Melissa Good: Tropical Storm

THE ALARM BURRED softly, nudging the somnolent figure sprawled over the waterbed toward wakefulness. One long arm reached over and slapped the snooze bar, then moved back to its resting place, even though the pre-dawn gloom reflected off pale eyes that were already open, and gazing at the dull white of the ceiling.

Tiny clicks and hisses of the ice machine in the kitchen and the soft hum of the central air cycling were the only sounds that stirred the darkness, save for the soft breathing of the occupant of the bed. Finally, that breathing expanded into a sigh, and the waveless mattress rustled as the tall figure rolled up out of bed, and padded across polished teak wood floors into a pale salmon, marble-floored bathroom. The light flicked on, causing an audible groan, then the water ran in the marble sink, splashing loudly as it hit warm skin.

The reluctant riser finished wiping off the excess water with a soft towel, then faced its reflection. “Morning.” Pale blue eyes set in an angular, high-cheekboned face looked back, framed in dark, shoulder-length hair that just now was lying in disordered layers above a high, strong forehead. The voice was a warm contralto, slightly hoarse from sleep, and the lips that formed the word quirked into an ironic smile as they got no answer.

The light from the bathroom streamed across the wooden floor, guiding the tall woman’s way as she moved through the bedroom and into the living room beyond. She stepped barefoot across the soft Berber rugs scattered over the warm ceramic tiles and ended up in the kitchen.

Another flick and the recessed lighting came on, bringing the rich blue and white room to life, gleaming dully off the royal blue tile countertops and the rippled surface of the white appliances. Only the refrigerator was out of scheme—it was stainless steel, as befitted its commercial origins.

On the countertop, next to a sleek coffee machine and a well-used blender, was a computer terminal, dark except for a blinking box in the lower right corner. “On,” she told it. “Mail.”

“Mail,” it obediently responded. “Dar Roberts, six messages, two urgent.”

“Read.” She yawned, and moved to the coffee machine, punching the On button and watching as the slow stream of water impacted the grounds she’d prepared the night before. In the background, the computer patiently read her messages.

2 Melissa Good Urgent

Sent by: John Dierhdoh

Subject: Associated Synergenics

Time: 4:32 AM.

Hey, Dar, the Associated Synergenics deal went

through. They passed diligence late last night, so we need to get a pirate squad in there. Lucky for me it’s in your neck of the woods. Let me know how the raping and pillaging goes, all right?

John D.

“Mmm.” Dar turned around, and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not bad...not bad. Next.”

Urgent

Sent by: Lou Draefus

Subject: Preliminary Budgets

Time: 2:53 AM.

Dar—

The preliminary budgets are in. We’re counting on

your talents to make them fit. Call me when you get in the office.

Duks.

“Damn.” Dar sighed. “Dukky, you know I hate budgets. Just give me a damn number, and I’ll fit it in. Don’t make me argue all morning over how many pencils to allocate to the damn SBU.”

“Do you wish to send reply?” the computer inquired, having caught her preprogrammed keyword “Dukky.”

Dar checked the transcript of what it had just recorded. “Send.”

“Thank you,” the computer replied. “Next message…” It continued, going over more ordinary matters while she grabbed a bowl and poured cereal into it, then opened the refrigerator and held the bowl under a milk dispenser, listening to the pleasant crackle as the liquid infiltrated between the dry flakes. She applied a spoon to her breakfast and leaned back against the counter again as the messages finished playing. “Only six. Not bad.”

The computer chimed. “Incoming meeting request: Video, Alastair M.”

Dar silently cursed under her breath, then sighed. “Go.” A light popped on the small egg-shaped camera on the top of the monitor, and a picture window opened up on the screen, displaying a cherubic, round-faced man in his mid-fifties, dressed immaculately in gray pinstripe with a dark blue tie perfectly knotted around his thick neck. His hands were folded on the mahogany desk in front of him. When his eyes shifted to his own screen and saw her, a smile edged onto his fatherly features.

“Now that’s the way I like to start my morning. Dar Roberts in her underwear,” the Chairman of the Board chortled.

Dar continued to eat, merely giving him a look. “You just broke EEOC, Alastair. We’re gonna have to do something about you someday.” It was a Tropical Storm 3

joke and they both knew it. EEOC was strictly adhered to in the company, up to a certain level. Once employees got beyond that, they became “one of the boys” and were expected to develop a thick skin along with it. Dar, as a corporate vice president, was beyond that level, and so had to put up with remarks about her looks from the upper echelon all the time. Fortunately , she considered, at least they’re compliments . She’d heard the cruel remarks directed towards a few of the other senior women execs, especially Ellen Evans in Finance, who was battling a weight problem among other things.

Alastair chuckled. “You can do anything you like to me, sweetheart, anytime. Just call Bea and have her schedule you up here, all right?”

The tall, dark-haired woman crossed her legs. “Careful, Alastair. At your age, you gotta watch your heart. I don’t think you could handle me.” This kind of verbal sparring was something she frequently enjoyed with the CEO, and she suspected he did as well.

The chairman grinned. “Don’t you worry, I’ll have a Viagra milkshake beforehand.” Then he cleared his throat. “All right, enough fun, though I’m enjoying both the view and the conversation. That Associated deal.” Now his hazel eyes went serious, almost predatory. “I need it in at fifty percent, Dar.”

Dar stopped chewing for a minute, and stared at him. “Fifty? Do you want to also continue to do business, or just scrap them?”

The company acquired accounts by offering to outsource their business at a lesser cost. When they took over, it was up to Dar, and other execs at her level, to scour the resources they took over and find a way to meet that cost, the usual method being to cut staff, which was always the biggest expense in the IT field. Ten to twenty percent was their average cost reduction, though Dar was famous for pushing the line, and had achieved thirty-five percent in her last two accounts. “If it’s scrap, I’ll just turn it over to Duk’s folks, and forget about it,” she said, “ I’m not going to waste my time counting pennies out there.”

Alastair shook his gray head. “I need it, Dar. We’ve got the stockholders meeting coming up in two months, and I have to post third quarter before that. With the budget the way it is, and that fiasco with United Telecom, either you give me Associated at fifty percent, or we’re not going to show double-digit growth, and you know what that means.” He gave her a smile. “C’mon, I know you can do it. And when you do, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Dar sighed. “No more surprises, Alastair, huh? The last time you almost killed me when you made me drive that damn Lincoln down here.”

“Tch tch...grumpy this morning, aren’t we?” The CEO laughed. “No. It’s better than that, I promise.”