Disclosure

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Very married, I hear. With how many kids? Three?"



"No, just two." He smiled. "Sometimes it seems like three."



"And your wife is an attorney?"



"Yes." He felt safer now. The talk of his wife and children made him feel safer somehow.



"I don't know how somebody can be married," Meredith said. "I tried it." She held up her hand. "Four more alimony payments to the son of a bitch and I'm free."



"Who did you marry?"



"Some account executive at CoStar. He was cute. Amusing. But it turned out he was a typical gold digger. I've been paying him off for three years. And he was a lousy lay." She waved her hand, dismissing the subject. She looked at her watch. "Now come and sit down, and tell me how bad it is with the Twinkle drive."



"You want the file? I put it in your briefcase."



"No." She patted the couch beside her. "You just tell me yourself." He sat down beside her.



"You look good, Tom." She leaned back and kicked off her heels, wiggled her bare toes. "God, what a day."



"Lot of pressure?"



She sipped her wine and blew a strand of hair from her face. "A lot to keep track of. I'm glad we're working together, Tom. I feel as though you're the one friend I can count on in all this."



"Thanks. I'll try."



"So: how bad is it?"



"Well. It's hard to say."



"Just tell me."



He felt he had no choice but to lay it all out for her. "We've built very successful prototypes, but the drives coming off the line in KL are running nowhere near a hundred milliseconds."



Meredith sighed, and shook her head. "Do we know why?"



"Not yet. We're working on some ideas."



"That line's a start-up, isn't it?"



"Two months ago."



She shrugged. "Then we have problems on a new line. That's not so bad."



"But the thing is," he said, "Conley-White is buying this company for our technology, and especially for the CD-ROM drive. As of today, we may not be able to deliver as promised."



"You want to tell them that?"



"I'm concerned they'll pick it up in due diligence."



"Maybe, maybe not." She leaned back in the couch. "We have to remember what we're really looking at. Tom, we've all seen production problems loom large, only to vanish overnight. This may be one of those situations. We're shaking out the Twinkle line. We've identified some early problems. No big deal."



"Maybe. But we don't know that. In reality, there may be a problem with controller chips, which means changing our supplier in Singapore. Or there may be a more fundamental problem. A design problem, originating here."



"Perhaps," Meredith said, "but as you say, we don't know that. And I don't see any reason for us to speculate. At this critical time."



"But to be honest-"



"It's not a matter of honesty," she said. "It's a matter of the underlying reality. Let's go over it, point by point. We've told them we have a Twinkle drive."



"Yes."



"We've built a prototype and tested the hell out of it."



"Yes."



"And the prototype works like gangbusters. It's twice as fast as the most advanced drives coming out of Japan."



"Yes."



"We've told them we're in production on the drive."



"Yes."



"Well, then," Meredith said, "we've told them all that anybody knows for sure, at this point. I'd say we are acting in good faith."



"Well, maybe, but I don't know if we can-"



"Tom." Meredith placed her hand on his arm. "I always liked your directness. I want you to know how much I appreciate your expertise and your frank approach to problems. All the more reason why I'm sure the Twinkle drive will get ironed out. We know that fundamentally it's a good product that performs as we say it does. Personally, I have complete confidence in it, and in your ability to make it work as planned. And I have no problem saying that at the meeting tomorrow." She paused, and looked intently at him. "Do you?"



Her face was very close to him, her lips half-parted. "Do I what?"



"Have a problem saying that at the meeting?"



Her eyes were light blue, almost gray. He had forgotten that, as he had forgotten how long her lashes were. Her hair fell softly around her face. Her lips were full. She had a dreamy look in her eyes. "No," he said. "I don't have a problem."



"Good. Then at least that settled." She smiled and held out her glass. "Do the honors again?"



"Sure."



He got up from the couch and went over to the wine. She watched him.



"I'm glad you haven't let yourself go, Tom. You work out?"



"Twice a week. How about you?"



"You always had a nice rush. Nice hard rush."



He turned. "Meredith . . ."



She giggled. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. We're old friends." She looked concerned. "I didn't offend you, did I?"



No.



"I can't imagine you ever getting prudish, Tom."



"No, no."



"Not you." She laughed. "Remember the night we broke the bed?"



He poured the wine. "We didn't exactly break it."



