Disclosure (32 page)

“Nothing,” Sanders said, final y.

“Good.”

“Except it won't work,” Sanders said.

“Why not?”

A dozen answers flashed through his mind: Because she's not competent.

Because she's a snake. Because she's a corporate player, al image, and this is a technical division that has to get out the product. Because she's a liar. Because I have no respect for her. Because she'l do it again. Because she has no respect for me. Because you're not treating me fairly. Because she's your pet. Because you chose her over me. Because . . .

“Things have gone too far,” he said.

Garvin stared at him. “Things can go back.”

“No, Bob. They can't.”

Garvin leaned forward. His voice dropped. “Listen you little feringi pissant. I know exactly what's going on here. I took you in when you didn't know bulkogi from bul shit. I gave you your start, I gave you help, I gave you opportunities, al along the line. Now you want to play rough? Fine. You want to see the shit come down? Just fucking wait, Tom.” He stood up.

Sanders said, “Bob, you've never been wil ing to listen to reason on the subject of Meredith Johnson.”

“Oh, you think I have a problem with Meredith?” Garvin laughed harshly. “Listen, Tom: she was your girlfriend, but she was smart and independent, and you couldn't handle her. You were pissed when she dropped you. And now, al these years later, you're going to pay her back. That's what this is about. It has nothing to do with business ethics or breaking the law or sexual harassment or any other damned thing. It's personal, and it's petty. And you're so ful of shit your eyes are brown.”

And he stalked out of the restaurant, pushing angrily past Blackburn. Blackburn remained behind for a moment, staring at Sanders, and then hurried after his boss.

As Sanders walked back to his table, he passed a booth with several guys from Microsoft, including two major assholes from systems programming. Someone made a snorting pig sound. “Hey Mr. Piggy,” said a low voice. “Suwee! Suwee!”

“Couldn't get it up, huh?” Sanders walked on a few paces, then turned back.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “At least I'm not bending over and grabbing my ankles in latenight meetings with-” and he named a Programming head at Microsoft. They al roared with laughter. “Whoa ho!” “Mr. Piggy speaks!” “Oink oink.” Sanders said, “What're you guys doing in town, anyway? They run short on K-Y jel y in Redmond?” “Whoa!” “The Piggy is pissed!” They were doubled over, laughing like col ege kids. They had a big pitcher of beer on the table. One of them said, “If Meredith Johnson pul ed off her pants for me, I sure wouldn't cal the police about it.” “No way, Jose!” “Service with a smile!” “Hard charger!” “Ladies first!” “Ka-jung!

Ka-jung!” They pounded the table, laughing. Sanders walked away.

Outside the restaurant, Garvin paced back and forth angrily on the pavement.

Blackburn stood with the phone at his ear.

“Where is that fucking car?” Garvin said.

“I don't know, Bob.”

“I told him to wait.”

“I know, Bob. I'm trying to get him.”

“Christ Almighty, the simplest things. Can't even get the fucking cars to work right.”

“Maybe he had to go to the bathroom.”

“So? How long does that take? Goddamn Sanders. Could you believe him?”

“No, I couldn't, Bob.”

“I just don't understand. He won't deal with me on this. And I'm bending over backward here. I offer him his job back, I offer him his stock back, I offer him everything. And what does he do? Jesus.”

“He's not a team player, Bob.”

“You got that right. And he's not wil ing to meet us. We've got to get him to come to the table.”

“Yes we do, Bob.”

“He's not feeling it,” Garvin said. “That's the problem.”

“The story ran this morning. It can't have made him happy.”

“Wel , he's not feeling it.”

Garvin paced again.

“There's the car,” Blackburn said, pointing down the street. The Lincoln sedan was driving toward them.

“Final y,” Garvin said. “Now look, Phil. I'm tired of wasting time on Sanders. We tried being nice, and it didn't work. That's the long and the short of it. So what are we going to do, to make him feel it?”

“I've been thinking about that,” Phil said. “What's Sanders doing? I mean real y doing? He's smearing Meredith, right?”

“Goddamn right.”

“He didn't hesitate to smear her.”

“He sure as hel didn't.”

