Page 4 of Behind Frenemy Lines

Charles

Came into the office early before my nine a.m. client call, so I could look over the file. Anne-Laure was travelling, so we were doing an old-fashioned phone call.

Should have been straightforward. She didn’t want anything complicated, just an update on the lawsuit against them, so she could brief her CEO. I explained we were awaiting the claimant’s reply to our last letter.

Anne-Laure: “Why the delay on their end?”

Didn’t say, I don’t know, I don’t have a psychic bond with the claimant that tells me what they’re thinking, despite the temptation. “They could be instructing external lawyers. We’ve been dealing with their in-house counsel so far.”

Anne-Laure, hopefully: “Maybe they’re planning not to progress the case? I have never found the claim convincing. How can we be responsible for their future profits? They have no way of knowing they would have earned all that money.”

Always amazes me how clients sign contracts promising to take responsibility for all sorts of things, and then are surprised when they’re held to it.

CG: “Unfortunately the contract is explicit that the claimant is entitled to loss of profits. And it’s not a matter of dispute that you failed to meet the SLAs.

We haven’t seen their evidence on quantum yet, but from what they’ve said, ￡ 1 million doesn’t seem an unrealistic estimate of their losses—”

Anne-Laure: “Oh shit!”

CG, taken aback: “Anne-Laure?” No response. “I think there’s a problem with the line. Can you hear me?”

Line crackled. Removed the receiver from my ear to inspect it. Was wondering if I should end the call and try ringing again, when I heard a noise at the door. Looked up and saw Kriya Rajasekar.

Her hair had grown out since the last time I saw her. (When was the last time? Conference where she gave that talk on privilege, must be.) Her curls were halfway down her back now. Big gold hoops in her ears, tiny gold stud in her nose. She was wearing a black dress, long-sleeved and high-necked.

And fitted. Very fitted. Kriya had a lot to fit. In a good way.

Averted my gaze, hoping she hadn’t caught me looking. Not appropriate to stare at a professional contact—competitor, in fact. But what was a competitor doing in my office?

My eyes, searching for somewhere safe to land, alighted upon my computer screen. There was a new email from my PA, sent at nine a.m. sharp. Subject line:

Don’t forget your new office mate Kriya is starting today! :)

Gaped at screen.

I’d known I was going to have to start sharing my office.

It had been framed as a request, but saying no had not been an option.

(Checked with Farah, thinking she might have leverage as group manager.

She said: “Thank your stars you’ve got an office at all, Charles.

I practically had to threaten to go on strike to get it signed off.

You don’t want to risk reminding Facilities and HR they made a concession.

They’d be all too happy to walk it back. ”)

No one had told me who was going to be sharing my office, though. I knew they were coming over with the Product Liability partner we’d poached from Brown, Rosenburg and Cushway. But I hadn’t bothered asking their name. Hadn’t thought it would make a difference.

Kriya looked at me, then went away.

Anne-Laure’s voice said, from the phone: “Hello? Are you there?”

CG, after a pause: “Yes. I’m here. You cut out for a moment.”

Anne-Laure: “Yes, sorry, it was not the line. There was a little bit of an incident. I was driving, and when you said we might have to pay ￡ 1 million… however, it is all fine. Nothing is damaged, and I have pulled over. Did you say they are suing us for ￡ 1 million? The contract says they are entitled to the money?”

Managed to complete the call without making Anne-Laure drive into a tree (again). Only casualty was my ego. This is what Farah means when she says I must improve my bedside manner with clients.

Kriya nowhere to be seen. She’d taken her things with her, instead of leaving them at the desk opposite me. Maybe she wasn’t going to be sharing my office after all, notwithstanding PA’s email. But it wasn’t like my PA to get something like that wrong.

Found myself wishing Loretta had been there to interpret Kriya’s reaction upon seeing me. Loretta also not great at bedside manner—must be genetic—but you can trust her to be forthright. Told her once, after that conference where I last saw Kriya:

“I think Kriya Rajasekar doesn’t like me.”

Hoping for reassurance: You must be imagining it, you barely know each other, etc.

Loretta: “You did correct her mistake. In the middle of her talk, in front of everybody.”

CG: “She mixed up the case names. It was nothing personal. Probably a trainee put the slides together. Though she should have checked.”

Loretta: “Nobody asked you to raise your hand while she was speaking and tell the whole audience. You could have mentioned it after she was done, one-on-one.”

CG: “But then the audience might not have caught the error.”

