of the few people to whom she had turned when, a few weeks before, she had broken off her engagement to her boyfriend of three years.
“Sarah,” he said flatly. “This case will eat you up.”
“What about Mary Ann Tierney?”
“Believe me, I
know
. The Protection of Life Act is bullshit: I’d love to see us take this on—
us
, of all firms.” Briefly, he smiled at the thought. “The old guys couldn’t show their faces at the Bohemian Club.”
“I can live with that, Scott.”
“Can you?” Votek exhaled, folding his hands in his lap. “Things are better now, I’ll admit, and a fair number of women are junior partners. But it’s their elders who can still make you their partner—or blackball you. All it takes is one.”
Sarah gazed at Votek’s Bokara rug. “Can they still do that?” she asked. “They have to get along with all the otherpartners, the ones who help decide
their
candidates. In nuclear terms, it’s like ‘mutual assured destruction.’”
Votek shook his head. “Don’t overrate yourself. And I mean that in the kindest possible way. Even Caroline Masters—the only woman superstar we’ve ever had—didn’t find her life here easy.”
“She survived, didn’t she?”
“She came
in
as a partner, and a celebrity. No one was going to run her out. For her it was a way station—a couple of years with the Establishment, making contacts and rounding out her résumé. And about all she could take.” Jerking loose his tie, Votek warmed to his speech. “You’ve got some real advocates here—me included. But we can’t help it if certain other people don’t want you. Instead of saying you’re ‘too political,’ they’ll use code words. Like ‘judgment.’
“‘Abortion lawyers’ can take this case, they’ll say. It’s ‘bad judgment’ for
you
to want it, and ‘bad’ for the firm. And if somehow we do take it, and things go south …” Votek’s tone grew crisp. “The old guys won’t try to fire you— that’s way too blatant. They’ll reach an agreement over lunch in some all-male club: work your ass off for another three years, then pass you over for partner. Because you’ve got ‘bad judgment.’”
If Votek wanted to make her paranoid, he was succeeding— as a woman in a firm still run by men; an associate where partners met in private; a Jew whose parents harbored memories of exclusion. She could not know how matters were decided. “Scott,” she said at last, “I’m asking for your help. If you agree with me on the merits, maybe we can do this one together.”
Votek tented his fingers, appraising them in an attitude of prayer. “There are other considerations,” he answered. “I’ve always been open about the things we both want here. So you know that our chairman looks upon pro bono as an obligation, not a joy.
“We’ve been able to do good work because we’ve stayed below the radar screen—no public controversies, or massive commitments of free time.” Looking up, Votek leaned forward on his desk and gazed directly into Sarah’s eyes. “They don’t like what’s happening at the women’s clinic, and theChristian Commitment keeps upping the ante. So far I’ve been able to protect us. But I can’t cover for you on this.”
Sarah made herself stare back. “‘Can’t,’ Scott? Or ‘won’t’?”
A first, faint flush appeared on Votek’s cheeks. Watching, Sarah felt comprehension dawn: much of what Scott said about Sarah applied to him. The indulgence of his partners offered him an enviable life: $600,000 a year; treks in Nepal; an ecologically designed vacation house near Tahoe; a collection of Haitian art and costly African masks; an avocation bringing lawsuits for the Sierra Club, protecting wetlands, and limiting ski resorts. And, in return, he personified for Kenyon & Walker its commitment to the public good. Concepts like “infanticide” threatened to upset the balance.
“Sarah,” he said firmly, “this one’s for the
“Sarah,” he said flatly. “This case will eat you up.”
“What about Mary Ann Tierney?”
“Believe me, I
know
. The Protection of Life Act is bullshit: I’d love to see us take this on—
us
, of all firms.” Briefly, he smiled at the thought. “The old guys couldn’t show their faces at the Bohemian Club.”
“I can live with that, Scott.”
“Can you?” Votek exhaled, folding his hands in his lap. “Things are better now, I’ll admit, and a fair number of women are junior partners. But it’s their elders who can still make you their partner—or blackball you. All it takes is one.”
Sarah gazed at Votek’s Bokara rug. “Can they still do that?” she asked. “They have to get along with all the otherpartners, the ones who help decide
their
candidates. In nuclear terms, it’s like ‘mutual assured destruction.’”
Votek shook his head. “Don’t overrate yourself. And I mean that in the kindest possible way. Even Caroline Masters—the only woman superstar we’ve ever had—didn’t find her life here easy.”
“She survived, didn’t she?”
“She came
in
as a partner, and a celebrity. No one was going to run her out. For her it was a way station—a couple of years with the Establishment, making contacts and rounding out her résumé. And about all she could take.” Jerking loose his tie, Votek warmed to his speech. “You’ve got some real advocates here—me included. But we can’t help it if certain other people don’t want you. Instead of saying you’re ‘too political,’ they’ll use code words. Like ‘judgment.’
“‘Abortion lawyers’ can take this case, they’ll say. It’s ‘bad judgment’ for
you
to want it, and ‘bad’ for the firm. And if somehow we do take it, and things go south …” Votek’s tone grew crisp. “The old guys won’t try to fire you— that’s way too blatant. They’ll reach an agreement over lunch in some all-male club: work your ass off for another three years, then pass you over for partner. Because you’ve got ‘bad judgment.’”
If Votek wanted to make her paranoid, he was succeeding— as a woman in a firm still run by men; an associate where partners met in private; a Jew whose parents harbored memories of exclusion. She could not know how matters were decided. “Scott,” she said at last, “I’m asking for your help. If you agree with me on the merits, maybe we can do this one together.”
Votek tented his fingers, appraising them in an attitude of prayer. “There are other considerations,” he answered. “I’ve always been open about the things we both want here. So you know that our chairman looks upon pro bono as an obligation, not a joy.
“We’ve been able to do good work because we’ve stayed below the radar screen—no public controversies, or massive commitments of free time.” Looking up, Votek leaned forward on his desk and gazed directly into Sarah’s eyes. “They don’t like what’s happening at the women’s clinic, and theChristian Commitment keeps upping the ante. So far I’ve been able to protect us. But I can’t cover for you on this.”
Sarah made herself stare back. “‘Can’t,’ Scott? Or ‘won’t’?”
A first, faint flush appeared on Votek’s cheeks. Watching, Sarah felt comprehension dawn: much of what Scott said about Sarah applied to him. The indulgence of his partners offered him an enviable life: $600,000 a year; treks in Nepal; an ecologically designed vacation house near Tahoe; a collection of Haitian art and costly African masks; an avocation bringing lawsuits for the Sierra Club, protecting wetlands, and limiting ski resorts. And, in return, he personified for Kenyon & Walker its commitment to the public good. Concepts like “infanticide” threatened to upset the balance.
“Sarah,” he said firmly, “this one’s for the
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