“What? That’s great! Where? Fill me in!”
“It was with a plaintiff’s firm called Janks and Lowe. My mom actually set it up.”
“Uh-oh. So is this a job you want, or was it a practice interview to appease Lin?”
I pause next to an old phone booth and smile. I love that I don’t have to explain everything. She just knows. It’s the beauty of having a longtime friend.
When she moved up north for college, we got matching bracelets that have the numbers 1, 2, 3 & 4, 3, 2 engraved on them. It’s from the Bruno Mars song, “Count on Me,” but no one ever guesses, which makes it even more uniquely ours.
“I was angry at first because she gave me the ‘Don’t Do This on My Account’ speech.”
“As she does.”
“But then I met the partners and was really impressed with them,” I say, continuing to wander down the block. “They handle some pretty out-there cases, but it might be cool to work at a firm like theirs.”
“Oh, that makes me happy! When will you know?”
“I’m guessing a week or two—at least, I hope.”
“Okay, I’ll send good thoughts your way. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks. I hope so. If I don’t get this job, maybe I’ll apply to firms up there.”
“Really? Here in San Francisco?”
“Maybe. I want to see how this plays out, but I’m ready for something big. I need to stir things up.”
“Then I hope you don’t get the job, but I still hope you do.” She laughs. “Does that make sense?”
Smiling into the phone, I say, “I’m feeling the same. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Please do! I love you.”
“Love you, too.” We end the call, and I feel a little lighter and brighter, a bit of Hannah’s optimism tucked in my pocket. Glancing at the time on my phone, I turn back up the block toward the parking structure. Metal racks holding postcards and key chains flank the doors of a souvenir shop. It always surprises me that tourists bother with downtown L.A. It’s nothing like New York City. Moving closer to the racks, I turn one slowly, watching the rhinestone-encrusted dolphins shimmer as they spin by.
Touching a hand to the sparkling key chain, I remember standing with Gran outside the Lord & Taylor window in Manhattan, mesmerized by the display that gleamed with life-size snow globes covered in twinkling lights and elegant mannequins dressed in the most exquisite designer gowns.
Gran pointed to the window, her eyes alive. “It’s magical, isn’t it?”
I nodded, too awestruck to speak.
“Someone created this from nothing—just a vision in their mind.” She beamed at me. “I still remember when my mother, your Great Grandma Capwell, said similar words to me as we stood outside the Bloomingdales window. I had never seen anything like it. That very day, I went home and started drawing.”
“Costumes?”
Her tinkling laughter filled the air. “Not quite yet, but I believe it’s what put me on the path to becoming a costume designer.” Her eyes glowed. “Oh, it took dedication and a lot of training, but it was in my very soul, so it never felt like work.” She squeezed my hand in hers. “I want that for you, too. Your daddy followed his heart and does work he loves. It’s what Capwells do.”
“Gran,” I said, my voice quivering with excitement. “Do you really think it’s possible to make all of your dreams come true? I have so many.”
Her pale-blue eyes, wise with age, crinkled in the corners like they had so many times before, a beautiful accompaniment to her smile. “It’s good to have a lot. Gather them in your heart and save them. The most important ones will stay with you, pounding along with the beat of your heart until you act on them.
“You need a souvenir to mark this moment. A talisman, if you will.” She winked. “Whatever you choose, it should be something that allows you to remember this day. Think of your wishes each time you look at your talisman, and maybe one day, every single one will come true.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief, or memories. “I saved the bottle cap from the soda I shared with your grandfather on our very first date. Still have it,” she said matter-of-factly. “I never wanted to forget how I felt that day. I knew it was the start of something big.”
“And did you get married right away?”
“Heavens no. He moved to Michigan for college, and I stayed here in New York, so we broke up. It wasn’t until he moved back to the city years later that we met again. But I had saved the bottle cap in my jewelry box all that time. Every time I changed my earrings or put on a different bracelet, I saw my souvenir and sent a silent message to him, hoping I’d see him again one day.”
We trekked along the slushy sidewalks until we found the perfect shop. In the front, a rack of sparkling key chains caught my attention. I chose one made of metal, with “I heart New York” spelled out in a straight line. The heart was encrusted with light-blue rhinestones that will forever remind me of Gran’s eyes. It hangs on the switch of my bedside lamp. I’m sure Gran would approve.
I spin the rack in front of me once more, and the key chains clink as it rattles round and round. When it slows to a stop, I reach out to touch a miniature bobblehead bear dressed in a Los Angeles Dodgers uniform, but my attention is drawn to its neighbor—a simple plastic square with the words, “Live, Love, Laugh” printed down the front. Thoughts of Ryan’s knuckles weave their way into my head. I don’t try to analyze why it feels so perfect. I’ll only admit it’s about closing old doors and opening new ones.