us leads. It's something to work on. So is this e-mail from your friend." She frowned at the sheet of printout. "This is an Internet address."
"Yes," he said, surprised that she knew.
"We do a lot of work with high-technology companies. I'll have somebody check it out." She put it aside. "Now let's review where we are. You couldn't clean out your desk because they were already there."
"Right."
"And you would have cleaned out your computer files, but you've been shut out of the system."
"Yes."
"Which means that you can't change anything."
"That's right. I can't do anything. It's like I'm an assistant."
She said, "Were you going to change any files?"
He hesitated. "No. But I would have, you know, looked around."
"Nothing in particular you were aware of?"
"No."
"Mr. Sanders," she said, "I want to emphasize that I have no judgment here. I'm simply trying to prepare for what may happen tomorrow. I want to know what surprises they'll have for us."
He shook his head. "There isn't anything in the files that's embarrassing to me."
"You've thought it over carefully?"
"Yes."
"Okay," she said. "Then considering the early start, I think you better get some sleep. I want you sharp tomorrow. Will you be able to sleep?"
"Jeez, I don't know."
"Take a sleeping pill if you need to."
"I'll be okay."
"Then go home and go to bed, Mr. Sanders. I'll see you in the morning. Wear a coat and tie tomorrow. Do you have some kind of a blue coat?"
"A blazer."
"Fine. Wear a conservative tie and a white shirt. No after-shave."
"I never dress like that at the office."
"This is not the office, Mr. Sanders. That's just the point." She stood up and shook his hand. "Get some sleep. And try not to worry. I think everything is going to be fine."
"I bet you say that to all your clients."
"Yes, I do," she said. "But I'm usually right. Get some sleep, Tom. I'll see you tomorrow."
He came home to a dark, empty house. Eliza's Barbie dolls lay in an untidy heap on the kitchen counter. One of his son's bibs, streaked with green baby food, was on the counter beside the sink. He set up the coffeemaker for the morning and went upstairs. He walked past the answering machine but neglected to look at it, and failed to notice the blinking light. Upstairs, when he undressed in the bathroom, he saw that Susan had taped a note to the mirror. "Sorry about lunch. I believe you. I love you.
S."
It was just like Susan to be angry and then to apologize. But he was glad for the note and considered calling her now. But it was nearly
midnight in Phoenix, which meant it was too late. She'd be asleep.
Anyway, as he thought about it, he realized that he didn't want to call her. As she had said at the restaurant, this had nothing to do with her. He was alone in this. He'd stay alone. Wearing just shorts, he padded into his little office. There were no faxes. He switched on his computer and waited while it came up.
The e-mail icon was blinking. He clicked it.
TRUST NOBODY.
AFRIEND
Sanders shut off the computer and went to bed.
WEDNESDAY
In the morning, he took comfort in his routine, dressing quickly while listening to the television news, which he turned up loud, trying to fill the empty house with noise. He drove into town at 6:30, stopping at the Bainbridge Bakery to buy a pull-apart and a cup of cappuccino before going down to the ferry.
As the ferry pulled away from Winslow, he sat toward the stern, so he would not have to look at Seattle as it approached. Lost in his thoughts, he stared out the window at the gray clouds hanging low over the dark water of the bay. It looked like it would rain again today.
"Bad day, huh?" a woman said.
He looked up and saw Mary Anne Hunter, pretty and petite, standing with her hands on her hips, looking at him with concern. Mary Anne lived on Bainbridge, too. Her husband was a marine biologist at the university. She and Susan were good friends, and often jogged together. But he didn't often see Mary Anne on the ferry because she usually went in early.
"Morning, Mary Anne."
"What I can't understand is how they got it," she said.
"Got what?" Sanders said.
"You mean you haven't seen it? Jesus. You're in the papers, Tom." She handed him the newspaper under her arm.
"You're kidding."
"No. Connie Walsh strikes again."
Sanders looked at the front page, but saw nothing. He began flipping through quickly.
"It's in the Metro section," she said. "The first opinion column on the second page. Read it and weep. I'll get more coffee." She walked away.
Sanders opened the paper to the Metro section.
AS I SEE IT
by Constance Walsh
MR. PIGGY AT WORK
The power of the patriarchy has revealed itself again, this time in a local high-tech firm I'll call Company X. This company has appointed a brillant, highly competent woman to a major executive position. But many men in the company are doing their damnedest to get rid of her.
One man in particular, let's call him Mr. Piggy, has been especially vindictive. Mr. Piggy can't tolerate a woman supervisor, and for weeks he has been running a bitter campaign of innuendo inside the company to keep it from happening. When that failed, Mr. Piggy claimed that his new boss sexually assaulted him, and nearly raped him, in her offices. The blatant hostility of this claim is matched only by its absurdity.