"Sure we did. You had me bent over the bottom of the footboard and"



"I remember-"



"And first we broke the footboard, and then the bottom of the bed crashed downbut you didn't want to stop so we moved up and then when I was grabbing the headboard it all came



"I remember," he said, wanting to interrupt her, to stop this. "Those days were great. Listen, Meredith-"



"And then the woman from downstairs called up? Remember her? The old Lithuanian lady? She vanted to know if somebody had died or vhat?"



"Yeah. Listen. Going back to the drive . . ."



She took the wineglass. "I am making you uncomfortable. What did you think I was coming on to you?"



"No, no. Nothing like that."



"Good, because I really wasn't. I promise." She gave him an amused glance, then tilted her head back, exposing her long neck, and sipped the wine. "In fact, I-ah! Ah!" She winced suddenly.



"What is it?" he said, leaning forward, concerned.



"My neck, it goes into spasm, it's right there . . ." With her eyes still squeezed shut in pain, she pointed to her shoulder, near the neck.



"What should I-"



`Just rub it, squeeze-there-"



He put down his wineglass and rubbed her shoulder. "There?"



"Yes, ah, harder-squeeze -"



He felt the muscles of her shoulder relax, and she sighed. Meredith turned her head back and forth slowly, then opened her eyes. "Oh . . . Much better . . . Don't stop rubbing."



He continued rubbing.



"Oh, thanks. That feels good. I get this nerve thing. Pinched something, but when it hits, it's really . . ." She turned her head back and forth. Testing. "You did that very well. But you were always good with your hands, Tom."



He kept rubbing. He wanted to stop. He felt everything was wrong, that he was sitting too close, that he didn't want to be touching her. But it also felt good to touch her. He was curious about it.



"Good hands," she said. "God, when I was married, I thought about you all the time."



"You did?"



"Sure," she said. "I told you, he was terrible in bed. I hate a man who doesn't know what he's doing." She closed her eyes. "That was never your problem, was it."



She sighed, relaxing more, and then she seemed to lean into him, melting toward his body, toward his hands. It was an unmistakable sensation. Immediately, he gave her shoulder a final friendly squeeze, and took his hands away.



She opened her eyes. She smiled knowingly. "Listen," she said, "don't worry."



He turned and sipped his wine. "I'm not worried."



"I mean, about the drive. If it turns out we really have problems and need agreement from higher management, we'll get it. But let's not jump the gun now."



"Okay, fine. I think that makes sense." He felt secretly relieved to be talking once again about the drive. Back on safe ground. "Who would you take it to? Directly to Garvin?"



"I think so. I prefer to deal informally." She looked at him. "You've changed, haven't you."



"No . . . I'm still the same."



"I think you've changed." She smiled. "You never would have stopped rubbing me before."



"Meredith," he said, "it's different. You run the division now. I work for you."



"Oh, don't be silly."



"It's true."



"We're colleagues." She pouted. "Nobody around here really believes I'm superior to you. They just gave me the administrative work, that's all. We're colleagues, Tom. And I just want us to have an open, friendly relationship."



"So do I."



"Good. I'm glad we agree on that." Quickly, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "There. Was that so terrible?"



"lt wasn't terrible at all."



"Who knows? Maybe we'll have to go to Malaysia together, to check on the assembly lines. They have very nice beaches in Malaysia. You ever been to Kuantan?"



? _



No.



"You'd love it."



"I'm sure."



"I'll show it to you. We could take an extra day or two. Stop over. Get some sun."



"Meredith-"



"Nobody needs to know, Tom."



"I'm married."



"You're also a man."



"What does that mean?"



"Oh Tom," she said, with mock severity, "don't ask me to believe you never have a little adventure on the side. I know you, remember?"



"You knew me a long time ago, Meredith."



"People don't change. Not that way."



"Well, I think they do."



"Oh, come on. We're going to be working together, we might as well enjoy ourselves."



He didn't like the way any of this was going. He felt pushed into an awkward position. He felt stuffy and puritanical when he said: "I'm married now."



"Oh, I don't care about your personal life," she said lightly. "I'm only responsible for your on-the-job performance. All work and no play, Tom. It can be bad for you. Got to stay playful." She leaned forward. "Come on. Just one little kiss . . ."



The intercom buzzed. "Meredith," the assistant's voice said.



She looked up in annoyance. "I told you, no calls."



"I'm sorry. It's Mr. Garvin, Meredith."



"All right." She got off the couch and walked across the room to her desk, saying loudly, "But after this, Betsy, no more calls."



"All right, Meredith. I wanted to ask you, is it okay if I leave in about ten minutes? I have to see the landlord about my new apartment."



