lounge was less than half full; mostly businessmen and women finishing their day with a drink and some chat.
Then Melissa walked in, tall and beautiful. Men and women both, they all looked her over, from her slick pageboy hairdo to her slitted ankle-length skirt that opened to reveal her long shapely legs as she walked to the bar.
She went straight to the chair beside Paul.
“You following me?” he asked as she swivelled the chair and sat on it.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said, smiling slightly.
“I don’t know of any labor negotiations set for the San Jose division,” he said.
“My office has a few complaints of discrimination,” Melissa replied. “Thought I’d try to defuse them before they get serious.”
The bartender came by. She ordered a glass of chardonnay. Paul got a refill on his
Tres Generacións
.
“Discrimination?” Paul asked. “Against who?”
Melissa took a sip of wine, then answered, “The usual: Asians claiming the Hispanics are picking on them; Hispanics claiming the Asians won’t promote them. Small stuff, but it could get nasty if we don’t take care of it right away.”
A faint hint of her perfume reached him: subtle, suggestive, it reminded him of the times they had shared.
“So you’re not following me, after all.”
Melissa shook her head.
“Greg didn’t ask you to keep tabs on me?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Greg and I are finished. Didn’t you know that?”
“Finished?”
“He dumped me. Just like you did.”
“I didn’t—”
“And for the same reason,” Melissa said bitterly. “Joanna.”
“What?”
“He’s jealous of you, Paul. And not just over the CEO job. He doesn’t want you with his mother.”
Paul downed half his tequila in one gulp. Feeling it burning inside him, he muttered, “The kid’s crazy.”
“He needs help, I agree,” Melissa said. “He might do something violent.”
“Violent?”
“It was scary,” she said. “I thought he was going to turn on me.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?”
She stared down into her wine. “I … to tell you the truth, Paul, I was afraid to. I was almost glad when he told me he wanted to end it.”
Jesus, Paul thought. Her job is to handle cases of discrimination and sexual harassment, and she can’t even take care of herself.
“He had to get real teed off about it,” she went on, almost in a whisper. “He couldn’t just tell me he wanted to end it. He had to get raving and yelling like some monster. I thought he was going to belt me.”
“Greg?” Paul couldn’t believe what she was saying.
But Melissa nodded solemnly. “Underneath all that self-control he’s a wild man. He’s like a bomb, all wound up tight and ready to explode.”
“Maybe we ought to get the company shrink to look him over.”
“You’d have to tie him hand and foot first.”
Paul finished his tequila and motioned to the bartender for another. Inevitably he invited Melissa to have dinner with him, and they made their way—Paul just a bit unsteadily—down the stairs to the venerable Fourneau’s Ovens.
“Like old times,” Melissa said, smiling at him.
“Yeah,” Paul agreed. Old times. Life was a lot simpler then. No ties, no responsibilities.
As they sat across the table from each other Paul thought. It was a mistake to get married. Joanna doesn’t love me. She just wants me to run the company for her until Greg’s old enough to take over. Marrying me kept it in the family, put me under her control. She doesn’t love me at all. We had better sex when we were sneaking around behind Gregory’s back.
Do I love her? The question startled him. He stared at Melissa, coolly beautiful, just an arm’s length away. The street outside was darkening into evening, people were walking by, the sky was fading from pink to violet. He remembered their times in bed together. No holds barred; no questions asked. Just pure physical pleasure.
Do I love Joanna? he asked
Then Melissa walked in, tall and beautiful. Men and women both, they all looked her over, from her slick pageboy hairdo to her slitted ankle-length skirt that opened to reveal her long shapely legs as she walked to the bar.
She went straight to the chair beside Paul.
“You following me?” he asked as she swivelled the chair and sat on it.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said, smiling slightly.
“I don’t know of any labor negotiations set for the San Jose division,” he said.
“My office has a few complaints of discrimination,” Melissa replied. “Thought I’d try to defuse them before they get serious.”
The bartender came by. She ordered a glass of chardonnay. Paul got a refill on his
Tres Generacións
.
“Discrimination?” Paul asked. “Against who?”
Melissa took a sip of wine, then answered, “The usual: Asians claiming the Hispanics are picking on them; Hispanics claiming the Asians won’t promote them. Small stuff, but it could get nasty if we don’t take care of it right away.”
A faint hint of her perfume reached him: subtle, suggestive, it reminded him of the times they had shared.
“So you’re not following me, after all.”
Melissa shook her head.
“Greg didn’t ask you to keep tabs on me?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Greg and I are finished. Didn’t you know that?”
“Finished?”
“He dumped me. Just like you did.”
“I didn’t—”
“And for the same reason,” Melissa said bitterly. “Joanna.”
“What?”
“He’s jealous of you, Paul. And not just over the CEO job. He doesn’t want you with his mother.”
Paul downed half his tequila in one gulp. Feeling it burning inside him, he muttered, “The kid’s crazy.”
“He needs help, I agree,” Melissa said. “He might do something violent.”
“Violent?”
“It was scary,” she said. “I thought he was going to turn on me.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?”
She stared down into her wine. “I … to tell you the truth, Paul, I was afraid to. I was almost glad when he told me he wanted to end it.”
Jesus, Paul thought. Her job is to handle cases of discrimination and sexual harassment, and she can’t even take care of herself.
“He had to get real teed off about it,” she went on, almost in a whisper. “He couldn’t just tell me he wanted to end it. He had to get raving and yelling like some monster. I thought he was going to belt me.”
“Greg?” Paul couldn’t believe what she was saying.
But Melissa nodded solemnly. “Underneath all that self-control he’s a wild man. He’s like a bomb, all wound up tight and ready to explode.”
“Maybe we ought to get the company shrink to look him over.”
“You’d have to tie him hand and foot first.”
Paul finished his tequila and motioned to the bartender for another. Inevitably he invited Melissa to have dinner with him, and they made their way—Paul just a bit unsteadily—down the stairs to the venerable Fourneau’s Ovens.
“Like old times,” Melissa said, smiling at him.
“Yeah,” Paul agreed. Old times. Life was a lot simpler then. No ties, no responsibilities.
As they sat across the table from each other Paul thought. It was a mistake to get married. Joanna doesn’t love me. She just wants me to run the company for her until Greg’s old enough to take over. Marrying me kept it in the family, put me under her control. She doesn’t love me at all. We had better sex when we were sneaking around behind Gregory’s back.
Do I love her? The question startled him. He stared at Melissa, coolly beautiful, just an arm’s length away. The street outside was darkening into evening, people were walking by, the sky was fading from pink to violet. He remembered their times in bed together. No holds barred; no questions asked. Just pure physical pleasure.
Do I love Joanna? he asked
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