Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [104]
“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 I 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 late-night 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.”