"Yes. Did you get me that package?"



"I have it right here."



"Bring it in, and then you can leave."



"Thank you, Meredith. Mr. Garvin is on two."



Meredith picked up the phone and poured more wine. "Bob," she said. "Hi. What's up?" It was impossible to miss the easy familiarity in her voice.



She spoke to Garvin, her back turned to Sanders. He sat on the couch, feeling stranded, foolishly passive and idle. The assistant entered the room carrying a small package in a brown paper bag. She gave the package to Meredith.



"Of course, Bob," Meredith was saying. "I couldn't agree more. We'll certainly deal with that."



The assistant, waiting for Meredith to dismiss her, smiled at Sanders. He felt uncomfortable just sitting there on the couch, so he got up, walked to the window, pulled his cellular phone out of his pocket, and dialed Mark Lewyn's number. He had promised to call Lewyn anyway.



Meredith was saying, "That's a very good thought, Bob. I think we should act on it."



Sanders heard his call dial, and then an answering machine picked up. A male voice said, "Leave your message at the beep." Then an electronic tone.



"Mark," he said, "it's Tom Sanders. I've talked about Twinkle with Meredith. Her view is that we're in early production and we are shaking out the lines. She takes the position that we can't say for sure that there are any significant problems to be flagged, and that we should treat the situation as standard procedure for the bankers and C-W people tomorrow . . ."



The assistant walked out of the room, smiling at Sanders as she passed him.



". . . and that if we have problems with the drive later on that we have to get management involved with, we'll face that later. I've given her your thoughts, and she's talking to Bob now, so presumably we'll go into the meeting tomorrow taking that position . . ."



The assistant came to the door to the office. She paused briefly to twist the lock in the doorknob, then left, closing the door behind her.



Sanders frowned. She had locked the door on her way out. It wasn't so much the fact that she had done it, but the fact that he seemed to be in the middle of an arrangement, a planned event in which everyone else understood what was going on and he did not.



" . . Well, anyway, Mark, if there is a significant change in all this, I'll contact you before the meeting tomorrow, and-"



"Forget that phone," Meredith said coming up suddenly, very close to him, pushing his hand down, and pressing her body against his. Her lips mashed against his mouth. He was vaguely aware of dropping the phone on the windowsill as they kissed and she twisted, turning away, and they tumbled over onto the couch.



"Meredith, wait-"



"Oh God, I've wanted you all day," she said intensely. She kissed him again, rolling on top of him, lifting one leg to hold him down. His position was awkward but he felt himself responding to her. His immediate thought was that someone might come in. He had a vision of himself, lying on his back on the couch with his boss half-straddling him in her businesslike navy suit, and he was anxious about what the person seeing them would think, and then he was truly responding.



She felt it too, and it aroused her more. She pulled back for a breath. "Oh God, you feel so good, I can't stand the bastard touching me. Those stupid glasses. Oh! I'm so hot, I haven't had a decent fuck-" and then she threw herself back on him, kissing him again, her mouth mashed on him. Her tongue was in his mouth and he thought, Jesus, she's  pushing it. He smelled her perfume, and it immediately brought back memories.



She shifted her body so she could reach down and touch him, and she moaned when she felt him through his trousers. She fumbled at the zipper. He had suddenly conflicting images, his desire for her, his wife and his kids, memories of the past, of being with her in the apartment in Sunnyvale, of breaking the bed. Images of his wife.



"Meredith"



"Oooh. Don't talk. No! No . . ." She was gasping in little breaths, her mouth puckering rhythmically like a goldfish. He remembered that she got that way. He had forgotten until now. He felt her hot panting breath on his face, saw her flushed cheeks. She got his trousers open. Her hot hand on him.



"Oh, Jesus," she said, squeezing him, and she slid down his body, running her hands over his shirt.



"Listen, Meredith."



`Just let me," she said hoarsely. `Just for a minute." And then her mouth was on him. She was always good at this. Images flooding back to him. The way she liked to do it in dangerous places. While he was driving on the freeway. In the men's room at a sales conference. On the beach at Napili at night. The secret impulsive nature, the secret heat. When he was first introduced to her, the exec at ConTech had said, She one of the great cocksuckers.



