Disclosure

"No shit," Sanders said. He had known almost none of this. From the start, Meredith had been based in Cupertino; Sanders never saw her. The one time he had run into her was soon after her arrival, before she changed her hair. Her hair and what else?

He looked carefully at the two pictures. Something else was subtly different. Had she had plastic surgery? It was impossible to know. But her appearance was definitely changed between the two portraits.

He moved through the remaining issues of the magazine quickly now, convinced that he had learned what there was to know. Now he skimmed only the headlines:

GARVIN SENDS JOHNSON TO TEXAS

FOR AUSTIN PLANT OVERSIGHT

JOHNSON WILL HEAD NEW

OPERATIONS REVIEW UNIT

JOHNSON NAMED OPERATIONS VEEP

TO WORK DIRECTLY UNDER GARVIN

JOHNSON: TRIUMPH IN MALAYSIA

LABOR CONFLICT NOW RESOLVED

MEREDITH JOHNSON OUR RISING STAR

A SUPERB MANAGER; HER SKILL IN

TECHNICAL AREAS VERY STRONG

This final headline ran above a lengthy profile of Johnson, well placed on the second page of the magazine. It had appeared in ComLine only two issues ago. Seeing it now, Sanders realized that the article was intended for internal consumption-softening up the beachhead before the June landing. This article was a trial balloon that Cupertino had floated, to see if Meredith would be acceptable to run the technical divisions in Seattle. The only trouble was, Sanders never saw it. And nobody had ever mentioned it to him.

The article stressed the technical savvy that Johnson had acquired during her years with the company. She was quoted as saying, "I began my career working in technical areas, back with Novell. The technical fields have always been my first love; I’d love to go back to it. After all, strong technical innovation lies at the heart of a forward-looking company like DigiCom. Any good manager here must be able to run the technical divisions."

There it was.

He looked at the date: May 2. Published six weeks ago. Which meant that the article had been written at least two weeks before that.

As Mark Lewyn had suspected, Meredith Johnson knew she was going to be the head of the Advanced Products Division at least two months ago. Which meant, in turn, that Sanders had never been under consideration to become division head. He had never had a chance.

It was a done deal.

Months ago.

Sanders swore, took the articles over to the xerox machine and copied them, then put the stacks back on the shelf, and left the press office.

He got on the elevator. Mark Lewyn was there. Sanders said, "Hi, Mark." Lewyn didn’t answer. Sanders pushed the button for the ground floor.

The doors closed.

"I just hope you know what the fuck you’re doing," Lewyn said angrily.

"I think I do."

"Because you could fuck this thing up for everybody. You know that?"

"Fuck what up?"

"Just because you got your ass in the sling, it’s not our problem."

"Nobody said it was."

"I don’t know what’s the matter with you," Lewyn said. "You’re late for work, you don’t call me when you say you will… What is it, trouble at home? More shit with Susan?"

"This has nothing to do with Susan."

"Yeah? I think it does. You’ve been late two days running and even when you’re here, you walk around like you’re dreaming. You’re in fucking dreamland, Tom. I mean, what the hell were you doing, going to Meredith’s office at night, anyway?"

"She asked me to come to her office. She’s the boss. You’re saying I shouldn’t have gone?"

Lewyn shook his head in disgust. "This innocent act is a lot of crap. Don’t you take any responsibility for anything?"

"What-"

"Look, Tom, everybody in the company knows that Meredith is a shark. Meredith Manmuncher, they call her. The Great White. Everybody knows she’s protected by Garvin, that she can do what she wants. And what she wants is to play grabass with cute guys who show up in her office at the end of the day. She has a couple of glasses of wine, she gets a little flushed, and she wants service. A delivery boy, a trainee, a young account guy. Whatever. And nobody can say a word because Garvin thinks she walks on water. So, how come everybody else in the company knows it but you?"

Sanders was stunned. He did not know how to answer. He stared at Lewyn, who stood very close to him, his body hunched, hands in his pockets. He could feel Lewyn’s breath on his face. But he could hardly hear Lewyn’s words. It was as if they came to him from a great distance.

"Hey, Tom. You walk the same halls, you breathe the same air as the rest of us. You know who’s doing what. You go marching up there to her office . . . and you know damned well what’s coming. Meredith’s done everything but announce to the world that she wants to suck your dick. All day long, she’s touching your arm, giving you those meaningful little looks and squeezes. Oh, Tom. So nice to see you again. And now you tell me you didn’t know what was coming in that office? Fuck you, Tom. You’re an asshole."

The elevator doors opened. Before them, the ground-floor lobby was deserted, growing dark in the fading light of the June evening. A soft rain fell outside. Lewyn started toward the exit, then turned back. His voice echoed in the lobby.

"You realize," he said, "that you’re acting like one of those women in all this. The way they always go, `Who, me? I never intended that.’ The way they go, `Oh, it’s not my responsibility. I never thought if I got drunk and kissed him and went to his room and lay down on his bed that he’d fuck me. Oh dear me no.’ It’s bullshit, Tom. Irresponsible bullshit. And you better think about what I’m saying, because there’s a lot of us who have worked every bit as hard as you have in this company, and we don’t want to see you screw up this merger and this spin-off for the rest of us. You want to pretend you can’t tell when a woman’s coming on to you, that’s fine. You want to screw up your own life, it’s your decision. But you screw up mine, and I’m going to fucking put you away."