“And it's not true, what he's saying about her. But the thing about a smear is that it doesn't have to be true. It just has to be something people are wil ing to believe is true.”

“So?”

“So maybe Sanders needs to see what that feels like.”

“Like what feels like? What're you talking about?”

Blackburn stared thoughtful y at the approaching car. “I think that Tom's a violent man.”

“Oh hel ,” Garvin said, “he's not. I've known him for years. He's a pussycat.”

“No,” Blackburn said, rubbing his nose. “I disagree. I think he's violent. He was a footbal player in col ege, he's a rough-and-tumble sort of guy. Plays footbal on the company team, knocks people around. He has a violent streak. Most men do, after al . Men are violent.”

“What kind of shit is this?”

“And you have to admit, he was violent to Meredith,” Blackburn continued.

“Shouting. Yel ing. Pushing her. Knocking her over. Sex and violence. A man out of control. He's much bigger than she is. Just stand them side by side, anybody can see the difference. He's much bigger. Much stronger. Al you have to do is look, and you see he is a violent abusive man. That nice exterior is just a cover.

Sanders is one of those men who take out their hostility by beating up defenseless women.”

Garvin was silent. He squinted at Blackburn. “You'l never make this fly._

“I think I can.”

“Nobody in their right mind'l buy it.”

Blackburn said, “I think somebody wil .”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Somebody,” Blackburn said.

The car pul ed up to the curb. Garvin opened the door. “Wel , al I know,” he said,

“is that we need to get him to negotiate. We need to apply pressure to bring him to the table.”

Blackburn said, “I think that can be arranged.”

Garvin nodded. “It's in your hands, Phil. Just make sure it happens.” He got in the car. Blackburn got in the car after Garvin. Garvin said to the driver, “Where the fuck have you been?”

The door slammed shut. The car drove off.

Sanders drove with Fernandez in Alan's car back to the mediation center.

Fernandez listened to Sanders's report of the conversation with Garvin, shaking her head. “You never should have seen him alone. He couldn't have behaved that way if I was there. Did he real y say you have to make al owances for women?”

“Yes.”

“That's noble of him. He's found a virtuous reason why we should protect a harasser. It's a nice touch. Everyone should sit back and al ow her to break the law because she's a woman. Very nice.”

Sanders felt stronger hearing her words. The conversation with Garvin had rattled him. He knew that Fernandez was working on him, building him back up, but it worked anyway.

“The whole conversation is ridiculous,” Fernandez said. “And then he threatened you?”

Sanders nodded.

“Forget it. It's just bluster.”

“You're sure?”

“Absolutely,” she said. `Just talk. But at least now you know why they say men just don't get it. Garvin gave you the same lines that every corporate guy has been giving for years: Look at it from the harasser's point of view. What did they do that was so wrong. Let bygones be bygones. Everybody just go back to work.

We'l be one big happy family again.”

“Incredible,” Alan said, driving the car.

“It is, in this day and age,” Fernandez said. “You can't pul that stuff anymore.

How old is Garvin, anyway?”

“Almost sixty.”

“That helps explain it. But Blackburn should have told him it's completely unacceptable. According to the law, Garvin real y _ doesn't have any choice. At a minimum, he has to transfer Johnson, not you. And almost certainly, he should fire her.”

“I don't think he wil ,” Sanders said.

“No, of course he won't.”

“She's his favorite,” Sanders said.

“More to the point, she's his vice president,” Fernandez said. She stared out the window as they went up the hil toward the mediation center. “You have to realize, al these decisions are about power. Sexual harassment is about power, and so is the company's resistance to dealing with it. Power protects power. And once a woman gets up in the power structure, she'l be protected by the structure, the same as a man. It's like the way doctors won't testify against other doctors. It doesn't matter if the doctor is a man or a woman. Doctors just don't want to testify against other doctors. Period. And corporate executives don't want to investigate claims against other executives, male or female.”

“So it's just that women haven't had these jobs?”

“Yes. But they're starting to get them now. And now they can be as unfair as any man ever was.”

“Female chauvinist sows,” Alan said.

“Don't you start,” Fernandez said.

“Tel him the figures,” Alan said.

“What figures?” Sanders said.