Feeling her mouth on him, feeling his back arch as the tension ran through his body, he had the uneasy sense of pleasure and danger at once. So much had happened during the day, so many changes, everything was so sudden. He felt dominated, controlled, and at risk. He had the feeling as he lay on his back that he was somehow agreeing to a situation that he did not understand fully, that was not fully recognized. There would be trouble later. He did not want to go to Malaysia with her. He did not want an affair with his boss. He did not even want a one-night stand. Because what always happened was that people found out, gossip at the water cooler, meaningful looks in the hallway. And sooner or later the spouses found out. It always happened. Slammed doors, divorce lawyers, child custody.



And he didn't want any of that. His life was arranged now, he had things in place. He had commitments. This woman from his past understood none of that. She was free. He was not. He shifted his body.



"Meredith-"



"God, you taste good."



"Meredith"



She reached up, and pressed her fingers over his lips. "Ssshhh. I know you like it."



"I do like it," he said, "but I-"



"Then let me."



As she sucked him, she was unbuttoning his shirt, pinching his nipples. He looked down and saw her straddling his legs, her head bent over him. Her blouse was open. Her breasts swung free. She reached up, took his hands, and pulled them down, placing them on her breasts.



She still had perfect breasts, the nipples hard under his touch. She moaned. Her body squirming as she straddled him. He felt her warmth. He began to hear a buzzing in his ears, a suffusing intoxicated flush in his face as sounds went dull, the room seemed distant, and there was nothing but this woman and her body and his desire for her.



In that moment he felt a burst of anger, a kind of male fury that he was pinned down, that she was dominating him, and he wanted to be in control, to take her. He sat up and grabbed her hair roughly, lifting her head and twisting his body. She looked in his eyes and saw instantly.



"Yes!" she said, and she moved sideways, so he could sit up beside her. He slipped his hand between her legs. He felt warmth, and lacy underpants. He tugged at them. She wriggled, helping him, and he slid them down to her knees; then she kicked them away. Her hands were caressing his hair, her lips at his ear. "Yes," she whispered fiercely. "Yes!"



Her blue skirt was bunched up around her waist. He kissed her hard, pulling her blouse wide, pressing her breasts to his bare chest. He felt her heat all along his body. He moved his fingers, probing between her lips. She gasped as they kissed, nodding her head yes. Then his fingers were in her.



For a moment he was startled: she was not very wet, and then he remembered that, too. The way she would start, her words and body immediately passionate, but this central part of her slower to respond, taking her eventual arousal from his. She was always turned on most by his desire for her, and always came after he did sometimes within a few seconds, but sometimes he struggled to stay hard while she rocked against him, pushing to her own completion, lost in her own private world while he was fading. He always felt alone, always felt as if she were using him. Those memories gave him pause, and she sensed his hesitation and grabbed him fiercely, fumbling at his belt, moaning, sticking her hot tongue in his ear.



But reluctance was seeping back into him now, his angry heat was fading, and unbidden the thought flashed through his mind: It's not worth it.



All his feelings shifted again, and now he had a familiar sensation. Going back to see an old lover, being attracted over dinner, then getting involved again, feeling desire and, suddenly, in the heat of the moment, in the press of flesh, being reminded of all the things that had been wrong with the relationship, feeling old conflicts and angers and irritations rise up again, and wishing that he had never started. Suddenly thinking of how to get out of it, how to stop what was started. But usually there was no way to get out of it.



Still his fingers were inside her, and she was moving her body against his hand, shifting to be sure he would touch the right place. She was wetter, her lips were swelling. She opened her legs wider for him. She was breathing very hard, stroking him with her fingers. "Oh God, I love the way you feel," she said.



Usually there was no way to get out of it.



His body was tense and ready. Her hard nipples brushed against his chest. Her fingers caressed him. She licked the bottom of his earlobe with a quick dart of her tongue and instantly there was nothing but his desire, hot and angry, more intense for the fact that he didn't really want to be there, that he felt she had manipulated him to this place. Now he would fuck her. He wanted to fuck her. Hard.



She sensed his change and moaned, no longer kissing him, leaning back on the couch, waiting. She watched him through half-closed eyes, nodding her head. His fingers still touched her, rapidly, repeatedly, making her gasp, and he turned, pushed her down on her back on the couch. She hiked up her skirt and spread her legs for him. He crouched over her and she smiled at him, a knowing, victorious smile. It made him furious to see this sense that she had somehow won, this watchful detachment, and he wanted to catch her, to make her feel as out of control as he felt, to make her part of this, to wipe that smug detachment from her face. He spread her lips but did not enter her, he held back, his fingers moving, teasing her.



She arched her back, waiting for him. "No, no . . . please . . ."



