Blindfolded Innocence Page 2

  She beamed at me and patted my arm reassuringly. "Now, now - that is no problem! I don't drink a lot of coffee myself, but I'll show you how to fix it!" With a purpose, she bustled over to the cabinet, and pulled out a jug of ground coffee. "Now, the way I fix it is to put 3 teaspoons of coffee grounds in, and then fill the water canister to 8 cups." 3 teaspoons, 8 cups - sounds easy enough.

  I followed her instructions, and had a pot of watery brown liquid brewing in no time. I didn't trust myself with a taste test, but poured Broward a cup and stuck one of the prepared containers of sweeteners, creamers, and stirrers under my arm. I carefully navigated my way through the halls, to the elevator, and used my elbow to press the button. The doors opened to Todd Appleton's perky good looks. His glowing skin and enthusiastic "good morning" spoke of a night well rested. I stepped on the elevator with him and watched his eyes travel up my legs and stop on my shaky coffee cup and creamer selection. I had already sloshed at least a fourth of the coffee around the rim, and could feel some drops running down my fingers. Great.

  "Making coffee for the office?" he teased, his gaze finally reaching my face.

  "Very funny, " I responded. "Did you know our duties include coffee prep? Something I have never attempted before," I added dryly.

  "Maybe for you," he shot back. "De Luca has Le Croissant bring up a full spread every morning, with coffee, fruits, and a bunch of pastries. They delivered at 8am," he paused glancing at his watch. "Hence my early arrival - want to get some while they are fresh!"

  The elevator pinged and stopped at the fourth floor, doors opening slowly. Todd bounded off, apparently never being taught by his doting mother that ladies go first. I exited carefully, trying my best to keep every last remaining drop of coffee in the cup, and traversed the three turns and two straightaways until I stopped in front of Broward's door. I knocked gently with my knee, and then pushed the door in.

  I could feel tendrils of my hair coming out of my french twist, and felt completely out of sorts when I tried to gracefully place, and more like dumped, the cup and ceramic container on Broward's desk. He was on a call, discussing what sounded like a DEP issue, and held up one finger to indicate that I should stay. I choose one of the two heavy leather chairs facing his desk and sat, waiting on his call to finish.

  While he droned on about the environmental impact of what sounded like a nature trail, I discreetly checked out his office. It was decorated in the heavy, ornate, masculine fashion that all of our offices seemed to be modeled after. He had stacks of files everywhere and file boxes lining any free space on the edges of the walls. Six file cabinets lined one wall, and a six-person conference table took up the right side of the office. It was a large office, more than twice the size of mine, but what I would have expected for a firm partner. The table didn't look like it was used for many meetings - ever inch of it was covered in stacks of papers, with hundreds of small and large post-it notes decorating the stacks. My head spun with the enormity of his work load. I had naively assumed that I was making some headway with the measly 14 hours I had put in yesterday. I grew stressed just sitting in this office.

  His desk was the cleanest place in the office. He had three legal folders on his desk, one open to the file he was discussing on the phone. He had a large digital clock on his desk, no doubt to help him keep track of billable hours. He had two framed photos next to his phone - I couldn't see what they were from this angle, but I assumed they were of his wife and kids. Those photos were probably the most he ever saw of them. My snooping was cut short by the sound of his phone handset being returned to its rightful place. I looked up and into his blue eyes.

  "I - err - didn't know how you liked your coffee, so I brought it black," I said, gesturing to the accompaniments in the ceramic holder. I stood up and slid the coffee cup towards him, until it was in easy reach.

  "Just light cream and Equal, " he said, standing up and grabbing the creamer box and flipping through it.

  See, that's what is difficult for me. Light cream and Equal - what defines "light"? I watched him closely, noting how much he added of each to the cup. He looked at the color of the coffee a moment longer than what I would term as normal, and then, dismissing whatever thought was in his head, brought the cup to his mouth.

  Gag would be too strong of a word for what happened next. Involuntary wince, perhaps? His blink was a bit forced, his mouth curled into an unpleasant motion and there was a slight shuddering motion that he tried hard to cover. An involuntary giggle popped out and I slapped a hand over my mouth. He looked at me in confusion, trying to figure out if I was trying to play a joke on him. His expression looked somewhere between mad and amused.

  "I'm sorry," I gasped, fighting the ridiculous hiccupping laugh that was fighting tooth and nail to come out. "I don't drink coffee, I've never made coffee, I was stumbling through trying to figure it out when someone downstairs was kind enough to show me how…” my voice trailed off as my giggle urge left and I felt despair instead creeping in. "Is it…. horrible?" I whispered.

  "A little," Broward admitted, a wry smile coming to his lips. "But, no worries. I will have Shelia walk you through it tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I need a file couriered over from Rothsfield & Merchant. Could you stop by Starbucks on the way back?"

  I nodded rapidly, some relief merging its way back into my conscience. He didn't seem mad. Yes, I had looked inept, but it seemed to be okay.

  "If you prefer," I ventured, "I think Mr. De Luca had some breakfast delivered. I could grab some coffee from their conference room?"

