The Associate: Excerpts and notes - Writers Forum

G. Palmer · 01-03-2007, 06:33 AM

Well this week I decided this story had no real direction, no real major plot. So I ditched it, and decided I will use more interesting parts of characters lives for more interesting stories. This stuff is really bad, it's mostly rushed, half done and is badly formatted, at least in my eyes, but check them out, comments welcome.

Quote:

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for a paralegal?” He asked her from his desk,
“We have a uniform here. Plus compared to basically everyone else we’re underdressed.”
“Trust me, half the ADAs in the state don’t dress that smartly – the other half only when they’re in court.”
“And how much did you make at the DA’s Office?” She carried three hardbacks to the desk and dropped them hard on the glass surface.
“About seventy thousand dollars a year,”
“And how much are you making now?”
“just over one hundred and seventy thousand a year.” She smiled,
“See,” she said, pointing her pen at his face in a matter-of-fact mannerism, “it does make sense,” she swung open the book and continued, “plus,” she brushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, “about ninety-percent of the lawyers at this firm are trying to compensate for one thing or another with their suits and sports cars. You know Hannah Todd? She owns five houses, all of them with more than five bedrooms,”
“What’s odd about that?”
“She’s been divorced four times and miscarried about…” she arched her left eyebrow in thought, “a dozen children,” She bit the tip of her pen in uncertainty, “but she’s one hell of a lawyer though. Did you know in her first civil case she practically got the Chief ADA fired?” she didn’t pause – she’d started unleashing her gossip as if she’d opened Pandora’s Box, “And Chris Robinson, boy. He owns some old sports car from some old 60s movie – treats it like a child cause all of his either killed themselves on drugs or dropped out of school to sit their asses on a street curb. And don’t get me started on Alex Cooper! I tell you she wants partner so badly…”
“Ahem.” Matt glanced at the door and darted his eyes back to Sarah, then back at the door. Sarah who had stopped suddenly, shot him a queer look from behind her books. Alex stood in the doorway, hands on hips, dressed in a tweed suit jacket and skirt with the typical white shirt underneath.
“Can I have a word please?” she said,
“Yeah, sure.” Matt rose from his chair and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Sarah ran her hand through her hair, uttered a four word expletive and continued skimming through the law book.

*****

“By the way, I figured out a way to solve your case,” Sarah said as he reached the door, she caught his attention “or at least a reasonable argument for it, stands up better than your current ‘Sister Mary Catherine poked holes in his condoms’ approach.”
“And that is?”
She stood up and threw her pen onto the desk, “You mean I spend all day scanning through hundreds of pages of law books, spend three hours learning Roman Catholic Canon Law and another two investigating former cases and I get nothing?”
“I was told you get paid eighty thousand dollars a year with benefits.” She didn’t laugh. “Okay what do you want.”
“Drinks…” she glanced out the window, “and dinner. Your shout.”
“Deal. Now what’s your solution?”
“Well canon law says they can fire her for having sex, but it turns out they hardly ever fire priests for doing it – as is the case here. So seeing as Father Baker was transferred and our client was fired,"
"they probably fired her for getting knocked up which violates Title Seven.” Matt pulled a generous hundred dollars out of his wallet and placed it on the edge of the couch. “Thanks.” Sarah smiled,
“I meant dinner for two.” Matt put another hundred on the couch and walked out. Sarah smiled and shook her head as she walked across to the couch, grabbing the two hundred dollars on her way out of the office.

