The Good Sister

"A hopeless situation," stated the most melancholy

"But what's going to be done to her?" asked the fattest.

"He's gonna have her ass," spoke up Lilly, forgetting herself, "I don't blame her for being unhappy. I hate that myself." Her collar buzzed. "Shit!" she cried out and bounced deliciously.

"I shall get to that next," said the richest, ignoring the interruption.

"Wait though," said the oldest, "I've always wondered how Clara got into such a relationship. She seemed quite a shy girl. When David brought her here to the club, which he sometimes did, she could never be comfortable, not that his antics helped any!"

The richest member sighed, "Well, in the interests of time, I was just going to proceed to the concluding events which show how they resolved to everyone's satisfaction the issues our friend finds so hopeless, but if you have no objections, I'll be happy to relate the whole history. Janetta has written it up in full."

There were no objections, but the fattest put in, "We need more supplies. Another round and this time some of those tasty scallop jobs as well and a double order of the brioche?"

So Janetta and Lilly were once again dispatched. This time they returned without misadventure, though the same woman called to Janetta as they passed, "The offer's is still open, sweetpea."

The richest member recommenced:

"They met when she interviewed for a job at David's company. The conference room where she was interviewed had glass for three of its walls. One side looked to where the receptionist sat, one side looked out over a maze of cubes, one side had a real window that looked out over the parking lot. She said she felt like a guppy in a fish bowl, there solely for people to look at.

"She said she managed all right when it was just her prospective peers and her prospective boss. But when at the end, three hours later, David came in to speak to her, she says she all but lost it.

"She did not know who he was and could only remember that he was important. He offered her a bottle of spring water and though she desperately wanted it, the book of interviewing tips she'd read said not to accept such things so she shook her head, unable to manage even a 'no thanks'.

"He asked her to describe what she'd done one summer when she'd worked on an NSF funded research project at Stanford. She managed a couple words and then petered out.

"He asked about the work she'd done for her masters project. She'd built a test bed to teach undergrads about multiprocessing systems. All she could manage to say was that her adviser liked it.

"He asked how much experience she'd had with unit tests and she forced out 'some' after several attempts.

"The only thing that saved her was that next he gave her a programming problem to do. Somehow she got up and made her way to the white board. The problem turned out to be interesting and she forgot everything while working it out. She didn't even consider how she looked to him, especially when stretching to write at the top of the board.

"When she finished and turned to look at him and saw him looking at her, she said she was struck dumb again. Her insides melted."

"So she just fell into his hands right away," said the oldest member with some disappointment.

The richest sipped his whiskey, "David says he came away from the interview with the impression of a very competent but very nervous person and little more. He admired her (who wouldn't?) and before she'd started on the problem, when he'd been thinking "no way are we going to hire this one", he'd been idling some thoughts in his mind on how to approach her after she'd been turned down.

"When they hired her, David put all such thoughts away. Business always came first for him."

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For several months little happened. She did her tasks quickly and well. She learned that the mystery man who'd interviewed her was the company's president and major stock holder. The company had gone public the year before. He was her boss's boss's boss. He'd interviewed her because the VP of Engineering was out of town. Would she have met him otherwise? Most likely not as her cube was as far from his office as it could be. She saw him a couple times in the parking lot, once on the other side of the cafeteria, and once when a bunch went out for drinks after work. He'd been far down the table then, with a couple executive types. Every time she saw him she felt hopeless.

She checked him out on the web. She found business bios and after digging, a couple pictures of his daughter, one of her winning a prize at a horse show. She was a pretty blond girl who was attending Sweet Briar College.

She made a comparative timeline.

David graduated from Princeton in 1975. She was born in 1975.

He got married in 1977. She was toddling in 1977.

His daughter was born in 1980. She started kindergarten in 1980.

He and a friend started his first company in 1985. She was in 4th grade.

That company was sold for 500 million in 1987. She was in 6th grade.

He started his second company in 1988. Her periods started.

His marriage broke up and his second company failed in 1991. She was a sophomore in High School.

