Johanna - 8-1 free porn video

It was Fall 2016 in New York and I had nothing to do – I’d finished my law degree, but I had no job, no income, and had not taken the summer bar exam as I had spent it tending to Mom in her last days. The next sitting was in Spring 2017, and I had to pay for rent and groceries till then. Mom’s estate was still going through probate, so I could not access any funds from it. Mom had provided me with basic support through law school, but I could not have survived without the substantial supplements Roberta had provided. At this point, I was reluctant to ask her for even more money.

I looked for research assistant positions with law firms in the city, but the hiring season was over. In the end, waitressing was the only job that fit my short-term requirements and gave me the flexibility to continue studying for the bar exam. I applied for a job as a cocktail waitress at an upscale club in midtown for the generous tips. The manager asked me to come in for an interview. I wore a padded bra to give myself some shape and a skirt to highlight my long legs.

“You have no relevant experience,” said Ahmad, the manager. He was short, dark, and dumpy, a recent immigrant from Bangladesh.

“I’m a fast learner,” I said.

“I have two other girls with waitressing experience, and they’ll stay with me. With your law degree, you’ll leave as soon as you get an office job.” He looked at me with frank appraisal and I flushed. “You’re cute, though. Will you give me a blowjob if I hire you?”

“No,” I said.

“I didn’t think so, but I thought there was no harm in asking.”

I thought the interview was over, so I stood up, but Ahmad said, “Wait, wait. I think I’ll take a chance on you. We get a lot of lawyers at lunch, they should like you. You look athletic and classy, I like that.”

He mentioned a minimal salary saying, “You’ll make ten times your salary in tips, if you make the clients feel good. When can you start?”

“I’m not doing anything. I could start today.”

“Fill in these forms, sign them and bring them back to me. Then go see Destiny at the hostess station. She’ll get you set up with a uniform and show you the ropes. The first week you’ll be in training, you’ll only get half the salary. But you can still get tips.”

The job was more physically demanding than I expected, but the routines were repetitive. By the third day, I had all them all down. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed interacting with customers. Working out the approach to take with each group was like a puzzle and I developed a system of observing, categorizing, and evaluating before I first approached a table. In general, I found that subtlety worked better than high pressure when it came to upselling the customers to fatten the bill, and consequently the tip. Smiles and conversation went a long way, too.

Ahmad, on the other hand, was convinced it was the revealing uniforms that loosened the customers’ wallets. It took me several days to get used to it: a very short skirt, a see-through blouse, and a tiny frilly apron with a large bow tie at the back.

However, my curiosity often got me into trouble. I couldn’t stop myself from listening to the customers’ conversations as I was taking orders or serving. Trying to follow the conversation sometimes caused me to mess up my orders or mix up who was having what as I was serving. Most of the time, I would just get my head bitten off, but sometimes a customer would complain to Ahmad.

Now and again, I’d get into a conversation with my customers. When this happened, they were usually keen for me to stop and chat some more. There was a cost of this, though, since it meant that I held up my other tables and irritated the customers there.

“For every customer that gives you praise, I get three who complain about you,” Ahmad said to me at the end of two weeks. “You’re not a good waitress. But I like you, so I’ll keep you on. Will you give me a blowjob?”

“No,” I said.

It became a running joke between us. He would regularly ask me for a blowjob, I would say no, and he would give me a disappointed look, trying a different facial expression each time. I liked Ahmad. He was always cheerful and there was no harm in him.

*

I still ran almost every morning for at least an hour. It had always been my therapy, it enabled me to zone out, to clear my mind, to forget. I was running in Central Park on a Saturday, when I came upon a group in New York Road Runners (NYRR) kit. They were going about my pace, I fell in with them, and one of them invited me to join them. We ran a lap of the park together, just over ten kilometers.

I chatted with them during the cooldown and they encouraged me to join the club. The dues were minimal, so went I got home, I went online and signed up. Thereafter, I got regular notices of NYRR events. I began running with their training runs in the early mornings and on weekends.

I got friendly with one guy in particular, Jerry Slink. We ran about the same pace in training, so found ourselves together on many runs. The long runs gave us a lot of time to chat. His looks were only average but he had the body of a Greek god. He was a fitness instructor at a gym, and a personal trainer on the side, so he worked out all the time – cardio, weights, machines, the whole nine yards. He was young, only twenty-two, and had two years in a community college. He had no interest in anything intellectual, and our conversations were limited to fitness issues and dating.

Soon after we met, we were having a drink in a bar on a Saturday afternoon. He’d asked me during the morning club run.

“I rarely go out with a woman unless she’s at least an eight, preferably a nine,” he said.

“I’m flattered,” I said.

“Do you want me to be honest, Johanna?”

“Of course.”

“You’re only a six, maybe a six and a half.”

“Yet here you are with me,” I teased.

“I’m just having a drink, not sleeping with you.” He took a deep pull at his beer. “You do have a nice bod, though. I could make it better if you worked with me.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“I’ll give you a discount on my rates,” he said. He perked up, suddenly. “You know, Johanna, I've been thinking. We ran 7:45 pace this morning over fourteen miles. You’re on pace to qualify for Boston. I’m running a marathon in Schenectady in a couple weeks, I hope to get a BQ. Want to come up with me?”