Quote:

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for a paralegal?” He asked her from his desk,
“We have a uniform here. Plus compared to basically everyone else we’re underdressed.”
“Trust me, half the ADAs in the state don’t dress that smartly – the other half only when they’re in court.”
“And how much did you make at the DA’s Office?” She carried three hardbacks to the desk and dropped them hard on the glass surface.
“About seventy thousand dollars a year,”
“And how much are you making now?”
“just over one hundred and seventy thousand a year.” She smiled,
“See,” she said, pointing her pen at his face in a matter-of-fact mannerism, “it does make sense,” she swung open the book and continued, “plus,” she brushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, “about ninety-percent of the lawyers at this firm are trying to compensate for one thing or another with their suits and sports cars. You know Hannah Todd? She owns five houses, all of them with more than five bedrooms,”
“What’s odd about that?”
“She’s been divorced four times and miscarried about…” she arched her left eyebrow in thought, “a dozen children,” She bit the tip of her pen in uncertainty, “but she’s one hell of a lawyer though. Did you know in her first civil case she practically got the Chief ADA fired?” she didn’t pause – she’d started unleashing her gossip as if she’d opened Pandora’s Box, “And Chris Robinson, boy. He owns some old sports car from some old 60s movie – treats it like a child cause all of his either killed themselves on drugs or dropped out of school to sit their asses on a street curb. And don’t get me started on Alex Cooper! I tell you she wants partner so badly…”
“Ahem.” Matt glanced at the door and darted his eyes back to Sarah, then back at the door. Sarah who had stopped suddenly, shot him a queer look from behind her books. Alex stood in the doorway, hands on hips, dressed in a tweed suit jacket and skirt with the typical white shirt underneath.
“Can I have a word please?” she said,
“Yeah, sure.” Matt rose from his chair and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Sarah ran her hand through her hair, uttered a four word expletive and continued skimming through the law book.

*****

“By the way, I figured out a way to solve your case,” Sarah said as he reached the door, she caught his attention “or at least a reasonable argument for it, stands up better than your current ‘Sister Mary Catherine poked holes in his condoms’ approach.”
“And that is?”
She stood up and threw her pen onto the desk, “You mean I spend all day scanning through hundreds of pages of law books, spend three hours learning Roman Catholic Canon Law and another two investigating former cases and I get nothing?”
“I was told you get paid eighty thousand dollars a year with benefits.” She didn’t laugh. “Okay what do you want.”
“Drinks…” she glanced out the window, “and dinner. Your shout.”
“Deal. Now what’s your solution?”
“Well canon law says they can fire her for having sex, but it turns out they hardly ever fire priests for doing it – as is the case here. So seeing as Father Baker was transferred and our client was fired,"
"they probably fired her for getting knocked up which violates Title Seven.” Matt pulled a generous hundred dollars out of his wallet and placed it on the edge of the couch. “Thanks.” Sarah smiled,
“I meant dinner for two.” Matt put another hundred on the couch and walked out. Sarah smiled and shook her head as she walked across to the couch, grabbing the two hundred dollars on her way out of the office.

Quote:

The girl sitting alone in the conference room was nervous. She paced back and forth, occasionally glancing out of one of the room's many large interior windows to the busy office outside. This office was huge. This firm was huge. Michelle had told her the salary for a first year associate was $165,000 – without bonuses. She had done the math, even if you didn’t make partner within the nine year period you’d make over a million without expenses. That’s more than most people would even get close to making. She glanced out the window again, three lawyers, two female, one male walked past the window in a wedge formation. They entered the room in a trio, and she stood up from her seat as they walked along the opposite side of the table. “I’m Melissa Wright with Bauer and Ai--”
“Please sit down,” the man said, “we’re not judges.”
Melissa obeyed, “Good morning, I’m Melissa Wright with Bauer and Aitken, I litigate in divorce cases.”
The elderly man glanced up at her, “Thankyou for meeting us here Ms. Wright, I’m Christopher Robinson,”
“I’m Hannah Todd,” said the middle aged blonde lawyer.
“and I’m Julianne Smith,” added the brunette – the youngest of the three, she was still at least ten years older than Melissa.
“and we’re partners at Donato, Palmer and Stone.” The three lawyers spoke in unison, a rehearsed act, meant to intimidate others. It was working. Melissa shut the file on the table before her.
“Look, I’m not sure why you called for this meeting, we’ve already informed you that our client is not…” Melissa stopped mid-speech, Hannah Todd was tapping her fingernails on the table, continuously. She gathered herself, “…is not interested in settlement.”
Todd stopped and spoke, “You see Melissa that is our dilemma. Our client is interested in settlement. As for why we called this meeting, something lawyers seem to forget these days is actually meeting with opposing counsel. Donato, Palmer and Stone is a respected international law firm – we tend to stick to polite and traditional etiquette. Now I don’t know what they taught you at,” the woman gave Melissa a piercing glance over, “night-school?”
“NYU”
“Right, I don’t know what they teach you at NYU these days, but it seems that they don’t teach you everything – I’m hardly surprised, but at law firms, particularly big ones like Donato,”
“Palmer and”
“Stone.” The three magic words came in again, Melissa’s concentration slipped for a moment.
“we like to keep polite relations with our clients and… colleagues.”
“If this is--” Melissa lost her words part way through, the bitch had made her slip.
“When did you graduate from law school Melissa?” Todd asked, coldly and calmly.
“Last year.”
“And you say you’re a litigator – how long have you worked at Bauer and Aitken?” the cold eyes, icy blue stared at hers directly.
“Since the start of the year.”
“And refresh my memory – have you ever tried a case?”
“Not really… no.”
Todd glanced at her partners, a self-satisfied smile on her face, “Than you are not a litigator. You’re an associate at your firms litigation department – scratch that Bauer and Aitken is too small to have departments, you’re a litigator in training, call it what you want there is one crucial point here. You. Are. Not. A. Litigator.”
“I guess not,” Melissa replied badly trying to hide her contempt for the woman.
“And you intend to try your first case against one of the largest law firms in Manhattan?”
“Yes.” The three partners rose from their chairs,
“Then I guess we’ve had a change of heart – we’ll go to trial. If your bosses want to settle tell them to send an experienced attorney.” The bitch, the old man and the quiet one walked out of the conference room. Melissa sat for a minute – then collected her briefcase and notes and left.

G. Palmer · 01-03-2007, 06:36 AM

Quote:

Chapter One

THE PROSECUTOR

The alarm rang relentlessly through Matthew Purcell’s ears until he raised himself out of bed and across to the desk where it sat, repeating the high pitched squeal on a loop every two seconds. With a leap across the room he slapped down the button, muting it with delighted relief as he glanced at the deep red electronic letters that read 6:00. He reached to his waist and threw off his singlet and walked through to the spare bedroom – if it could be called that, across the floor were several blue gym mats, a raised bar stood out about half a meter from the back wall, and on a dark wooden bookshelf along the right wall sat a long skipping rope and a 5 deck silver CD player. Along the left wall there was a small wooden plank – like the ‘balance beams’ used in small primary schools.
Matthew hit the play button on the CD player and grabbed the skipping rope. He rested the rope before his bare feet on the mat, and swung it over his head, focused not just on clearing it, but on raising his knees high whilst clearing it. One, two, three, four, five… the sound of Kiss’ Gold Album began to burst from the stereo, and he cleared the rope again, another jump, another time he cleared it. He rose his knees in co-ordination with the swing of the rope, counting down in his head as he repeated it over, and over and over again. After he had jumped the rope forty times he threw it to the floor and walked, sweating lightly, to the back wall.
He reached his arms up to the steel bar, his palms facing towards his face, and, with all the strength in his arms, pulled his body up so his chin was raised over the bar. Slowly, he lowered himself down and once more he pulled himself up. He repeated again, his arm muscles aching when he completed his seventh chin-up. The CD randomly switched decks – the third track on The Killers’ Hot Fuss began belting out of the speakers.
Matt dropped to the floor and raised his legs into a 45 degree angle – curling his upper body towards his waist and then lowering back down. He completed each crunch in identical fashion, feeling his abdominal muscles burning by his last. He pushed himself off the floor and reached for a drink bottle that sat on the shelf beside the CD player – which was now blaring out an antique big band instrumental and gushed the water down with relish.
Working out had been what kept him sane during high school, while his friends were off smoking dope or snorting coke. He could say it had kept him focused at school, which meant it had gotten him into law school – into Harvard and when Emily and Jack lost all of his parents’ money in gambling debt it was what kept him from flying to New York and bashing their heads in. Seven pull ups followed and the CD again changed decks, this time it was U2’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind.
Matt turned to face the left wall and bent his knees and jumped, landing on the wooden plank along the wall and jumped back down, landing squarely on his feet. He jumped again, and again, working his legs. He didn’t lift weights, lifting a pair of dumbbells half a metre constantly only would only tone his body two hunks of metal half a metre. Things like running, pulling and jumping were more practical. After ten reps he stopped, took another drink of water and dropped face forward to the floor, catching himself with his arms, then he pushed himself up, then lowered himself down, up and down, up and down until he had completed ten repetitions.
He took another long drink of water and repeated the workout three times, and, covered in sweat, turned off the CD player and walked down the hallway to the bathroom, threw off his boxer-briefs and sat under a lukewarm shower for ten minutes. He walked out of the shower and back down the hallway to his bedroom, where he grabbed a towel off the rack by his wardrobe and tied it around his waist. Matt slid open the mirrored wardrobe door and glanced at the five suits that hung, dry cleaned and pressed, on wooden clothes hangers near the door, further down the rack two smart casual shirts hung, untouched along with two pairs of jeans and two t-shirts.
Matt grabbed the first suit off the rack, removed the jacket and placed it on the end on the bed, then took the white shirt and buttoned it up to the top, he then slipped on a fresh pair of underpants, and then pulled on the pair of charcoal black trouser. He slid the wardrobe door shut and opened the identical sliding mirror adjacent to it. He reached into one of the several boxed shelves and removed a red tie. He tied it once, simply and neatly and then grabbed the black jacket off the bed head, buttoned it up and walked through to the kitchen, a modest sized room with black granite bench tops, stainless steel appliances and a good view of Broadway.
Walking across the kitchen, Matt opened the breadbox and took to pieces of wholemeal bread and placed them in the toaster – setting the timer to two and a half minutes. It came out burnt. He needed a new toaster. Matt tossed the two pieces into the bin and placed another two pieces into the bread, this time he stood over it, watching it as it warmed up and cooked the bread. When it was just brown he hit the release and swiftly placed the toast on a white china plate. He opened the fridge and removed a tub of margarine and buttered the toast, then let it to sit so the margarine would melt into the bread, he opened the overhead cabinet and took out a glass, filled it three quarters full with orange juice and drank it down, he then filled it to the top with water and drank again.
After eating the somewhat crunchy toast Matt grabbed the dirty plate and the glass and placed them in the racks of the dishwasher. He picked an apple out of the plastic fruit bowl on the island counter and ate it quickly, then brushed his teeth and gargled a cap full of mouthwash for thirty seconds. Walking through the warm hallway he entered his study, picked up the legal brief on his desk, stapled it and threw it into his suitcase, next to the case of Ted Baker glasses that sat between a manila file and notepad. He closed the case and walked to the door, turned off the heat and left the apartment, locking it behind him.
The doorman hailed him a cab and he sat down in seat, which smelt as if it had gotten the run over by the vacuum (which, in Manhattan, was hardly a bad thing). Matt checked the cash in his wallet, and then told the driver firmly: “Starbucks on Leonard Street.” and with that the yellow taxi sped down the street towards south Manhattan.
The cab pulled up along the north side of Leonard Street. Matthew tossed a couple of notes to the driver as tip and slid out the door, briefcase in hand.
The coffee shop was an explosion of early morning junkies. Whatever the poison; latte, cappuccino or espresso, Starbucks were dishing it out like it was going out of fashion. Matt whistled sardonically, ‘So Many’ he considered leaving, but a quick glance at his watch reassured him that he could enjoy one dose of caffeine before slaving the day away at One Hogan Place. He joined the long line of addicts and looked idly out the window. Yellow cabs, busses, trucks and cars of all makes and colours came to a jam in the narrow street as mobs of pedestrians, fresh out of the Subway on Worth Street, hurried along the sidewalk in torrents of humanity anxious to get to their business. Time always crawled along when Matt stood in lines. He battled the seconds as they passed along in slow motion before he reached the counter to order his venti cappuccino. Another casual look behind him revealed that nobody was behind him in line, and it occurred to him that the morning rush must be calming down.
