Professional Ethics II

I think I’ve just had the shortest relationship of my life so far. Exactly 48 hours long. It started, like all love stories almost invariably do, well. Then, in record time, descended into what can only be described at utter lunacy. Some day I’m sure I’ll laugh about it. Heheh. Erm. Yeah. Once I’ve changed the locks and my phone number.

You see, I recently had the misfortune to go out with what I tend to describe as an obsessive fan. I think the term is self explanatory, no?

Here’s the chronology of events:

6pm Tuesday: Mr. A, a rather attractive forty-something, stops by my office. While he’s waiting for his appointment we casually chat about how I’m looking for an apartment to buy at the moment. He offers his services in this domain and he asks for my number as work isn’t the best place to discuss these things. I think nothing of it because at this point, I’m convinced he’s gay.

11.30 am Wednesday: Mr A calls my mobile and chats a little about my property hunting. Then he invites me to lunch. Angel on my right shoulder screams ‘what the fuck are you doing? He’s a client’. Devil on my left shoulder says ‘He’s your colleague’s client, not yours. Besides, he’s gay. Fuck it, go.’

In one hour I’m at his office.

He took me to a wondrous Lebanese restaurant and we got on incredibly well. He paid for lunch (I offered to split the bill but he insisted) and then I had to head back to the office to get back to work. Before leaving, he gave me an enormous box of baklava as a gift and some cash to pay for my taxi back. I told him that I couldn’t possibly accept it, but again he insisted, telling me to buy myself some flowers with the change. Then he kissed me on each cheek.

Ok, so perhaps he isn’t gay after all.

Once at the office, he called me asking me to have dinner with him. I mentally went through my diary and decided that Thursday I would be otherwise engaged, Friday I would be too tired and Saturday I had something else planned. So it would have to be Wednesday, if only because it was the most convenient time.

We met after work and went for a stroll through Paris before finding a restaurant and dining on the upstairs terrace. Again, he was charming and intelligent and thought that perhaps there was some kind of potential for a short-term relationship. Over dinner he confessed that he’d wanted to ask me out for some time (six months to be exact), but had never dared to and couldn’t believe that any of it was real - we really were having dinner together.

When the bill came I told him I wanted to pay my half of it, but he insisted on picking up the tab. I have to admit that this always makes me slightly uncomfortable. I hate being indebted towards a man in this context as I always feel that he’ll want something in exchange and will feel cheated if I don’t repay him with a kiss or sex. I don’t know if this is a complex, but experience has shown this to be the case more often that not. While I enjoy being spoiled and doted on, I don’t like to feel that I’m being bought. Otherwise I’m nothing more than a glorified whore.

We went for another stroll through Paris and, in the glow of the Louvre, he told me that was crazy about me and kissed me. I said that it was late and that I really ought to be getting home. I hailed a cab and he said he wanted to accompany me home to make sure I got there safely. I obliged.

Again he paid for the cab despite my protests (this was getting a little irritating). Once outside my apartment building he invited me to his country house for the weekend. ‘I swear I’ll be good. You can have a separate room and everything.’ I declined his invitation. It just seemed a little bit too much so early on. So… committal. He said he understood and kissed me goodnight, before asking if he could come up to my flat ‘just for five minutes. I swear I’ll be gone in five minutes.’

Right, just five minutes. And once up there, it’ll be ‘just a kiss’ and ‘just’ a caress and ‘just’ my bra and ‘just’ my stockings and so on and so forth. I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him or if he wanted to cash in on his investment. I don’t like it when men insist like this, and it was slightly tarnishing the fine day we’d had. There’s a difference between taking a risk and being recklessly stupid. I told him that coming upstairs was quite perfectly out of the question. Humbly, he said he understood and apologised. I thanked him for his kindness and he left.

I hardly slept a wink that night.

Thursday 11.30 am: Mr. A wakes me up with a phone call to ask me if everything is Ok. I realise that I’d slept through my alarm, one text message alert (from him) one missed call (from him) and one voicemail alert (erm…also from him). He says what a wonderful evening he’d had with me and hopes that I didn’t have any second thoughts now that it was ‘the morning after’. You see, apparently I am ‘everything [he] could ever have wished for. A perfect ocean of gentleness that [he’s] always dreamed of.’

But, hang on...

