Chapter 2

The alarm woke Darren. He showered and dressed and then headed to the lobby carrying his laptop case. Marcia was sitting on a sofa dressed in a gray skirt, white blouse and sheer gray hose. He approached her. “Good morning,” he said.

Marcia broke into a wide smile. “Good morning.”

“Sleep okay?”

She nodded. “Really well.”

He escorted her into the hotel’s restaurant. “I’ll have juice, coffee and an English muffin,” she told the server.

“Two eggs poached,” Darren ordered. He gazed across the table at her. “So, Marcia -- do you have any children?”

She shook her head. “No. Rob doesn’t want any.”

“Do you want any?”

“I think that ship has sailed,” she replied.

“I don’t think so. You’re young -- thirty-one. You still have time.”

“Rob’s pretty dead set against it. How about you?”

“I have a son.”

“Really? How old?”

“He’s twenty.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Twenty. How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-one years.”

“You got an early start. What’s his name? Is he in college?”

“Matthew. He wants to do work with his hands, so he’s with a business rehabilitating inner-city houses.”

“That’s really something, Darren.”

“I wanted him to go to college, but he insisted on following his bliss. One day he wants such a business of his own. I think he’ll have it before he knows it.”

Darren finished his breakfast and nursed a second cup of coffee. “Remember,” he said to her, “we need to look for holes in this system. We’ll take notes independently and compare them later.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s sit in the lobby and wait for Elaine.”

A young Asian woman approached them. “Darren? Marcia? I’m Elaine Wu.”

“We’ve spoken,” Marcia replied.

“Yes -- I’m delighted to meet you in person. Shall we go visit the data center?” She escorted them to an awaiting stretch limousine. “You were smart to schedule this visit to coincide with our annual users’ conference. You’ll get to meet some of our major customers...”

The limousine stopped by the hotel entrance. Elaine escorted Darren and Marcia into the lobby. “We’ll see you tonight at the reception, right?” she asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Darren replied. “I see the registration tables are set up already.”

“Yes -- go and get registered and pick up your packets. We’ll see you later.” She headed out and toward the parking lot.

Darren picked up a nametag and a folder. Marcia approached him carrying hers. “I think I want to go upstairs and freshen up,” she said.

“I need to check my email,” he replied. “Come down to my room and we’ll talk about what we saw today.”

She rode the elevator with him to the fifth floor. He headed toward his room, unlocked the door and powered up his laptop. He composed an email message and sent it. A knock came at his door.

Darren opened the door and Marcia stepped in. “Have a seat,” he said and gestured toward the sofa. “So, how many gaps did you identify?” he asked.

“A few. Not many.”

He handed her a yellow legal pad. “These are the ones I found.”

Marcia scanned the sheet. “All of mine are on here ... plus a couple more.”

“No showstoppers,” he replied.

“I was looking over the agenda for the users’ conference,” she said. “I saw some presentations worth seeing.”

“Meh,” he replied.

“Why, meh?”

“They might be marginally interesting. The vendor hosts this conference. I’d much rather there be an independent users’ organization throwing one of these parties. That way you’d know it wasn’t all a marketing piece.”

“Then, why are we here?”

“It’ll be face time with other users that’ll be worth the trip,” he replied and checked the time. “The reception starts at six. If we go down now, we’ll beat the crowd.”

She stood and checked how her blouse was tucked into her skirt. “Do I look okay?” she asked.

“You look lovely, Marcia.” Together they headed for the elevator and rode it to the second floor. He directed her to a ballroom.

Inside was a row of long tables holding hors d’oeurves, rolls, cold cuts and cheeses. Along the wall was a bar with two bartenders. “Do you think you can make dinner out of this spread?” he asked.

“No problem. It looks like all the basic food groups are covered ... the bacon-wrapped-water-chestnut group, the bite-sized-quiche group, the stuffed-mushroom-cap group ... Is that an open bar?”

“It is indeed. I think our strategy should be to let Elaine introduce us to her important clients. We’ll let everyone get a round or two of drinks into them. Then, we’ll circle back and ask the pithy questions.”

