Because . . .
Forget that phone.
`Jesus Christ," he said. He suddenly put it together. He knew exactly what had happened. And it meant that there was the chance that
"Tom, are you all right?" Fernandez said.
"I'm fine," he said. "Just give me a minute. I think I've got something important."
He hadn't pressed L-E-W.
He had pressed something else. Something very close, probably one letter off: With fumbling fingers, Sanders pushed L-E-L. The screen stayed blank: he had no number stored for that combination. L-E-M. No number stored. L-E-S. No number stored. L-E-V.
Bingo.
Printed across the little screen was:
LEVIN
And a phone number for John Levin.
Sanders had called John Levin's answering machine that night.
John Levin called. He said it was important.
I'll bet he did, Sanders thought.
He remembered now, with sudden clarity, the exact sequence of events in Meredith's office. He had been talking on the phone and she said, "Forget that phone," and pushed his hand down as she started kissing him. He had dropped the phone on the windowsill as they kissed, and left it there.
Later on, when he left Meredith's office, buttoning his shirt, he had picked up the cellular phone from the sill, but by then it was dead. Which could only mean that it had remained constantly on for almost an hour. It had remained on during the entire incident with Meredith.
In the car, when Adele finished the call, .she hung the phone back in the cradle, She didn't press the END button, so the phone line stayed open, and their entire conversation was recorded on the persona answering machine. Fifteen minutes of jokes and personal commentary, all recorded on his answering machine.
And Sanders's phone had been dead because the line stayed open. The whole conversation had been recorded.
Standing in the parking lot, he quickly dialed John Levin's number. Fernandez got out of the car and came over to him. "What's going on?" Fernandez said. "Are we going to lunch, or what?"
`Just a minute."
The call went through. A click of the pickup, then a man's voice: `John Levin."
`John, it's Tom Sanders."
"Well, hey there, Tom boy!" Levin burst out laughing. "My man! Are you having a red-hot sex life these days, or what? I tell you, Tom, my ears were burning."
Sanders said, "Was it recorded?"
`Jesus Christ, Tom, you better believe it. I came in Tuesday morning to check my messages, and I tell you, it went on for half an hour, I mean-"
"John-"
"Whoever said married life was dull-"
"John. Listen. Did you keep it?"
There was a pause. Levin stopped laughing. "Tom, what do you think I am, a pervert? Of course I kept it. I played it for the whole office. They loved it!"
"John. Seriously."
Levin sighed. "Yeah. I kept it. It sounded like you might be having a little trouble, and . . . I don't know. Anyway, I kept it."
"Good. Where is it?"
"Right here on my desk," Levin said.
"John, I want that tape. Now listen to me: this is what I want you to do.
Driving in the car, Fernandez said, "I'm waiting."
Sanders said, "There's a tape of the whole meeting with Meredith. It was all recorded."
"How?" "It was an accident. I was talking to an answering machine," he said, "and when Meredith started kissing me, I put the phone down but didn't end the call. So the phone stayed connected to the answering machine. And everything we said went right onto the answering machine."
"Hot damn," Alan said, slapping the steering wheel as he drove.
"This is an audio tape?" Fernandez said.
"Yes." "Good quality?"
"I don't know. We'll see. John's bringing it to lunch."
Fernandez rubbed her hands together. "I feel better already." "Yes?"
"Yes," she said. "Because if it's any good at all, we can really draw blood."
John Levin, florid and jovial, pushed away his plate and drained the last of his beer. "Now that's what I call a meal. Excellent halibut." Levin weighed nearly three hundred pounds, and his belly pressed up against the edge of the table.
They were sitting in a booth in the back room of McCormick and Schmick's on First Avenue. The restaurant was noisy, filled with the lunchtime business crowd. Fernandez pressed the headphones to her ears as she listened to the tape on a Walkman. She had been listening intently for more than half an hour, making notes on a yellow legal pad, her food still uneaten. Finally she got up. "I have to make a call."
Levin glanced at Fernandez's plate. "Uh . . . do you want that?"
Fernandez shook her head, and walked away.
Levin grinned. "Waste not, want not," he said, and pulled the plate in front of him. He began to eat. "So Tom, are you in shit or what?"
"Deep shit," Sanders said. He stirred a cappuccino. He hadn't been able to eat lunch. He watched Levin wolf down great bites of mashed potatoes.
"I figured that," Levin said. "Jack Kerry over at Aldus called me this morning and said you were suing the company because you refused to jump some woman.
"Kerry is an asshole."
