The Hot Flash Club (17 page)

29

When her alarm went off, Alice remained in bed for a while, replaying the Golden Moments meeting in her mind. It had been great! Once Shirley got into the groove, she glowed like a torch, and when she couldn’t answer a hard question about finances, Alice stepped in. No doubt about it, the two of them, exuberant, colorful Shirley and practical, executive Alice, had wowed the group. Astonishingly, old Nora Salter had promised to invest right there on the spot, and so had a few of the others. Only Julie Martin, who Shirley had thought would be the first and biggest investor, had stalled, saying she needed time to think about it.

She glanced at the clock, then threw back the covers and began the day. As she showered, she reviewed the preliminary five-year business plan she’d put together for Golden Moments. Tossing back her orange juice, she decided, if she could steal a few moments during lunch, she’d do some more work to detail the plan.

Back in her bedroom, she pulled on her largest skirt. Uh-oh. Too tight. She’d enjoyed too many of Jennifer D’Annucio’s brownies. Alice licked her lips. Some of the caramel chip cookies were left over. Alice could take a few to the office for brain food while she worked. She dropped the constricting skirt on her bed and pulled out a pair of loose, elastic-waisted, batik trousers. With a severe brown jacket, they would pass for business wear. She added a heavy set of wooden beads to make it an ensemble. After a moment, she decided on a pair of flatheeled court shoes, so much more comfortable than her power heels, but what the hell, she had no meetings scheduled.

Outside, the sky floated above her like a great blue balloon, matching her mood as she drove deep into the heart of the Boston business district. Perhaps, when the weather was warmer, she’d ride the T and walk the rest of the way. It couldn’t take much longer than sitting in traffic.

It was almost nine o’clock by the time she parked her Audi in the executive garage of the TransWorld building. Usually, she was at her desk by eight. She nodded to Roger at the security desk as she crossed to the executive elevator. She had it all to herself, so she used the shining brass button panel to evaluate her reflection: shorter, wider, because of the flat shoes and the loose trousers, but also less stern, more
interesting
. Here was a woman who might be late for work because she’d spent the night before out dancing.

When
had
she last been out dancing? She couldn’t remember.

With a ping, the doors slid open at the thirtieth floor, and Alice stepped out onto the gray carpet.

Frances, who controlled the main reception area, was away from her desk. Unusual. Looking down the corridor, Alice spotted Frances shoulder to shoulder in a tight little gaggle of gabbing secretaries.
Uh-huh, fresh gossip.
When they saw Alice, their eyes widened, and they drew closer to one another.
What?
Could they be gossiping about
her
?

Frances would tell her. The receptionist had been with TransContinent for twenty years, during which time Alice had helped her with no small amount of personal problems. Frances, divorced, had a son with bipolar disorder. Alice had done everything she could to help Frances get decent medical treatment and medical coverage for the boy. He was in a new clinic now, on new medication.

Alice clipped along down the hall. George White’s office was empty. Strange. She was certain there were no meetings that morning.

Alison Cummings’s office was just before Alice’s, guarded by Barton Baker’s desk. From the corner of her eye, Alice saw, through the open door, Alison seated at her own desk, eyes glued to her computer screen. On her left, Barton Baker bent toward the computer. George White was on her right, pointing at the screen. The three were too engrossed to notice Alice, but she saw emotion flash over all three faces—and not the same emotion. Suddenly Alison’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with both hands, as if trying to push back a shout of laughter.

What the hell?

Thank God, Marilyn was at her desk, frantically typing.

“Good morning, Marilyn,” Alice said. “What’s going on?”

Marilyn shot up out of her chair like a rocket, grabbed Alice’s arm, yanked her into her office, and shut the door. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Shoot.” Alice dumped her briefcase on her desk.

“Your computer caught a virus. It sent e-mails to everyone in your address book.”

Alice dropped like a stone into her desk chair and wiggled the mouse to wake her computer up. “Saying what?”

“We’re just now finding out, as people come into work and check their e-mail. It seems to be something different for everyone. Some are random statistical charts that won’t mean much to anyone without the rest of the information. But some of the personnel info you’ve been working on with Alison has been sent around. I heard that Jack Foster got Harry Sullivan’s personnel file. Now Jack knows Harry makes more than he does, and he’s ballistic.”

