The Protocol of Ahab Ch. 05

As expected, the schedule did not hold. Peter was available for my interview at ten to five. I sat across his desk as he fumbled with a large brown folder; the file Rachel maintained on each of her employees. I mentally rehearsed the interview and try to anticipate what would be asked. He began by presenting his thirty second bio and reviewed his tenure with the company. Then it was my turn. I outlined my academic credentials and gave thumbnail sketches of the projects I worked on since arriving. I did not touch on my personal life.

The clock crept past five as I was speaking, and he held up a hand to interrupt. "It is quitting time. I don't want to keep you late so we can continue this tomorrow." I nodded OK but added "I don't mind staying if you want to finish." He paused for a moment as if deep in thought. He was about Rachel's age, maybe a year or so older, but was meticulous in his appearance; hair perfectly combed, fingernails glistening clean, clothes pressed with knife edge creases. I doubted if he ever loaded a greasy bicycle in the front seat of his car.

He smiled, "It won't take too long" he added as he continued. It was satisfactorily concluded in about 20 more minutes. There was nothing earth shattering about the interview just, 'Keep up the good work'.

Rachel's car was still parked on the lot when I left. I considered going back in and looking for her but decided against it. She moved on and best to get over her as quickly as possible. I did not button my coat or put on a hat. The cold was bitter, but I didn't care. Why was I so tortured? She moved on and I had to get on with my life too.

I was heading down the hill towards the light rail tracks when a sleek black coupe with tinted windows slowed next to me and the window lowered. It was Peter. He leaned over and asked curtly, "Need a lift?"

I wanted to use my walk to sort things out and did not desire company. 'This is my new boss' I thought, and I am drained. "OK" I answered back; he opened the door and I slid onto the leather seat. "This is quite nice" I commented as I mentally compared the interior with Rachel's rattletrap two-seater. Without speaking he continued down the hills and across the tracks. "Just take me up to Falls Road. That is close enough." He turned and smiled. "It's no trouble and I did notice you address in your file. This is not out of my way."

I sat back and regretted the five-minute ride. "How did you like working for Rachel?" My heart sank. I did not expect to be confronted by her ghost so soon. "I liked working for Rachel" I began. "She treated me fairly. She was helpful but she didn't meddle. She made it pleasant to work for her." I waited for my comments to settle in. "She sounds like a good boss. What was she like outside of the office?" I became suspicious. "I really don't know," I lied, "She never talked about her personal life. I would see her at the company happy hours and only talked a little about surfing or cycling nothing really personal."

The car eased to a stop at Falls Road. "You can let me out here. It is only a block or so." I pleaded gently trying not to sound timid. "It is no problem I have to go back to pick up the expressway. I live farther out in the county." Whether this was an idle comment or meant to impress me I could not tell but the car slowed to a stop in front of the row house. "Tell me about yourself." he asked casually. "Why did you leave Nebraska? That was a long trek for just an average job. Surely you could have gotten a job closer to home."

Normally I would have brushed the question aside, but I was weary, so I chose the shortest explanation. "I needed a change of scenery. Did not have good reason for heading here, just had a job offer." I was aware it sounded a bit lame but didn't want to expound. "Did you leave a boyfriend there?" I caught him glancing at my left hand. "No boyfriend. Just a husband. We separated." My abruptness must have taken him by surprise. "I see. I did not mean to pry. Divorced?" As I walked up the steps, I looked back and added "Not yet just separated."

"Have a good night." He called, "Maybe next time we can stop for a drink." I offered a noncommittal wave and continued up the steps.

He waited until I opened the door, then tapped on the horn and drove off. "He is somewhat attractive" I mused indifferently. Once inside I checked the answering machine for messages. None! Maybe it is for the best.

I awoke early and walked to the office in the dark. Rachel's car was already parked at the far entrance which the Sales and Marketing people used. I stuck to my office all day and when I left her car was gone. I did not like being ignored like that, but I realized I had to get used to it even though I suddenly felt lonely and a bit desperate. Rachel was the first person to invite me anywhere the first person to make me feel welcome. I would have been miserable if she had not been around.