Then she entered. Striding through the doorway as if she owned the building, she tossed her long shining chestnut brown hair back with a casual gesture and smiled at an acquaintance on the far side of the café. She wore a black well tailored pant-suit, which was somewhat countered by a wide-collared white silk shirt and a simple black leather Gucci purse that hung over her shoulder. Women like this attracted Matthew – the concept of dominating an outwardly dominating woman, along with the studies that said women who androgenised themselves secretly desired to be ravished was, if anything, a turn on.
It was not until she walked up in line next to him that he realised who she was, “Alex.” he said, clearing his throat.
“Matthew,” Alex Cooper replied, not moving her eyes off the menu above the counter, she then broke her gaze and glanced at his briefcase, “still carrying that thing with you everywhere?”
“I’m a lawyer – you’re a lawyer, I thought you of all people would know that we need to carry files from home to work.”
“Believe it or not there is a minor difference Matt. You are a lawyer at the Special Investigations Bureau of the District Attorney’s Office, I am a lawyer at Donato, Palmer and Stone. I drive a BMW to work, you catch a cab, I have an apartment in the Trump World Tower, you live in a third floor apartment of some five floor building off Broadway.”
“And you defend corporate frauds and I prosecute them.”
“Please Matt, if you can’t separate your morals from your work you have no business being a lawyer – I’m in the mood for espresso what about you?”
“Cappuccino.” Matt replied, opening his wallet.
“Don’t worry, I’ll buy, with the pittance you make it’s the least I could do.”
“I was trying to be chivalrous.”
“Chivalry is dead honey.” She stepped up to the counter, “One venti cappuccino and one short espresso thanks,” she handed the cash to the man at the register and after a few minutes of strangled conversation their coffee was ready. They picked the cups up and walked over to the counter stacked with sugar packets, stirrers, spoons and napkins, Alex continued, “I don’t know why you don’t practice privately – besides the moral thing – I mean you went to Trinity, Harvard and then Suffolk, you’re more than qualified-” there was a sudden crash and a object, big warm and about 120 pounds ran into Matthew’s back, causing him to drop the briefcase onto the floor, the contents flying out into a sea of empty coffee cups. The waitress dropped to the mess, apologising constantly between asking him for forgiveness. Matt dropped the two sugar packets besides his cup on the counter and helped the waitress amongst the ruins. She looked up at him, the worn grey eyes curious and vacant in expression, the face in some form of shock, “These files, they’re legal files. You’re a lawyer right?”
“Uh, yeah” Matt replied, the waitress placed a hand on her heart and a relieved expression came to her face, “I know this is a bad time – but I think I have a claim for compensation and I’d been meaning to see…” Matt cut her off before she could finish,
“I’m sorry, I work at District Attorney’s office. I don’t handle civil cases.” The waitress looked back, disappointed and embarrassed.
“Oh, I’m sorry for wasting your time then.” She picked up the mess and began to walk towards the kitchen. Alex deserted her coffee and rushed after the clumsy waitress,
“Excuse me! –Hi,” She flashed a smile of well-feigned sympathy, “I’m Alex Cooper, I’m an attorney at Donato, Palmer and Stone. I overheard your conversation and heard that you thought you had grounds for compensation. Hang on let me get you my card,” Alex reached into her handbag and pulled a crisp square of white cardboard from within, “if you’re interested in legal advice you can pop-in to the office this afternoon and I’ll see what I can do to help.” Alex quickly eyed over the waitress, “Pro-bono of course.” Alex reached out her hand to shake the waitress’, but it was met only with a ‘thanks’. Alex returned to the counter and her coffee.
“You realise she’ll never be able to afford your fee.” Matt said as he stirred in his two sugars,
“Please Matt – like I’d charge her. The bar requires us to bill x number of pro-bono hours a year, I need to get those done. If the case is good I’ll play it up in the media, boost the firm’s public image.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone. Matt placed the lid on his coffee,
“And if it is a stinker?”
“A stinker as in an unwinnable case? I’ll refer her to a smaller firm that will suck up an opportunity to claim that Donato, Palmer and Stone referred their legal services to a client. Save my considerable record.”
“Ever get tired of worrying about your firm and your record?”
“No,” she said bluntly, “the firm’s name is three of the most powerful words in Manhattan Matt, and easier to remember than most of the other big firms. Donato, Palmer and Stone. Doesn’t it have a nice ring to it?”
“I don’t find anything nice about defending guilty people.”
“And I don’t find anything nice about prosecuting innocent people for the sake of getting a good record. Please Matt don’t be so cynical, the bulk of our cases are defending people who have been wronged. Be it a company that is going to be wronged by a takeover or a slew of parents that have been wronged by a deadly pharmaceutical drug.” Matt picked up a newspaper out of the stand and read the front page, then, self satisfied, showed the page to Alex,
“You forgot corporate heavy weights who market home entertainment systems and air conditioners at fat people – I can’t believe this – and this is your boss speaking: ‘For these losers to claim that they were forced into buying these products, is, simply, UNAMERICAN. These fat, stinky, social rejects are prime examples of everything that is UNAMERICAN, and do we want UNAMERICAN people sitting around on their asses all day and then blame an AMERICAN company for them getting fat. These are UNAMERICANS suing AMERICANs for MILLIONS of AMERICAN DOLLARS and costing MILLIONS of AMERICAN JOBS in the process. Is this our idea of justice?’” Matt looked at Alex, “Is he senile?”
Alex took a long swig at her coffee, “Who, Stone? Probably. He still knows how to work up a jury though. And the Republican party for that matter,”
“New York is a blue state.”
“but the bulk of businesses support the GOP. We’re a corporate firm. There’s a reason why he’s been running the Miami office for the last six years.”
“Again, cause he’s senile.”
“As hard as you might find it to believe, he is still very good in court.”
“Yeah well, remind me never to work at your firm.”
“Please I’d bet you wouldn’t last three weeks.”
“Want to make a bet on that?”
“Can you afford it?” Matt ignored her, “oh, by the way, I need a favour.”
“I was beginning to wonder what you were doing so far away from your offices.”
“I have a meeting, in case you were wondering. Robinson dumped me with a health inspection case regarding one of his clients,” she gestured around the coffee shop, “so – got any friends down in the department of sanitation?”

