THIRTEEN YEARS

Chapter One – the Support Act

It felt like forever.

We had been waiting in the office, the three of us, all afternoon. Louis was a state. I needed to sit next to him, to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay, but what the hell did I know? He had cried most of the afternoon with me there by his side, trying to comfort him as best I could but all I wanted to do was leave that office and find him. I needed to see his face … I needed to hold him in that way we always held each other – without touching.

Jessica needed him too. I could tell. She'd broke out the scotch and we'd all drank more than we should, but she needed him here far more than she needed us. She had a plan, well she had several options that she'd already begun to plough through in that brilliant mind of hers, but she needed him to listen to her ideas, not us. I admired her calling us all to action so optimistically when deep down we all knew it was going to take a miracle to fix this. Jessica needed him to fix this. She needed his drive, his talent and his aggression.

The evening was creeping through the windows of the office, casting that familiar, unnatural light onto our floor. 'Our' floor. My stomach flipped over as I realised this wasn't going to be 'ours' for much longer. Not with a crew of five. Maybe even four. Could Rachel come back here after everything that had happened? Could she live with us – with him – enjoying freedom while the man who held her heart was serving time in prison?

I had sent him six text messages with no response. Jessica had been on the phone non-stop for four hours while Louis sank farther and farther into a state of abject panic. His eyes stared blankly around the room as we waited. Waited for Harvey to finally show up. All I wanted to know right now was that he was safe. My legs were numb and my insides felt like they had been twisted into a thousand knots. Please let him be ok. Please let him be in a fit state and get straight back in the ring. Please don't let this be our last fight.

All of our partners were gone. Our associates had jumped ship. There was a scattering of support staff in IT, Reception, Accounts and Admin, but without any lawyers what the hell did we need them for? There was going to be no work to do, no clients trusted us and nobody believed in us.

Then there was another fear pulling at my chest. How was I going to support him through this when we all knew it was his fault? He knew it was his fault. He knew that night he came to my apartment, his eyes clouded with tears of shame and guilt. It had taken the best part of me to convince him not to turn himself in. I won, Rachel lost. Poor Mike wasn't as lucky.

Resentment, bitterness and blame hung in the air unspoken. Louis was definitely going to be a problem. Rachel was going to need a lot of love. What about Jessica? Was she still going to be able to hold him high on a pedestal after he's done this to her? She's lost everything she's spent her entire life working towards and the responsibility for that lies squarely on his broad shoulders.

And what about me?

Thirteen years. For thirteen ridiculous years I've been playing this game. You see, I know what people think of me. I know they look at me and they see - well obviously they see how awesome I am. That goes without saying! But I'm sure some people can see beneath my carefully structured front. Because under the bold walk and the sassy comebacks lies a different truth. For thirteen years the point of my existence has been to make somebody else happy. And I have allowed my own happiness to depend on his.

It was fun to begin with. The office banter kept me going. The glint in his eye. The smirk. The cheeky one-liners. The innuendo. The one-time-sex. Who am I kidding? It kept me alive. I loved it then and I love it now.

But if you'd told me thirteen years ago that this is where I'd be today I would have ran. I would have ran to Bratton Gould or any of the other firms that wanted me because my life, underneath the orchestrated showcase of awesomeness that I present to the outside world, is basically pretty shit.

My heart aches for something I cannot have. My heart aches for a life I've lost. My heart aches for who I was thirteen years ago. I want her back. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and see the Donna of thirteen years ago looking back at me in a mirror and I want to tell her to run. "Just run … and don't look back no matter what your heart tells you." I wish I could tell her not to fool herself into thinking he would eventually see what was standing right in front of him. I wish I could tell her to give up. I wish I could tell her that heart and head are two giants forever fighting a groundhog-day battle. I wish I could tell her "heart never wins."

So, if I've worked all of this out, why don't I run now? What's stopping me? What's pulling me down as if there was a dead weight around my neck?

Well I've tried. Last year I told him our working together just wasn't working for me anymore and I moved to Louis's desk. It was a pathetic move on my part because I still saw him every day, but I told myself that this is what I needed. I needed to break the dependency and I needed to allow my heart to heal. He couldn't give me what I needed. He would never be able to. He loved me, but he didn't love me. Yeah, I got that. I got it from the start.

Then we were right back to square one. It came full circle. As soon as Mike's secret was discovered we all went into overdrive. I needed him again. He needed me again. I remember every second of telling him I was moving back to his desk. I'll never forget that look on his face. That spark in his eye. My stomach somersaulted and … yet again … I found myself falling head first down that helter-skelter spiral. Was it possible he did love me like that after all? Or did he not? Did he even know? Did I even know?

I hated myself for that indulgence. That pitiful delusion. When would I learn? Was it going to take another thirteen years before I'd realise I'd wasted my entire life waiting for someone who just wasn't capable of loving anybody, never mind me. I was grateful when the intensity of work resumed and I could focus on something else. With Mike's trial we were busy and we were fighting. Both of us – the dream team – were back.

Now the dream team has been blown apart and scattered to the wind, along with our dearest friends. That might be our forever, or we might fix it. The outcome would depend on him.

So I've promised myself something and I need you to convince me I'm doing the right thing because lord knows if he looks at me that way, or says those 'right' words to me, or gives me any indication that he actually could feel that kind of love for me, then I can tell you for damn sure I'll cave. So do we have a deal? Are you going to help me out?

Good! So, here it is warts and all: I've promised myself that as soon as we're back on our feet I'm going to run. Not down the hall to somebody else's desk and not even to another firm in the city. You get one shot at life and I'm just not living it because of him. I need to live my life. Chicago, Boston, LA? Or maybe Miami. I think I could do with a spot of all year sunshine even if I'd need to take out a second mortgage to pay for the sunblock! Damn my stupid pale-as-the-moon skin!

I see him coming.

Thank god for that.

Time to put on the Versace armour and the Dior war-paint and line up the troops. This I can do. Actually, I'm the only person who can do it. I'm the only person who can pick all three of them up and say the right words to them.

I'm forever the support act.

But, I'll play my role one last time.