"The worst," Levin nodded. "The absolute worst. But what can you do? After Connie Walsh's column this morning, everybody's been trying to figure out who Mr. Piggy is." Levin took another huge bite of food. "But how'd she get the story in the first place? I mean, she's the one who broke it."
Sanders said, "Maybe you told her, John."
"Are you kidding?" Levin said.
"You had the tape."
Levin frowned. "You keep this up, Tom, you're going to piss me off" He shook his head. "No, you ask me, it was a woman who told her."
"What woman knew? Only Meredith, and she wouldn't tell."
"I'll bet you anything it'll turn out to be a woman," Levin said. "If you ever find out-which I doubt." He chewed thoughtfully. "Swordfish is a little rubbery. I think we should tell the waiter." He looked around the room. "Uh, Tom."
"Yes?"
"There's a guy standing over there, hopping from one foot to the other. I think maybe you know him."
Sanders looked over his shoulder. Bob Garvin was standing by the bar, looking at him expectantly. Phil Blackburn stood a few paces behind.
"Excuse me," Sanders said, and he got up from the table.
Garvin shook hands with Sanders. "Tom. Good to see you. How are you holding up with all this?"
"I'm okay," Sanders said.
"Good, good." Garvin placed his hand in a fatherly way on Sanders's shoulder. "It's nice to see you again."
"Nice to see you too, Bob."
Garvin said, "There's a quiet place in the corner over there. I asked them for a couple of cappuccinos. We can talk for a minute. Is that okay?"
"That's fine," Sanders said. He was well acquainted with the profane, angry Garvin. This cautious, polite Garvin made him uneasy.
They sat in the corner of the bar. Garvin settled into his chair and faced him.
"Well, Tom. We go way back, you and I"
"Yes, we do."
"Those damn trips to Seoul, eating that crappy food, and your ass hurting like hell. You remember all that."
"Yes, I do."
"Yeah, those were the days," Garvin said. He was watching Sanders carefully. "Anyway, Tom, we know each other, so I'm not going to bullshit you. Let me just put all the cards on the table," Garvin said. "We've got a problem here, and it's got to be solved before it turns into a real mess for everybody. I want to appeal to your better judgment about how we proceed from here."
"My better judgment?" Sanders said.
"Yes," Garvin said. "I'd like to look at this thing from all sides."
"How many sides are there?"
"There are at least two," Garvin said, with a smile. "Look, Tom. I'm sure it's no secret that I've supported Meredith inside our company. I've always believed that she's got talent and the kind of executive vision that we want for the future. I've never seen her do anything before that would suggest otherwise. I know she's only human, but she's very talented and I support her."
"Uh-huh . . ."
"Now perhaps in this case . . . perhaps it is true that she's made a mistake. I don't know."
Sanders said nothing. He just waited, staring at Garvin's face. Garvin was doing a convincing impression of an open-minded man. Sanders didn't buy it.
"In fact, let's say she has," Garvin said. "Let's say she did make a mistake."
"She did, Bob," Sanders said, firmly.
"All right. Let's say she did. An error of judgment, let's call it. An overstepping of bounds. The point is, Tom, faced with a situation like this, I still strongly support her."
"Why?"
"Because she's a woman."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Well, women in business have traditionally been excluded from executive positions, Tom."
"Meredith hasn't been excluded," Sanders said.
"And after all," Garvin said, "she's young."
"She's not that young," Sanders said.
"Sure she is. She's practically a college kid. She just got her MBA a couple of years ago."
"Bob," Sanders said. "Meredith Johnson's thirty-five. She's not a kid at all."
Garvin did not seem to hear that. He looked at Sanders sympathetically. "Tom, I can understand that you were disappointed about the job," he said. "And I can understand that in your eyes, Meredith made a mistake in the way she approached you."
"She didn't approach me, Bob. She jumped me."
Garvin showed a flash of irritation. "You're no kid either, you know."
"That's right, I'm not," Sanders said. "But I am her employee."
"And I know she holds you in the highest regard," Garvin said, settling back in his chair. "As does everybody in the company, Tom. You're vital to our future. You know it, I know it. I want to keep our team together. And I keep coming back to the idea that we have to make allowances for women. We have to cut them a little slack."
"But we're not talking about women," Sanders said. "We're talking about one particular woman."
"Torn-"
"And if a man had done what she did, you wouldn't be talking about cutting him slack. You'd fire him, and throw him out on his ass."
"Possibly so."
"Well, that's the problem," Sanders said.