G. Palmer · 01-03-2007, 06:57 AM

These character limits are annoying to work out

some notes:

Firm letterhead:

Speech quoted from the newspaper in the extract above:
(Boston Legal fans may notice the loose Denny Crane influence in this character) Caps indicated raised tone.

Quote:

Welcome, as you should know, I am William Stone. Senior and founding partner of Donato, Palmer and Stone – one of the biggest American law firms and the biggest American employing law firm in the world. We represent Hammet & Miller Incorporated, the largest American corporate conglomerate in this case. We start by saying that this law suit is as stupid and pathetic as those stinking fat girls who sued McDonalds for making them fat. Encarta Dictionary defines freedom as ‘a state in which somebody is able to act and live as he or she chooses, without being subject to any, or to any undue, restraints and restrictions’. America is the land of freedom, and these fat, social rejects bought Hammet & Miller Incorporated - an American company’s - products on their choice and by their own free will. That is freedom and freedom is America. For these losers to claim that they were forced into buying these products, is, simply, UNAMERICAN. These fat, stinky, social rejects are prim examples of everything that is UNAMERICAN, and do we want UNAMERICAN people sitting around on their asses all day and then blame an AMERICAN company for them getting fat, UNAMERICANS suing AMERICANs for MILLIONS of AMERICAN DOLLARS and costing MILLIONS of AMERICAN JOBS in the process.