After my private daydreaming session involving the man whose name I don’t even know, I’m full of pleasure and the sweet feeling of release and I'm ready to re-start this day. Then I hear the bathroom door open and the sound of women laughing as they enter the bathroom.
Shit.
I can tell by looking through the slim crack between the door hinges of the stall that they’ve congregated in front of the mirror. They must have just gotten to work and decided to finish their primping together here in the bathroom.
I wonder if they could have possibly overheard any of my “me time.” But at least they couldn’t have been anywhere close to the bathroom soon enough to hear my conversation with Jimmy. I don’t know which option would be more embarrassing.
I decide they seem oblivious and that they don’t even know I’m in here. I quickly pull up my feet so that just in case they heard anything, they can’t see my shoes and later identify me as the sad sack in the bathroom who was trying to break up with her boyfriend on her first day of work. Or the horny girl who couldn’t even wait until her first day of work was over to get off by thinking about some guy she doesn’t even know.
“I wasn’t sure how early to get here before the start of new associate orientation,” one of the women says.
I squint through the crack between the door and the stall to see who she is. I vaguely recognize her and one of the other women from a mixer the firm threw last week so that the new associates could get to know each other.
Most of them had been summer clerks here at the firm last year, so I was one of the few new people, and I’m not very good at getting to know people.
I think her name is Tara and she has hair as blonde and legs as long as Barbie’s. In fact, they all three look like some version of Barbie or one of her friends.
I know the second woman a bit better because she was in my class section of law school. But that doesn’t mean we were friendly.
I had thought the era of mean girls ended in high school. In law school, however, I found that we as a class had apparently regressed back to middle school.
There were cliques, there were post-finals celebrations that rivaled college frat parties and there were definitely mean girls. I tried to avoid them and keep my head in the books while they threw themed parties or networking events.
But now, on my first day at the law firm of Marks, Sanchez & Reed, I’m learning that mean girls are not only still alive and well, but they’re also still gathered together as a clique. Bad news like this seems to be par for the course for my first day at my new job, my new career, my new forever.
Just as I was surprised that mean girls rule the law firm world just as much as they did the middle school lunch cafeteria, I’m also surprised by how many young, attractive females become successful associates at large firms.
I know I should count myself among them but I’m sure they don’t. Although I’m young, I’m curvier and bustier than most of them, and I don’t care about plastering my face with tons of makeup or doing my hair in the latest style.
“I’ve heard that the orientation is boring,” says Candace, the one with whom I’d shared law school classes— “So I downloaded some of the most recent issues of Vogue onto my iPad. What did we learn in law school, if not to always be prepared?”
They all three laugh and then the third one— I’m certain her name is Mandy, because when I first saw Mandy and Candace together at the mixer, I couldn’t get over the fact that their names could be “Mandy” and “Candy”— says, “The only reason I’m looking forward to orientation is because I heard that Asher Marks is going to be there.”
“I know,” says Tara, her eyes growing wide as she stares at her perfectly- waxed eyebrows in the mirror. “I can’t believe we’re finally going to get to meet the elusive firm founder.”
“He spent all of last summer on some mountain climbing trip in Katmandu or Nepal or Tibet or something,” Candace pipes in. “I can’t believe he didn’t even want to meet the summer clerks.”
She flashes a sarcastic sniffle.
“I can’t believe they let a partner get away with not working all summer,” Mandy says. “But then again, he’s not just any partner. He founded the whole firm and he’s rich as fuck. I heard he flies private jets to all the mountains that he climbs. Every few months, he’s on a new expedition.”
“Jen Harris, the senior associate with the bad skin? She worked on the Simone Technology case last spring and she told me that Asher won a huge verdict," Tara says.
"I've heard that's not the only thing that Asher has that's huge," Candace says. "And yeah, Jen needs to wear some foundation on that shiny forehead, poor thing."
"The Simone Technology case earned enough money in contingency fees for everyone in the firm to happily retire, if they wanted to,” Mandy says.
From the crack between the stall doors, I can see the other two girls turn to look at her.
“What?” Mandy says, batting her eyes innocently. “I religiously read the firm news bulletin. Don’t you? The contingency fee alone was over two billion.”
Her two friends whistle their amazement and I would join them if I weren’t in hiding. My knees are starting to cramp and my foot has fallen asleep.
I hope they’ll leave soon. But by the way their cosmetics are spread all over the bathroom counter, it doesn’t look like they ever plan to. In fact, it looks like they moved into the office and made the fifteenth floor bathroom their own.
“That’s why Asher Marks can do what he pleases,” Tara says. “He keeps the whole firm afloat. Makes a huge profit and then waltzes off on some mountain- climbing trip.”
“I hear he can do what he wants personally, as well as professionally,” Candace adds and then laughs.
“Yeah, it’s pretty common knowledge that he always takes a new female associate under his wing,” Mandy agrees.
“And under his desk,” Candace says.
Yuck.
The three women laugh but I feel nauseous. Just what kind of a law firm had I been so anxious to work for? A place where the head partner is a total douche and the new associates laugh about it?
“Well I don’t know about you ladies,” Tara says, “But I’d definitely let him take me whenever and wherever he wanted.”
“Hell yeah,” agrees Candace, and all three girls nod in happy anticipation.
Make that vie for the sleazebag’s attention, I think.
“It’s not like he just uses and loses them,” Candace continues. “I mean, sure, he moves on to the next one after a while, but whoever his chosen associate is definitely gets a good mentoring experience, both in the office and in the bedroom. And she always goes on to do bigger and better things, either within the firm or at another firm, depending on how acrimonious their fall- out is when Asher eventually jilts her.”