Still he waited, looking at her. His anger was fading as quickly as it had come, his mind drifting away, the old reservations returning. In an instant of harsh clarity, he saw himself in the room, a panting middle aged, married man with his trousers down around his knees, bent over a woman on an office couch that was too small. What the hell was he doing?



He looked at her face, saw the way the makeup cracked at the corners of her eyes. Around her mouth.



She had her hands on his shoulders, tugging him toward her. "Oh please . . . No . . . No . . ." And then she turned her head aside and coughed.



Something snapped in him. He sat back coldly. "You're right." He got off the couch, and pulled up his trousers. "We shouldn't do this."



She sat up. "What are you doing?" She seemed puzzled. "You want this as much as I do. You know you do."



"No," he said. "We shouldn't do this, Meredith." He was buckling his belt. Stepping back.



She stared at him in dazed disbelief, like someone awakened from sleep. "You're not serious . . ."



"This isn't a good idea. I don't feel good about it."



And then her eyes were suddenly furious. "You fucking .son of a bitch.''



She got off the couch fast, rushing at him, hitting him hard with bunched fists. "You bastard! You prick! You fucking bastard!" He was trying to button his shirt, turning away from her blows. "You shit! You bastard!"



She moved around him as he turned away, grabbing his hands, tearing at his shirt to keep him from buttoning it.



"You can't! You can't do this to me!"



Buttons popped. She scratched him, long red welts running down his chest. He turned again, avoiding her, wanting only to get out of there. To get dressed and get out of there. She pounded his back.



"You fucker, you can't leave me like this!"



"Cut it out, Meredith," he said. "It's over."



"Fuck you!" She grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him down with surprising strength, and she bit his ear hard. He felt an intense shooting pain and he pushed her away roughly. She toppled backward, off balance, crashing against the glass coffee table, sprawling on the ground.



She sat there, panting. "You fucking son of a bitch."



"Meredith, just leave me alone." He was buttoning his shirt again. All he could think was: Get out of here. Get your stuff and get out of here.



He reached for his jacket, then saw his cellular phone on the windowsill. He moved around the couch and picked up the phone. The wineglass crashed against the window near his head. He looked over and saw her standing in the middle of the room, reaching for something else to throw.



"I'll kill you!" she said. "I'll fucking kill you."



"That's enough, Meredith," he said.



"The hell." She threw a small paper bag at him. It thunked against the glass and dropped to the floor. A box of condoms fell out.



"I'm going home." He moved toward the door.



"That's right," she said. "You go home to your wife and your little fucking family."



Alarms went off in his head. He hesitated for a moment.



"Oh yes," she said, seeing him pause. "I know all about you, you asshole. Your wife isn't fucking you, so you come in here and lead me on, you set me up and then you walk out on me, you hostile violent fucking asshole. You think you can treat women this way? You asshole."



He reached for the doorknob.



"You walk out on me, you're dead!"



He looked back and saw her leaning unsteadily on the desk, and he thought, She's drunk.



"Good night, Meredith," he said. He twisted the knob, then remembered that the door had been locked. He unlocked the door and walked out, without looking back.



In the outer room, a cleaning woman was emptying trash baskets from the assistants' desks.



"I'll fucking kill you for this!" Meredith called after him.



The cleaning woman heard it, and stared at Sanders. He looked away from her, and walked straight to the elevator. He pushed the button. A moment later, he decided to take the stairs.



Sanders stared at the setting sun from the deck of the ferry going back to Winslow. The evening was calm, with almost no breeze; the surface of the water was dark and still. He looked back at the lights of the city and tried to assess what had happened.



From the ferry, he could see the upper floors of the DigiCom buildings, rising behind the horizontal gray concrete of the viaduct that ran along the water's edge. He tried to pick out Meredith's office window, but he was already too far away.



Out here on the water, heading home to his family, slipping back into his familiar daily routine, the events of the previous hour had already begun to take on an unreal quality. He found it hard to believe that it had happened. He reviewed the events in his mind, trying to see just where he had gone wrong. He felt certain that it was all his fault, that he had misled Meredith in some important way. Otherwise, she would never have come on to him. The whole episode was an embarrassment for him, and probably for her, too. He felt guilty and miserable-and deeply uneasy about the future. What would happen now? What would she do?



He couldn't even guess. He realized then that he didn't really know her at all. They had once been lovers, but that was a long time ago. Now she was a new person, with new responsibilities. She was a stranger to him.