Garvin said, "I'm not sure I follow you there, Tom." His tone carried a warning: Garvin didn't like being disagreed with. Over the years, as his company grew in wealth and success, Garvin had grown accustomed to deference. Now, approaching retirement, he expected obedience and agreement. "We have an obligation to attain equality," Garvin said.
"Fine. But equality means no special breaks," Sanders said. "Equality means treating people the same. You're asking for inequality toward Meredith, because you won't do what you would do to a man-fire him."
Garvin sighed. "If it was a clear case, Tom, I would. But I understand this particular situation isn't so clear."
Sanders considered telling him about the tape. Something made him hold back. He said, "I think it is."
"But there are always differences of opinion on these matters," Garvin said, leaning across the bar. "That's a fact, isn't it? Always a difference of opinion. Tom. Look: what did she do that was so bad? I mean, really. She made a pass? Fine. You could have decided it was flattering. She's a beautiful woman, after all. There are worse things that could happen. A beautiful woman puts her hand on your knee. Or you could have just said, no thank you. You could have handled it any number of ways. You're a grown-up. But this . . . vindictiveness. Tom. I have to tell you. I'm surprised at you."
Sanders said, "Bob, she broke the law."
"That really remains to be seen, doesn't it?" Garvin said. "You can throw open your personal life for a jury to inspect, if that's what you want to do. I wouldn't want to do it, myself. And I don't see that it helps anybody to take this into court. It's a no-win situation, all around."
"What're you saying?"
"You don't want to go to court, Tom." Garvin's eyes were narrow, dangerous.
"Why not?"
"You just don't." Garvin took a deep breath. "Look. Let's stay on track here. I've talked to Meredith. She feels as I do, that this thing has gotten out of hand."
"Uh-huh . . ."
"And I'm talking to you now, too. Because my hope, Tom, is that we can put this to rest, and go back to the way things were now hear me out, please go back to the way things were, before this unfortunate misunderstanding happened. You stay at your job, Meredith stays at hers. You two continue to work together like civilized adults. You move forward and build the company, take it public, and everybody makes a pile of money a year down the line. What's wrong with that?"
Sanders felt something like relief, and a sense of normalcy returning. He longed to escape from the lawyers and from the tension of the last three days. To sink back into the way things were seemed as appealing as a warm bath.
"I mean, look at it this way, Tom. Right after this thing happened on Monday night, nobody blew the whistle. You didn't call anybody. Meredith didn't call anybody. I think you both wanted this thing to go away. Then there was an unfortunate mix-up the next day, and an argument that needn't have happened. If you'd been on time for the meeting, if you and Meredith had been in sync on the story, none of this would have happened. You two would still be working together, and whatever happened between you would remain your private business. Instead, we have this. It's all a big mistake, really. So why not just forget it and go forward? And get rich. Tom? What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing," Sanders said, finally.
"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, all 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'll 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 bullshit. I gave you your start, I gave you help, I gave you opportunities, all 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 willing to listen to reason on the subject of Meredith Johnson."
"Oh, you think 1 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, all 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 full 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 all 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 jelly in Redmond?" "Whoa!" "The Piggy is pissed!" They were doubled over, laughing like college kids. They had a big pitcher of beer on the table. One of them said, "If Meredith Johnson pulled off her pants for me, I sure wouldn't call 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 willing 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."
"Well, 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.
"Finally," 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 really doing? He's smearing Meredith, right?"
"Goddamn right."
"He didn't hesitate to smear her."
"He sure as hell 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 willing 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 thoughtfully at the approaching car. "I think that Tom's a violent man."
"Oh hell," 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 football player in college, he's a rough-and-tumble sort of guy. Plays football on the company team, knocks people around. He has a violent streak. Most men do, after all. Men are violent."
"What kind of shit is this?"
"And you have to admit, he was violent to Meredith," Blackburn continued. "Shouting. Yelling. 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. All 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'll never make this fly._
"I think I can."
"Nobody in their right mind'll buy it."
Blackburn said, "I think somebody will."
"Yeah? Who?"
"Somebody," Blackburn said.
The car pulled up to the curb. Garvin opened the door. "Well, all 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 really say you have to make allowances 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 allow 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'll be one big happy family again."
"Incredible," Alan said, driving the car.
"It is, in this day and age," Fernandez said. "You can't pull 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 really _ 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 will," 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 hill toward the mediation center. "You have to realize, all 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'll 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.
"Tell 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 small 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 will 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 tell him about the tape?"
"No."