I was so self-absorbed with feeling sorry for myself, when I left for the day, I did not notice the car slow to a crawl beside me. A short beep of the horn startled me for a second until I recognized Peter. "Need a lift?" It was the same question as yesterday. I was cold and did not want company, but I accepted anyway. "Thanks" I offered, "I was a little wearier that I realized." The car seat was soft, comfortable, warm; just generally cozy. I fought the urge to doze off as I snuggled down into the smell of real leather. He followed the same route. "When will we do that drink?" he asked casually. I couldn't think of a witty reply or a reason to turn him down, so I smiled and said, "any time."

Peter took me at my word and turned right on a side road that ran along the falls and stopped at a restaurant which looked like it may have been a mill once. This was only a short diversion from my route to and from work, but I had never noticed it. As we entered, I scanned the crowd for any familiar faces but saw none. That put me at ease. I mulled over a Manhattan but decided instead for a soda water. Peter ordered a martini and continued his gentle inquiry into my life. I replied truthfully but refrained from giving too much detail. No, it was not an abusive relationship. Yes, I filed the separation papers. We have not finalized the paperwork or decided on the disposition of the communal property. "Listen!" be bent forward for emphasis, "I don't want to interfere but if you need a good lawyer, I have contacts. Contacts with a big firm they can even work in Nebraska." I thanked him.

After tiring of my rather prosaic life story, he proceeded to give me a glimpse of his. His family was well to do, and he was not ashamed of that. They provided all he wanted including an Ivy League education and class-A business school. He made contacts and landed a position with a venture capital firm. "It was like printing money" he exclaimed proudly. "It was almost too easy!" But he wanted something more than just backing winners and pocketing the money. He wanted to be a decision maker, a CEO, someone who ran a company. That is how he ended up with the small editorial and composition company in an industrial backwater in Baltimore.

"George is a really bright guy. He has big plans for this company, and I plan on being a big part of it. Just between us, there is a lot of expansion in the works, acquisition, mergers maybe. When the dust settles, I expect to be running something a lot more than the penny-ante shop we are today. Do you really think I would waste my time managing a measly group of editors if it wasn't part of a much larger scheme?"

Comparisons are odious, I recalled, but I could not help making the comparison between Peter and Rachel. Their style, their ego, their general comportment differed like night and day. With Rachel, I always felt at ease at work. I was always included. What she knew she shared; there was no secondary agenda. She enjoyed managing a small group. To me Peter was just the opposite. Being a manager had no value other than another step in empire building.

"How long do you plan on running the editorial group?" I asked rhetorically.

"Just until I get the hang of it. See how it operates. I don't need to get good at it, just to understand it. Same as when I was in business development." The last sentence caught my attention.

"Rachel is in business development now, isn't she?" I asked trying to figure out a connection, if one existed.

"She has my old job in BD. Six months there was all I needed. After this gig in editorial, I will move to production and then finance. By this time next year, George and I will be poised to take this to the next level. Probably some type of merger or acquisition."

'Where did Rachel fit in?' I wondered. 'Was she part of this scheme? Was I mistaken about her?' No matter how hard I tried I could not shake these nagging doubts.

"You can be part of it" Peter added with a wry smile. "There will be a substantial gain for anyone we choose to take along. I can be a tremendous opportunity if you play your cards right."

I wanted to speak to Rachel. I wanted to know what she knew. Was this another subtle set up on her part? I declined another drink citing chores I had to do.

Peter situated the car in a space barely outside the arc of the streetlight. "Did you have a good time?"

I sighed. "It was very pleasant" was my diplomatic response.

"George is holding a happy hour tomorrow. Will you be there?"

This was the after work social hosted by the company every couple weeks. It had slipped my mind, "It is at that micro-brew in midtown." I never went there but I knew the location. It was literally around the corner from Rachel's house. "I'll think about it. That is along the light rail line can get there easy enough. Let me say a tentative yes."

"Don't bother with the light rail. That is mass transit. It is called mass transit because it is for the masses, the masses of lower-class people." He reached his hand over and patted my knee, "I can ride you." I disliked his association between mass transit and lower-class people. While I ponder a response, he leaned towards me and added, "Is that OK?" I did not reply as he pressed his mouth on mine. He slipped his tongue into my mouth. I neither accepted nor rejected it but reflexively sucked it gently. His hand slid beneath my coat and felt what he could of my breast restrained by a bra beneath my blouse. I sublimated my real feelings and enjoyed the sensation.

