Disclosure_ A Novel - Michael Crichton [64]
“Oh boy.” She bent over, picked up her purse from the floor, and pulled out her day organizer.
He said, “I don’t want you or the kids to be involved. I don’t want anybody pushing a news camera in their faces, Susan.”
“Well, just a minute . . .” She ran her finger down her appointments. “I can move that . . . And . . . conference call . . . Yes.” She looked up. “Yes. I can leave for a few days.” She glanced at her watch. “I guess I better hurry and pack.”
He stood up and walked outside the restaurant with her. It was raining; the light on the street was gray and bleak. She looked up at him and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, Tom. Be careful.”
He could see that she was frightened. It made him frightened, too.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I love you,” she said. And then she walked quickly away in the rain. He waited for a moment to see if she looked back at him, but she never did.
Walking back to his office, he suddenly realized how alone he felt. Susan was leaving with the kids. He was on his own now. He had imagined he would feel relieved, free to act without restraint, but instead he felt abandoned and at risk. Chilled, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his raincoat.
He hadn’t handled the lunch with Susan well. And she would be going off, mulling over his answers.
Why didn’t you tell me?
He hadn’t answered that well. He hadn’t been able to express the conflicting feelings he had experienced last night. The unclean feeling, and the guilt, and the sense that he had somehow done something wrong, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.
You could have told me.
He hadn’t done anything wrong, he told himself. But then why hadn’t he told her? He had no answer to that. He passed a graphics shop, and a plumbing supply store with white porcelain fixtures in a window display.
You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to.
But that made no sense. Why wouldn’t he want to tell her? Once again, his thoughts were interrupted by images from the past: the white garter belt . . . a bowl of popcorn . . . the stained-glass flower on the door to his apartment.
Cut the crap, Tom. This has nothing to do with me.
Blood in the white bathroom sink, and Meredith laughing about it. Why was she laughing? He couldn’t remember now; it was just an isolated image. A stewardess putting a tray of airline food in front of him. A suitcase on the bed. The television sound turned off. The stained-glass flower, in gaudy orange and purple.
Have you talked to Max?
She was right about that, he thought. He should talk to Max. And he would, right after he gave Blackburn the bad news.
Sanders was back at his office at two-thirty. He was surprised to find Blackburn there, standing behind Sanders’s desk, talking on his phone. Blackburn hung up, looking a little guilty. “Oh, Tom. Good. I’m glad you’re back.” He walked back around Sanders’s desk. “What have you decided?”
“I’ve thought this over very carefully,” Sanders said, closing the door to the hallway.
“And?”
“I’ve decided to retain Louise Fernandez of Marin, Howard to represent me.”
Blackburn looked puzzled. “To represent you?”
“Yes. In the event it becomes necessary to litigate.”
“Litigate,” Blackburn said. “On what basis would you litigate, Tom?”
“Sexual harassment under Title VII,” Sanders said.
“Oh, Tom,” Blackburn said, making a mournful face. “That would be unwise. That would be very unwise. I urge you to reconsider.”
“I’ve reconsidered all day,” Sanders said. “But the fact is, Meredith Johnson harassed me, she made advances to me and I turned her down. Now she’s a woman scorned, and she is being vindictive toward me. I’m prepared to sue if it comes to that.”
“Tom . . .”
“That’s it, Phil. That’s what’ll happen if you transfer me out of the division.”
Blackburn threw up his hands. “But what do you expect us to do? Transfer Meredith?”
“Yes,” Sanders said. “Or fire her. That’s the usual thing one does with a harassing supervisor.”
“But you forget: she’s accused you of harassment, too.”
“She’s lying,” Sanders said.
“But there are no witnesses, Tom. No evidence either way.