“You need to run a lot faster than me to qualify for Boston, Jerry. You need to run sub-7 pace for the whole marathon. I only need to run sub-8.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t run together. But we could both join the trip the club is putting together. Carpool, shared hotel rooms, it won’t cost too much.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Great. I’ll put both our names down. There’s a $50 deposit.”

I paid him before we finished our drinks.

We went up to Schenectady with the club trip, packed into a car with four other runners. I shared a hotel room with a girl I did not know and met Jerry for some stretching and a short warmup jog in the chilly predawn. His jaunty, optimistic demeanor was infectious and boosted my confidence.

We were in different start corrals, but promised to look for each other at the finish. I did not have any device other than my watch, but it gave me a pretty good idea of the pace I needed to maintain. I fought my normal risk-taking instinct, and played it safe, running just a few seconds faster than I needed to go. Every single training run, other runners had talked about the dreaded ‘wall’ between miles 20 and 23. I didn’t want to hit it.

I got to mile 23 feeling pretty good, and a few minutes ahead of schedule. I opened it up and ran the last five kilometers as fast as I could, finishing in 3:23, a comfortable qualifying time. Jerry was waiting for me at the end of the cooldown chute, his finisher’s medal around his neck. He gave me a high five saying, “I came home in 2:54, Johanna! I’m a BQ!”

I wanted to say, “I am, too!” but I was tired, and it seemed too trite, so I just smiled. We both put down our money for Boston as soon as we got back to New York.

*

I spoke to Roberta almost every day. However, I did not tell her about my waitressing job. I knew she would worry and try to send me more money. I did not want to cause her undue tension in her current state – still grieving over Mom while she was getting ready to be married.

The wedding was set for early December for as she told me, “Owen and I both want children, and I’m getting to the age where every month counts!” Privately, I wondered about her daughter with Jack. But apparently, she had been too drunk to remember much of that night. She never mentioned it, so I didn’t either.

Roberta asked me to be her maid of honor, and I was delighted to accept. I told Ahmad I would be gone for ten days and flew to San Fran for Thanksgiving. Roberta met me at the airport and took me to her apartment. We had a lovely turkey dinner together, just the two of us. It was bittersweet as we both remembered our many Thanksgivings with Mom.

The weekend after Thanksgiving, there was the rehearsal dinner at Owen’s parents’ place in Marin County. His parents were well-off, for the house was large with rambling grounds. There was a big tent set up and the party was catered by professionals. Owen had a large circle of family and friends in the Bay Area, and there were several dozen people at the dinner.

Owen’s sister Ophelia snagged Roberta as soon as we arrived. She dragged her off to meet and commune with some female cousins. Roberta tried to get me to join, but Ophelia just laughed gaily and said, “We want the bride, for now, just the bride!”

They seemed very excited to be with Roberta and that made me happy. I took a glass of punch from a passing waitperson and wandered up to one of the sideboards that were set with hors d'oeuvres. I was considering what to snack on, when Owen appeared by my side.

“How’s New York?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“Hard at work? The first few months as an associate are hard. Especially in corporate law.”

“I’m not working as a lawyer at the moment. I haven’t passed the bar.”

“Oh? What are you doing then?”

“Waitressing.”

“You did that badly in law school, huh?”

I didn’t want to explain my situation to him, and I certainly wasn’t going to talk to him about my summer with Mom. I simply said, “Whatever.”

“Nature’s a bitch, isn’t she?”

“Excuse me?”

“She gives one sister all the brains and all the looks. It must suck to be the other sister.”

“I’ve always been the other sister,” I said. “I don’t mind. I’m proud of Roberta.”

“She’s a prize. French sophistication with American practicality, musical excellence with mathematical genius. An impossibly rich combination. On top of that, she’s kind and generous, even to her little sister who has so little to recommend herself.”

I could see that he was needling me, trying to get me to lose my temper.

“We’re soon going to be related, Owen,” I said, striving to be calm. “You know what they say, you can’t pick your relatives. I know you wouldn’t have picked me, but why don’t we try to make the best of it? We can at least be polite to each other.”

“It’s difficult, Johanna.”

‘Why? What have I ever done to you?”

He paced away from me and back again. He took an olive, popped it into his mouth, and chewed it through before responding.

“When I met Roberta, you were one of the first things she talked about, ‘my lovely sister Johanna’. She always goes on and on about you, how wonderful you are, how you can do anything. Then I met you and I couldn’t believe you were the person she was talking about.” He ate another olive. “She builds you up to the skies, and you lap it up, don’t you? You’re so cocky, so sure of yourself, so, so self-contained! So superior, like you don’t need anyone else. All on the basis of what? You’re a waitress! A nothing!”

“I can’t help how you perceive me, Owen.”