He pulled away and whispered, "Shall we go inside?" I hesitated to gather my thoughts. "I know this sounds strange, but technically I am still married. Please don't rush me. Give me time." I got out of the car and looked back through the window. "Tomorrow! Happy hour!" Peter smiled, "You bet."

Again, he waited until I opened the door and turned on the light. I watched him pull away from the curb before I checked the answering machine. Nothing from Rachel. Hypocrite came to mind. If it had been a Vegas night, Peter and I would be rolling around here naked. Instead, I am alone and depressed. Why did I not accept his offer?

There was no sign of Rachel the next day, no car on the lot, no calls, no sighting. I accepted Peter's ride to the happy hour but tried to convey it is only a ride and not a date. We spoke little during the ride. As we drove past Rachel's street I strained to see if a light was on, or her car was nearby. I saw neither.

George greeted everyone at the door and directed the employees to a second-floor room. He also gave us a green wristband which let the waiters know to charge the company for what we ordered. These were generally low keyed, fun, social events. The business was left at the office, and everybody was just themselves. I ordered a red wine and gravitated towards some other members of my group. Peter strolled around the room with a cocktail in hand. He chatted with some members of the other departments that I did not know and vanished into the crowd. There was no sign of Rachel. That was disappointing but also comforting. I had not yet come to terms with my feelings and the separation helped.

The evening passed enjoyably. I met some employees I did not normally associate with and got to know some of my co-workers better. I felt more comfortable in the surroundings than I had since I started working there. If this was a new beginning it was going OK.

Peter suddenly appeared at my side and injected himself into the conversation. He held a drink which sloshed each time he pointed to emphasize a point. His other hand gently massaged my back. His fingers would run horizontally across by back along the ridge of my bra. I was a bit embarrassed but did not want to make a scene, so I put up with it. The crowd thinned. As it did Peter's touch became firmer so that I did become embarrassed. I turned towards him and whispered harshly, "Please!" As I did, he turned and walked towards the bar, "be back in a sec. Do you need another?" I nodded affirmative.

When I turned back, I was face to face with Rachel. I was taken back and did not know what to say. She smiled cynically and said softly, "Well you sure don't let any grass grow under your feet or ass either." I felt a hot flash of crimson on my face as I struggled to say something.

She glanced at the bar obviously to keep an eye on Peter. "You aren't too particular, are you?" she asked sarcastically. "How is he in bed anyway?" My temples throbbed as I struggled to maintain my composure. I did not want a public confrontation with Rachel; I knew I would lose but I did not want to back down. "I was going to ask you the same question" I happily retorted. "He did get you a job in BD, didn't he?" I did not think that was the case but felt like saying it. I immediately regretted my comment.

Rachel gritted her teeth in anger. "It's just because I'm not a man, isn't it? I'm not enough for you. It isn't good unless there is a cock involved. You aren't happy without real male penetration, not just fingers and tongue." I let the comment just hang in the air. I touched a nerve and I sensed Rachel was vulnerable. Recently, I had thought of that. Nagging doubts persisted about this relationship. Was this what I really wanted? "I wish I could satisfy you like that." She implored. "I want to enter you. To thrust myself between your legs until you cry. I wish I could know the sensation of ejaculating deep in your cunt, the feel of come exploding from me in you or on you. To just once know what the other side feels like, but I can't."

"That is not the case. I'm just feeling. . ." My voice trailed off as I tried to gather my thoughts.

"You don't need to explain. I can tell. I've been down this road before." Her comments were interrupted by Peter's return from the bar with a drink for me and some BD people that he had worked with that now worked with Rachel. She turned towards him, "Just wanted to say 'Hi' and see how you were doing but I don't need to ask I can see you are doing fine." With that she stepped away and melted into the crowd. I wanted to scream at her, grab for her, beg her to stay and speak to me. It may be over between us but don't treat me like this. At least talk to me. But she was gone.

