Beth watched the kids get onto the bus. Happily, this year they were at the same school, which made the morning routine easier. Bill, her husband, was out of town on business. That meant getting the incorrigible darlings up and moving on her own, but she made it to the bus stop a with full minute to spare. Max and Megan, ages 8 and 6. Two precious bundles of energy and imagination. She had just turned 30 when Max arrived. What a present! Megan had followed shortly. Time was flying by. She tried hard to deny that she was on the short side of 40. Beth strolled back towards the house, waving hello to a few of the neighbors who were out on the same mission.
She entered their home, one of many indistinguishable two-story transitional style houses on the block. Immediately her sense of unease returned. Her husband had been strangely agitated the past few days. She hadn't given it that much thought: the usual need to tend to the kids had as usual restricted their private time to a quick discourse at day's end. Then, last night, after Bill had left on his flight came the call from Mark, Bill's boss. It seemed odd for him to call, knowing, she assumed, that Mark was aware of Bill's travel schedule. His tone was rather matter of fact, with a slight urgent edge. Curiously, he didn't ask for Bill. "Something I need to talk to you about," he said, not elaborating. "It's about Bill and I need for you to come meet with me tomorrow morning at ten." With that he bid her well and ended the call.
She walked upstairs, tidying up along the way as was her habit. She entered the master bedroom. The sweatsuit that was her
de rigueur
morning-wear she tossed on the loose pile of clothes in the corner of the closet. She stepped out of her panties; then released her bra. Even the loose sweatsuit didn't make her comfortable enough to venture out without strapping the bra on. Not that her bust line was anything larger than average: she just felt 'exposed' without it, as if the whole neighborhood knew.
She hoped the long warm shower would ease her anxiety. It didn't. She looked at the clocked, realizing she would have to hurry to make the trip downtown by ten. Opening her lingerie drawer, she grabbed the first bra and panty set she found. She wished it were still summertime, so she could get by going to Bill's office without pantyhose. The office of McBracken & Smith. An old blue-blood financial services firm. Unfortunately, with the stodgy pedigree came an equally stodgy dress code. She always felt out of place showing up in casual clothes. She sat and tugged up on the hose. A quick trip back to the closet yielded the familiar white blouse, navy skirt and pumps. She ran a quick brush through her shoulder length brown hair, pinning it back with a comb. She looked again at the clock. The minimal amount of make-up she preferred would have to be done on the way.
Beth hopped into their vintage Volvo. She pulled onto the freeway, heading east towards downtown. The sun was well up over the horizon, though lower in the sky these days as the autumnal equinox approached. There were a few light clouds and one dark heavy one just below the sun. It dispersed the sun's light in rays towards the horizon: beautiful and ominous, she thought. She was relieved to see the morning rush hour had eased, allowing her a relatively steady trip downtown. It also gave her the chance to retrieve a few items of makeup from the glove compartment, having to first maneuver past a pair of her son's hastily stashed soccer socks. With a few deft strokes, the task was done. Practice makes perfect, she thought.
The downtown towers loomed as she pulled off the freeway. Fortunately, Bill had been with the firm long enough to have acquired the perk of an additional electronic gate pass to the subterranean parking deck. She checked the clock. 9:50. Will just barely make it. The ascension to the 26th floor seemed eternal, as the anxiety began to swell. This was extremely odd, she thought, to be called in while Bill was away. And why floor 26? The last she recalled Mark's office was on 24, along with Bill's. Maybe the firm had expanded upward and Bill hadn't told her. Hardly a surprise--the merger a few years earlier she discovered by reading the paper. "I was going to mention it," he lamely apologized. Sweet and lovable, she thought of Bill, but stoic and distracted to a fault.
The elevator door opened. To her surprise, Mark was there. He seemed--what was it?--pleased or relieved at her punctuality. He smiled and ushered her down the hall. Odd, she noticed, there was no office directory on the wall as usual. She looked around. The entire floor seemed to be in the process of up fitting and renovation. There was no one else in sight anywhere. Mark said little as he guided her to an unmarked office door far down one corridor. He unlocked it with a key. She noticed that it was not on his regular key ring; just a solo key on a ring. Mark opened the door, flipped on a light switch. The room was sparsely furnished; not appearing like a working office at all. There was a desk, as she expected, a large sofa along the right wall, a few artificial plants. Missing were the personal effects, the photos, the knickknacks that dot the typical office.
Mark offered her a seat in an arm chair located in front of the desk. It had a low back, with padded arms, and a nice comfy feel. He walked behind and sat in the large, high-backed armchair. Faux leather it appeared. Beth eyed him carefully, wondering what this was all about. Mark was dressed in his usual prim, button-down attire. Brooks Brothers. Silk power tie. He was just over six feet, medium frame. Athletic, but not jockish. His 45 years wore lightly on him, just a wisp of grey at the temples. Beth found him handsome; or at least she might have done so, had she allowed herself to focus for more than a moment on the physical attributes of her husband's boss. Beth noted his usual clean-shaven image was dotted with a hint of stubble. His eyes looked tired. Beth knew his divorce the past year had been hard on him. The woman seemed wrong for him, Beth recalled. Heck, she seemed wrong for anyone. Mark, she knew, had always succeeded in everything he touched. She guessed the divorce was a failure not easily digested for him.