“Like what?”

“The question I’ll ask is, if there was one thing you wish the product could do but doesn’t -- what would that be?”

She smiled and nodded. “I think I’ll let you do the talking.”

“Maybe we should get started. May I get you a drink?”

“Gee ... I never know what to order in a situation like this. I don’t like beer...”

“The carbonation -- right?”

“Right. I hate how it feels in my nose when I burp it up.”

“So that means you don’t like Champagne.”

“Oh -- I make an exception for Champagne.”

“I don’t see any on the bar. Do you like mixed drinks?”

“I don’t care for strong drinks.”

“How about a dry vermouth on the rocks with a twist?”

“That sounds pretty light.”

“It doesn’t get much lighter,” he replied. He returned with an old-fashioned glass for her and a cocktail glass for himself.

“What are you having?” she asked.

“A classic martini.”

“I’ve never tried one.”

“Do you want a taste?”

He handed her the glass and she took a sip. “Too strong for me.”

“A martini is a strong drink,” he replied.

Elaine approached them. “Darren ... Marcia. I have someone I want you to meet.”

Darren accompanied Marcia to the elevators. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think one of your job requirements is the ability to hold your liquor. I’m feeling it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine -- just feeling it.”

“We did get some good intelligence,” he replied. “Especially from that guy from Acorn Oak Group.”

“The drinks certainly did loosen his tongue.”

“Yeah -- he said some things I’m sure Elaine wouldn’t want us to hear. Let’s go upstairs and consolidate this while it’s still fresh.”

“I’d like to change into something more comfortable if you don’t mind.”

“Please, do. I’m going to take off my tie.”

“Men have it so easy. Try suffering in pantyhose all day.”

“Come on down when you’re ready.”

Darren opened the door to his room. He powered up his laptop and took a small, spiral-bound notebook from his shirt pocket. There was a knock at his door.

He let Marcia into his room. She was wearing her long, satin robe, flip-flops and wire-framed glasses. “I hope the alcohol didn’t loosen my tongue too much,” she said. “I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I?”

“No. I would’ve stepped on your foot if you had.” He reviewed the notes he had jotted on his notepad. “Yes -- we do have some significant gaps to address.” He looked up at her. Marcia was rubbing her eye. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t know. My eye has been bothering me all evening. I took my contacts out when I was upstairs. Maybe I had them in too long ... maybe my cleaning kit is getting weak. It feels like something’s in there.”

“Try the old Boy Scout trick. Grab your upper lid by the lashes; pull it out and down and over your lower lashes. That’ll sweep a foreign body out of your eye.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that while wearing mascara,” she replied.

“Are you wearing mascara?”

“No. Just sayin’.” She removed her glasses and tugged at her eyelid. “Didn’t help. Do you have any Visine?”

“I don’t think so. Let me look.” He removed a leather kit from his suitcase and rummaged through it. “Nope. Do you?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Maybe they’ll have some in the hotel news shop. I think it’s open ‘til nine. If I hustle maybe I can get down there before it closes.”

“It’s okay, Darren. I’ll survive.”

“No, I don’t mind. Be right back.” He headed out his door.

Darren returned with a small bottle. “Here.”

“Thanks. You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble...” She took it from him, tilted back her head and dropped some into her eye.

“Is it helping?”

“A little ... Still feels like something there.”

“Let me look.” He coaxed her to lie on the sofa. Darren turned on a lamp. “Which eye?”

“Left one.”

He knelt on the floor near her face. “Look to the right ... no, the other right ... I think I see something. It looks like a speck. Hold on.” Darren twisted the corner of a tissue into a rat’s tail. Gingerly he stroked her eye with it. “It’s not budging.”

“I don’t think that’s a speck,” Marcia replied. “I think it’s just me. It’s a flaw -- like a birthmark on my eyeball.”

Darren peered close, holding his reading glasses as magnifiers. “I think you’re right.”

“Let me try some more Visine.” She dropped more into her eye. “Lying back like this is helping.” She closed her eyes.

Darren stroked her streaked hair. “Is it working?”

