that’s completely packed with men in suits and model types holding a rainbow of martinis.
“Cat, meet my friends Amanda, Leanne, and Beverley.” Lisa waves to three women in their early thirties clad in head-to-toe Prada, Gucci, and Chanel respectively.
I reach over to shake three of the most perfectly manicured and heavily jewelled hands I’ve ever encountered.
“Hello, nice to meet you.”
“Catherine, Lisa told us that you’ve just moved here from Paris. We love Paris, don’t we, ladies?” Beverley (Chanel) says, holding up her martini glass in a mini-toast.
“Oh, yes, greatest shopping ever!” Leanne (Gucci) jumps in eagerly.
“Great? How about fantastic! I nearly emptied the YSL store during my last trip,” Amanda (Prada) throws out.
“Lisa told us you were a lawyer. What type of law do you practise?” Leanne asks.
“Where did you go to law school? Have you taken the New York bar exam?” Beverley asks before I can answer Leanne’s question.
“I went to law school in France and met Lisa during an exchange program at Pepperdine and no, I haven’t passed the local bar yet.”
“My brother passed the exam last summer. He said it was a walk in the park,” Beverley comments.
I’ve heard many stories about the bar exam, but most of them make it sound more like a journey to hell and back than a walk in the park.
“Are you working at Skadden or Sullivan? You must keep crazy hours these days,” Amanda jumps into the question period.
I’m obviously under serious cross-examination by the bling brigade.
“No, I don’t work at Skadden, Arps or Sullivan and Cromwell. I’m with Edwards and White, and yes, you could say that I’m working crazy hours these days. How about you, what do you do?” I ask my interrogators before they can get another question in.
“Amanda’s at a hedge fund, Leanne’s a trader, and I’m a doctor,” Beverley answers in a rehearsed manner.
“You must know what it’s like to work long hours.”
“Yes. It’s been a wild ride,” Amanda replies. “I practically live on an airplane these days. But at least we get paid. You lawyers don’t make much by the hour given the amount of work you do.”
Ouch. You’re picking up my bar tab for that one, missy.Speaking of which, I need a drink. After reviewing the colourful cocktail menu, I opt for the Comtesse; channelling my inner French royalty will make me feel a little less inferior among these princesses. I order two drinks, one for Lisa and one for moi. I ask the bartender to make them strong.
“I hope you don’t mind, we made reservations at Daniel for dinner. It’s our absolute favourite. The cheese plate is scrumptious and they have an incredible wine list.”
“Oh, not at all,” I say, pretending to be quite at ease with the idea of spending on dinner an amount that could pay for a day at the spa or cover half the cost of a new armchair for my apartment.
“Why don’t you girls go ahead? Cat and I will catch another cab and meet you,” Lisa suggests while they simultaneously drape themselves in their expensive-looking trench coats.
“Okay, see you there,” Beverley shouts, waving her Burberry scarf.
“How did you meet these women?” I ask Lisa as soon as they’re out of earshot. “They’re kind of, well, obnoxious, don’t you think?”
“I met them at a garden party last summer in the Hamptons. They’re actually pretty harmless.”
“Harmless? They seem more like piranhas in designer suits to me. Did you hear what Amanda said about lawyers being underpaid? That was rude.”
“Listen, you better get used to it. That’s how people are in New York. We’re trained to be fiercely competitive.” The tone of her voice tells me it’s time to back off.
“Sorry, I guess I’m used to people being a bit more discreet. In France, talking about your salary is considered gauche.” I pick up my bag and pass her her scarf from the bench beside me.
“It’s different here. Your salary is
“Cat, meet my friends Amanda, Leanne, and Beverley.” Lisa waves to three women in their early thirties clad in head-to-toe Prada, Gucci, and Chanel respectively.
I reach over to shake three of the most perfectly manicured and heavily jewelled hands I’ve ever encountered.
“Hello, nice to meet you.”
“Catherine, Lisa told us that you’ve just moved here from Paris. We love Paris, don’t we, ladies?” Beverley (Chanel) says, holding up her martini glass in a mini-toast.
“Oh, yes, greatest shopping ever!” Leanne (Gucci) jumps in eagerly.
“Great? How about fantastic! I nearly emptied the YSL store during my last trip,” Amanda (Prada) throws out.
“Lisa told us you were a lawyer. What type of law do you practise?” Leanne asks.
“Where did you go to law school? Have you taken the New York bar exam?” Beverley asks before I can answer Leanne’s question.
“I went to law school in France and met Lisa during an exchange program at Pepperdine and no, I haven’t passed the local bar yet.”
“My brother passed the exam last summer. He said it was a walk in the park,” Beverley comments.
I’ve heard many stories about the bar exam, but most of them make it sound more like a journey to hell and back than a walk in the park.
“Are you working at Skadden or Sullivan? You must keep crazy hours these days,” Amanda jumps into the question period.
I’m obviously under serious cross-examination by the bling brigade.
“No, I don’t work at Skadden, Arps or Sullivan and Cromwell. I’m with Edwards and White, and yes, you could say that I’m working crazy hours these days. How about you, what do you do?” I ask my interrogators before they can get another question in.
“Amanda’s at a hedge fund, Leanne’s a trader, and I’m a doctor,” Beverley answers in a rehearsed manner.
“You must know what it’s like to work long hours.”
“Yes. It’s been a wild ride,” Amanda replies. “I practically live on an airplane these days. But at least we get paid. You lawyers don’t make much by the hour given the amount of work you do.”
Ouch. You’re picking up my bar tab for that one, missy.Speaking of which, I need a drink. After reviewing the colourful cocktail menu, I opt for the Comtesse; channelling my inner French royalty will make me feel a little less inferior among these princesses. I order two drinks, one for Lisa and one for moi. I ask the bartender to make them strong.
“I hope you don’t mind, we made reservations at Daniel for dinner. It’s our absolute favourite. The cheese plate is scrumptious and they have an incredible wine list.”
“Oh, not at all,” I say, pretending to be quite at ease with the idea of spending on dinner an amount that could pay for a day at the spa or cover half the cost of a new armchair for my apartment.
“Why don’t you girls go ahead? Cat and I will catch another cab and meet you,” Lisa suggests while they simultaneously drape themselves in their expensive-looking trench coats.
“Okay, see you there,” Beverley shouts, waving her Burberry scarf.
“How did you meet these women?” I ask Lisa as soon as they’re out of earshot. “They’re kind of, well, obnoxious, don’t you think?”
“I met them at a garden party last summer in the Hamptons. They’re actually pretty harmless.”
“Harmless? They seem more like piranhas in designer suits to me. Did you hear what Amanda said about lawyers being underpaid? That was rude.”
“Listen, you better get used to it. That’s how people are in New York. We’re trained to be fiercely competitive.” The tone of her voice tells me it’s time to back off.
“Sorry, I guess I’m used to people being a bit more discreet. In France, talking about your salary is considered gauche.” I pick up my bag and pass her her scarf from the bench beside me.
“It’s different here. Your salary is
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