He started his third company in 1996. She was a junior at Cornell.

In 2000, he interviewed her. She took the job.

The last was of no consequence to him. She felt depressed and hopeless, like time had cheated her.

Since his divorce she could find nothing about his private life. She thought about what the two failures must've been like for him, so close together.

Why did she keep thinking about him? Partially it was the humiliation of that interview. She couldn't believe it when she got hired. She didn't like anyone to think she was a complete moron.

It wasn't from some fixation with her father. Though he was her father's age, David didn't look at all like her Dad. David was tanned and tall and in good shape. Her Dad was on the short side and tended to weight if he didn't watch out. David's hair was brown and thick. Her Dad's was gray and vanishing. Being attracted to an older man seemed wrong.

Passing through the kitchenette at work on coffee runs, she kept her ears open for gossip. She overheard that he was thought to be dating the weather person who graced the Richmond CBS station. She learned he lived out in the Virginia horse country on a hundred acres. When the company'd had its first profitable quarter, he'd thrown a barbecue which the longer time workers still sometimes spoke of. When the company had gone public, the bash had been at the Ritz-Carlton in Tyson's Corner. When reminiscing, the barbecue was rated much higher.

The chatterers always griped about his meddling.

He told her later that he got as involved as time allowed in testing the company's products. He actually had assignments from the QA group. He felt this was the best way to keep in touch with what was going on. A person would say anything about a project's status in a meeting but there was no hiding code that didn't work.

His terse, couple line, out of the blue emails about defects were what people objected to most.

Twice she got such e-mails. One reported a stupid mistake of hers. The vexation nearly brought her to tears. 10 seconds to fix, days to forget. The other pointed out a miscommunicated requirement. That one took her all night to sort out.

Then he sent her mail about problems in a project she had nothing to do with. She went to her boss and asked. Linda frowned briefly then shrugged and laughed. She said that he did that. Ran roughshod over the organization. It was annoying but he was usually right. She told Clara to hop to it as it was critical to have that bit working.

What Clara found was a mess of poorly written code thrown together in haste. She found that the test code had been patched to let the thing pass. She spent the weekend on it and got it working at 7 Monday morning. She had time to shower, ignore an incredulous Danielle and leave for work.

Outside she found herself in the midst of a particularly vile ice storm. Freezing rain coated the walks with ice, tree limbs sagged and snapped. She'd had no idea this was going on. She had just her sweatshirt for protection. She'd hunched over and proceeded anyway, slipping and sliding to her car. She barely managed to inch out of the as yet untreated parking lot. Her windshield was a blur of ice.

No one else got into the office before noon. Though she was mad enough about the code to spit, all she said to her boss when asked was that it'd just needed a different pair of eyes to sort out.

She heard in the office kitchen, while getting the coffee she desperately needed to keep her head off her desk, that David'd broken up with the weather person. "That's why we're getting this run of shit weather," one of the chatterers'd said.

She'd felt a jolt of hope. In her exhausted state, it felt almost like the thrust of a cock. She'd banished the feeling quickly. So far she'd heard nothing from him, not even thanks for spending the weekend hunched over her laptop and then needlessly braving ghastly weather to come in to an empty office.

Two weeks later the project she was now entangled with was still a mess. Some of the code had been written off shore, some in the office and it looked like no one had spoken to anyone while writing it.

She got an email from him asking her to come to his office.

She walked down the path between the cubes. It felt like the Appalachian Trail it was so long and arduous.

She stepped into his office. He had his phone to his ear. She stood in front of his desk. She felt so nervous.

"Great," he said, "Thanks so much Nathan."

He said to her: "My neighbors can feed my daughter's horses. You're OK for tonight?"

Her eyes widened. She felt confused but hot with unlikely hope. Her gaze darted over his features then down to his desk. His expression was opaque to her. She wished that she'd dressed better. She wore jeans and a tee shirt, like all the other software types.

"You had no plans?" he persisted.

He saw her confusion. "I cleared it with Linda. She agreed it was a good idea."

