Michael Crichton - Disclosure

"You worked for Meredith, in Cupertino."

"Yes."

"And you left there two years ago?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave?"

"Why do you think?" Ely said, in a burst of anger. His voice echoed off the tiles. "You know why, for Christ's sake. Everybody knows why. She made my life hell."

"What happened?" Sanders asked.

"What happened." Ely shook his head, remembering. "Every day, every day. `Robert, would you stay late, we have some things to go over.' After a while, I tried to make excuses. Then she would say, `Robert, I'm not sure you're showing the proper dedication to this company.' And she would put little comments in my performance review. Subtle little negative things. Nothing that I could complain about. But they were there. Piling up. `Robert, I think you need my help here. Why don't you see me after work.' `Robert, why don't you drop by my apartment and we'll discuss it. I really think you should.' I was-it was terrible. The, uh, person I was living with did not, uh… I was in a real bind."

"Did you report her?"

Ely laughed harshly. "Are you kidding? She's practically a member of Garvin's family."

"So you just put up with it…"

Ely shrugged. "Finally, the person I was living with got another job. When he came up here, I transferred, too. I mean, of course I wanted to go. It just worked out all around."

"Would you make a statement about Meredith now?"

"Not a chance."

"You realize," Sanders said, "that the reason she gets away with it is that nobody reports her."

Ely pushed away from the sink. "I have enough problems in my life without going public on this." He went to the door, paused, and turned back. `Just so you're clear: I've got nothing to say on the subject of Meredith Johnson. If anybody asks, I'll say our working relationship was correct at all times. And I'll also say that I never met you."

Meredith Johnson? Of course I remember her," Richard Jackson said. "I worked for her for more than a year." Sanders was in Jackson's office on the second floor of the Aldus Building, on the south side of Pioneer Square. Jackson was a good-looking man of thirty, with the hearty manner of an ex-athlete. He was a marketing manager at Aldus; his office was friendly, cluttered with product boxes for graphics programs: Intellidraw, Freehand, SuperPaint, and Pagemaker.

"Beautiful and charming woman," Jackson said. "Very intelligent. Always a pleasure."

Sanders said, "I was wondering why you left."

"I was offered this job, that's why. And I've never regretted it. Wonderful job. Wonderful company. I've had a great experience here."

"Is that the only reason you left?"

Jackson laughed. "You mean, did Meredith Manmuncher come on to me?" he said. "Hey, is the Pope Catholic? Is Bill Gates rich? Of course she came on to me."

"Did that have anything to do with your leaving?"

"No, no,"Jackson said. "Meredith came on to everybody. She's sort of an equal opportunity employer, in that respect. She chased everybody. When I first started in Cupertino, she had this little gay guy she used to chase around the table. Terrorized the poor bastard. Little skinny nervous guy. Christ, she used to make him tremble."

"And you?"

Jackson shrugged. "I was a single guy, just starting out. She was beautiful. It was okay with me."

"You never had any difficulties?"

"Never. Meredith was fabulous. Shitty lay, of course. But you can't have everything. She's a very intelligent, very beautiful woman. Always dressed great. And she liked me, so she took me to all these functions. I met people, made contacts. It was great."

"So you saw nothing wrong?"

"Not a damn thing," Jackson said. "She could get a little bossy. That got old. There were a couple of other women I was seeing, but I always had to be on call for her. Even at the last minute. That could be irritating sometimes. You begin to think your life is not your own. And she's got a mean temper sometimes. But what the hell. You do what you have to do. Now I'm assistant manager here at thirty. I'm doing great. Great company. Great town. Great future. And I owe it to her. She's great."

Sanders said, "You were an employee of the company at the time that you were having your relationship, isn't that right?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Isn't she required by company policy to report any relationship with an employee? Did she report her relationship with you?"

"Christ, no,"Jackson said. He leaned across his desk. "Let's get one thing straight, just between you and me. I think Meredith is great. If you have a problem with her, it's your problem. I don't know what it could be. You used to live with her, for Christ's sake. So there can't be any surprises. Meredith likes to fuck guys. She likes to tell them to do this, do that. She likes to order them around. That's who she is. And I don't see anything wrong with it."

Sanders said, "I don't suppose you'd-"

"Make a statement?" Jackson said. "Get serious. Listen, there's a lot of bullshit around now. I hear things like, `You can't go out with the people you work with.' Christ, if I couldn't go out with the people I worked with, I'd still be a virgin. That's all anybody can go out with the people you work with. That's the only people you get to know. And sometimes those people are your superiors. Big deal. Women screw men and get ahead. Men screw women and get ahead. Everybody's going to screw everybody else anyway, if they can. Because they want to. I mean, women are just as hot as men. They want it just like we do. That's real life. But you get some people who are pissed off, so they file a complaint, and say, `Oh no, you can't do that to me.' I'm telling you, it's all bullshit. Like these sensitivity training seminars we all have to go to. Everybody sits there with their hands in their laps like a fucking Red Guard meeting, learning the correct way to address your fellow workers. But afterward everybody goes out and fucks around, the same as they always did. The assistants go, `Oh, Mr. Jackson, have you been to the gym? You look so.strong.' Batting their eyelashes. So what am I supposed to do? You can't make rules about this. People get hungry, they eat. Doesn't matter how many meetings they attend. This is all a gigantic jerk off. And anybody who buys into it is an asshole."

"I guess you answered my question," Sanders said. He got up to leave. Obviously, Jackson wasn't going to help him.

"Look," Jackson said. "I'm sorry you've got a problem here. But everyone's too damned sensitive these days. I see people now, kids right out of college, and they really think they should never experience an unpleasant moment. Nobody should ever say anything they don't like, or tell a joke they don't like. But the thing is, nobody can make the world be the way they want it to be all the time. Things always happen that embarrass you or piss you off. That's life. I hear women telling jokes about men every day. Offensive jokes. Dirty jokes. I don't get bent out of shape. Life is great. Who has time for this crap? Not me."

Sanders came out of the Aldus Building at five o'clock. Tired and discouraged, he trudged back toward the Hazzard Building. The streets were wet, but the rain had stopped, and the afternoon sunlight was trying to break through the clouds.

He was back in his office ten minutes later. Cindy was not at her desk, and Fernandez was gone. He felt deserted and alone and hopeless. He sat down and dialed the final number on his list.

"Squire Electronic Data Systems, good evening."

Sanders said, "Frederic Cohen's office, please."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cohen has gone for the day."

"Do you know how I could reach him?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Do you want to leave voice mail?"

Damn, he thought. What was the point? But he said, "Yes, please." There was a click. Then, "Hi, this is Fred Cohen. Leave a message at the tone. If it's after hours, you can try me on my car phone at 502-8804 or my home at 505-9943."