The Historic Meeting

No, you won’t have to wait to read it in a flashback.

Here she comes!

bumpittabumpittabump

Get a load-a those knockers! (’scuse me, friends, I can be a bit coarse. My old man, y’ know.)

The hips roll, even though they’re so goddam high. A stripper once told me it’s all in the shoulders. And there under the black cloth, they move forward like long-muscled dogs pacing the raceway.

She’s coming down the hall right toward the office he‘s working in. Who the hell is she? Nine feet tall, wearing heels. He knows enough about women - more than enough - to know this could be a ball-buster. But ball-busters are his speciality. They exist everywhere, and they aren’t all women. They are persons in positions of power. You can find them in bed or in the board room. They have to put you down so they can stand on you and take a step up.

Jason’s talent was to lie down before the stomping began, make it perfectly clear he was dead meat, then when the right moment came, spring partway up, quick grab an ankle, take down the opponent, and roll over so he’s on top. It worked in bed and it worked in the boardroom.

But suddenly he feels trapped.

One of the perks of his job is that his worksite varies. His company addresses two kinds of problems. Inventory and money. He’s on the inventory team. He is the inventory team. He visits clients and writes programs that keep track of their stock. Then he comes back again when they fuck up the program, and fixes it.

That’s what he’s doing now. Straightening out a twisted mess - putting everything back where it belongs.

This is a big account for a fairly large drug company, and he’s on the third floor of a white office building smack in the middle of an suburban park. He’s a big deal, so he’s working in the ante-room of the chief honcho, Clyde Waters. Normally, there would be a receptionist in here, but he’s got it for the day.

She barely looks at him as she breezes by on her stilettos, her hair bouncing all the hell over the shoulders of her black suit, curls slipping in and out of the naked slit that goes almost to her waist. The word “bombshell” comes into his mind, and he has an acute recognition of why that word would be applied to a woman. He’s shattered. Blown away. His brain is smithereens.

He pretends not to notice as she notices him, decides he is of no consequence, and continues on her way to the boss. There is no knock. A door opens and closes. The walls are made of paper, and he hears every word.

“Mr. Waters. There’s been a mistake. You’ve included the next-morning abortion pill in my sample case.” The voice is lilting, lovely. Very clear, girlish without being giggly. The voice does not go with the visual package.

And what are the chances of abortion coming up twice in twenty-four hours, in two completely unrelated instances? Pretty good, actually, given the world today. Abortions are about as popular as tonsillectomies once were. .

But the coincidence sets him further on edge.

He can almost see Clyde, looking up from his work to find this Amazon standing in front of his desk, trying to focus on whatever problem she’s bringing.

He answers, “Yes, Ms. DuBois. That’s going to be our top seller. Of course, we want you to promote it. It’s in all the sample cases.” Jason imagines the hopeful, wan smile. Clyde is an easy-going guy with thinning hair and sad beagle eyes in a sorry face.

“No, Mr. Waters, it is not going to be in mine. I was hired to sell drugs, not murder weapons. If I wanted to sell murder weapons, I’ve got an uncle in the arms business. I would have gone to work for him. I wanted to help people live better lives.”

Silence. He can feel Clyde’s sinking sensation. Then the effort of drawing himself up to say, “You are helping people live better lives. You’re helping them to not have children they can’t take care of.

“That’s very nice, but the same could be said of offing those children when they’re twelve years old and too much of a burden.”

“But you’re talking about children they already have. I’m talking about children they don’t have yet.”

A short, melodious chuckle. “Ah, but you’re not. They have those children, Mr. Waters. They just can’t see them.”

A loud sigh. The walls are very thin. “All right, Ms. DuBois. You may ignore the Tomorrow pill. We’ll send someone else to follow in your footsteps. Ordinarily I wouldn’t do this, but you’ve outperformed our other three sales reps combined.”

“I know, or I simply would have found another job when I saw that abomination in my sample case. I know you need me. And I like you, Mr. Waters. You know not what you do.”

“Uhhhh…”

Interview over. Here she comes, back out the door. But she’s finished with her business now, and there’s a devilish little smile on her red lips. The head of wheaten curls bobs in his direction.

“Get an earful?” The turquoise eyes shoot his way, and he falls.

He can feel his face turning red. But he’s a trooper. He refuses to lose.

“And an eyeful,” he says, taking her in again, letting one corner of his mouth smirk in a dirty way, then turning back to his work. “But it’s not for me. I’ve got responsibilities. Kids to take care of. I made em, I feed em. It takes all my time.

She smiles. “Daddy,” she breathes in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

Then she hugs herself and makes a kissing sound with her lips. Jason feels like he’s been slugged.

“Give my regards to Mommy,” she says, and sashays out the door. The back view is as good as the front.