“I wanted my sister Ophelia to be Roberta’s matron of honor. She’s married into one of the Napa wine families, is a principal with a high-tech venture capital firm, one of the biggest in the Valley. But Roberta wouldn’t have it. She fought me tooth and nail, till I gave in. My sister is just a bridesmaid, while you are maid of honor. A waitress!”

“A wedding is about family, not a resume, Owen,” I said. “You’re not picking someone to serve on a board of directors. The maid of honor is someone the bride feels closest to. Whether you like it or not, that’s me.”

Roberta came by with Ophelia and several of Owen’s female relatives, on their way back into the house.

“I’m so glad the two of you are talking!” Roberta said, as she passed. “Is Owen telling you how he took me skiing?”

They disappeared into the house before either of us could reply.

“You took Roberta skiing!” I exclaimed. “At her age! She’s never been on skis before. That’s so dangerous!”

“I took her to Tahoe, she was fine. She has surprisingly good balance, she was on the slopes with me after just a day of lessons.” His eyes narrowed. “She talked about you all day long. She made it sound like you’ve been in the Winter Olympics!”

“I’ve never had a lesson. I don’t have good form. But I can handle myself on skis.”

“Never had a lesson! No form! Well, I started ski school at five, I was a ski racer as a teenager. We should take you with us one of these days. Just so I can show Roberta how terrible you really are. Maybe that will open her eyes.” He laughed. “A waitress on skis!”

I’m not a saint, so I couldn’t repress the thought that formed in my mind. I’m sure you can beat me down the groomed slopes, you spoiled asshole. But try to keep up with me in the rough and you’ll kill yourself. But then I reminded myself that this was Roberta’s love, and mentally scolded myself for thinking such a horrible thing.

He paced away, and I thought he was gone, but he returned. He took another olive and chewed on it.

“I know Roberta has been sending you money,” he said. “She mentioned it to me as though it was nothing, wouldn’t tell me how much. But I pressed her hard, and finally got her to tell me. Over the years, she’s given you an enormous sum, Johanna.”

“Surely that’s none of your business.”

“It is now. Once we’re married, everything we have is going to be joint. I don’t believe in separate lives, separate finances, and neither does she.” He pointed at me with a stern finger. “From now on, you’re on your own, sister. Not a penny more from us.”

“Listen, Owen, I don’t care if you like me or not. I most certainly don’t want your money if it will cause distress for my sister. And please don’t tell her that I’m waitressing, it would really upset her.” I paused and tried to look warm. “Love my sister, treasure her, make her happy. Just do that, and I’ll stay out of your way, out of your life.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“We both want Roberta to be happy,” he said.

“That’s a good note on which to end our conversation, Owen.” I touched him lightly on the arm. “Thank you for making clear where I stand with you. You have the subtlety of a hammer, but you’re honest.”

“Roberta said the same thing,” he said, surprised.

“We are sisters after all,” I said.

He smiled. It was the only smile he ever gave me.

*

It was a big society wedding with lots of photographers and got written up in the local papers. Everyone in the wedding party was described in terms of what they did – principal at this firm, manager at that one – except me. I was prominent in all the wedding pictures but conspicuously was not mentioned in any of the writeups.

But Roberta said she loved me as her maid of honor, told me that I looked beautiful, and that made everything wonderful. Nothing else mattered to me. I did not tell her about my interaction with Owen, for I never wanted her to have to choose between him and me.

*

I flew back to New York and returned to my job. Every waking hour that I wasn’t working, I spent studying for the bar exam at the New York Public Library. I was only sleeping four or five hours a night and was always tired, especially on my runs with the club. Jerry mentioned it to me saying, “Get more sleep, Johanna. Seven or eight hours a night is crucial to fitness.”

“I’ll sleep after the bar exam,” I said.

The first day I arrived back at work, Ahmad welcomed me, beaming.

“We have a big booking for New Year’s Eve,” he said. “A wealthy lawyer has booked the whole club for a private party. Lawyers like talking to you, I’m sure they’re big tippers. You should be very happy.”

“It’s work,” I said, with a shrug.

Roberta was back from her honeymoon and invited me to spend Christmas with her new family in California. But I was mindful of my promise to Owen to stay out of his life.

“I’m very busy studying for the bar,” I said. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“But we always spent Christmas together in Wisconsin with Mom,” she said. “It will be so depressing for you alone in New York.”

“I have some friends I’ll spend it with,” I lied.

“What friends are these?”

“Some people I met recently.”

“Well, remember you’re always welcome in our home,” said Roberta. “You’ve never needed an invitation before. That hasn’t changed just because I’m married.”

I could hear the worry in her voice, and I missed her terribly. It was a lonely Christmas.

*

A few days before New Year’s Ahmad gave me the announcement for the private party. It read: Theodora and Matthew O’Connor request the pleasure of your company to ring in the New Year.

“I can’t work this party,” I said to Ahmad. “I know this man. He might remember me. I will certainly know several of the guests. It would be embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing about honest work, Johanna?” he asked. “Do you think less of me because I work here?”

“No, no,” I said. “But these people know me from law school.”

“So? Are you ashamed of your work?”

I sighed.

“No, of course not. You’re right. If they think less of me for what I do, that’s their problem, not mine.”