He wants to take care of me and spoil me and take me off to the countryside so we can be together and every morning he’ll go out and fetch me a pain au chocolat and make me breakfast before taking me out shopping.

No, no, wait a minute, I’ve just woken up...

And then I could resign from my job and not have a care in the world because he’d take care of everything. He said he’d had affairs before and didn’t even feel this way about his ex-wife when he married her. Call it love at first sight, call it what you will, he was immensely attached to me and just had to see me again.

Fuuuuck. Would someone please get me some coffee…?

Listen, mate. I really am flattered here, but don’t you think this is just a tad over the top? I mean, we’ve only just been out yesterday. I’m not ready for this. You’re a nice guy and everything, but how about we take things slowly? And besides, I’m leaving Paris for good in a couple of months. I wouldn’t want for you to get too attached to me or anything. He said that if anything, it was all the more reason to be together - to make the most of the time I would be in Paris.

Fuuuuck.

But this is too much too soon. I’m really quite overwhelmed here and I can’t pretend that my feelings are on a par with yours. You’re really going too fast here. It’s like a huge commitment straight away. He said that we’d take it as slow as I wanted and if I never wanted to see him again then he’d never bother me. But that was how he felt. He’d rather have me in his life even if I wasn’t reciprocating as much as he felt than not at all.

What the fuck?

Look, I’m going to need some time to think about this. No, I can’t tell you how long. I just need some time.

Jeeesus!

I really have to go now or I’ll be late for work. I’ll call you, Ok?

I hung up, glad that I’d woken up alone in my bed.

~

1.05pm: Mr A sends a text message

1.23pm: Mr A sends a text message

1.38pm: Mr A calls me. I answer. He says he just wanted to hear my delectable voice. I explain I’m very busy at work.

2.17pm: a call, saying he feels down and wishes I was there.

2.43pm: Mr A calls me, on the office number.

3.22pm: a call, which I refuse to answer

4.03pm: a text

4.30pm: a call, which I refuse to answer

5.18pm: a text

5.40pm: a call, which I refuse to answer

5.46pm: a call, which I refuse to answer

6.07pm: a text, demanding to know if I’m Ok, as he’s worried that something’s happened to me because I haven’t replied. It doesn’t occur to him that I have work to do.

At this point I lose my patience and text him with curt words to the effect that his excessive ardour is surprising at the very least given the short period of time we know each other and is frankly terrifying. I prefer that we see each other uniquely within a professional context.

6.23pm: a text, apologising

6.33pm: a call, which I refuse to answer. His voicemail message says that he isn’t a madman, and has merely expressed how he feels, which is only human. He didn’t intend to harass me and just wants to talk things over.

I text him back saying that I shall call him tomorrow when I am less twitchingly angry.

~

I thought this would be the definitive end to it. But the following morning I switched my phone on to find a text message from him telling me to make the most of the sunshine. He called me again, but this time I answered in stone cold tones. He apologised and promised that he wouldn’t bother me again, but if ever I wanted to go out just as friends, then I was to feel free and he promised not to let things get out of hand. I said we’d see each other at the office anyhow and that was enough for me.

Friday 9.23pm: I got a message from him saying that he had drowned his sorrows in a box of baklava and that he couldn’t eat them now without thinking of me. He wished me a good weekend.

This morning he called saying that if I ever I wanted to call for a chat, then I was to feel free. And that he’d seen a beautiful Ralph Lauren suit that he wanted to get for me. I said that I prefer to do my own shopping and I had to go and get back to the washing up.

I wouldn’t normally be so heartless when brushing off a suitor, but I think that you’ll all agree that any sympathy I had for his state was instantly electrocuted to death when my phone started beeping once every half an hour.

Oh Jesus Horatio Christ! I have just got another message from him: ‘Pallas, are you free at 9.30pm? I have a gift for you. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to buy you, for you are priceless.’

Following this post, I remember Dr Dre asking why it was wrong to go out with a client. I failed to respond to his question for a reason which escapes me now, but the answer was that it was to avoid a potential conflict of interest when working on a case and also because such affairs fall under the cloudy umbrella of a rule forbidding ‘any other behaviour which brings the profession into disrepute’. This last rule is widely interpreted and has been known to include affairs with clients, especially where this has compromised a lawyer’s impartiality or at least creates the impression that there may be a lack of impartiality.

This being said, I think the best reason of all not to go out with clients is because they will stalk you.

The End.