{"product_id":"do-this-for-me-isbn-9781101907214","title":"Do This for Me","description":"\u003cb\u003eA high-powered attorney dives into the politics of sex, the perils of desire, and why men and women treat each other the way they do.\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Raney Moore has it all figured out. An ambitious young partner at a prestigious Manhattan law firm, she’s got a dream job, a loving (and famous) husband, and amazing twin daughters. Her world is full, busy, perfectly scripted. Or so she thinks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne sunny fall day, a bombshell phone call throws Raney’s well-ordered existence into chaos, and in a fit of rage, she diabolically, hilariously burns everything down. Once the flames subside, she finds herself asking some difficult questions: Who am I? What just happened? Am I ever going to find my way back to normal?  Assisted by enterprising paralegals, flirtatious clientele, one dear friend and an unforgettable therapist, Raney thinks the answers are close at hand, only to find life spiraling utterly out of control.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUproarious, incisive and poignant, \u003ci\u003eDo This For Me\u003c\/i\u003e introduces a brilliant, off-kilter heroine on a quest to understand sex, fight workplace inequality, and solve the mystery of herself.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eDo This For Me\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fun... Kennedy has a gift for snappy dialogue.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— New York Times Book Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] deliciously over-the-top divorce tale.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eEW.com\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"Do This For Me\u003c\/i\u003e is so alive and so boisterous that the characters just about bounce off the page.\"\u003cbr\u003e— \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eMarieClaire.com\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A fast-paced, outrageously fun pleasure of a book. Bring it to the beach this Memorial Day.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eRefinery29\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\"Do This for Me\u003c\/i\u003e is the juicy summer read you need in your beach bag.” \u003cbr\u003e— \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eHelloGiggles\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A delicious, new beach read... add this bitterly funny novel to the growing stack of summer reads.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e— ETonline.com\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An amusing tale of love and revenge.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— Toronto Star\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In this new novel, Raney Moore thinks she has reached the pinnacle of her life—but one upsetting phone call will throw her entire world into chaos. Burning everything down in the wake of disaster, she is forced to rethink what she’s always thought was a successful existence.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e— \u003ci\u003eParade\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A sharp take on sexual politics, \u003ci\u003eDo This for Me\u003c\/i\u003e is about an ambitious NYC lawyer whose seemingly perfect life abruptly crumbles when she discovers her husband’s infidelity.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— PureWow\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Amusing, clever and thoughtful, \u003ci\u003eDo This for Me\u003c\/i\u003e is an excellent novel.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e— Shelf Awareness\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Kennedy tackles gender relations at home and in the workplace in this frank, compulsively readable examination of how one woman balances her exploration of her sexual identity with her career and motherhood.” \u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “An uproarious, sometimes salacious, and always entertaining quick summer read.” \u003cbr\u003e —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Raney Moore is living her dream life. That is, until she finds out her famous husband, Aaron, cheated on her. After she gets her ruthless revenge, the couple gives the relationship another go—leading to a whirlwind of confusing questions and emotions. Raney is a formidable female character who defies norms and illuminatestimely women's issue.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eChronogram\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSelect Praise for \u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e by Eliza Kennedy:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A salty, lively first novel... crackling, bawdy, and modern.\"\u003cbr\u003e— \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This debut novel's take on modern gender roles is aggressively provocative... It's also funny and, eventually, wise.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's the smartest, sexiest, funniest (like, hilarious) beach read on the shelves right now.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eHuffington Post \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\"Saucy, sexy and funny as hell…Eliza Kennedy’s debut novel will have you blushing, laughing and loving the lavish antics of our new favorite protagonist.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—USA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “[Kennedy's] snappy comedy of mis-manners delights in subverting expectation... \u003ci\u003eI Take You\u003c\/i\u003e, as salty-sweet as a margarita, will appeal to fans of \u003ci\u003eSeating Arrangements, Where’d You Go, Bernadette.\u003c\/i\u003e”  \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eNPR.org\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eEliza Kennedy\u003c\/b\u003e is a screenwriter and author of two previous novels,\u003ci\u003e I Take You\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDo This for Me\u003c\/i\u003e. Her nonfiction and essays have appeared in \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e Glamour\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e Real Simple\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan\u003c\/i\u003e. A graduate of the University of Iowa and Harvard Law School, she lives in Hudson, New York.\u003cp\u003eOne\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe second-worst day of my life started like most days did, back then: with a dream of my own bizarre and improbable death.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis time, I’d traveled to Antarctica to take a deposition. I was ready with my questions. The stenographer was in place. But the curtains in the conference room wouldn’t close. The glare off the snow was blinding. The witness was refusing to testify.