*

Ahmad asked all of us waitresses to wear fishnet stockings along with our brief uniforms for the O’Connor party. He also ‘suggested’ that we leave the top buttons of our blouses unbuttoned to show our cleavages.

“The sexier you look, the more the tips,” he said at our planning meeting. “Especially after the men have had a few drinks.”

I worked with the barmen setting up the welcoming drinks trays and did not come onto the floor till the party was already in progress. O’Connor and his wife were still by the entrance, greeting arriving guests. She was a handsome fifty-something woman, carried a bit of excess weight, and looked formidable. She beckoned to me.

“The champagne you have on the welcome trays is substandard,” she said.

“You’ll have to talk to my manager about that,” I replied.

O”Connor saw me and said, “Wait, wait. I know you. You interned with our firm year before last. Isn’t your name Johanna?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Didn’t you finish law school?”

“Yes, but I missed the bar exam and the job market this year for personal reasons. I’m just making ends meet as I prepare to take the bar in the spring.”

I went back to work. More guests arrived, the party grew more animated, and the buzz of conversations rose. It was harder work than a normal night, since the drinks were free. The tips were correspondingly larger. There was a lot of legal chatter that I found very interesting. Following the conversations so intently meant that I made even more mistakes than usual with my orders. Even so, the wad of bills in my small frilly white apron was thicker than on a normal night.

O”Connor intercepted me just before nine o’clock, took my elbow, and steered me into a dark corner.

“I’m very impressed that you’re working while preparing for the bar,” he said. “The New York bar exam is the hardest in the country. You shouldn’t take it lightly.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“You should give up this job and study full time. You don’t want to risk flunking it.”

“I have to pay for groceries and rent, sir.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me kindly.

“Perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, Johanna.”

“I would love a research assistant position, sir. You won’t regret hiring me.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said. He sounded and looked a bit testy, but quickly reset his features. “I recall you were friendly with Adriana Montez when you interned at our firm. She may have told you about the arrangement we had when she was an intern. She’s now an associate with us.”

“I’m not interested in that kind of arrangement, Mr. O’Connor. You’re a married man. Your wife is co-hosting this party with you.”

“Oh, Theodora! You saw how she treats people. She doesn’t treat me any better. I have a sad life, Johanna. I admit I do seek consolation elsewhere, but I make sure it is worthwhile for those who comfort me. Adriana has done very well out of her arrangement with me. You could, too.”

“No, thank you, Mr. O’Connor. You will excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

An hour later, I was waiting on a table by a large bay window. There were several gentlemen around it, some sitting, some standing. They were discussing a hostile takeover deal that was being held up by the legal action of the target firm. It was very interesting and I lingered as though waiting for them to order, listening intently. At a break in the conversation, I couldn’t help interjecting.

“Surely the precedent of Kahn v. M&F Worldwide Corp. suggests that the transaction is subject to the business judgment standard of review, and so is open to early dismissal without a prolonged hearing. After all, the relevant information is in the Schedule 13(d) filing.”

They all looked at me with various degrees of surprise. Several looked annoyed at my presumptuous interruption. But one silver-haired gentleman looked at me with genuine interest.

“That’s a nice, straightforward approach, young lady,” he said. “We’ve got millions of dollars of legal talent around this table, but no one’s made that base case yet.”

“I don’t know if it makes any practical sense,” I said, respectfully. “I was just looking at it from a textbook perspective.”

“Hey, hey,” said a younger man, his dark suit adorned with a carnation. He snapped his fingers at me, even though he already had my attention. “Do your job and don’t stick your nose in other people’s business. Get me a vodka martini.”

All the others around the table placed their orders, except for the silver-haired gentleman. His eyes were eloquent with kindness and I gave him a grateful look.

I returned with their drinks. It was a heavy tray and the silver-haired gentleman helped me set it down so I could serve them.

“Hey, this is gin!” said the man with carnation, holding up his glass. “I ordered a vodka martini.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said.

“Well, take it back and get me what I ordered, you stupid bimbo! And be quick about it!”

I hurriedly went back to the bar and returned with his drink. He didn’t tip me, and the others followed his lead. The silver-haired gentleman slipped me a twenty, even though he had not ordered a drink.

Adriana came fashionably late, just after ten. She was dressed to kill as usual, on the arm of a very handsome Latin man. I watched her as I worked and saw her going through the party with her usual finesse. She met with every important person in the room, introduced her boyfriend, and made just enough conversation to leave a favorable impression before moving on. Her interaction with O’Connor was the only sour note, for he did not look happy to see her at all.

I was not actively trying to avoid Adriana. But I certainly was not trying to meet her either, especially in my waitress uniform. She saw me at a table next to hers, stood up, and came to me just as I finished serving.

“Johanna! What are you doing here?”

“Playing dress-up,” I said. “It thought it was a costume party.”

“Be serious, sweetie.” She put a hand on my hip. “Your outfit is a bit revealing, no?”

“So’s yours.”

“I like wearing short skirts and low-cut tops. You don’t.”

“It’s a uniform, Adriana.”