We chatted among ourselves as the crowd continued to thin. Peter returned to the bar for a last drink. As he did, I grabbed my coat, slipped down the stairs, and left.

The city street channeled the wind into my face, chilly and raw. The streetlights barely pierced the winter darkness. I walked to the intersection and turned toward the light rail stop. Along the way I passed Rachel's street. I stood at the corner and stared. Her house was the third on the right. I did not see her car, but she could have parked anywhere. She may still be at the happy hour. I wanted to run. I wanted to stay. I wanted to walk down the block and pound with all my fury on her door. I stared. Suddenly a light flicked on the second floor. It was the bedroom. My heart pounded. Is that Rachel? Maybe it is someone else? Maybe she is not alone? The possibilities were numerous and upsetting to think about. Just as suddenly the light blinked off. The box of a carriage house stood dark and forlorn. I did not know what to do, so I continued walking to catch my train.

When I arrived in my office there was an envelope on my chair. It was unmarked, no name, nothing written. I tapped it on the edge of my desk and held it to the light. I could see the vague shadow of a rectangular silhouette.

"You left early." Peter was standing at my office door with a look of mock disappointment. "I needed time to think. I said earlier that it was not a date only a ride to the bar." I stood my ground and did not make any excuses.

"You could have said you were leaving. That was the polite thing to do."

I cringed at the prospect of being bullied by my supervisor. I was prepared to quit a few days ago but decided against it. Now I considered reversing my decision. "That is a fair statement. I was not very polite. But it isn't polite to feel another person's back in public without their consent." I liked making that point, even if I didn't care if he rubbed my back or not.

"I was only trying to be sociable. You don't need to keep that business mask on when you are out of the office. Don't be so uptight."

I mentally turned over his response a few times. Did he really mean that? I suspected not but it was one of his ploys. "So" I gave him a squinted gaze, "You want to sleep with me, don't you?" I studied his reaction closely, but he did not seem surprised by my comment. I figured he was accustomed to making such proposals.

"OK! I admit it. I would like to sleep with you. Is that a crime? There are a lot of women I would like to sleep with. Don't think of yourself as special."

I wasn't sure if this was the reaction, I wanted but decided to see where it would lead. "That is what puzzles me. Why me? There are several women in the office who are younger, better looking, in some ways and perhaps not jaded by years of an unhappy marriage. So why hit on me?"

Peter mulled over my response. "Perhaps women view women in different ways than men. Yes, there are women in the office more attractive but that does not mean they are more appealing. Who would you recommend I pursue if not yourself?"

The question sounded rhetorical, and I responded without thinking. "Rachel. Why not Rachel? Or have you already slept with her?" As soon as I said it, I regretted my words. I sounded spiteful and I dreaded the possible answer although if it was 'yes' I would not be surprised.

Peter paused what seemed like an extremely long time. Was he trying to avoid answering? "That is an odd suggestion." He finally commented almost wistfully. "What made you say that?"

The conversation was interrupted by the staccato chirp of my office telephone. I reflexively placed the envelope on the desk and reached for the receiver, "Hello. This is Pippa." I answered with my professional voice. There was no hesitation at the far end, "You are a dedicated employee! I called your apartment and mistakenly assumed you were over Rachel's. No matter. If you have a few minutes I need to speak with you." I immediately recognized Visnow's nasal voice. "I just got to the office, and I need to pull the folder. Can you give me ten minutes to get organized?" I countered in my best businesslike manner. "I see. So, you are not alone." Visnow was perceptive that way. "I will call back in fifteen minutes. That gives you an extra five. Ciao!"

Visnow had hung up, but I continued, "Thanks. I'll call you in ten" and placed the receiver back in the cradle.

"Where were we?" I asked naively.

"You asked about Rachel. You asked why I didn't want to sleep with her or something like that."

"Oh yes." I smiled to myself, "Well, you swapped jobs with her so I just assumed you would want to swap body fluids too." I hoped being glib would deflect any serious consideration about my comments. Peter seemed taken aback by my ability to connect the dots about the job swap, although I admit it was largely a guess on my part. He stuttered slightly and the asked, "you don't know her very well, do you?"