  His face darkened. Okay... maybe not something he'd prefer. Did I say something wrong?

  "No, he said sharply. "Brad orders that for his secretaries, intern, and his clients. We don't mess with, or borrow from his staff, and I expect the same from him." His glowering tone softened slightly at my pale face. "Sorry, " he muttered. "Maybe now is when I should go through the office background." He stood, shut the open file on his desk, and pressed the call button for Shelia, his secretary. Why wasn't Shelia getting his coffee? That seemed a secretarial duty.

  "Yes, Mr. Broward?" a delicate, professional voice sounded through the speakerphone.

  "I will be indisposed for the next…10 minutes. Please hold my calls."

  "Yes sir, Mr. Broward."

  Broward sat down, leaned back in his chair and tapped his finger to his chin, mulling something over while looking at me. I fought the urge to fidget.

  "Okay, to begin - let's attack the elephant in the room." He leaned forward and met my gaze firmly - his almost stern gaze reminding me of when my father used to lecture me on the importance of high school English. What elephant in the room? Is this about the coffee?

  "Brad De Luca, " he began. "Brad is, without a doubt, the best divorce attorney in the South. His waiting list is over 10 months long, and many unhappy wives prolong a marriage for the sole reason of waiting to have Brad represent them." His voice was matter of fact and slightly wry. "Brad is a shark in the courtroom and has no problem splattering the walls with blood. He also takes very, very good care of his clients." His tone and expression lead me to believe that "taking care" of his clients might mean a little more than one would think. I nodded to indicate that I got the point.

  "You will no doubt notice the daily breakfast platters, be invited on the Bahamas work weekends, and hear the drone of excessive and unnecessary celebrations going on in that wing of this floor." His stern gaze moved up in intensity to level 6. "Julia, I don't want you to have any part of that. Brad runs his part of the office that way; I run mine in a more… professional and efficient manner. There is a reason that you were not assigned to Brad. Stay away from him." The approachable, friendly Broward was gone. In his chair sat a stern dictator speaking to me in the manner one might use on a bad puppy.

  I was contrite and didn't even know why. "Yes, sir." I said firmly but quietly.

  "Great," he said briskly. "Now, moving on to the other partner. Hugo Clarke."

  "Clarke
focuses on criminal law - his clients are mostly white-collar, though if a case has enough publicity, he will take on the bloodier cases. He is a great source of knowledge, and is always happy to help our interns. He has a young grandson who often spends time here at the office - if you see a 2-year old wandering around, that would be Clarke's."

  I waited for another death glare and warning that Clarke sells black market organs, but Broward seemed to be off his soapbox and now seemed almost jovial. Good Lord, it's like dealing with a menopausal woman.

  "I focus almost entirely on corporate law - all civil matters. Our work has a lot less emotion involved, but is exciting all the same." Right. Every law student can’t wait to dive into corporate reform.

  Broward skimmed over the other attorneys, reviewed the billing procedures, and his general expectations. They all seemed reasonable, though I suspected his general reference to my expected 60-hour weeks would probably be more of a 70 or 80-hour commitment. He signified the end of our conversation by pressing Shelia's extension on his phone.

  "Yes sir?" Her melodious voice came through the speakerphone.

  "Please give Julia a tour of the office, apparently Jane didn't do a proper job in orientation. Also, she will be running over to Rothsfield to get the Danko file, so please explain the mileage system and petty cash."

  "Certainly."

  Sheila appeared in Broward's doorway within seconds. She matched her polished voice - an older woman, in her 60s, with a blue sweater set and gray wool dress pants, perfectly coiffed silver hair, and a string of pearls. She smiled kindly at me, and ushered me out of Broward's office, closely his door softly behind her.

  Shelia's tour of the floor was in depth and informative. I met over 12 secretaries, 6 paralegals, and Attorney Liz Renfield. I nodded at the other interns as we passed through their areas, but didn't have any conversations. I figured out early why Sheila didn't bring Broward's coffee. Handing me the petty cash key, there was an extreme shake of her hands. She was a talker, and I learned as much about her as the firm. She had been there 22 years, when it was just Clarke Law Firm, and they had to occasionally miss a paycheck if it had been a slow month. She had 4 grandchildren, all "babies", and out of all of the partners she liked Broward best, "most likely because he reminded her of her son, Frankie". By the end of the tour I had learned that Liz Renfield and Robert Handler had once shared more than a case, and that recently Chris Hemming, a civil attorney, had been caught embezzling funds and been fired.

  Sheila led me up the vacant and stale stairway leading to the attic file storage, pausing at the top, key pointed towards the lock in her shaky hand. She glanced towards me, somewhat casually. "Did Mr. Broward mention anything about Brad De Luca?"

  CHAPTER 5

  Sheila and I were alone in the attic, a stuffy, hot room with rows and rows of file boxes. At my initial estimate, there seemed to be over 20 rows of boxes on each side. Each row was over 15 boxes deep, and 8 or 9 boxes high. Rows of fluorescent lights were above us, making it a well lit, but hot area. The fluorescent lights and Shelia's question made me feel like a prisoner being interrogated. What is everyone's obsession with this guy?