“So, as long as we know what we’re in for, it sounds like a good deal to me,” Tara says, as if assessing the negatives and positives of making a large purchase.
“Yeah, and I hear he's on the prowl for his newest one so the timing is perfect. Just don’t get attached,” Candace says. “Know it’s only temporary, and have some fun, because he definitely knows his way around the legal world, and his way around a vagina.”
“Stop it,” Mandy says.
Yes, please, I silently agree with her, but then she adds:
“You’re making me horny. I have to concentrate on winning Asher’s affection, and my head can’t be swirling around in fantasy land.”
Barf.
“Who do you think he’ll pick this time?” Tara asks, shaking her breasts in the mirror as if they’re about to compete as prized animals at some farm show.
“I think it definitely has to be one of us,” Mandy says, almost in a whisper.
“Yeah, I mean most of the new associates are guys, and among the women other than us, there’s that older lady, Megan, and that clearly prudish- looking lady, Margo or whatever her name is, and a few dumpy- looking ones like that Madilyn girl.”
I do my best not to let out a horrified “hrmph," and I also do my best not to pass out.
Just when I was thinking that nothing could be worse than having to listen to them compete over a sexist jerk like Asher Marks seems to be, they have to go and prove me wrong. They have to start talking about me.
“I don’t know about that Madilyn girl,” Mandy says. “She’s kind of pretty, and she’d be okay if she lost a few pounds and paid a little attention to her hair and wardrobe.”
From my hiding spot in the bathroom stall, I don’t know whether to be grateful that she's “defending” me, or to stay upset that they're talking about me behind my back like this. Even though, to be fair, they have no idea I'm eavesdropping.
“I highly doubt he’s her type,” Tara says, with a smug look on her face.
“Madilyn is definitely a go- getter,” says Candace. “She was in my practicum section.”
“What?” Tara’s facial expression changes to one of disbelief. “Wasn’t she a summer clerk at Roybal Wilson & Maine? I don’t think she even got a summer clerkship offer from Marks or any of the other really good firms.”
“Yeah, but she was on Law Review and she increased her GPA during 3L year when the rest of us were slacking off and partying,” Candace says.
That’s true, I want to interject. And thank you.
I’d done her a solid once by lending her my Criminal Procedure outline before the final exam. She’d claimed she had been sick too many times throughout the semester to take good, complete notes.
I’d heard that for Candace, though, “sick” equaled “hungover.” Many of our classmates had refused to honor her request to borrow outlines, saying she should have spent more time in class and less time partying.
But lending her the outline that had taken me hours each day to put together— on top of the regular class time I faithfully attended— had been no skin off my back, and apparently it had resulted in her having a favorable opinion of me. Or at least, more favorable of an opinion than the other two girls seemed to have of me.
“Well, she’s probably too straight laced for a guy like Asher Marks,” says Tara. “And I disagree that she’s that pretty. She has cankles.”
Cankles.
Do I have cankles?
I look down at my bent, half- asleep ankle.
I can’t tell.
“Yeah, and cankles don’t go away with weight loss,” Mandy laughs. “It’s one of the ways guys can always tell that a woman might blow up again.”
“Once you have cankles, you always have cankles,” Tara agrees.
“Remind me not to eat too much junk food at this orientation,” Mandy says. “I don’t want to get cankles.”
“On that note,” Candace adds, throwing her piles of makeup into her briefcase, “We’d better get going to orientation.”
“I don’t know if cankles are something you can just get,” Tara says, as she follows suit. “I think you’re just born with them. If you have fat genes.”
“I wonder who Asher will sit by in the conference room,” Mandy muses aloud as they finally left the bathroom. “I hear that’s always an indication that she’s the girl he wants.”
“I like a man who instantly knows what he wants…” says Candace, before the door swings shut behind them.
So here we are.
They’re glibly making their way to orientation and I’m still scrunched in a bathroom stall, trying not to cry.
Stand up, I tell myself, and amazingly, I listen. Even though part of me feels like staying hidden in the bathroom all day and not having to deal with the realities of my work life or my personal life.
I march my legs soldier style out of the stall, and then around in a circle, trying to coach them into re-gaining their feeling.
I look at my unadorned face and hair in the bathroom mirror, which had formerly just been graced by the Barbies’ perfectly groomed reflections.
It’s okay, I tell myself.
I don’t want a guy like Asher Marks anyway.
He sounds like a complete asshole who thinks he can do what he wants.
I’m here for one thing and one thing only: to get my career off to the right start.
I may have cankles, but I didn’t get this job for my looks. My brain is all I need.
Those other girls can shove it.
I hold my head up high in the mirror before making my way to the door.
My feet mostly alive now, I try to walk as confidently as I can to the conference room where associate orientation is about to start.
I’ll forget all about the three Barbies and focus on what matters. And even though I still have to deal with Jimmy later, as least I’ve made significant headway in clearing my life of anything that holds me back from that goal.
But, damn it.
Cankles.
Cankles.
Cankles.
That one, cruel word uttered by my newest co-workers still reverberates in my mind.
Nothing is working out the way it’s supposed to today.
I try to think of something different, to drown them out. I remember the goals I had this morning as I got ready for work. New leaf. Fresh start. Excitement. Sex.
These things are still all mine for the taking. Except not together of course—no matter what the Barbies might think is acceptable.
I'll stay focused on my game plan and continue being successful just like I have been over this past year. And they'll be too busy chasing dick to be able to keep up with me.
Watch out, Marks Sanchez & Reed. Here comes an associate who wants to work— not sleep— her way to the top.