His expression flitted through amusement to consideration.

"She said she would explain," he said.

Clara flushed even more. For a second she wasn't sure she could speak. Whatever he meant, she'd entirely misunderstood. She felt stupid and angry with herself. She forced out: "I was out of my cube. Linda's in a meeting. About our current sorry state I think. There were two emails. One from her and one from you. I only looked at yours."

He regarded her a moment in silence.

David says that didn't notice her clothes, beyond thinking she looked nice in them. He was quite excited by the flush in her face, by the way her hands kept fluttering nervously about. He thought her like a hidden website full of unknown tunes. His company had the key to one of them. Breaking in would be amusing, he thought, then a quick listen should suffice.

"We've got performance problems," he said, paying no obvious attention to her embarrassed awkwardness. "I figure if I run the test code and use the interface, you can watch what's going on and have a chance at figuring out some of the problems. It's the best way I can help. We have important demos tomorrow and if we don't perform adequately or if it hangs up altogether it will be a big embarrassment."

They did not leave the office till 1AM. They occupied a conference room, the same in which she'd been interviewed. He ordered pizza. Sometimes he used the interface while the test harness ran in the background and she watched monitors and profilers. Once she called up someone for help configuring more diagnostics. He studied spreadsheets, spoke to an overseas office. The other workers evaporated and the cleaning crew manifested themselves and then also dematerialized. She hardly noticed. She imagined what she would do if he made a pass at her. She imagined being fucked on the conference room table, the only lit object in a dark space. At midnight she shouted "Got it!". It took another hour to code the fix and run the tests.

They walked out together through the office. The only light came from the emergency lights which left crazy patterns of darkness. They walked side by side, silent and tired, down the hall to the elevator. As it descended she looked at her feet. Please ask me to come home with you, she thought.

He was parked close to the building and she in a far corner. She said "I'm fine, you don't have to walk with me."

To her dissatisfaction, he took her at her word and did not accompany her. When she turned, she saw that he was standing by his car. He didn't open its door until she'd started her little Civic and was floating out the empty lot to the highway.

That Saturday morning, USPS express mail delivered a package to her apartment. Danielle went down to get it. "What's with this express shit?" she asked.

"Work," Clara said, Danielle looked skeptical. Clara took it to her room and closed the door.

It contained a GPS with a car charger and a note. The note said, "When you get a text from me, take your work laptop, go to your car, start the GPS and follow its directions. Don't look at the address. If you find yourself driving down a boat ramp into the Potomac or worse, entering Pennsylvania, (these devices are far from infallible as yet), call. The text will have the number. When you arrive, send a text and the garage door will open. Park in the garage. Ring the bell on the door to the house."

"Acquiring satellites" was the first thing the GPS said to her. Then, "Turn right on Arlington St."

Half an hour later, in rural Virginia, it told her to "Turn left onto Mosby Rd." She looked at the dusty dirt Mosby Rd. She almost stopped and called. However she was definitely not in the howling wilderness. The houses around were large, set far from the road and were surrounded by green immaculate pastures with the occasional pond.

She made the turn. A dusty cloud rose behind her little Civic. She felt a little faint when it told her to turn right into a long driveway. There was a mailbox and a fenced enclosure for recycling and garbage cans. She drove up the drive. A pair of horses grazed and paid her car no mind.

For the first time she sent the text and the blue garage door rumbled up before her. For the first time she walked to the door to the house.

She rang the bell and the door clicked, the only time it would not make her wait. For the first time she entered the large kitchen with it's gleaming gray and white tile floor and shining granite counters. It was empty. She was ungreeted.

"Hello?" she called first softly and then a little louder.

Hesitantly she made her way through the kitchen. She looked very sweet. How was she dressed? She had dithered about that most of the morning. She'd picked simple. Tan slacks and a light green sleeveless blouse and sandals. She'd thrown a dress in the back seat of her car in case. It would be the last time she'd be wearing summer wear. Over her shoulder she had her canvas messenger bag. It had her laptop tucked away inside.