  "Yes, Broward - Mr. Broward told me that their side of the office operates a little differently then ours, and that I show steer clear of it." I mumbled the words out like a schoolgirl reciting her daily duties.

  Sheila's eyes gleamed with the excitement of gossip but also with warning.

  "What Mr. Broward was probably too proper to say, is that Brad is incorrigible! He stopped getting female interns three years ago because he couldn't keep his hands off of them. He is divorced, due to another one of his…relationships, and is never without some young thing on his arm. He's Italian, you know how those men are." She pronounced the word "Italian" like it was some kind of diseased animal, and waved her hand like that should explain everything. "Bottom line," she fixed her steely gaze on me, "you are exactly his type. You need to stay as far away from Brad De Luca as you can get."

  Sheesh. THIS is what everyone is worried about? That I am about to become one of a senior partner's latest conquests? First off, I am as un-promiscuous as…. probably Sheila! I am a 21-year-old college student who has had a total of 2 partners. In college terms, I'm practically a saint! Second, isn't De Luca like FORTY? In his late 30s at LEAST - who in their right mind would think I would be attracted to someone that old?! I was more than a little offended by the perception of my low standards.

  I met Sheila's eyes firmly and confidently. "Sheila, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Trust me."

  Her return look was less confident.

  CHAPTER 6

  A bit awkwardly, we finished the tour, and 10 minutes later, I was in my car with the windows down and "Whatever" by Hot Chelle Rae blaring. It was hot as hell outside, but I didn't care. I needed wind filling my car and blaring music in order to get my funky mood to pass. I wanted to make an impression at my internship, but one as an intelligent hard worker. Not as the chick that everyone thinks Brad freaking De Luca is going to bang. My head was properly cleared but I was still a little bitchy when I returned to the office, Danko file in hand, along with a still steaming cup of Starbucks coffee with "light cream and Equal" in it. Starbucks, thankfully, seemed to know exactly what constituted as "light".

  I gave the file to Sheila, and dropped the coffee off at Broward's desk - he was on another call, and waved distractedly to me. I went into my office and started where I had left off last night. Within three minutes, my office door banged open and Todd Appleton plopped his body into one of my open chairs. Really? Am I going to get any freaking work done today?

  I looked up over my file with what I hoped was an "I'm busy, what the hell do you want?" look.

  "Yes, Todd?"

  "Where have YOU been all day? We have been so busy on the East Side. This one case - the wife caught her husband doing his boss's daughter! And found out that…" his voice droned on and on and I began focusing on his beautiful features as opposed to his words. I snapped myself out of my mind fart and waved my hand in front of Todd.

  "Todd, can't talk - I’m busy." I gestured to all of the "work" filling my desk and office.

  He glanced around. "I know, but - you have been gone all morning."

  "Exactly. Hence my heavy workload. I need to get some stuff done."

  "Oh." His dejected face reminded me of when I told my 4-year old babysitting job that even though he had asked Santa for a REAL baby alien, it probably wasn't going to happen.

  "Sorry, Todd. I'm just buried right now in super-exciting deposition review."

  "Sure, no problem. Hey - we missed you last night - you'll have to come out with us soon." He grinned that smile at me, scratched the back of his head, and then stood up, 5 feet 10 inches of classic Abercrombie & Fitch beautiful good looks.

  I flashed him a smile and returned to my depositions. It was 11am. Only 10 or 11 hours to go.

  ---

  My first two weeks passed excruciatingly slowly. Other than learning office politics, I garnered few legal skills, other than filing, typing, and deposition review - most of which I had mastered already. My only solace was thinking about the upcoming week - when Broward would be in Fort Lauderdale. I had already corned Sheila to get the scoop on office hours during that time.

  "9-5 workdays", she promised me - an understanding look in her eyes. "This week been rough on you?" Her voice had taken on a motherly concern, and I wanted to hug her for showing some compassion. Everyone else in this wing seemed to work with an unending supply of energy. It wouldn't have sucked so bad if I wasn't hearing about the party life in the East Wing.

  East Wing had their own set of double doors - big dark walnut and leather doors that had no windows - the only glimpses you got of inside were when someone was entering or leaving. It was like a super-exclusive club that I couldn't get in to, so my mind created impossibly extravagant fantasies about the world inside. Following closely to the instructions/threats of Broward - I stayed a
way from the East Wing and all of its "activities", but drooled jealously from afar.

  Often, as I passed their big black doors, I'd hear loud laughter and other sounds coming from inside. On Wednesday, there had been some kind of a party - at 5:30 Smith & Wollensky waiters had started unloading trays of lobsters, steaks, and carts of large silver dishes from our elevators. They were followed with five cases of chilled champagne and sumptuous dessert trays that made my mouth water. Muted music could be heard from behind their doors, and a thumping bass. The bass only lasted about three minutes before Broward screamed some form of profanity, opened his door, and stomped his way over to the East Wing. About a minute later, the music was turned down, and our floors stopped systematically vibrating. Sheila leaned backward in her chair until she could see into my office and winked at me.