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe clock was ticking!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI rushed out and began searching for the reception desk. The hallway turned into a tunnel carved in snow. As I clutched my bathrobe tightly around myself (bathrobe?), I passed a polar bear. But polar bears live in the Arctic, not the Antarctic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re not supposed to be here,” I told the bear. It snarled and lunged at me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI ran and ran. I could see reception up ahead. The bear was right behind me, but I was getting closer. I was almost there. I was . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTumbling into an ice crevasse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI gasped awake, blinked, calmed my pounding heart. Soon, the outlines of dresser and nightstand and lamp emerged from the gloom. Bathroom door. Window.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was home. I was safe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI reached for Aaron, but he wasn’t there. I felt a fresh burst of panic, until I remembered: he was on tour. The paperback of Glow Worms had just been released. My hand swept the smooth, empty space beside me where he should have been. Morning was when I missed him most. I missed watching him sleep, one arm flung over his head like a boy’s. Watching his eyes open. Watching him turn toward me and smile.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d been away three weeks. Three weeks without the smell of his coffee drifting up the stairs. Without the sound of his laughter. Without his dark eyes, looking up from a book to greet me after a long day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut he was coming home tonight. Tour over, show on hiatus--he was done traveling for a while. I only had to wait one more day. Then . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne more day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat meant today was . . . the Day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe clock blinked to 5:02. I sat up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had, what? Six hours until 11 a.m.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe call. The case. My moment of truth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI launched myself out of bed to pace the carpet. What if we lost? Was it possible we’d lost? I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I needed to talk to Aaron.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hesitated.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was in San Francisco. Did I really need to wake him? We’d spoken last night, before his reading. He was loving and reassuring, as always.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You killed it, Raney. Those executives fell apart on the stand. The judge was nodding along during your closing argument--remember? You have nothing to worry about.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had nothing to worry about. Nothing. I climbed back into bed and forced myself to spend half an hour editing a brief my senior associate, Stephen, had sent me the night before. Then I showered, brushed my teeth and brushed my hair. Got dressed: suit, blouse, flats. Knuckles on the bathroom counter, I leaned close to the mirror.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You killed it,” I told my reflection.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy reflection didn’t look convinced.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBefore heading downstairs I cracked the door to the twins’ room, peering through the darkness at their huddled forms. I took a step inside. It was all right: they were breathing. They were fifteen--of course they were breathing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStill, I’m their mother. I worry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaisie’s bed was closer to the door. I bent down, brushing a swoop of light brown hair from her warm cheek.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I love you more than anything in the world,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Then stop being creepy,” she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom the far side of the room, Kate said, “Seriously, Mom. We’ve talked about this.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI straightened and stepped back. “I’m so sorry!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s okay.” Maisie plumped her pillow. “Just let us sleep.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No, really. It must be awful,” I said. “To be so loved.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKate flopped onto her back. “Here we go.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“To be the center of someone’s existence,” I continued. “Showered with affection. Lavished with care. How you must suffer.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaisie reached for her phone. “Most parents encourage their teenagers to rest, Mom. Just FYI.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It could be worse,” I pointed out. “Instead of lolling in these clean, comfortable beds, you could be toiling away in some sweatshop.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was texting now, her face reflecting the glow of the screen. “Bed or sweatshop,” she remarked. “These are always our only options.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hold up.” Kate raised her head. “Today’s the day.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s why she’s on edge,” Maisie said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m not on edge!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“LOL,” Kate said drily.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Relax, Mama.” Maisie smiled up at me. “You’re totally going to win.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Your oppressed waitresses are going to kick some serious corporate ass,” Kate agreed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The plaintiffs are management trainees,” Maisie informed her. “Don’t you pay any attention?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s how I know most of them started as waitresses, moron.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re the moron! You--”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well!” I clapped my hands. “My work here is done.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey stopped squabbling long enough to wish me luck. I blew them a kiss and backed out of the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA car came for me at 6:15. The driver was new.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Where’s Kurt?” