"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 . . ."