“Why are you working here?”

“For fun,” I said. “Waitressing is a barrel of laughs.”

“I heard about your mother,” she said, putting a hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that why you missed taking the bar?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, Johanna, we’re pals. It cuts me up to see you working like this. I’m an associate now, I’ve got a really nice place on the Upper East Side. Why don’t you move in with me? You can study for the bar in comfort.”

“I can’t expect you to support me, Adriana. And what about your boyfriend?”

“Oh, Guillermo,” she said. “Isn’t he a hunk? He drives racecars on the European circuit, his dad is worth a couple hundred million. He stays with me, but he’s only in town two weeks in the month. He sleeps with me, and you’d be in the guest room, so there’s no problem. You might hear us having sex, but you’re used to that from the time we lived together before.”

It was a tempting offer. But I did not want to become dependent on her, with a ringside seat to her extravagant lifestyle.

“Thanks, Adriana, I really appreciate it. But I’m managing just fine.”

“Think about it, give me a call if you change your mind. You still have my cell, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I wish I was bi-. Then I could seduce you and you’d have to live with me.”

“If you tried to seduce me, there’s no way I could resist you.”

“No one’s been able to resist me yet,” she said with a hint of smugness.

“What’s the deal with O’Connor and you now?”

“I got what I wanted, Johanna, and so did he, we were even. But he wanted more, to continue with me after I joined the firm as an associate. I had to be quite firm with him when I cut him off, and he didn’t like it.”

“Can’t he make things difficult for you at the firm? He’s a senior partner.”

“Yes, he is. But there’s other partners and he’s only one voice among many. Emily Carlton’s a partner now, and she likes me. I’ve implied to her that O’Connor pressured me. She told me in no uncertain terms, to tell her if he does anything out of line. She promised me that she’ll personally see him disbarred if he tries to harass me.”

“No wonder O’Connor wasn’t happy to see you. Why are you attending his party?”

“If a firm thing, all the partners are here. I had to show my face. Guillermo and I are leaving in a few minutes to go to a party on his friend’s yacht in the East River.”

“I have to work, Adriana,” I said, when I saw a guest beckoning me. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking even more beautiful, if that’s possible.”

“Ooh, la, la,” she said, but she looked pleased. “Don’t be a stranger, now. Give me a call and we’ll go out to lunch or something.”

Adriana left shortly before eleven, after giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Everyone was beginning to anticipate ringing in the New Year. With the other waitresses, I was handing out party hats and plastic glasses with ‘2017’ on them. The silver-haired gentleman called me over and I gave him one of each.

“Could we talk for a few moments, miss?” he asked.

“Of course, sir,” I said. “What would you like to order?”

“I’m not very keen on this champagne you’re serving. I’d like to order a bottle of Dom Perignon, with two glasses.”

“Of course, sir. Do you have a preference as to the year?”

“Don’t go crazy, a 2010 would be fine.”

I took his credit card to the bar and came back with the chilled bottle and two flutes on a tray. He slipped me another twenty as he took his card back. He led me to a nook with a view out over midtown and I set the tray down on the standing table there.

“What’s your name, young lady?” he asked, as I turned to leave.

“Johanna,” I said, still poised to leave.

“Will you have a drink with me, Johanna?”

“I’m working, sir. My manager will make me give him a blowjob if I take time off.”

I didn’t think he’d care, but blood rushed to his face.

“Let me speak to this man –” he began hotly.

“I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, sir,” I said hurriedly. “It’s just a running joke between Ahmad and me. He always asks me for a blowjob, I say no, and we both get a chuckle out of it.”

“Very well, then,” he said, calming down quickly. “You are working, you’ve just sold an expensive bottle of wine, and you’re waiting on a customer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Johanna, tell me the reasoning behind your comment about the takeover deal.”

“It’s really not my business, sir, as the other gentleman pointed out –”

“Oh, Benson’s a jerk, always has been. You mustn’t mind him. I’m telling you that it is your business.”

“Well, I thought all the information regarding the minority shareholders and the independence of the special committee would be in the Schedule 13(d). Then Kahn v. M&F Worldwide Corp gives you a precedent to move for a summary judgment.”

He poured out two flutes of champagne, handed me one, and we clinked. I took several sips, an appreciative expression settling on my face.

“This is good, sir. My mother always said you should never need an occasion to drink champagne.”

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman. What does she do?”

“She died, sir. A few months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

It wasn’t his words, rather the kindness in his eyes that comforted me. I looked out the window and he waited for me.

“Well, Johanna,” he said, when I collected myself and looked back at him. “You were wrong, since there was no special committee, and the Kahn v. M&F Worldwide Corp precedent does not apply. You made an incorrect assumption and reached the wrong conclusion.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” I looked at him over the rim of my champagne flute. “I guess I made a fool of myself.”

“This is a live case, Johanna, not a classroom assignment. You’ll find that the real world rarely conforms to the textbook. But the only way to learn that is with experience. It’s up to your elders to teach you, not insult you for presenting the perfectly valid textbook case.”

I didn’t say anything, and we continued sipping our champagne.

