Disclosure (11 page)

Sanders said, “From now to the end of summer, it wil be pretty much this way.”

“I have to tel you, I dread the weather,” she said. “I mean, after California . . .”

She uncrossed her legs again, and smiled. “But you like it here, don't you? You seem happy here.”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “You get used to rain.” He pointed to her briefcase. “Do you want to go over the Twinkle stuff?”

“Absolutely,” she said, sliding off the desk, coming close to him. She looked him directly in the eyes. “But I hope you don't mind if I impose on you first. Just a little?”

“Sure.”

She stepped aside. “Pour the wine for us.”

“Okay.”

“See if it's chil ed long enough.” He went over to the bottle on the side table. “I remember you always liked it cold.”

“That's true,” he said, spinning the bottle in the ice. He didn't like it so cold anymore, but he did in those days.

“We had a lot of fun back then,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “We did.”

“1 swear,” she said. “Sometimes I think that back when we were both young and trying to make it, I think that was the best it ever was.”

He hesitated, not sure how to answer her, what tone to take. He poured the wine.

“Yes,” she said. “We had a good time. I think about it often.”

Sanders thought: I never do.

She said, “What about you, Tom? Do you think about it?”

“Of course.” He crossed the room carrying the glasses of wine to her, gave her one, clinked them. “Sure I do. Al us married guys think of the old days. You know I'm married now.”

“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 tel 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 tel 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 al this.”

“Thanks. I'l try.”

“So: how bad is it?”

“Wel . It's hard to say.”

“Just tel me.”

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

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 especial y for the CD-ROM drive. As of today, we may not be able to deliver as promised.”

“You want to tel them that?”

“I'm concerned they'l pick it up in due diligence.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She leaned back in the couch. “We have to remember what we're real y looking at. Tom, we've al 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 control er 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 hel 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.”

“Wel , then,” Meredith said, “we've told them al that anybody knows for sure, at this point. I'd say we are acting in good faith.”

“Wel , 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. Al the more reason why I'm sure the Twinkle drive wil get ironed out. We know that fundamental y it's a good product that performs as we say it does. Personal y, 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 fel softly around her face. Her lips were ful .

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 al came

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

“And then the woman from downstairs cal ed 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 real y 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 stil 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 real y . . .” She turned her head back and forth. Testing. “You did that very wel . 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 al 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 real y have problems and need agreement from higher management, we'l 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 informal y.” She looked at him. “You've changed, haven't you.”

“No . . . I'm stil 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 sil y.”

“It's true.”

“We're col eagues.” She pouted. “Nobody around here real y believes I'm superior to you. They just gave me the administrative work, that's al . We're col eagues, 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 al .”

“Who knows? Maybe we'l 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'l 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.”

“Wel , I think they do.”

“Oh, come on. We're going to be working together, we might as wel 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. Al 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 cal s.”

“I'm sorry. It's Mr. Garvin, Meredith.”

“Al right.” She got off the couch and walked across the room to her desk, saying loudly, “But after this, Betsy, no more cal s.”

“Al 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 smal package in a brown paper bag. She gave the package to Meredith.

“Of course, Bob,” Meredith was saying. “I couldn't agree more. We'l 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, pul ed his cel ular phone out of his pocket, and dialed Mark Lewyn's number. He had promised to cal Lewyn anyway.

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

Sanders heard his cal 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'l face that later. I've given her your thoughts, and she's talking to Bob now, so presumably we'l 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.