“Oh, I’ve done my research. I had numerous offers of employment, you know. I was in a position to be selective.” Ben was relieved to find his brief moment of pomposity completely eclipsed. “I see. By the way, my name is Ben Kincaid.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Alvin Hager.” Alvin took Ben’s hand and gave it a nerve-dulling handshake. “Maybe we’ll get to work together. Are you a Tulsa native?”
“No,” Ben replied. “Just moved.”
“Got any family here?”
“No. Well, not really. A brother-in-law. Ex-brother-in-law, actually. He’s a cop.”
“Left Mom and Pop back home?”
“Mom and—” He closed his eyes for a moment, then began again. “How about you? Any family in town?”
“No,” Alvin answered. “I’m on my own. Of course, I wanted it that way. I want to pull myself up by my own bootstraps, or not at all.”
“Of course.”
“Excuse me, but didn’t you used to work at the D.A.’s office in Oklahoma City?”
Ben turned and saw a brown-haired woman in her mid-twenties wearing rectangular tortoiseshell eyeglasses.
“Yes, I worked with the district attorney,” Ben answered. “How did you know?”
The woman leaned forward. She was dressed in a two-piece gray suit with a paisley scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and a small ivory cameo in the center. Ben wondered if it was difficult for her to talk with a scarf and cameo clutching her throat. “I was clerking at the public defender’s office during my third year of law school. I was at the D.A.’s all the time. What made you decide to leave and go into private practice?”
“Oh …” Ben searched for words but didn’t find any. “A variety of factors.”
“Like forty-eight K a year, right?” Alvin said, grinning. “C’mon, Ben, we’re co-workers now. You can play straight with us. We understand.”
Ben smiled pleasantly but said nothing.
“I am incredibly ill-mannered,” the woman said abruptly, slapping herself on the side of her head. “I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is”—she hesitated—“Marianne Gunnerson.” She shook hands with Ben and Alvin. “Tell me, guys, confidentially. Do you think Marianne is okay? I mean, for a name.”
Ben looked at Alvin out the corner of his eye, then back at Marianne. “It’s … your name, isn’t it?” he said.
“But don’t you think it’s too feminine? I mean, for a lawyer.” She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and rolled it into a tube shape. “I don’t think it’s a good lawyer name.”
“What would be a good lawyer name?” Ben asked, genuinely curious.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. She began to beat time on the coffee table with the tubed magazine. “Lilian. Claire. Margaret, maybe.”
“Forget Margaret,” Alvin said. “The firm already has two Margarets. Three, if you count middle names. You’d be lost in the shuffle.”
Ben peered at him in amazement.
“Really?” Marianne said. “That’s interesting. I didn’t know that.” She reversed the magazine and tubed it in the other direction. “This probably seems inane to you guys, but they’re going to ask us what name we want written on our doorplates today, and I don’t know what to say. What are they going to think of a lawyer who can’t even tell them her name?”
Ben couldn’t imagine a suitable answer.
“Hey, can I join this conversation? I’ve stared at the rug for about as long as I can stand.”
Ben turned and saw another of the new associates, a tall, good-looking man, perhaps a few years younger than himself. His hair was dark, but his face had a bronze cast. He was wearing a blue suit, very similar to Ben’s, with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket. He was carrying a white camel’s hair overcoat.
His handshake was firm but not crippling; “I’m Greg Hillerman,” he said. The other three associates introduced themselves.
“I don’t remember coming across your name in my research,” Alvin said. “Are you a TU graduate?”
Greg smiled a perfect smile. He had dimples on both cheeks. If the law didn’t work out for him, Ben thought, he could get work as a male model, or perhaps a game-show host. “No, I went to law school at UT Austin. Undergrad at the University of New Mexico at Albuquerque.”
“Oh, an out-of-state hire,” Alvin said. “That explains it.”
“I did a year of undergraduate at UNM,” Ben said.
“Really?” Greg smiled that marvelous smile again. “Frat man?”
“No. Well, not for long, anyway.”
“You hang out with any frat guys?”
“Actually, I tried to have as little to do with that crowd as possible.” Ben hoped he didn’t sound rude. He didn’t want to alienate the one relatively normal person he had met so far.
“Personally, I like Marianne,” Greg said, shifting his attention to her.
Marianne’s eyes brightened. “You think it sounds professional?” she asked.
“No, it reminds me of that good-looking wench Gilligan’s Island. Man, I used to love her.”
Marianne was not amused.
By 9:15, Ben had examined every detail of the Raven, Tucker & Tubb reception area with microscopic scrutiny. The lobby was decorated in a style that seemed both ornate and direct, the look of a firm that wanted to tell its clients it was both no-nonsense and expensive. Dark brown hardwood floors with rich burgundy accent rugs. A white wool sofa defining a continuous semicircle around the entire reception area. And in the center of it all, the bronze, human-size statue of Justice, a tall woman dressed in a toga and a blindfold, with her scales balanced in perfect equanimity.
“This really isn’t how I envisioned spending my first day at work,” Ben said, glancing again at his watch.
Greg arched an eyebrow. “You were expecting maybe tea and crumpets, with a personal address from Arthur Raven?”
“Not likely. Raven is in semiretirement,” Alvin informed them. “Of counsel.”
“Thank you for setting us straight, Alvin.” Greg winked quickly at Ben.
“Do you know who your supervising attorney is, Alvin?” Ben asked.
“Yes. Thomas Seacrest.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Well, I conducted an analysis of likely candidates, based upon the firm’s historical distribution of assimilation assignments.”
Ben took a deep breath. “Yes, but how did you find out?”
Alvin cocked his head slightly. “I asked the recruiting coordinator on thirty-nine.”
Ben suppressed a smile. “Have you checked in with your supervisor?”
“Yes,” Alvin said, leaning back against the sofa. “I got here early.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t. I think I’ll run upstairs for a moment and find out who mine is. Don’t let them start without me.”
“You got it, buddy.” Alvin slapped Ben on the back as he rose. Whatta guy, Ben thought.
Ben walked to the elevator bank and pushed the UP button. He was relieved to be out of the reception area. Despite the apparent amiability, the tension in there was thicker than the statue of Justice. Eight overambitious cauldrons waiting to spew forth their juices and prove themselves. What a nightmare.
The elevator did not come. It seemed foolish to wait for an elevator just to go up one floor, especially when orientation might start at any moment. Ben opened a door to the right of the elevators. It was the stairwell. He climbed the flight of stairs leading to the thirty-ninth floor and tried to open the door.
The door wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside. A sinking feeling crept through Ben’s body. He ran up another flight of stairs and tried to open the door to the fortieth floor. The doorknob would not turn.
Ben began to panic. Somehow, he had known this would happen. He didn’t know exactly when or exactly how, but deep down he had been certain he would make an utter and irredeemable fool of himself before his first day of work was over. He bolted up another flight of stairs. The door would not open.