Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [120]
“I just want to talk,” Sanders said.
“Not here,” Ely said.
“Then let’s go to the conference room,” Sanders said. They walked down the hall to a small conference room, but a meeting was being held there. Sanders suggested they go to the little cafeteria in the corner of Accounting, but Ely told him that wouldn’t be private. He was growing more nervous by the minute.
“Really, I have nothing to tell you,” he kept saying. “There’s nothing, really nothing.”
Sanders knew he had better find a quiet place at once, before Ely bolted and ran. They ended up in the men’s room—white tile, spotlessly clean. Ely leaned against a sink. “I don’t know why you are talking to me. I don’t have anything I can tell you.”
“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