not billing in the normal way, so it’s similar to pro bono. It’s in the same spirit, if you know what I mean.”
“But I’ll still get full credit for the hours?” Lina asked.
“Of course.”
“And for bonus purposes?” This from Garrison.
“Obviously. Now, I’ll be the partner on this. You’ll be doing all the legwork but I’ll be steering the project. We’ll be meeting with Mr. Dresser tomorrow, eight A.M ., to talk specifics.” Dan glanced at his watch, then toward the door. “Sooooo—great! Any questions?”
Lina opened her mouth to speak—about charging dinners and cabs—but Dan launched again. “Oh, and one last thing—we’re on a tight time frame here. Dresser Tech has a lot of ongoing defense-related contracts. It’s a busy time. Mr. Dresser’s got to stay in the good graces of the feds, but apparently he’s gotten a green light from within the administration to go ahead with this case. They focus-grouped it, I kid you not. Something to shift attention away from all this Abu Ghraib, WMD, yadda yadda. But our window is small . I don’t know all the specifics, only that we’ve got to get the initial complaint researched, written, and on Dresser’s desk in just over two weeks. I know that’s tight but”—he shrugged—“what can we do? We’ll get it done. It is what it is. Right, team? Great! Well, thanks for stopping by.”
Dan picked up his phone, fingers poised over the buttons, and smiled at them: leave.
I N THE HALL, WITH D AN’S office door closed behind them, Garrison turned to Lina. He was tall and narrow as a pencil. The intelligence in him, the watchfulness, was sharp as one of Oscar’s palette knives.
“Hi, Lina. Feels like we should meet again,” he said, smiling, and stretched out his hand.
“Hi.” Lina took his hand and eyed him, unsure about the niceness; unsolicited friendliness was a rarity at Clifton. He radiated authority and a measured calm, as though he were entirely unconcerned with what others might think of him. Lina thought that she might grow to like him, or hate him, or, more probably, she would never know him well enough to decide.
“You know, Dresser Tech does a ton of stuff in Iraq,” Garrison said, his voice low. “Like Halliburton, but more below the radar.”
“Hmm.” Lina had not known this, though she did not want to admit it.
“He’s tight with Cheney too, apparently. They’re golf buddies. Or hunting. One of those. Dresser’s taking a risk with this case, even with the green light. Suing the government? He must have a strategy worked out. I mean, don’t shit where you eat, right?”
Lina nodded tentatively. “I see what you’re saying.”
“Hey, we should have lunch sometime this week.” Garrison’s confidential tone gave way to a friendly buoyance. “Looks like it’ll just be the two of us working on this.”
“Usually I just eat at my desk,” Lina said.
Garrison stared at her blank-faced and Lina thought, without any degree of alarm, that she had effectively quashed his attempts at collegial chitchat. “You know, they do let first-year associates exit the building during daytime hours. The security guards won’t tackle you. At least not if you tip them.” He smiled, and all at once Lina’s jaw relaxed, a coiled tightness within her loosened, and she returned the smile.
“Lunch would be great,” she said. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Okay then. My secretary will set it up.” Garrison looked at his watch. “Crap, I’ve got to run. Conference call with London in five. See you later,” and Garrison slid down the hall, hands in pockets.
As Lina watched him go, she felt strangely heartened by the encounter. It was not unreasonable to think she might have a friend at the office, was it? Since she’d started at Clifton, her professional life had been confined to billing hours, attending client lunches and firm events, keeping afloat with a frantic dog-paddle in the competitive fishbowl where she and
“But I’ll still get full credit for the hours?” Lina asked.
“Of course.”
“And for bonus purposes?” This from Garrison.
“Obviously. Now, I’ll be the partner on this. You’ll be doing all the legwork but I’ll be steering the project. We’ll be meeting with Mr. Dresser tomorrow, eight A.M ., to talk specifics.” Dan glanced at his watch, then toward the door. “Sooooo—great! Any questions?”
Lina opened her mouth to speak—about charging dinners and cabs—but Dan launched again. “Oh, and one last thing—we’re on a tight time frame here. Dresser Tech has a lot of ongoing defense-related contracts. It’s a busy time. Mr. Dresser’s got to stay in the good graces of the feds, but apparently he’s gotten a green light from within the administration to go ahead with this case. They focus-grouped it, I kid you not. Something to shift attention away from all this Abu Ghraib, WMD, yadda yadda. But our window is small . I don’t know all the specifics, only that we’ve got to get the initial complaint researched, written, and on Dresser’s desk in just over two weeks. I know that’s tight but”—he shrugged—“what can we do? We’ll get it done. It is what it is. Right, team? Great! Well, thanks for stopping by.”
Dan picked up his phone, fingers poised over the buttons, and smiled at them: leave.
I N THE HALL, WITH D AN’S office door closed behind them, Garrison turned to Lina. He was tall and narrow as a pencil. The intelligence in him, the watchfulness, was sharp as one of Oscar’s palette knives.
“Hi, Lina. Feels like we should meet again,” he said, smiling, and stretched out his hand.
“Hi.” Lina took his hand and eyed him, unsure about the niceness; unsolicited friendliness was a rarity at Clifton. He radiated authority and a measured calm, as though he were entirely unconcerned with what others might think of him. Lina thought that she might grow to like him, or hate him, or, more probably, she would never know him well enough to decide.
“You know, Dresser Tech does a ton of stuff in Iraq,” Garrison said, his voice low. “Like Halliburton, but more below the radar.”
“Hmm.” Lina had not known this, though she did not want to admit it.
“He’s tight with Cheney too, apparently. They’re golf buddies. Or hunting. One of those. Dresser’s taking a risk with this case, even with the green light. Suing the government? He must have a strategy worked out. I mean, don’t shit where you eat, right?”
Lina nodded tentatively. “I see what you’re saying.”
“Hey, we should have lunch sometime this week.” Garrison’s confidential tone gave way to a friendly buoyance. “Looks like it’ll just be the two of us working on this.”
“Usually I just eat at my desk,” Lina said.
Garrison stared at her blank-faced and Lina thought, without any degree of alarm, that she had effectively quashed his attempts at collegial chitchat. “You know, they do let first-year associates exit the building during daytime hours. The security guards won’t tackle you. At least not if you tip them.” He smiled, and all at once Lina’s jaw relaxed, a coiled tightness within her loosened, and she returned the smile.
“Lunch would be great,” she said. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Okay then. My secretary will set it up.” Garrison looked at his watch. “Crap, I’ve got to run. Conference call with London in five. See you later,” and Garrison slid down the hall, hands in pockets.
As Lina watched him go, she felt strangely heartened by the encounter. It was not unreasonable to think she might have a friend at the office, was it? Since she’d started at Clifton, her professional life had been confined to billing hours, attending client lunches and firm events, keeping afloat with a frantic dog-paddle in the competitive fishbowl where she and
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