Page 3 of Nerdplay
“Thanks, Gloria. You’re the best.”
I remain seated at the picnic table for a few more minutes, soaking up the midday sun. The lake glistens like starlight and a comfortable shudder ripples through my body. This camp is my happy place, the physical manifestation of my soul, and there’s nothing on earth a property developer could do to convince me to sell.
I watch as Matt Lyman shoots the foam ball from behind his desk. The ball swishes through the basket attached to the back of his office door. He slides open the desk drawer and produces another ball.
“Your turn,” he says.
“No thanks.”
His grin is designed to taunt. “Afraid of a little competition?”
“More afraid of Joel opening the door and me hitting him smack in the face.”
“Dude, you need to lighten up.” He squeezes the green ball. “It’s foam.” He shoots again and scores.
I toss a file on his desk. “I didn’t come to play. Joel asked me to bring you this.”
“Is that the Dungiven file? Sweet.” He flips open the file. “You don’t mind, do you, buddy? You’ve got LandStar. Now I’ve got Dungiven. Seems fair.”
“I don’t mind.”
We both know that’s a lie. I mind very much. After all, I’m the one who cultivated the relationship with Dungiven’s CEO, and now my boss has handed that client on a silver platter to my only real competition for partnership. Melvin, O’Reilly, and Gaines is a medium-sized law firm. The upside is my ability to move up the ranks faster than at a large firm. The downside is that the department can only choose one of us to make partner this year. You’d think I would relish the Gladiator-style experience of pitting associates against each other and turning colleagues into competitors. After all, it’s the capitalist way. But something about it doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe because, for the first time in my life, I might actually lose.
Matt seems to read my mind. “What’s the matter, buddy? Worried you won’t clinch the contract for LandStar?” He practically salivates at the prospect. Matt’s out for the same amount of blood, whether it’s a business deal or a ‘friendly’ game of hoops.
“I’ll have the contract wrapped up in a pretty bow soon enough. I’m driving out there tomorrow.”
“Hey, at least you get to bill travel time. That’s at least four hours without any real work.” Matt grins like his entire goal in life is receiving money for the least amount of effort. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was lazy, but I know it’s all part of his act. Matt Lyman is fiercely competitive. He wants people to believe his achievements are effortless. If he weren’t so annoying, I’d find him a fascinating character study.
My assistant and I have crafted lighthearted psychological profiles of most people in our department. Jeannie is much more skilled at this than I am. She can read people faster than it takes me to process their names. I once told her she should’ve been a lawyer, but she said she can’t stand the bullshit that comes with the job. According to her, it’s much easier to be the administrative assistant in the shadows whose name half the lawyers only remember when they want something, and even then, they sometimes get it wrong. Bert in litigation calls her Jane, no matter how many times he’s been corrected. I’d blame a faulty memory, but I’m fairly certain the guy has never called his wife by his mistress’s name, or he’d be divorced by now.
Jeannie waves frantically as I return to my office from Matt’s. I swerve to the right to check in.
“Joel came by your office,” she says in a hushed tone.
I stifle a groan. Joel Niven is the head of my department and my direct boss. He likes to press people’s buttons and watch how they respond. He once ordered octopus in a seafood restaurant because he knew another partner had a moral objection to it. When he refused to change his order, she left the restaurant, leaving him with the new client she’d painstakingly pursued for a year. His take was that commitment to the client should trump everything else, including the plight of any marine life. How intelligent can they really be if they end up on a plate in Center City? I believe was his exact quote.
“Joel said he’ll pop back later this afternoon.”
That buys me a little time. The phone rings and Jeannie effortlessly switches to her professional voice. “Charlie Thorpe’s office. Who may I say is calling?” Her expression shifts as she puts the caller on hold. “Your father is on the line. Should I tell him you’re in a meeting?”
“How does he sound?”
“Like he has a silver spoon stuck up his ass.”
I heave a sigh. This day is already ruined. What’s one more challenging personality?
“I’ll take it at my desk. Thanks.” I give myself a quick pep talk before I enter my office and pick up the phone. “Hi, Dad.”
“Charles. Your mother asked me to call. She wants to make sure you save the date on your calendar for our fortieth wedding anniversary. We’re hosting a party at the house.”
Forty years of wedded ... whatever toxic relationship they called a marriage. Congrats, I guess.
“August first. It’s already on the schedule.”
“I hope we can announce your new title by then.”
Ah. Now I understand the real reason for the phone call. “Why?”