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Good morning,” the driver said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGreetings. Right. Very important. “Good morning,” I said. “Where’s Kurt?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Kurt?” The driver steered the car to the end of our driveway. “He got reassigned.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI fell back against the seat. “Are you serious?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrown eyes glanced at me in the rearview, then away. The town car floated down the street. Dawn was breaking over the wooded hills. In massive homes, behind gates and circular drives and meticulously curated lawns, my neighbors were waking. Bankers. Hedge fund managers. Doctors. Stretching, yawning, showering, shaving. Buttoning and knotting. Brewing, scrambling and toasting.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe world--my world--was getting ready for work.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut I didn’t care about any of that at the moment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Tell me,” I said to the driver. “I can take it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hesitated. Finally:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I heard it was the yelling.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What?” I cried, before I could catch myself. More calmly: “That’s outrageous.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Would you mind buckling your seat belt, Miz Moore?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI reached for the belt, not taking my eyes off the mirror. “I never yelled at Kurt.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I think it was more a proximity-type situation.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I yelled near him?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He’s a sensitive guy, what can I say? You want me to take the Sprain Brook?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Take the Sawmill.” We passed the country club, the shopping center, the nature preserve. I tried to let it go. I couldn’t let it go.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI have a hard time, in general, letting things go.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m extremely careful about raising my voice,” I said. “I’m strategic.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI caught the hint of a smile. “You ask Kurt, there’s an awful lot of strategy going on back there at six thirty in the morning.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI pulled Stephen’s brief out of my bag and found my place. I uncapped my pen. I looked up. “What’s your name?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Jorge.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are you going to have a problem with the yelling, Jorge?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe pursed his lips. “Nah. I’m tough.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Excellent.” I turned a page and circled a typo.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLooking back on that time--that car trip, that morning, that strange, enraging autumn--I can’t help but think: forget death in Antarctica--I was the real nightmare. Pestering my children, haranguing my driver . . . who does that?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFunny, though: from the inside, life was good. I was happy. My stresses and challenges seemed to me proof of a full, hectic modern existence--the kind we’re all supposed to strive for. Sure, I was headstrong and obsessive and maybe a little prickly sometimes, but I had plenty of good qualities, too. The people and things I cared about, I cared about deeply. I worked hard--always had. I’d gone to the best high school in the country, the best university, the best law school, all on my own. I never drank. Never smoked. Never cheated. Never lied. I never even swore.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI sound so impressed with myself, don’t I? Swaggering around with my intensity, my work ethic, my litany of bests and nevers. In truth, I was pretty pleased to be me back then. I had a wonderful husband and two great kids. I had good friends and satisfied clients. I was young (thirty-seven), healthy, wealthy and (I thought) wise.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy life was a story I’d written myself, and it hit all the registers. Early loss, long struggle, triumph over adversity. Sacrifices rewarded, love earned and cherished. I was proud of what I’d accomplished.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was all going very much according to plan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI finished editing the brief and glanced at my calendar. The entry at 11 a.m. looked so innocuous. “Clerk call.” Two little words.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTiny assassins.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA lot of what I do is pretty dry stuff. Securities fraud, contract disputes, one faceless corporate entity suing another over a big pile of cash. The case tormenting me that particular morning was different. My clients were a group of women suing a restaurant chain called Gaia Café. It was a ubiquitous, supertrendy lunch spot beloved by vegetarians, vegans and people on the Paleo diet.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTurns out the company’s employment practices were straight out of the Stone Age, too. My plaintiffs suffered pay discrimination, pregnancy discrimination, promotion discrimination and persistent, unwanted sexual advances.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll at a place called the Gaia Cafe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’d taken the case pro bono and filed a nationwide class action. The defendant fought us for three years. Their lawyers were weasels and their executives were boors. They offered a joke of a settlement on the eve of trial, which I advised my clients to reject. The trial was a four-month ordeal, widely reported in the press. Our evidence was good, but not great. The judge was sympathetic, but skeptical. We submitted our final papers weeks ago. The previous Friday, I’d received an e‑mail announcing that the court would issue its ruling at 11 a.m. on Monday, at which time the clerk would call both sides and inform us of the judgment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo yes. I was a little on edge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy phone rang. When I answered, a voice said, “Thanks for asking me about my date last night.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was Sarah, my best friend. We met in the first class on the first day of our first year of law school (Criminal Law, Prof. Raeling, Room 127, third row center). She stopped practicing a few years ago to stay home and raise her kids. Last spring she divorced her husband, the devious and disappointing Tad. Now she was dating again, fiercely and with great determination.