“Are you in law school?”

“I graduated last summer. I plan to take the bar in the spring.”

“Where are you studying?”

“At the public library, sir.”

“How would you like to study at our firm? I can set you up with a cubicle.”

“Are you offering me a research assistantship, sir?” I asked, my face lighting up with hope.

“I wish I could, but our firm is big, very bureaucratic. Hiring is only done against openings and there aren’t any at the moment.” The hope on my face faded away, replaced by disappointment. “But you will have access to all legal journals and materials through our online system. And I will be happy to tutor you on any questions you may have.”

“What do you want in exchange for this?”

“Nothing,” he said surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“The host, Matthew O’Connor, offered to support me earlier this evening. He was more explicit about the arrangement he had in mind.”

His face got red again.

“O’Connor!” he said. “I’ve known him for years, he was a year ahead of me at Yale Law. He was sleazy then, he’s sleazy now. His wife’s a saint for putting up with him. She’s an heiress with plenty of money of her own, she’d be better off if she divorced him.” He put his flute down and looked me in the eye. “You are right to be suspicious. But I offer you my hand, with the assurance that I have no such designs. You’re obviously a very bright young woman, and I’d like our firm to have the best chance of hiring you as an associate next fall.”

The background noise from the party had grown much louder, and he put an arm around my shoulders.

“You should go and ring in the New Year with the younger folk,” he said, handing me his card. “I’ll head home soon after the ball drops. Give me a call next week, and we’ll set you up with an ID so you can access our offices and online resources.”

He walked away as I was reading his card. I read Rhys Burton Wilson, followed by his contacts.

I called him in the first week of the New Year, he asked me to come in, and took me to lunch. After lunch, he helped me fill out all the paperwork to get a position as an unpaid visitor and set me up in a cubicle. I began going there instead of the public library, and he was right, it was a lot easier to study. He stopped by my cubicle at least once a day, and we discussed what I was studying as well as the cases he was working on.

He got me to call him Burton, and I found myself looking forward to talking to him each day. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him. I discovered that his silver hair was really more white-blond, and that he was younger than he looked at first, in his late forties. He liked skiing and horseback riding, though he rode in the formal European style. We always had a lot to talk about.

*

A few weeks into the New Year, I was streaming a folk station in the subway on my home after work at the club. I wasn’t listening carefully and my earbuds didn’t completely block out the train noise, so I didn’t catch the announcer’s introduction. But with the very first words, I heard Duane’s voice, unmistakable. I felt a sharp tug in my chest as I listened.

When I got home, I searched online, bought the album, and downloaded it. I sat in my bay window and played it out loud on my speakers through a blue tooth link. Song after song recalled our countless jam sessions, with me on the keyboards or the acoustic guitar, Duane on his accordion. Week in, week out, we’d worked on his lyrics, we’d honed his melodies. I’d listened so proudly when he played the resulting songs in his shows.

Now I was listening to the professionalized version of his work, with seamless arrangement and orchestration, backed by strings, horns, and percussion. It was mixed perfectly, everything set up to showcase what Lindwall had called his ‘warm, round voice’. But as I listened, I could see where the words came from, the scraps of paper on which we had scribbled, cancelled out, wrote over. His words, my words, melded together till it was impossible to tell them apart. It, not him or me, it was us.

The chorus of the title track Muse was typical, for it spoke of a girl with dark eyes and raven hair. My dark eyes, my raven hair. Or the track Big Sky that brought forth heady images of my beloved Montana. Then there was the track Travel Times, about rainy Eire and frigid northern border with Canada. Ireland and Montana, Duane and me. The last song on the album was the one he’d sung to me on the day we met in the county western gay bar that ended with: And to think it all started with a beer! – the Chimay he had bought me. It was now entitled Something About You. All the added instrumentation and slick production could not obscure the elemental simplicity of the words and melodies we’d crafted together. The experiences we had shared were in every line, every note.

I listened to the whole album twice over before going to the website. I looked down the credits, read through the names of the musicians, the technicians, the production team. At the bottom, there was the dedication in bold lettering: For Barb, whose love has inspired this music – and so much more! There was a picture of Duane and Barb by the dedication. He was in cargo shorts, T-shirt, and Birkenstocks, she was in a skimpy yellow bikini, holding a surfboard. I bitchily thought they’d airbrushed her body to make her look even sexier than she was in real life. The surfboard certainly gave her a calculatedly fake persona.

I thought I was over him, so I was shocked by how hard it hit me. It was like a body blow to the gut. I felt my throat go tight, I couldn’t breathe as I read the dedication over and over. Each time I looked at Duane and Barb smiling at the camera, it got worse. I went to the bathroom and threw up, bringing up everything I had. Then I retched till I tasted bile, my whole body constricting with pain. I threw myself on my bed and put a pillow over my head. I was unhappy, frustrated, lonely, and embarrassed that I was feeling this way.

I’m not claiming any credit for your success, Duane, I thought. It’s your voice, your talent. But just one phone call, one text, acknowledging what we did together! It wouldn’t have cost you anything, but it would have meant so much to me.

