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“Marlene Valero, his secretary.” The coordinator looked down the hall nervously for an escape. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve had enough coffee to fill a battleship.”

  “A Danish then? Or an orange juice?”

  “An herbal tea, I guess.” Sophia noted the relief on the coordinator’s face.

  They headed to this floor’s break room: one of the little rooms strategically placed where law firms could push large supplies of caffeine and carbs for the troops.

  * * *

  The two returned to Toak’s office ten minutes later. The office door was open and Marlene was back at her desk aggressively shuffling files.

  Sophia followed the coordinator past Marlene, who looked up. Sophia saw her brown eyes were red and swollen. They were set in a plain, homely face framed with straight dark hair blunt cut at the neck. Marlene was not ashamed or embarrassed that she had obviously been crying. Her eyes narrowed as she scowled at Sophia.

  Sophia looked away. She surmised her interview had interrupted a battle of an intimate nature, which Marlene had lost.

  “Mr. Toak?” The coordinator tapped on the open office door. “This is Sophia Christopoulos.”

  “Fine. You can leave and I’ll get her to her lunch,” Mr. Toak dismissed the coordinator and turned to Sophia. “Sit down. I see you have coffee.”

  “Yes. Nice to meet you.”

  Sophia lied both about the coffee and about her pleasure in meeting this abrupt and apparent, if not obvious, womanizer. Toak was a full partner, but not a managing partner. He, however, had a large book of business. Sophia wanted his approval but knew a rejection would not be dispositive of her future.

  Toak paced in front of his large window, which faced west over roofs into open sky, an unusual view to have in downtown Los Angeles. He was short, even in his elevated shoes that gave him an effeminate walk. His profile was elf-like with its turned up nose and pointy ears. He was as residually disturbed as Marlene. He clenched his jaw, but his face became more relaxed and less red as he paced. He was not as skillful as Judith at covering his emotions.

  Sophia glanced at Toak’s desk and saw her resume protruding, untouched and buried, beneath neglected papers in his in-box. Next to it was a picture of him and his family—a chubby wife beaming with a young son and daughter who both had unmistakable, identical elf-like noses.

  Sophia thought of Marlene. When Toak had gotten his fill of fun or fighting, Marlene would be exiled to the lower floors to work for associates. She could go there quietly or quit and attempt a sexual harassment lawsuit. However, the lawsuit would never get a big payout from this powerful firm. That is if she could get anyone to take it. Marlene’s attorney would be out-gunned by Thorne & Chase, but they could get something for her troubles, depending on Toak’s public slip-ups. Marlene had chosen badly when she picked Toak. She had wasted her time and favors. Toak was either staying married or staying single. It was a timeworn saga.

  “Why do you want to be at Thorne & Chase?” Toak asked robotically as he paced.

  It was an unimaginative question, Sophia thought. But she was happy to get back to the mundane after her other morning interviews.

  Sophia avoided the obvious answers. What law school graduate with big student loans wouldn’t want to be here? Bode was a local firm that paid twenty thousand dollars less a year with small, lock-step bonuses. Thorne & Chase was a New York-based law firm with international clout, its salaries dwarfed those at other firms, and its bonuses to its first and second-year associates were astronomical.

  Sophia realized this was a non-interview. Toak’s focus was on his secretary or wife, or whoever else he was doing. She relaxed because he wasn't going to listen to a word she said. But she kept her information about his clients and sparse victories at hand in case she needed it.

  “I want a chance to learn from the best and I believe I will have that opportunity here.” Sophia auto-piloted her answer with the same canned blurbs she had used in her on-campus law firm interviews during her third year. “I have a lot to contribute to Thorne & Chase because I work hard and want to succeed.”

  “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

  Toak turned his back and gazed out the window west toward Hancock Park, well beyond the 110 Freeway. It was a neighborhood of mansions where many of the partners in downtown law firms lived because of its proximity to downtown. Despite being transected by morning commuters up Third and Sixth Streets, it had the well-known Larchmont Village shops, the exclusive Marlborough School for girls, and a strong sense of community for families.