“Damn.”

“Also, several people got a copy of your e-mails ordering support panty hose, hemorrhoid cream, and Big Girl’s bras.”

Alice slapped her forehead. “
Shit.
Okay, what else?”

“I don’t know the extent of it yet. Other people got other stuff. Whatever’s on your hard drive.”

“What a nightmare. How did this happen?” Impatiently, Alice jerked the mouse over its pad.

Marilyn leaned over her shoulder, scanning the screen. “You must have opened an e-mail that carried a virus. I’m sure you’ve been warned about opening unsolicited e-mail.”

“Of course I have!” Alice snapped. “And I
never
open strange e-mail programs!”

“Never?” Marilyn touched the end of a pencil to an icon on the screen. “What’s this on your desktop?
Card.exe
SA?”

“What—Oh, Lord.” Alice covered her burning face. “Last night I got an e-mail from a ‘Secret Admirer.’ I opened it.”

“And?”

“It just threw some blinking hearts on the screen. What a moron I am!”

Marilyn gave Alice’s shoulder a consoling pat. “Come on, Alice. We all want to open a file from a secret admirer. We’ll just get tech support up here to clean your hard drive.”

The phone buzzed.

Marilyn grabbed the phone. “Alice Murray’s office.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Of course, Mr. Watertown. Right away.” She hung up the phone. “Mr. Watertown would like to see you in his office ASAP.”

Alice groaned. “This stupid Internet is sometimes more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I’ll call tech support now.” Marilyn went out to her office.

Alice headed into her private bathroom. She peed, then slipped an antacid into her mouth, swallowing it with the smallest possible amount of water so she wouldn’t be tortured with the urge to pee during the chewing out she knew she was about to get. Melvin, like Alice, had been with TransContinent for years. He was a good leader, tough and exacting. She was sure the integration into TransWorld was difficult for Melvin, and she hated it that she’d let down their side, as she thought of it, with this idiotic e-mail business.

Striding down the corridor, Alice sucked in her gut and led with her chin. At the portal to the senior vice president’s office, among chrome and glass, sat Elvira Gray, of the gray personality, in her gray suit.

“Hello, Elvira,” Alice said, with cool composure.

“Hello, Mrs. Murray.” Elvira kept her eyes on her computer. Not a good sign. “He’s expecting you. Go on in.”

Alice took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and entered.

Melvin sat at his desk, hunched over a pile of reports. For just a moment as she entered, Alice spotted the top of his head, noticing for the first time how the male-pattern-baldness band of white hair around his pink scalp resembled a toilet seat.

Restraining an irreverent giggle, she shut the door firmly. Melvin looked up.

“Alice!” Standing up, his extended his hand over the desk.

So he wasn’t going to chew her out. Alice was relieved. When Melvin was angry, he could blast the enamel right off your teeth. She shook his hand.

“Sit down.” He gestured to a chair in front of the desk, and returned to his own executive leather chair. He leaned back, put his arms behind his head to stretch his shoulders, and said companionably, “This merger is a bitch, isn’t it.”

“It’s a lot of work for Personnel,” Alice admitted.

“Tell me about it.” Melvin sighed. “You planning to head off to a resort?”

Alice frowned, puzzled. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with for why you’d e-mail me a picture of a naked woman lying on a table.”

Alice stared at him, dumbstruck. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“A naked wo—Oh, shit, Melvin. That woman’s getting a massage. I’m helping a friend put together a brochure for a retreat, and that was one of the photos she e-mailed me as a possibility for the cover. Anyway,
I
didn’t send it to you. Somehow a virus got into my computer last night. It’s been e-mailing random hits from my computer to everyone on my e-mail list.”

“I thought something like that had happened. Couldn’t think of any other reason you’d send Jack Foster the details of Harry Sullivan’s financial package.”

Alice closed her eyes. “Tech support’s on its way to clean it up.”

“Well, tech support can clean up the virus and stop any new e-mails, but we’ve got some damage control to do ourselves with what’s already gone out.”