*

The following week, on my regular call to Roberta, she told me she’d just found out she was pregnant. I listened to her excited chatter, as she went on about every detail of her latest ultrasound when she’d heard the baby’s heartbeat.

“Just in time for Valentine’s Day, Johanna! Owen is so thrilled. His whole family is. Ophelia is arranging a baby shower, you’ve got to come.”

 “It depends on the date,” I said cautiously. “My bar exams are coming up soon.”

“Text me the dates of your exams. I’ll make sure the shower is after you’re done.”

Talking to Roberta about her pregnancy made me think of my niece, the baby she’d had with Jack. Quick mental arithmetic told me she would be about eighteen, a high school senior or a college freshman. Once I got her into my mind, I couldn’t get her out, and kept thinking about her. Eventually, I gave in and called Jack.

His phone went straight to voicemail, I didn’t leave a message. I tried again and again over the next few days. Late one night after work, well after midnight, he picked up. I could hear heavy prop aero engines down the line.

“Hi, Johanna,” he said. His voice was loud to be heard above the din. “Just hold on a second.” He heard him talking to someone in the background. “It’s okay, this line is secure. I’ve got at least twenty minutes.” Then he spoke to me again. “What’s up? I can’t talk long.”

I wanted to tell him about Duane’s album, hear his comforting voice, get a virtual hug. But this did not sound like the right time for that.

“I want to see your daughter, my niece,” I said.

“Are you sure? Roberta has never seen her. She may not be happy to see you.”

“I’d like to at least try. What’s her name? What does she do?”

“Her name is Brigette with the French spelling, Roberta named her. She uses my last name, Halvorsen. She’s a college freshman in Boston, the same school Roberta went to.”

“Can you text me her contacts? And warn her that I’ll be contacting her?”

“Okay. It may be a few days before I can do that, though.”

“There’s no hurry. I’ve waited eighteen years, I can wait a few more days.”

“Good girl. Is anything the matter? You sound out of sorts.”

“I do?” I asked, surprised he’d picked up on it.

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Later. Keep your chin up.”

*

On the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, I went for the long club run as usual. After a few miles, I fell into pace with Jerry Slink. I had my earbuds in and listened to Duane’s album again, masochistically lacerating myself with his voice. The pain of listening to him impelled me to run harder. Jerry ran by my side with his easy lope, glancing at me from time to time, surprised at the faster pace. At the end of two laps of the park, most runners turned off to cool down. I took out an earbud and asked Jerry if he’d like to do one more.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “A bit slower, though, okay?”

No one else wanted to join us and it was just the two of us doing the third lap. We got back to the start, did our cooldown, and bundled up again against the winter chill. I really didn’t want to go back alone to my apartment in Jersey City.

“Jerry,” I said. “You got plans?”

“I’m seeing a babe this evening,” he said. “It’s Saturday. She’s a nine, maybe a nine and a half.”

“I mean for right now.”

“Home, shower, lunch. Nothing special.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Sure. You got a change in your gym bag?”

“Yeah.”

We went to his place, a cramped one-bedroom apartment past Morningside Heights at the edge of Harlem. Jerry had a second bedroom carved out of the living room with a curtain.

“Where’s your roommate?” I asked.

“He’s away for the weekend. You mind if I have the first shower?”

“No, go right ahead.”

“There’s some energy bars in the cupboard above the sink,” he said. “Help yourself.”

He kicked off his shoes, and shed his jacket, sweatshirt, and T-shirt oblivious to my presence. I eyed his lean, powerful musculature with some hunger.

“Jerry,” I said. “Do you think I’m a bitch?”

He stopped and looked at me over his shoulder.

“Like how?”

 “A domineering woman, always taking charge, no femininity.”

“Well,” he said, considering. “You’re not the most feminine woman I know. You are kind of rough, you know? More like a guy, a buddy.”

I discarded my jacket and pulled my running top over my head. He looked me in my pink sports bra and multi-colored neon tights, nonplussed.

“Will you fuck me, Jerry?”

“Like how? Give you shit?”

“Have sex with me. Teach me how to be a woman.”

“Err … I’m going to have a shower, Johanna.”

“I’ll have a shower with you.”

“Well, okay,” he said.

By the time I pulled off my running shoes and tights, he was already in the bathroom and I heard the shower running. I walked in wearing just my panties and wiped the steamed-up glass so we could see each other.

He didn’t say anything when I swiveled my hips and slowly pulled my panties down. I got into the shower and squatted down in front of him in the pounding hot water. I fellated his cockhead with my lips and he rapidly got hard. His organ was large, but not a monster like Jack’s so I was able to swallow him whole. I gave him what I thought was an excellent blowjob. I was satisfied to hear him groan as he put his hands on my head and fucked my mouth. I wanted him to be rough, so I gripped his wrists, urging him on. His lower body jerked as he came.

I withdrew and let him spew his load into the shower. He sagged back against the shower tiles, breathing hard.

“Not bad,” he said.

“Not great?”

“You have a lot to learn, Johanna.”

“Will you teach me?”

“Sure,” he said.

