Disclosure

Harassment is about power.

It was one thing if you were a lowly female assistant fondled by a stronger, powerful man. But in this case Meredith was the boss. She had all the power. Why would she claim harassment by Sanders? Because the fact was, subordinates didn’t harass their bosses. It just didn’t happen. You’d have to be crazy to harass your boss.

Harassment is about power-the undue exercise of power by a superior over

a subordinate.

For her to claim sexual harassment was, in an odd way, to admit that she was subordinate to Sanders. And she would never do that. Quite the contrary: Meredith was new to her job, eager to prove that she was in control of the situation. So her accusation made no sense-unless she was using it as a convenient way to destroy him. Sexual harassment had the advantage of being a charge that was difficult to recover from. You were presumed guilty until proven innocent-and it was hard to prove innocence. It tarnished any man, no matter how frivolous the accusation. In that sense, harassment was a very powerful accusation. The most powerful accusation she could make.

But then, she said that she wasn’t going to press charges. And the question was

Why not?

Sanders stopped on the street.

That was it.

She assured me, she’s not going to press charges.

Why wasn’t Meredith going to press charges?

At the time that Blackburn said that, Sanders had never questioned it. Louise Fernandez had never questioned it. But the fact was, Meredith’s refusal to press charges made no sense at all. She had already accused him. Why not press it? Why not carry it to its conclusion?

Maybe Blackburn had talked her out of it. Blackburn was always so concerned about appearances.

But Sanders didn’t think that was what had happened. Because a formal accusation could still be handled quietly. It could be processed inside the company.

And from Meredith’s standpoint, there were real advantages to a formal accusation. Sanders was popular at DigiCom. He had been with the company a long time. If her goal was to get rid of him, to banish him to Texas, why not defuse the inevitable corporate grumbling by letting the accusation work its way through the company grapevine? Why not make it official?

The more Sanders thought about it, the more it seemed that there was only one explanation: Meredith wasn’t going to press charges because she couldn’t.

She couldn’t, because she had some other problem.

Some other consideration.

Something else was going on.

We can handle it quietly.

Slowly, Sanders began to see everything differently. In the meeting earlier that day, Blackburn hadn’t been ignoring him or slighting him. Not at all: Blackburn was scrambling.

Blackburn was scared.

We can handle it quietly. It’s best for everyone.

What did he mean, best for everyone?

What problem did Meredith have?

What problem could she have?

The more Sanders thought about it, the more it seemed that there could be only one possible reason why she wasn’t pressing charges against him.

He took out his phone, called United Airlines, and booked three round-trip tickets to Phoenix.

And then he called his wife.

Ygoddamn son of a bitch," Susan said.

They were sitting in a corner table at 11 Terrazzo. It was two o’clock; the restaurant was nearly deserted. Susan had listened to him for half an hour, without interruption or comment. He told her everything that had happened in his meeting with Meredith, and everything that had happened that morning. The Conley-White meeting. The conversation with Phil. The conversation with Fernandez. Now he had finished. She stared at him.

"I could really learn to despise you, you know that? You son of a bitch, why didn’t you tell me she was your ex-girlfriend?"

"I don’t know," he said. "I didn’t want to go into it."

"You didn’t want to go into it? Adele and Mary Anne are talking to me on the phone all day, and they know, but I don’t? It’s humiliating, Tom."

"Well," he said, "you know you’ve been upset a lot lately, and-"

"Cut the crap, Tom," she said. "This has nothing to do with me. You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to."

"Susan, that’s not-"

"Yes it is, Tom. I was asking you about her, last night. You could have told me if you wanted to. But you didn’t." She shook her head. "Son of a bitch. I can’t believe what an asshole you are. You’ve made a real mess of this. Do you realize what a mess this is?"

"Yes," he said, hanging his head.

"Don’t act contrite with me, you asshole."

"I’m sorry," he said.

"You’re sorry? Fuck you, you’re sorry. Jesus Christ. I can’t believe you. What an asshole. You spent the night with your goddamned girlfriend."

"I didn’t spend the night. And she’s not my girlfriend."

"What do you mean? She was your big heartthrob."

"She wasn’t my `big heartthrob.’ "

"Oh yeah? Then why wouldn’t you tell me?" She shook her head. `Just answer one question. Did you fuck her or not?"

"No. I didn’t."

She stared at him intently, stirring her coffee. "You’re telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

"Nothing left out? No inconvenient parts skipped?"

"No. Nothing."

"Then why would she accuse you?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"I mean, there must be a reason she accused you. You must have done something."

"Well, I didn’t. I turned her down."

"Uh-huh. Sure." She frowned at him. "You know, this is not just about you, Tom. This involves your whole family: me and the kids."

"I understand that."