  Sophia was becoming incensed at the inattention of this miniature-sized philanderer and wished she could answer truthfully: “Anywhere but working with you on one of your cases.”

  But she didn’t.

  Toak was an old hire from the days when a Gentleman’s C was the norm in law school. Competing for top grades was considered a waste of time when there was networking and schmoozing to be done. Toak’s law school accomplishments were nil. He was hired because, even as a first year, he brought two big clients into the firm: his father’s Tennessee mattress manufacturing company and his uncle’s computer chip company in Texas. Toak added more clients through his family ties and became a full partner quickly with Frank Cummings’s support. Frank’s network of people who were indebted to him was wide, and it included Sophia now. Frank’s “okay” was worth more than the opinions of Judith and Toak combined.

  “I want to work hard and become a full partner here at Thorne & Chase. I have a business-getting plan that I hope will . . .”

  Toak’s desk phone interrupted.

  “Yes,” Toak answered and then listened with a stone-cold face.

  Toak sat down at his desk and then gave Sophia a sharp glance.

  “Fine, Judith.”

  He hung up abruptly and dug Sophia’s resume out of his in his in-box.

  As Toak read it Sophia knew that, for good or for ill, Judith had intervened in this lackluster interview.

  “Good resume,” Toak grunted, throwing Sophia’s resume on his desk.

  “Thank you.”

  Sophia was unsettled by the fact that Judith had made that call and staked out a claim on her. She would deal with Judith after she got the offer. At least it terminated Toak’s inane questions. Sophia watched Toak’s face fall as he read her remarkable law school record. He was cowed. What she had done in those three years was far out of reach for an average man like him. Sophia snickered inside and waited.

  Toak forced a smile.

  “I see from your name you are Greek.”

  “Well, first generation American.”

  Sophia downplayed her heritage but prepared to “Greek” for this pint-sized male if necessary.

  “I love Greek food. Have you tried the Athena Restaurant on Boyd Street near Fourth?”

  “Not yet. Is it good?”

  Sophia mustered superficial enthusiasm. She knew what was coming: an ignorant diatribe about Greek food from an undiscerning American palate.

  Americans just did not get that Greeks live to eat, not eat to live. They also had no comprehension that Greek food is profoundly regional, ingrained, and very personal to Greeks and their American progeny. The specific island or town of your Greek ancestors dictates gastronomic acceptability.

  “It’s the best Greek food I’ve ever had.”

  Toak was ordaining, however ignorantly, about Greek food.

  “Really?”

  Sophia knew that wasps like him raved over any generic Greek, or pseudo-Greek cooking, as long as it was served with “Zorba” music blaring and Greek key designs splashed around any white and blue restaurant.

  “The moussaka is wonderful. It even has cinnamon sticks poking up out of it.”

  “Great! I’ll try it.” Sophia knew it would be a cold day in hell when she ate moussaka with cinnamon in it.

  Sophia’s people had emigrated from the island of Chios, where recipes were passed down from generation to generation. Her
relatives would never eat at the Athena, which was obviously run by Greeks from Crete. Cretans ruined every dish, especially the meat ones, by overdoing the “dreaded” cinnamon, abhorrent to Chiotis except in the occasional sweet.

  There was silence. Sophia chose not to fill it. Unlike with Frank earlier, not because she was intimidated, but instead because she had nothing but contempt for this womanizing pygmy.

  “Good. You'll like it.”

  Self-satisfied, Toak strutted in his elevator shoes over to his office door.

  “Well, it’s time for your lunch.”

  He and Sophia started down the hall.

  “Just a minute.” Toak walked back to Marlene’s desk and whispered in her ear.

  Marlene smiled, stood, and, in turn, whispered in his ear. Toak purred.

  As Sophia watched the apparent reconciliation, she realized that Marlene was probably the only woman at the firm who looked up to Toak, literally.

