The Matchmaker's Gift(14)
“I’ll let you go then. But first, a quick word about the meeting tomorrow. Victor étoile will be here at ten. As you know, he’s an incredibly talented clothing designer. He’s charming, but he’s also extremely demanding. Nothing gets by him. He should have been a lawyer.”
“Is there anything specific you need me to do at the meeting?”
“Nothing I can think of. The most important thing is not to alienate the other side. Victor’s fiancée, Nicole, wants us to talk through the agreement together. Be as welcoming as possible to her. She’s about your age.”
“And how old is Victor again?” Abby asked.
“Forty-five, but don’t mention the age difference. When I’m in the middle of prenup negotiations, I never bring up age differences, ex-spouses, or children. Of course, Nicole already knows about Victor’s first marriage and his two girls. But I always try to keep the romantic illusion alive. If there’s anything unpleasant that needs to be said, let me be the one to say it. You’re there to be the good cop, okay? Obviously, Nicole isn’t our client, but he’s about to marry her, so we need to keep both of them happy.”
“I understand.”
Diane nodded. “Good,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
* * *
Will picked the bar of a trendy new restaurant on Twentieth Street, in the Flatiron district. The entrance was marked with a handsome brown awning set inside an ornate marble archway. To the left, a darkened space smelled of wine and mahogany. Painted panels of technicolor fruits and vegetables hung above a lengthy wooden bar. Abby waited for her eyes to adjust before scanning the room for her date. That was probably him—the young man checking his watch, dark hair and glasses, sitting beside an empty seat. The man she thought was Will wore a conservative navy suit, a red-striped tie, and an earnest expression. He was nowhere near as stylish as the bar he had picked. He waved when he spotted her and stood from his chair.
“Abby?” he asked. “Hey, I’m Will.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Abby said. She put her bag on the floor and settled into the seat next to him while Will waved over the bartender and asked what she wanted.
After a few sips of wine, she felt more relaxed. She needn’t have worried about the conversation. There was plenty to talk about with Will. Aside from Jason, they had a few acquaintances in common. Will had clerked for the Second Circuit with one of Abby’s friends, and his college roommate had been in the class behind hers at Columbia. They were both first-born children, both confessed “rule followers.” He was a fifth-year corporate associate at one of the city’s top firms, and she was almost done with her first year at Berenson & Gold.
“So,” Will said, leaning a little bit closer. “A divorce lawyer, huh? Should I be worried?”
Abby downed the rest of her glass. Here we go again, she thought. She’d given the speech at least a dozen times—the one she so often felt compelled to make. “Look,” she began, “I had offers from all the best firms, just like you. Davis Polk, Simpson, Cravath, Wachtell—”
Will interrupted to apologize. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t get another job.”
“People always think divorce lawyers aren’t smart or ambitious, but the truth is, most of the assumptions are wrong. Take Diane Berenson. Did you know she and Janet Reno were in the same class at Harvard Law School?”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
“Well, there you go. Let me ask you this, what was the first year at your firm like? What did you work on?”
“I spent nine months in a freezing-cold conference room doing document production for an anti-trust case.”
“Did you ever meet a client?”
“I never left the room. It was me and three other first years. We were miserable.”
“I sit in on client meetings with Diane every day—even the high-profile, high-net-worth ones. If Diane isn’t available, they call me directly. They want to talk through visitation schedules and parenting issues. They have to find new places to live, they get closed out of bank accounts. Of course, some of them are only out for revenge. Some of them just want a person to yell at. But at least I feel like I’m doing something meaningful. I feel like the work I do is real.”
The bartender interrupted to ask if they wanted another round. “Is that okay?” Will asked, and Abby agreed. “It sounds like you’re getting amazing experience. But what made you choose divorce law in the first place?”
She took a deep breath. “Exactly what you’d expect, I guess. My parents had a bad divorce. Correction—my mother had a bad divorce. My father waltzed off with all the money and none of the responsibilities. His lawyer was incredibly confrontational—aggressive, stingy, and borderline abusive. My mother just wanted it to be over—she was too tired and heartbroken to put up a fight. She hired a lawyer, but not a very good one. I was twelve and my sister was nine.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It was a long time ago. So, what about you? Did you always want to be a lawyer?”
“Ever since I saw Paul Newman in The Verdict. Honestly, that was what did it for me. Of course, what I’m doing now is nothing like that, especially since I’m in the corporate department. It was na?ve, I know, to think that practicing law would be the same way they show it in the movies.”