She tried making pleasant chitchat, but the aura of seriousness quieted her. Mark reached into a drawer and pulled out a file. "Beth, I was reviewing some of Bill's client accounts last week. Normally, this is just routine and boring, just a quality check we managers are required to conduct." He paused, eyes looking over a piece of paper he held. "But this time, it seems there were some wire transfers of funds which were misapplied." Beth listened, her unease rising with each sentence. "I'm sure it was just a typing error or something," she quickly responded. "You're not saying Bill purposely did anything wrong, are you?" He paused. She saw his eyes, intense and blue, lock on her face, then drift to her hairline, around and back down, as if he was suddenly her hairstylist. "I've known Bill for years now; he's been a valued employee. All I know is that I detected the error myself. I tracked Bill's computer log several days later. It seems he went back to these same accounts for some purpose. No doubt he was confused that reversing entries had already been made. Perhaps, he was trying to cover his tracks; perhaps he was just going to correct his 'error'". Beth noticed Mark hang on that word, leaving ambiguous whether the error was intentional or not. "Perhaps he was just checking the transactions himself. I don't know. This type of error is supposed to be reported to the client and to company auditors. It would be highly damaging to Bill's career to be noted as the source."
Beth swallowed hard. Her hands suddenly went cold. "So, Bill isn't aware what you know? Why are you telling me this?"
Mark's gazed focused intently on her again. Beth found the stare unnerving. "Like I said Beth, I've worked with Bill for several years now. I don't relish the thought of confronting him with this. He's at that age when it's hard to establish yourself with another firm. And most of his portfolio is institutional clients; long-standing firm clients. Not ones he could take with him if he struck out on his own." Mark paused, as if measuring his next words. "But, it doesn't seem proper just to overlook this. Not that I want to see Bill punished, but perhaps some type of atonement could be made."
Atonement? The term struck Beth as rather curious. It sounded like something out of her old Sunday school lessons. The image of a burning a calf flashed through her mind.
"What do you mean? I'm sure Bill will be more than willing to apologize to you." Beth hated the idea of Bill having to do anything; just the perception that he had done something to warrant giving an apology would hit him hard.
Beth noted that intense gaze again. Almost penetrating; as if Mark were reading her thoughts. "I was hoping, Beth, not to have to make him do that. Bill would take that so personally." Beth gulped, the coincidence giving credence to her mind-reading thought. Mark continued. "I was hoping that perhaps . . . my talking to you could resolve the problem." Beth's mind wondered aloud, "Resolve? What's to resolve?"
Mark smiled. The change in his mood was abrupt, taking Beth by surprise. "I've always admired your support for Bill. He often mentions how he couldn't do it without you." Mark's smile softened, his eyes looking at Beth, intently, almost longingly. "You really didn't need to dress up to come here today."
Beth was happy for the apparent change of topic. "Oh, this?" she laughed nervously. "I threw it on at the last second." Mark continued. "Yes, not quite the rather attractive black dress you had at the last office dinner-dance, but very nice nonetheless." Beth sensed Mark's eyes drift over her.
She recalled that dinner. Typical corporate bash. Much self-congratulatory praise by the big muckety-mucks. The food was passable; the speeches droning. The music, however, was fun. Bill had wandered off and was engrossed in a talk at the bar with a group of 3 other men. Probably re-living the last golf match shot-by-shot, she had mused. Mark was alone that night; the separation having been in effect for about 4 months. His normally reserved self was supplanted with a more outgoing style which Beth attributed to one-too-many scotch and waters. Her table was empty at one point; she didn't mind, the band was rather good. Mark came up, cracked a joke, invited her to dance. He was a passable dancer. The tempo was moderate. Old Motown number. But then they switched to a slow tempo. Beth considered excusing herself, but Mark already had her hand in his. Not wanting to embarrass either of them, she relented. They talked, but the tone in his voice was somber. Obviously, the loneliness was building in him. Mark drew closer; Beth tried to keep a proper distance but couldn't maneuver fast enough. Oh well, she thought, it's not like he's an ogre. Hardly, she smiled to herself.
"That's a beautiful dress," he said, half whispering. Beth was tickled. Ah . . . scotch, she laughed to herself. The dress was not nearly as flashy as some in the room, but she thought she looked good in it. But hearing it from her husband's boss was . . . she thought a bit . . . flattering. Hey, it can't hurt for the boss to like you, she figured. The song ended. Mark paused a moment longer than necessary. He pulled her into a subtle embrace, which she returned. Was that reflex or something more, she wondered deep inside. She turned around to see Bill back at her table, watching. She hadn't ever danced with Mark that way. "Ah, no big deal," she thought wryly, "a bit of jealousy won't kill him."
Mark's voice brought her attention back. "I thought how nice it would have been that night to watch you closer in that dress," Closer? Beth wondered to herself. You were right next to me. "Please stand up," he added. Beth paused. She thought for a second he was going to end the meeting.
Mark got up, walked over to the sofa and sat down. "Turn around, Beth. Slowly." She froze; a flash of confusion coming over her. "What?" she exclaimed, as if she had not heard him correctly. Mark looked at her. "Please stand. And turn around, in a circle." Beth looked at him incredulously. She sighed. "OK," she muttered, still puzzled. She stood and turned, conscious that Mark's gaze was no freely moving up and down over her.
She felt suddenly self-conscious. "Mark, I know Bill will take care of things; it was just a simple mistake." She weighted the options. If she left, could she, should she explain this to Bill? The memory of his expression at that dinner/dance came back to her. How would she explain being alone with Mark in some empty part of the building? No one else in the office had seen her coming or going. To leave and accuse Mark of-- what-harassment? Too scandalous. She wanted to leave, but worried about his reaction. What if Bill really did mess up? she thought.