  Sophia trailed him down the hall. She was thankful Judith’s call had vetted her with Toak. Despite his visceral negative reaction to Judith’s power, he was obedient.

  Judith had a piece of Toak, and she was a cannibal who fed on her own kind.

  ⌘

  Chapter 5

  Comrades

  At the elevator bank there were four punctual associates waiting, all in dark suits. One woman, two tall men under thirty, and a portly shorter man—all talking football.

  “Here’s your ticket to a free lunch,” Toak called the associates to order. “Keep it reasonable, you little parasites.”

  He left Sophia unceremoniously on her own without another word.

  The lunch dance began.

  “I’m Sean Peters. Second year. Ignore Toak. Everyone does.” The attractive male associate with sandy brown hair chuckled and shook Sophia’s hand vigorously.

  “Hello.” Sophia smiled and responded cautiously. “I think it was more like he ignored me.”

  “You’re lucky.” Sean’s blue eyes twinkled down at her.

  “Hi, I’m Adam Schneider, second year. Living proof anyone can survive this billing factory.” The tall, blond male associate beamed as he took Sophia’s hand. “And I concur, keep away from Toak and his so-called secretary. Drama central.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Sophia noted his unusual navy blue eyes.

  She worked hard to memorize the associates’ names. Adam immediately went back to his conversation with Sean about college ball and who would dominate the Pac 12.

  “Hello. Paul Viola, sixth year.” The portly associate extracted himself from the animated football conversation and stepped in with a friendly handshake.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “You may be pleased to meet us, but we know you’re more pleased to get away from your morning lineup. We’ve all been there.”

  Sophia immediately liked Paul and hoped to have a chance to work with him if, or hopefully when, she got the offer. He looked tired behind his glasses and was obviously older than the others. But, even with the extra thirty pounds, he had an attractive face with dark hair and brown eyes.

  “Hi, I’m Tricia Manning.” The pretty woman associate stepped in and shook Sophia’s hand with a firm, even grip. “I’m your token woman today. Second-year, too. Paul is the old man.”

  “Hey,” Paul objected.

  “I was referring to your years as an associate, of course!”

  Tricia’s hazel eyes sparkled as she smiled and bumped shoulders with Paul.

  “Hello.” She noted that Tricia was indeed beautiful, even with no makeup and her honey hair pulled tightly back in a bun.

  “Okay. Enough. Let’s go do what we came to do. Eat.” Sean pressed the elevator button and then turned to Sophia with a sly smile. “And, of course, interview you.”

  “Of course,” Adam chuckled. “And ignore that cheapskate Toak. Follow our lead ordering. The Edinburgh Grill is the firm’s watering hole. It has great lobster,"

  “Great everything,” Paul added as the group got into the elevator.

  ⌘

  Chapter 6

  No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

  The Edinburgh Grill was an old, established downtown restaurant half a block from the office. It had a long mahogany bar that was surrounded by small tables and a row of elevated booths. Adjacent was the white-linened dining room with plain white china, ornate flatware, and simple stemware. Each table had a small round centerpiece of fall colored flowers and greens.

  At the group’s table, Sean and Adam continued to debate football, now over the cross-town football rivalry between USC and UCLA. They argued about the coaches, their pay, and who should have been fired for losing last season. They debated the players’ stats and looked them up on their smartphones for facts to prove their points. Remarkably, player stats were reported inconsistently. Paul was as intense as Sean and Adam in the animated analysis of every pivotal player on both teams, particularly the first string quarterbacks.

  “Hey, guys, enough with the football.” Tricia tried to interrupt the momentum to no avail. “They’re little boys when it comes to football and free meals.” “Sorry, Sophia.”

  Not only was Tricia unsuccessful in thwarting the football cavalcade, it interestingly now focused on the minutiae of referees. To Sophia’s amazement, the three men now evaluated how one referee’s calls determined which two teams got last year’s Rose Bowl bids.

  “He calls stuff because all he wants is face time,” Sean complained. “That big ugly mug in front of the camera and plastered on every TV across the country.”