“About five percent of sexual harassment claims are brought by men against women. It's a relatively smal figure. But then, only five percent of corporate supervisors are women. So the figures suggest that women executives harass men in the same proportion as men harass women. And as more women get corporate jobs, the percentage of claims by men is going up. Because the fact is, harassment is a power issue. And power is neither male nor female. Whoever is behind the desk has the opportunity to abuse power. And women wil take advantage as often as men. A case in point being the delightful Ms. Johnson.

And her boss isn't firing her.”

“Garvin says it's because the situation isn't clear.”

“I'd say that tape is pretty damn clear,” Fernandez said. She frowned. “Did you tel him about the tape?”

“No.■

“Good. Then I think we can wrap this case up in the next two hours.”

Alan pul ed into the parking lot and parked the car. They al got out.

“Al right,” Fernandez said. “Let's see where we are with her significant others.

Alan. We've stil got her previous employer-”

“Conrad Computer. Right. We're on it.

“And also the one before that.”

“Symantec.”

“Yes. And we have her husband-”

“I've got a cal into CoStar for him.”

“And the Internet business? Àfriend'?”

“Working on it.”

“And we have her B-school, and Vassar.”

“Right.”

“Recent history is the most important. Focus on Conrad and the husband.”

“Okay,” Alan said. “Conrad's a problem, because they supply systems to the government and the CIA. They gave me some song and dance about neutral reference policy and nondisclosure of prior employees.”

“Then get Harry to cal them. He's good on negligent referral. He can shake them up if they continue to stonewal .”

“Okay. He may have to.”

Alan got back in the car. Fernandez and Sanders started walking up to the mediation center. Sanders said, “You're checking her past companies?”

“Yes. Other companies don't like to give damaging information on prior employees. For years, they would never give anything at al except the dates of employment. But now there's something cal ed compel ed self-publication, and something cal ed negligent referral. A company can be liable now for failing to reveal a problem with a past employee. So we can try to scare them. But in the end, they may not give us the damaging information we want.”

“How do you know they have damaging information to give?”

Fernandez smiled. “Because Johnson is a harasser. And with harassers, there's always a pattern. It's never the first time.”

“You think she's done this before?”

“Don't sound so disappointed,” Fernandez said. “What did you think? That she did al this because she thought you were so cute? I guarantee you she has done it before.” They walked past the fountains in the courtyard toward the door to the center building. “And now,” Fernandez said, “let's go cut Ms. Johnson to shreds.”

Precisely at one-thirty, judge Murphy entered the mediation room. She looked at the seven silent people sitting around the table and frowned. “Has opposing counsel met?”

“We have,” Hel er said.

“With what result?” Murphy said.

“We have failed to reach a settlement,” Hel er said.

“Very wel . Let's resume.” She sat down and opened her notepad. “Is there further discussion relating to the morning session?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Fernandez said. “I have some additional questions for Ms.

Johnson.”

“Very wel . Ms. Johnson?”

Meredith Johnson put on her glasses. “Actual y, Your Honor, I would like to make a statement first.”

“Al right.”

“I've been thinking about the morning session,” Johnson said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “and Mr. Sanders's account of the events of Monday night. And I've begun to feel that there may be a genuine misunderstanding here.”

“I see.” Judge Murphy spoke absolutely without inflection. She stared at Meredith. “Al right.”

“When Tom first suggested a meeting at the end of the day, and when he suggested that we have some wine, and talk over old times, I'm afraid I may have unconsciously responded to him in a way that he might not have intended.”

Judge Murphy didn't move. Nobody was moving. The room was completely stil .

“I believe it is correct to say that I took him at his word, and began to imagine a, uh, romantic interlude. And to be frank, I was not opposed to that possibility. Mr.

Sanders and I had a very special relationship some years ago, and I remembered it as a very exciting relationship. So I believe it is fair to say that I was looking forward to our meeting, and that perhaps I presumed that it would lead to an encounter. Which I was, unconsciously, quite wil ing to have occur.”

Alongside Meredith, Hel er and Blackburn sat completely stonefaced, showing no reaction at al . The two female attorneys showed no reaction. This had al been worked out in advance, Sanders realized. What was going on? Why was she changing her story?