In an average room in a 3-bedroom apartment in Flatbush, Brooklyn stood a girl, confused about what to do with the clothing that had betrayed her, despite all the care she had given it.
“What should I do now!?”
Claire Bennett shouted, struggling to buckle her belt over the button that had popped open while she was dressing. She had bought this navy blue suit from a thrift store last month. It was the only professional thing she owned that didn’t look like it came from a discount rack.
She tugged, pulled, and finally managed to cover the gap. Satisfied, she let out a shaky breath and left her room.
Claire had always wanted to become a lawyer. Not just any lawyer. A successful, well-known one. The kind whose name was on a firm door in Manhattan. The kind who could pay off her student loans and still have something left to send home.
Today, she had been invited by her best friend’s mother to a conference for successful lawyers at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square, Manhattan. Her NY Bar Exam was in four days. Four days.
After three years of night classes, part-time jobs, and rejection emails, she felt the fire in her dimming.
“This meeting will reignite my passion,” she told herself as she checked her reflection in the cracked mirror. “I might even find a mentor who can guide me.”
She was desperate to reach her goal. Especially because the debt collectors had started calling again. $42,000 in student loans didn’t care that she was almost there.
“Claire, what about breakfast?” her mom called out from the kitchen as Claire rushed past in her heels.
“Oh, Mom, I’m really late. I’m so late!” she replied, trying to brush her hair and put on earrings at the same time.
“Just take a bite,” her mom insisted, holding out a sandwich wrapped in foil. “You can’t go to meet important lawyers on an empty stomach.”
Claire took it and bit in while hopping on one foot to get her other shoe on. “Hmm, I don’t really like bread, but I love it when you make sandwiches. Mmm, it’s so good,” she chuckled, eating with her mouth full.
“Alright, bye Mom. Bye, guys!” She hugged her mom tight, giggled, winked at her two younger siblings who were fighting over the TV remote, and rushed out the door.
The September air in Brooklyn hit her face. She ran two blocks to Flatbush Avenue and hailed a yellow taxi, breathing heavily.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a baseball cap, looked at her in the rearview mirror. “You okay, miss? You look like the building is on fire.”
Claire forced a laugh. “Something like that. Marriott Marquis, Times Square. Please, I’m really late.”
As the taxi crossed the Manhattan Bridge into traffic, Claire tapped her fingers nervously on her knees. What if she said the wrong thing? What if a real lawyer asked her about case law and she blanked? What if someone could tell she was just the catering help and not a guest?
“You have to take it easy,” the driver said, catching her eye in the mirror. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, it can wait. No need to give yourself a heart attack.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” Claire replied, clutching her bag. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I’ve been waiting for my whole life. People in that room... they can change my life.”
“It must be really important to you,” he smiled. “Good luck, then.”
“We’ve arrived,” the driver announced 25 minutes later.
Claire fumbled in her bag and almost tore the $20 bill pulling it out. “Thank you! Keep the change!”
She adjusted her blazer, smoothed her skirt, and headed for the back entrance of the Marriott. She wasn’t a guest. Not really. She had been invited by her best friend, Brianna, who had been guilt-tripped by her mother.
Aunt Katherine was in charge of the catering service for the event. She’d known Claire since Claire was 9 and used to do homework at Brianna’s kitchen table. She knew about Claire’s dream and her debt. That was why Claire got the invite... and the job.
“Good morning, Aunt Katherine,” Claire greeted, giving her a quick side hug. Katherine smelled like coffee and hairspray, like she always did.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Katherine replied, expertly fixing Claire’s bun and tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “You look sharp. Try not to spill anything on the lawyers, okay?”
“Where is she?” Claire asked, scanning the busy prep room filled with trays and name tags.
“Claire!”
“Bree!” They collided in a hug. Brianna was already in her black catering uniform, but somehow she still looked like she owned the place. Confident. Loud. Effortless.
Bree pulled back and looked her up and down. “You made it. I was about to send a search party. Okay, listen. We’re going to go around, smile, drop souvenirs at each seat, and don’t talk unless they talk to you first. Got it?”
“Everyone has a package, whether young or old,” Brianna said, suddenly serious. Then she grinned. “And guess what?” She tugged at Claire’s jacket.
“What? Leave my clothes alone,” Claire said, laughing. Brianna was the only person who could make her laugh when she was this nervous.
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“Oh, nothing,” Claire said, picking up a heavy bag of leather-bound notebooks. The souvenirs. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
“I’m still going to say it. There are a lot of wealthy people here,” Brianna whispered, eyes wide. “Like, _buy-a-building_ wealthy.”
“Oh, I wanna be wealthy, I wanna be, wanna be...” Claire started singing under her breath, and Brianna burst out laughing.
“Oh please, we definitely will,” Brianna said, bumping her shoulder. “You’re going to be the one they put on the panel next year.”
“Okay girls, enough. Let’s get to work,” Katherine said from behind them, arms crossed but smiling.
“Mom, you know I never wanted to be here,” Brianna complained.
“I thought we’d moved past that phase. Come on,” Katherine said, and walked away.
The ballroom was massive. Crystal chandeliers. Round tables with white tablecloths. Name cards that read things like Hon. Judge Martinez and Partner, Sullivan & Cromwell.
Claire and Brianna began working, walking and smiling as they placed the souvenir notebooks beside each place setting.
It was clear who was who. Brianna moved like she’d done this 100 times. Chin up, easy smile, “Good morning, sir” without stuttering.
Claire, on the other hand, was careful. Too careful. This was only her second time doing this job. The first time, at a wedding last summer, she had tripped and dropped an entire tray of champagne. The memory still made her cringe.
So now she walked slowly. One table at a time. Smile. Place notebook. Next table.
Halfway through, a man in a grey suit stopped her. “Excuse me, are you a law student?”
Claire froze. Her heart jumped. “Y-yes, sir. NYU. 3L. My bar is on Friday.”
He nodded. “Good. Don’t let them scare you. The bar is just a test of endurance, not intelligence. You’ve got this.” He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Email me after. I’m always looking for clerks with grit.”
David Hart, Esq. Hart & Associates was written on the card.
Claire stared at the card.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
When she got to the back, Brianna was waiting. “WHO WAS THAT??”
“Just... just someone,” Claire said, but she was holding the card like it was gold.
“See? I told you. Everyone has a package,” Brianna said. “Yours just walked up to you.”
By the end of the setup, Claire’s feet hurt and her blazer had a faint stain from a water bottle. But she was smiling. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel behind. She felt in the room.
The conference was about to start. Lawyers in expensive suits were filing in, talking about billable hours and mergers. And there was Claire, in thrifted navy, with a sandwich in her stomach and a business card in her pocket.
She looked at Brianna. Brianna winked.
“Let’s do this,” Claire said quietly.
She was late. She was broke. She was scared.
But she was here. In Manhattan.