We soaped and shampooed each other, before rinsing off. I borrowed a towel from him and wrapped it around myself.

“You want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” I said. “As hard as you can.”

“Just sex?”

“Yes, just sex.”

I let him take charge. He put me on my back, put his cockhead at my pussy lips and pushed into me with one hard thrust. It hurt a bit, and I cried out, reveling in the pain.

“Harder!” I screamed.

I arched my back, and he rode me hard, pounding my clit with his bony mount. He knew what he was doing and used a corkscrew motion to generate as much friction as possible in my pussy. Combined with hammering my clit, he got me to cum much more quickly than I expected. I thrashed under him gasping, “More, more! Don’t stop!”

He made it seem effortless, as though he was working out on a machine in the gym. Where Duane had been so obvious in his efforts to hold back, Jerry seemed almost detached. It made me buck harder, trying to get a reaction out of him. He got me to cum twice more before he began showing signs of tension. I raked his back with my nails, and he finally came, with only the mildest of grunts.

He lay on me for a few moments before rolling off. I clung to him, and he moved strands of hair out of my face.

“You’re fit,” he said.

He made it sound like we’d just done a workout together.

Jerry was two years younger than me, but he acted like a teenager with the hormones to match. He was up and ready again in barely half an hour. We had sex twice more in his narrow bed, and he continued to excel at making me cum. In between, he offered a detailed commentary on my performance.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-four. I’ll be twenty-five this year.”

“Well, I’m surprised no one has told you before. You’ve got to move with me, not against me. All that uncontrolled bucking just makes it difficult for me to maintain my rhythm.”

“Boys I’ve been with before liked it.”

“Well, they obviously didn’t know much about sex. And your blowjob – you haven’t got the basics.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just remember this, Johanna. More mouth, less hands. They call it fellatio for a reason – you’ve got to use your lips and tongue, don’t jerk me off with your hand. It’s a blowjob, not a hand job.”

“I’ll remember,” I said.

“Well, you better get going. I want to take a nap and another shower before my date this evening.”

I thought empty sex with Jerry would distract me, maybe teach me a thing or two about subservience. But on my way back home, I felt worse than ever.

*

I was in my cubicle at the law firm bright and early on Valentine’s Day. Burton came by about ten, and I smiled at him. As usual, his kind eyes made me feel warm and valued.

“I have a non-legal question for you, Johanna.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Flowers or chocolate for my wife today? Or should it be flowers and chocolate?”

I’d seen his wife, Melissa, once before when she stopped by the office in the late afternoon to pick him up for an evening event. She was of medium height and attractive with the sort of smooth blonde hair that women of her age and class get from their hairdressers. She was pleasingly plump, but without the good humor normally associated with that shape.

The one time I had seen her, she was berating Burton for not being ready and waiting for her in the lobby of the building. Burton was always calling her and buying her presents. These Valentine’s gifts were not the first time he had consulted me.

“Flowers, I’d say. Nothing like roses to say I love you.”

“That’s a good way to put it, Johanna. I’ll order a dozen roses, give them to her here, then have them couriered home for the maid to put in a vase.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said. “What are you planning to do together?”

“It’s a surprise. I’ve got tickets to the Met, they’re playing Aida.”

“Oh, that sounds heavenly!” I said. “I just love the triumphal march, so much pageantry! I’m sure the Met has real horses.”

“How about you, Johanna?”

“I’m working,” I said. “The club is sold out tonight, I’ll do well with tips.”

“Take some time to be young and have fun, Johanna,” he said, shaking his head. “You have your whole life in front of you to work.”

I always left the law firm about five to go to my job at the club in midtown. I went by Burton’s office to wish him well on his Valentine’s date. The door was open and I could hear Melissa’s raised voice. I stopped and flattened my back against the corridor wall.

“You didn’t think to ask me, Burt? An opera? Whatever gave you the idea that I would want to spend a long evening listening to fat women shrieking?”

“You really enjoyed the Nutcracker just before Christmas, dear,” said Burton, his voice soothing. “It’s not that different. Both the Nutcracker and Aida are from the late 19th century, both have powerful melodies, great spectacle.”

“We’ve been married over twenty years and you still don’t know me, do you, Burt? I told you I wanted to go on a romantic dinner cruise. But everything I tell you just goes in one ear and out the other, doesn’t it? I can’t believe they let you keep a position here, you’re such an airhead!”

“I’m sorry, Melissa. I’ll try and find a nice place for dinner –”

“A dinner cruise, Burt, or I’m going home.”

“All the cruises will be booked up, dear,” said Burton. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Well, you should have booked it weeks ago, when I asked you.”

“Please, dear –”

“You’re wasting my time, Burt. I’m going home.”

I heard her footsteps and quickly ducked into a side corridor. I came out and peeked into Burton’s office through the open door. He was behind his enormous desk, his head buried in his hands. The dozen roses were in the trash can by the door. I wanted to go in and take his head in my arms to comfort him. My legs took two steps forward of their own volition, but I managed to stop myself. I went back to my cubicle, got my coat, and left for my job at the club.

*