The Gallery
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Dick Wolf. The song is called "The Gallery" and is by Joni Mitchell. It is part of her first album, Clouds.
Chapter One
When I first saw your gallery,
I liked the ones of ladies.
Then you began to hang up me,
You studied to portray me
In ice and greens, and old blue jeans,
And naked in the roses.
Then you got into funny scenes,
That all your work discloses.
I was offered a job at Steinhart & Gorton after my graduation from Columbia. I was at the top of my class in both law school and as an undergrad, so it was not unexpected to get an offer from one of New York City's most prestigious law firms. Nevertheless, I was very nervous on my first day at Steinhart & Gorton.
I quickly learned that I had nothing to be nervous about. Although this was one of the top law firms in the city, I was easily able to outshine my colleagues in my briefs, depositions, and in every other category. Two months after I began working at Steinhart & Gorton, Neal Gorton himself called me into his office.
"Miss Ross," he began, his fingers steepled together under his chin, "I've heard some very good things about you."
"Oh, really," I said, an eyebrow raised, feigning nonchalance.
"Yes, really," he mocked me. I smiled, and he was taken aback by the ease at which I accepted his jab at me. He cleared his throat. "I'd like you to start working on some cases with me," he said, "And we'll see where you go from there."
I smiled politely – I had thought that was the subject of the meeting. I needed to stay cool, though, so I asked, "Is that all, sir?"
Now it was time for his eyebrow to rise in surprise. "Yes, that is all. I will see you here in my office tomorrow at nine o'clock."
"All right," I replied, and rose from my seat. Turning towards the door, I was about to exit his office when he called out to me. "Oh, and Miss Ross?"
I turned and faced him. "Yes?"
"Please be on time."
I had actually been waiting for him – he was late for this meeting, and I was early. I did not want him to think that he could push me around.
"As long as you are, sir. And it's Ms. Ross, if you don't mind." I opened the door, and exited his office.
The next day, I was shown into his office by his secretary at five minutes of nine o'clock. I waited for five minutes before standing up and looking around his office. If he has the audacity to be late, than I certainly have the right to look around his office, see what kind of person he is, I thought to myself. I came across a wall of portraits, all hand-painted, all of different people. Most were men, but some were women. The nameplates on the frame indicated the identity of each person. Most of the men were former partners of Steinhart & Gorton; others were politicians. The women were all famous in their own right – either because of their brains, or because of their beauty.
I heard the door open, and I turned around and watched as Neal Gorton entered his office.
"You are ten minutes late, Mr. Gorton," I told him.
"Are you sure that you are not ten minutes early?" he shot back.
"No," I replied, "I was five minutes early, and that was fifteen minutes ago. We had an appointment for nine o'clock."
"Very well, then," he said, and sat down behind his desk, looking at me.
"That's all you have to say?" I asked him.
"What else is there to say? I am the boss, you are the subordinate. You are to be on time, and I do not have to be. Take a seat, Miss Ross, and let us not delay our meeting any further than it already has been."
I sat down. "It's Ms. Ross," I said.
He looked up from some papers he had been signing. "Excuse me?"
I repeated, "It's Ms. Ross, not Miss Ross."
"Fine. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I would like to move on with our meeting."
"Fine."
Soon, the tension between us dissipated, and a friendly rapport was established between us. Our skills in the courtroom complemented each other well, and we won two cases together before he asked me back to his townhouse for a drink. I agreed.
He showed me to the lounge, and I settled on the leather couch while he went to fetch an ice bucket. An easel stood in the corner, covered with a white sheet, and I looked at it curiously. I wondered if he had painted some of the portraits hanging on his office walls.
When he returned, I asked him about the covered easel.
"Oh, yes, I did paint some of the portraits on my walls. This is my latest work, however."
"May I take a look?" I inquired cautiously. His portraits had been quite good, and I was curious to see whom he had decided to paint next.
He put his drink down on a coaster, walked over to the easel, and flung back the sheet. There I was, sitting in a garden filled with ice-covered roses, wearing nothing but a pair of ancient blue jeans. Roses abounded in the scene, and several discreetly covered my chest. I was stunned.
I was so taken in by the portrait that I had not noticed that Neal had crept around behind me and taken my glass of wine from my hand. He slipped an arm around my lower back, and I turned towards him. I had shed my shoes when I was waiting for him to return with the ice bucket; and in my bare feet, we were the same height.
"Do you like it," he asked me, his voice low.
"Oh, yes," I breathed. For I did like it. Despite how shocked I was, I was also immensely flattered. Of all the women he could have chosen to paint, he chose me. While he was not the most physically attractive man I had met, he was very attractive to me in other ways. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and our lips met. We broke apart, and he took my hand and led me up the stairs to his bedroom.