“I realize that, Melvin. I’ll personally speak with Jack about—”

Melvin interrupted. “But let’s go back to this naked woman on the table business.”

“The photo for the retreat brochure.”

“Okay. Whatever.” Melvin tilted his head, peering over his glasses at her. “What’s that doing on your office computer?”

“Oh, come on, Melvin. You know we all have personal stuff on our office computers. I’m probably the only one in the whole company who doesn’t have porn on mine.”

Melvin held up his hand like a stop sign. “Okay. Okay. Still, Alice, it’s not like you, to be messing around with something else at the office.”

Alice nodded. “You’re right. Absolutely. I—”

“Then there’s this thing with your secretary, Marilyn—” He snapped his fingers, searching for the name.

“Becker. What about her?”

Melvin dropped forward, his chair squeaking as he moved into a more aggressive position, arms crossed on his desk, head bent low like a charging bull. “You hired her specifically to spy on Alison Cummings.”

Alice’s jaw sagged.
How in the world—?

“We have it from the horse’s mouth, Alice. Marilyn told Barton Baker last night. He told Alison, who told me this morning, when she got here at six-thirty, as she does.”

Alice closed her eyes. Then she scrambled to get on the offensive. “Well, hell, Melvin. Are you surprised?
You
know better than anyone what’s going on with this merger. I’m fighting to save as many TransContinent people as possible, and I suppose Alison’s trying to do the same for Champion, but frankly, I find her inflexible, cold, and arrogant. You
know
half the office gossip gets carried by the secretaries, and Alison’s got her old faithful Barton, while
my
old faithful secretary Eloise retired, leaving me with no protection. What I did was only sensible!”

“No, Alice. What you did was paranoid.” Bowing his head, Melvin ran his hands through his white U of fringe, then looked up. “Alice, we go back a long way together, you and I, and I think you know I have always admired the hell out of you.”

“I’m aware of that, Melvin, and I appr—”

“So I am just downright sad to see you lose your vision here.”

“Lose my—”

“I’ve felt for a while now, and I speak for the others as well, that you’re just not interested in keeping up with the program. You’re seeing this merger as a problem, a negative, not a challenge, a positive.”

“Come on, Melvin, I—”

“And look what’s happened, just in one day. The computer business plus the more serious problem of your paranoia toward a new member of the team. We just can’t have this kind of attitude here now. Not with so many enormous new responsibilities.”

“Melvin. Listen to—”

“Now, I’ve talked it over with Bill and Carl, and here’s what we’ve decided.” Leaning back in his chair, he held his hands out, palms up, as if offering a gift. “We want to give you a nice three-month paid leave. You can go to that massage retreat place you’re so interested in. Do whatever you want.”

“That’s ridiculous. I can’t leave when there’s so much work—”

He interrupted, very slightly raising his voice. “After that, you can retire with a really first-class settlement package. A golden parachute that will keep your boat afloat in style. Perhaps, if you’d like, a banquet honoring you for all the work you’ve done for this company over the past thirty years.”

“For God’s sake, Melvin,” Alice said brusquely, “it’s Alice you’re talking to here. If I’m not working up to expectation, just say so. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I can—” Then she
saw
the expression on his face. The
compassion
stopped her dead.

For one long, horrible moment, Alice and Melvin stared at each other. She might as well be staring at a doctor who’d just diagnosed her terminally ill, or a judge sentencing her to death. Her heart rattled beneath her ribs like a prisoner shaking iron window bars.

“You’re going to force me to retire?” she whispered.

Melvin rearranged his face into a painful rictus of a smile. “Alice, you know I’m your biggest fan. Always have been. I know how much you’ve put into TransContinent. I know what a hell of a fine worker you’ve been all these years. To be honest with you, I’d like to see you
enjoy
life a little bit, because that’s what you deserve.”

Alice pounded her fists on her thighs. “For Christ’s sake, Melvin, don’t talk down to me.”

“I’m not talking down to you, Alice. I’m telling you the God’s truth. I want to see you enjoy life, and that’s why I’ve managed to get you a one-million-dollar retirement bonus.”

Alice nearly spat. “One million dollars? I make that in three years!”