  “Yeah, fifty percent of his calls are trumped up against the team he hates,” Adam said. “The other forty percent are things we all did playing. Any ref could stop every game every two seconds if he wanted.”

  “Yeah, he never played college ball,” Paul added. “He’s a small town teacher in some Podunk town who makes $2,500 a pop and gets his adrenaline high being an ass.”

  “They’ll stop when their appetizers come,” Tricia whispered to Sophia.

  “I like football.” Sophia lied and was simply glad she was not the focus of their attention.

  “It’s worse when my boyfriend Jay hangs out with them.” The waiter handed Tricia a menu.

  “Is he at the firm as well?” Sophia asked.

  Sophia was distracted by the waiter handing her a menu and then putting her untouched napkin on her lap, unlike Tricia who had immediately put her napkin where it belonged.

  “He’s an Assistant U.S. Attorney in the tax division. We all have season tickets with these guys for USC games at the Coliseum.”

  The gourmet menu with lengthy descriptions of reductions and herbs unsettled Sophia. Recruiting lunches and dinners were hard for her because she was ignorant of haute cuisine. For her, good food came in large helpings from huge dishes in the center of the table and close friends and family members freely took their forks and tasted from each other’s plates. Sophia covered her discomfort with a practiced reserve, which kicked in automatically in any foreign situation.

  “French onion soup, then the tomato and mozzarella salad, and the petite filet mignon with shiitake mushroom reduction, but hold the potatoes.” Tricia handed her menu back to the waiter’s assistant.

  “The potato leek soup and the garden salad.” Sophia followed Tricia’s lead with three courses. “And the salmon with capers, please.”

  The hovering waiter took their orders. The men not only ordered three courses but also agreed on four plates of appetizers to share. Sophia was delighted because the more chewing required, the more she would have a respite from selling herself.

  “Too bad it’s lunch or we could get some wine.” Sean handed the wine list back.

  As it turned out, Sophia didn’t have to worry about selling herself after they ordered or during the entire eating fest. Instead, all she had to do was listen and smile interestedly at a detailed analysis of who would get the Heisman trophy while the three men simultaneously devoured everything. Toak
had hit the nail on the head. To these associates, she was a ticket for a free, expensive lunch.

  “That was great.” Sean finished his rack of lamb and checked out two young women being led to a table.

  “Yeah, too bad we have to make junior partner to do dinners with cocktails and wine.” Adam popped his last bite of his blue cheese sirloin burger into his mouth and his last sweet potato fry.

  Sophia had refrained the entire lunch from reaching over and grabbing a fry from Adam’s plate, Greek style.

  “Careful what you wish for.” Tricia put her fork down on her plate.

  “Forget it,” Paul shushed Tricia as he ceremoniously dipped his last bite of lobster in butter and savored it. “You going to finish your filet?”

  “No. And don’t worry. I’ll get you a doggie bag.”

  “Thanks.”

  Paul wiped the butter from his lips and turned to Sophia.

  “Why are you considering this sweat shop?”

  Sophia was caught off guard, but her autopilot kicked in.

  “I can learn from the best here.”

  She really wanted to scream that she needed a paycheck, a big one, and was drowning in student loans.

  “I was a summer associate at another firm and got an offer, but when I heard about this opening I decided to go for it.”

  “We’re all here for the money. You can just admit it.” Tricia abdicated her role as an audience for Sean and Adam’s football worshipping. “They get you on the treadmill with student loans and you can never get off.”

  “Yeah,” Paul agreed. “And then there’s a car payment, a house loan, and the insurance merry-go-round. Upgraded health insurance, whole life insurance, disability insurance, and I don’t know what else. If you come here, watch out for their ‘favorite’ rep. He sells . . . you buy. And it all seems logical.”

  Sophia smiled but said nothing. She was still playing it close to the vest because she was not in the door yet.

  “We girls want dessert and a double-shot cappuccino.” Tricia looked to Sophia for support.