“Yes. It’s feeling better, now. I guess before it all fell out of my eye before it had a chance to work. Lying down made the difference.” She turned toward him. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Fingering my hair.”

“I didn’t even realize I was,” he replied.

“Well ... Please stop.”

Darren lifted his hand. He gazed into her green-gray eyes and took in the details of her face -- darker flecks of color in her irises, the little folds in her eyelids, the clarity of her skin with the faintest traces of crows’ feet around her eyes. He regarded the shape of her turned-up nose, the faint freckles on her bridge and under her eyes and her cupid’s-bow upper lip. “You have pretty eyes, Marcia. How did you get that scar on your forehead?”

“This?” She rubbed an inch-long mark above her right eye. “I was in third grade and running on the playground, not looking where I was going and I ran into a pole supporting a basketball backstop. It was a clean cut but it bled like crazy.” She stifled a laugh. “I went to the school nurse who called my mother -- ‘Mrs Godfrey? This is the school nurse. You have to come here right away. Your daughter’s hurt real bad. Click.’”

“That’s not a call a mom wants to get,” he replied and caressed her cheek. “Godfrey is your maiden name.”

“Yes...” Marcia moistened her lips with her tongue. He could feel her breath on his face and could see a pulse point in her neck begin to throb. “Darren -- I think I ought to be going,” she said.

“Do you want to go?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I asked first,” he replied and regarded her eyes as they scanned his face. “All right -- I’ll answer first. I want you to stay.”

“Why?”

“I ... I feel chemistry between us, Marcia. Why do you want to go?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to. I said I think I should.”

“Then, why?”

“Because ... because we’re both married, Darren ... and not to each other.”

“I think that might be a cruel mistake of fate.”

“Maybe ... Darren -- are you happy with Stephanie?”

“Are you happy with Rob?”

“I asked you first.” Darren continued to gaze into her eyes. “All right,” she said, “I’ll answer first. I think I’ve been over Rob for at least a couple of years. Recently has been more ... tense ... ever since I started with Walnut Street. Lately he’s been drinking.”

“Excessively?”

She nodded. “Alcohol loosens his tongue, too ... only what comes out is hurtful. He makes an angry drunk, Darren, and a mean one. Then in the morning he denies he said what he did.”

“Does he black out?”

“Whether it’s that, lying or simple denial I don’t know.”

“You should get some of his rants on tape. When you said snitty...”

“It’s what I meant. Like I said, he doesn’t understand what it means to be a professional -- why I’m not always home by five or why I need to go in on Saturdays. Now it’s your turn to share.”

Darren caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I told you Stephanie prefers it when I’m on the road. I suspect she’s cheating on me. You know they say a woman reaches her sexual peak in her mid thirties, and a guy in his teens. Stephanie is about five years younger than I am. She’s at her peak and looking for guys at theirs.”

“She sounds like a cougar on the hunt,” Marcia replied.

“That’s one way of putting it. She’s discreet, at least.”

Marcia stroked his face. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really. Ever since Matthew moved out we’ve been empty nesters -- grown apart. I think this is her hobby -- her avocation. She has a successful consulting business of her own -- in a completely different field from mine.” Darren leaned toward her and kissed her gently on her lips. “I’ve never cheated on her, though. Have you cheated on Rob?”

“Once.”

“Care to share?”

“It was right after we were married. We were living in a studio apartment. I hadn’t found work yet and was home during the day ... preparing resumes and cover letters. In the apartment downstairs was another couple ... also newlyweds. He was a Spaniard -- Dagobert -- a real lothario -- who was still in school and happened to be home one day. He knocked on my door to borrow a cup of sugar ... and ended up seducing me. We had a brief but torrid affair, sometimes meeting at our place and sometimes at his. Then, his wife found out...”

“How?”

“I don’t know. We were discreet about it. After that we never even spoke again.”

“Does Rob know?”

She shook her head. “No. He never asked and I never brought it up. Since then, I’ve been faithful.”

He kissed her lips again. “‘Til now?”

“When Dagobert seduced me, he said what two adults do is their own business and no one else’s. What someone doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Are you telling me the same thing?”