Page 1 of Throwing Shade
1
It’sa truth universally acknowledged that angry women get shit done. On the Richter Scale of Midlife Simmering, I was a solid eight, meaning I’d already crossed twelve items off of my to-do list and it wasn’t even 10:30AM.
As the librarian here at Chan Wilkins Shechtman LLP, I was researching some tedious historical legislation for one of the senior partners when my mojo was disrupted by Blake Cunningham, a husky blond Associate. He loomed over me like an inflatable tube man hawking discount cars, unleashing spittle and vitriol all over my desk as he informed me of a deadline I’d missed.
I’d fulfilled his last request three days ago, so if he’d stop speaking over me every time I asked for clarification, we could get to the bottom of this.
While I kept my expression neutral, ever the consummate professional, I eyed the fat law dictionary that sat out of reach on my desk, next to the Book Wizard mug that Sadie had given me last year for Mother’s Day. Had I been an actual book wizard, I’d have telekinetically brained Blake with the heavy tome.
Murder hadn’t been on my list for the day, but I’d been extraordinarily productive this morning, so I was willing to pencil it in.
Alas, it was also a truth universally acknowledged that single moms wanting to keep their jobs didn’t engage in such acts, no matter how justified. The chances of getting an all-female jury who’d acquit the defendant with high-fives while singing Aretha Franklin’s “Think” were pretty much nonexistent.
Blake jabbed a finger in my face and I jerked my chair back, clenching my fists to keep from breaking the offending digit. My performance review was coming up and unlike some, I couldn’t shit on people and still expect a raise. My track record needed to be stellar and it was, but Blake was higher in the firm’s pecking order and matching his boorish behavior would cost me.
He finally took a breath and I jumped in.
“I’m unaware of any new assignment that you gave me. What are you referring to?”
“The email I sent you yesterday,” he said, wiping spit from his face. “I need that Law on Remoteness for the Santos trial. I won’t look bad because you can’t be bothered to do your job.”
I twisted my monitor around to show him my inbox. “I didn’t receive any email from you. Please don’t disparage my ability or work ethic.”
He snorted. “You must have deleted it.”
I pried my fingers off the screen. “Excuse me?”
“You think that because Cecilia Chan hired you, you get a free pass? There isn’t a quota system for women here.”
No, but there was one for assholes. To be fair, most of our lawyers were great, but every now and again, a toxic jackass showed up.
Someone knocked on my office door, and Blake opened it before I could to reveal an unfamiliar young woman.
Her cheerful smile indicated that her soul had yet to be sucked out by this industry, while her bright eyes denoted that she hadn’t yet started pulling longer hours than her male counterparts to prove herself.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” I said.
“Is it that obvious? Articling Student in the house.” She held up a stack of periodicals. “I wasn’t sure where you wanted these.”
“Put them on the cart out there, please,” I said, pointing into the library outside my office.
Blake ran a hand through his hair. “Hey, Addison. You know you can dump that on a paralegal, right?”
“It’s good to familiarize myself with all aspects of the firm,” she said. “Oh, Tamara was also wondering if the books she requested were in?”
My left eye twitched. I’d explained to the lawyer that the law volumes were on back order, but she persisted in asking constantly, like someone repeatedly hitting an elevator button to make it arrive faster. “Not yet. Still coming in on the same date.”
“Okay, I’ll drop these off then,” she said, backing out, her high ponytail bobbing.
“Thanks,” I said. “The procedures around here can take a while to get the hang of, but if you have any questions about the library, I’m happy to answer them.”
“I appreciate that,” she said.
Blake kept his sleazy smile on full wattage until Addison left, at which point it dropped like a power outage. “Look, I can let the secondary sources slide until tomorrow if you need to take your extended coffee breaks or play solitaire or whatever you do when no one’s watching here, but get me that case law by end of day, Mara.”
Wait. What?
Mara was the sixty-something administrative assistant who worked directly for Daniel Shechtman, and as the senior partner always joked, the real power around this place. Blake had been at this firm for six months. Were all women over a certain age an interchangeable blob to this douchenozzle?