Loretta: “Well, there you have it. You were devoted to the truth, so that’s what you get. If you were devoted to getting Hot Lawyer Who Hates You to like you, you should have made a different choice.”

Loretta is a five on the Kinsey scale, or a two, or whatever number means she is primarily attracted to women but would make an exception for Gong Yoo.

She stalked Kriya online early on in our acquaintance, and again whenever I happened to run into Kriya over the years.

She found Kriya’s Instagram account a few years back and made inappropriate noises, disgusting to hear from a cousin.

(Loretta: “You have good taste, Charles, but no game. That is your tragedy.”)

CG: “You think she does dislike me, then?”

Loretta: “Biu Gor”—only calls me this when she’s taking the piss—“I have never met this woman in my life. I have no idea what she thinks of you.”

Suspected I didn’t need her insight just then, anyway. Kriya hadn’t exactly looked delighted. She probably could have competed with Anne-Laure in a Most Horrified Expression contest.

Leaned back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Luckily (or not), I didn’t have the chance to brood, because Ma rang. Told her I was at work.

Ma: “You’re always at work. If I don’t call because you’re at work, I’ll never get to speak to my son.”

Could see her point. “OK, but I’ve got a meeting in an hour’s time. What’s up?”

She hesitated. Showed she felt some shame, at least. “I’ve been talking to Ba.”

Head started throbbing. Took off my glasses so I could massage my temples.

CG: “Why are you talking to Ba? I told you to block him.”

Ma: “I don’t know how to block him.” (Keeps refusing my offers to walk her through it.) “Anyway, he’s your father.”

CG: “Let me deal with him, then. The whole point of divorcing him was so you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Drives me round the bend. They split almost twenty years ago. Ba didn’t worry about Ma when he cut and ran, leaving her with a mountain of debt and a son to raise on her own. He fucked her over and all she says is, I only had one husband. It’s not so easy to stop worrying.

Ma: “He’s having problems with his business.”

I was going to need fresh air for this conversation. Told Ma to hold on and grabbed my coat.

Went down via the stairs to the back entrance, opening on an alley. Smelled of cigarette smoke and piss as usual. Importantly, nobody there. Kicked a couple of cigarette butts away and leaned against the cold wall after checking it was free of pigeon shit.

CG: “Which business is this?” Ba always has some “business” cooking. “The instant coffee thing? Or is it some new wheeze?”

Ma: “No, but this was very promising. You know gwaat saa? ‘Gua sha’ in Mandarin. You can use it to scrape the face, the body, a lot of benefits. My friend had neck pain and the doctors only told her to take painkillers. She used gwaat saa, no more pain. Now it’s becoming popular among the gwai lo, they’re putting it on their TikTok.

You haven’t seen the videos? A lot on my phone. ”

Put Ma on speaker and Googled while she was talking. Gua sha are flat stones you rub on yourself. Said to cure everything from acne to liver inflammation. Load of bollocks, obviously.

CG: “Don’t people say ‘gwaat saa’ to mean ‘can’t make money’?”

If we’d been talking about anyone else, I might have suggested he should “gwaat lung.” Get rich doing something shady. Except Ba’s tried that. No one wants him going down that road again.

Thing is, Ba’s probably not wrong there’s money in gua sha. Ba being Ba, he’s not going to be the one to make it.

CG: “Has Ba ever thought about just getting a normal job?”

Ma: “He set up the company already. A big Western company ordered a lot of units. But there was some issue—I’m not sure what happened—Ba said somebody bad-mouthed him to the company—anyway, the buyer pulled out.

But Ba already confirmed the order with the factory.

Now the factory is saying they will sue him if he doesn’t pay.

He’s at his wits’ end. You know, the oldest girl, what’s her name—”

CG: “Teodora.”

Ma: “She’ll be finishing secondary school soon. How is he going to manage her education? He says she wants to study art. Art!”

CG: “Teo’s interested in animation. She’s looking at universities in the Philippines. I’ll sort Teo, don’t worry—”

Ma: “But it’s not only her. It’s everything. Ba’s had such bad luck, these past few years. He’s thinking of borrowing from loan sharks. If he does that and they come after him because he cannot pay, what is going to happen to Iza and the children?”

CG: “He’s the one who decided to marry Iza and have another family. How is it your problem?”

Ma: “You always say this is not my problem. How can I not think about them? I know how Iza feels. And she has three children. I only had one, and you were so good, you didn’t cause me any trouble.”