There was a kind of passage way, to the right was a high ceilinged hall, to the left the back door. Sun poured in the back door's window. In front of her was the dining room. David sat at one end of a polished oak table. He had his laptop open.

He waved to the other end. "Set up there," he said.

She looked at the table. Almost without comprehending.

"I've assigned you our top priority bug. You'll find it in your email."

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling dull and misled. So it was just work. She wanted to say, "I'm going home. I can work on it there."

Mechanically she took out her computer. The power cord just reached. She sat down. She felt they must look like some ludicrous married couple, sitting on either end of a long polished table, only with open laptops instead of plates. There was even a vase with flowers in the middle.

She opened the email and looked at the bug's description. She tried to force her mind into its logical problem solving mode.

"I thought we'd make it a bit interesting," he said. "When you've fixed it, we'll share a bottle of wine in the living room. I'll light a fire. If it takes you longer than 2 hours, say if you aren't done by four, it's almost two now, there will be consequences."

Clara asked uncertainly, "These consequences would be?"

"For me to decide," was the answer.

"If less?" she asked, "If I finish before 4?"

"You'll have avoided those consequences and have the satisfaction of having fixed a high priority bug. You'll have that satisfaction either way of course and that's the important thing."

"I should leave," she thought, but she sat still.

"As you work, I will now and then think up little annoyances to impede you. The goal being to amuse myself and to challenge you." He smiled easily, "Ready?"

Again she thought, "Leave." She looked at him for what seemed an eternity. She knew if she left, she'd never have another chance.

"Tongue tied again?" he asked. "You need to work on that. I'm sure it'll be noted in your review: 'Freezes when spoken to by authority.' Now it's costing you time. Ready?"

She nodded.

"I need a verbal agreement, Clara."

"OK," she said.

"Get to work then," he said and looked down at his laptop and began to type.

She thought about the word consequences. The annoyances would likely be things like loud music. But the consequences? What would they be? Sending her home was the worse she could think of.

She shook her head. Five minutes had marched past. She opened a secure connection to the office network and brought up the project and began to work at reproducing the problem.

He picked up his cell and was shortly talking, "Hey Sashii, I need a report on the progress..." Definitely an annoyance, she thought, but easy to deal with.

After 10 minutes he said, "Come here please."

She rose and walked hesitantly down the length of the table.

"Closer," he said. When her knee all but touched his chair, he took from a pocket a slim blue band of velvet. "Put this around your neck."

She did. "Tighter," he said. Its velcro made a ripping sound as she undid and redid it.

"Back to work," he told her.

She had no sooner gotten her mind back on the problem then she heard a buzz and felt a sharp pain where the collar pressed her throat.

"Shit, that hurt," she said glaring at him.

"Not so much," he said calmly. "I tried it on myself when I purchased it. That was some time ago, but I doubt it's grown worse from use."

He made another phone call.

She had trouble concentrating. The collar felt tight on her throat. The meanings of words annoyances and consequences had changed. The phrase "worse from use" echoed in her head. The collar had stung other women before her. "Do I want this to continue?" she asked herself.

She had just forced herself to think again on the bug when he said, "Please stand." And when she had, "Now undress."

"What?" she asked. Again she told herself to leave. She stood still, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Just 2 English words Clara, what was there not to understand?"

Her fair skin flushed an unlikely red.

"Can't you follow instructions, Clara?"

That struck a chord. Her hands moved to her waist and she freed her blouse from her slacks. She felt the cool air conditioned air on her stomach and back. "My God I'm going to do it," she thought to herself in surprise.

She unbuttoned and shrugged out of her blouse. She folded it neatly and laid it on the table. Then her bra.

She looked at him then, wondering if she had the nerve to be a little slow and flirtatious. He was looking at his laptop.

With a frown of vexation, she pulled down her slacks, hooking her underpants so they slid off at the same time. While bent she undid her sandals and took them off. She folded her pants with quick neatness and laid them on the blouse making a neat square pile. She bent and picked up her sandals and set them on top as if to keep any stray breeze from disarranging her work.