MY DINNER WITH A PARTNER
An Invitation Turns Out to Be a Lot More Work Than Play

BY THE RODENT

Recently, one of The Firm’s power partners summoned me into her office as I passed by her door. I was flattered by the fact that this partner, who had never previously acknowledged my existence, was speaking to me–even if all she said was "Hey, you." After I stepped into her office, she continued: "I hear you’re the person doing The Firm’s immigration work."

"Of course," I told her.

It was true. I had recently been asked to do some work in this area of the law because The Firm’s real immigration attorney had left to start her own firm. I was picked because I had a bit of experience with immigration law.

While I was in law school, a couple of foreign friends of mine needed help with papers that had to be filed with the Immigration and Naturalization Service. These friends could not afford to hire a licensed attorney, and so I agreed to assist them. Well, perhaps "assist" is not the right word to describe what I did for them. And perhaps "friends" is not the right word to describe the current status of our relationship. You see, both of them now live abroad, forever banned from returning to this country.

The Firm asked me to fill in until a replacement could be hired.

After my short conversation with the partner who called me into her office, I concluded I had made a good impression because she called me the next day. "My husband and I are having a dinner party at our home on Friday night," she said. "I’d like you to please come."

Despite arriving at the house earlier than what I thought was fashionably late, I was made to feel as if I were very late. The partner met me at the door and as we walked through the entryway of the house I was able to look into the dining room and see that the other guests were already eating dinner.

"I’m sorry I’m late," I said, more as an inquiry than an apology.

"Oh, you’re not late at all," I was told. "Rosa just finished serving, and she can meet with you now."

This was one of those statements that was so incomprehensible, so seemingly out of context that I felt sure I had missed something very obvious. This sensation of being lost inside an intellectual wilderness was something I had grown accustomed to while working at The Firm.

As I turned toward the dining room, I felt my arm being tugged in the other direction, whereupon I was whisked past the dining room, through a hallway and into the kitchen. There at the counter stacking dishes was a uniformed housekeeper. She turned around and watched us approach.


"I understand you speak Spanish," the partner said to me.

"Uhh, I, umm, uhh," I responded with a perfect Castilian accent.

"This is Rosa," I was told before I could say anything else (in either Spanish or English). "She’s from Guatemala, and she needs a green card." The partner then motioned for the two of us, the two servants, to sit down at a small table there in the kitchen. "Otherwise, I am going to have to find a new housekeeper. I opened a file at The Firm for this. Bill all your time to that."

She then thanked me for the bottle of wine I had brought along and said she hoped it would go with the salmon filet they were enjoying in the other room. "You can let yourself out the back door. You’ve already eaten, haven’t you?" she asked, not expecting an answer as she walked out of the kitchen.

©2002 ABA Journal