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“My apologies,” I said. “How was your date?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I got LAID!!!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJorge’s eyes flickered to the rearview, then away. I relaxed into my seat. “Congratulations.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He was Latvian.” Sarah had a weakness for foreign men. “I’ve finally invaded the Balkans.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The Baltics.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Whatever, nerd. It was superhot. He was like this hairy, sexy wild boar. Snuffling and growling. Rooting away at me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sounds dreamy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Right?” I heard dishes rattling. “So are you a mass of jangling nerves right now or what?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah had followed the Gaia Cafe case from the beginning. She knew the judgment was coming down today. “I’m fine,” I said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Liar. How did you die in your dream last night?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI told her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re a perv,” she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m not a perv!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Of course you are. The ice crack represents your--”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSarah is wonderful. I hadn’t said a word about how nervous I was--she just knew. She also knew that I wasn’t going to be cheered by empty phrases and vague promises that everything was going to be okay. I needed to be bantered with. Teased. Distracted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re profoundly disturbed,” she said. “This is why you need a therapist.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe car slowed. Traffic was getting heavier as we approached the city. “I don’t need a therapist.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Of course you do.” I heard more dishes rattle and, in the distance, a child’s shout. “The only reason you took this case is because you’re an orphan.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAccording to Sarah, the only reason I do anything is because I’m an orphan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Those waitresses are stand-ins for your lost mother,” she continued.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“There are fourteen hundred plaintiffs, Sarah.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Exactly. You have serious mommy issues.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI laughed. She kept going. “You’re a wounded bird.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I thought I was a piece of hard candy with a gooey center.” Her usual metaphor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t miss a beat. “You’re a bird-shaped piece of candy. With a broken candy wing.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI heard a crash, then wailing. “Is that the wild boar?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If only. It’s Mercer. Raney.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe were passing under the George Washington Bridge. “Yes?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No matter what happens today? You did a phenomenal job.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“My pleasure. Now get to work, ya deadbeat!” She hung up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI glanced at my calendar for the rest of the day. I had (a) a meeting at 12:30 with the ACLU, (b) a partner lunch at 1:30 and (c) conference calls at 2:15, 3:30, 4:15 and 5:00. In addition, I needed to (d) draft a letter to the court in one of my securities cases and (e) speak with a client about settlement.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI also had a new associate joining my team. Amanda something or other. Fresh out of law school, she would need to be welcomed and inspired. Subtly judged. Intellectually challenged and motivated to begin working the insane hours necessary to justify her exorbitant salary. I hoped she was good.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe left the West Side Highway at Fifty-Fourth Street. I checked my e‑mail. I had seven new messages, including one from Aaron.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom: Aaron Moore\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo: Raney Moore\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDate: Monday, September 18, 6:41 AM\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSubject: Missing You\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHey hon. It’s the middle of the night here, and I can’t sleep. The reading last night was great--lots of kids. This is such a beautiful city. We should come here, maybe after the first of the year? Just the two of us.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis trip has been too long. Can you tell how much I miss you? I miss our daily life. I miss the girls. I miss making love to you. I can’t wait to see you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePoor Aaron. He hated life on the road. He had trouble sleeping, trouble eating. His homesickness was palpable in every e‑mail, text and phone call.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAre you nervous? What a question--of course you’re nervous. I’m not. We’ll be celebrating tonight. I’m so proud of you.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy phone vibrated twice. High-priority messages. I skipped to the end.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI can see a sliver of the Golden Gate Bridge from my window. It’s beautiful, all lit up in the darkness. I’m going back to bed. Call me when you hear from the court!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLove, Aaron\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs we pulled up to my building, Seventh Avenue was coming to life. Swerving taxis, rumbling trucks. Honking horns and the charred reek of nuts from the vendor on the corner. I took a deep breath of city air, then walked inside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI read e‑mails through the lobby. Past security. Into the elevator. As the doors closed I put my phone away and closed my eyes and did my thing.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Crown","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301646061797,"sku":"NP9781101907214","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101907214.jpg?v=1767725426","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/do-this-for-me-isbn-9781101907214","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}