More Twisted

project?”
    Monroe wasn’t expecting the question quite this soon in the conversation. “Great,” he said after a moment. “We’re doing great.”
    “But?”
    “But what?”
    Shapiro said, “It sounds like you’re trying to tell me something.”
    “No . . . . It’s just things’re going a little slower than I thought. I wanted to—”
    “Slower?” Shapiro asked.
    “They’re putting some of the information on a new computer system. It’s a little harder to find than it used to be.” He tried to joke, “You know, those old-style floppy disks? They called them file folders?”
    Shapiro barked, “I’m hearing ‘little slower.’ I’m hearing‘little harder.’ That’s not my problem. I need that information and I need it soon.”
    The morning’s irritations caught up with Monroe and he whispered fiercely, “Listen, Hank, I’ve been at Johnson, Levine for years. Nobody has the insider information I do except Foxworth himself. So just back off, okay? I’ll get you what I promised.”
    Shapiro sighed. After a moment he asked, “You’re sure he doesn’t have any idea?”
    “Who, Foxworth? He’s completely in the dark.”
    A fast, irritating image of his boss flickered in Monroe’s thoughts. Todd Foxworth was a large, quirky man. He’d built a huge ad agency from a small graphic design firm in SoHo. Monroe was a senior account executive and vice president. He’d risen about as far as he could in the company doing account work but Foxworth had resisted Monroe’s repeated suggestions that the agency create a special title for him. Tension sat between the men like a rotting plum and over the past year Monroe had come to believe that Foxworth was persecuting him—continually complaining about his expense account, his sloppy record keeping, his unexplained absences from the office. Finally, when he’d gotten only a seven percent raise after his annual review, Monroe’d decided to retaliate. He’d gone to Hunter, Shapiro, Stein & Arthur and offered to sell them insider client information. The idea troubled him at first but then he figured it was just another way of collecting the twenty percent raise that he thought he was due.
    Shapiro said, “I can’t wait much longer, Charlie. I don’t see something soon, I may have to cut bait.”
    Crazy wives, rude commuters . . . Now this. Jesus. What a morning.
    “This info’ll be grade-A gold, Hank.”
    “Better be. I sure as hell am paying for gold.”
    “I’ll have some good stuff by this weekend. How ’bout you come up to my country place and you can look it over. It’ll be nice and private.”
    “You got a country place?”
    “I don’t broadcast it. Fact is, well, Cathy doesn’t know. A friend and I go up there sometimes . . .”
    “A friend.”
    “Yeah. A friend. And she’s got a girlfriend or two she could invite up if you wanted to come.”
    “Or two?”
    Or three, Monroe thought but let it go.
    A long silence. Then Shapiro chuckled. “I think she oughta bring just one friend, Charlie. I’m not a young man anymore. Where is this place?”
    Monroe gave him directions. Then he said, “How ’bout dinner tonight? I’ll take you to Chez Antibes.”
    Another chuckle. “I could live with that.”
    “Good. About eightish.”
    Monroe was tempted to ask Shapiro to bring Jill, a young assistant account exec who worked at Shapiro’s agency—and who also happened to be the woman he’d spent the evening with at the Holiday Inn last night when Carmen had been trying to track him down. But he thought: Don’t push your luck. He and Shapiro hung up.
    Monroe closed his eyes and started to doze off, hoping to catch a few minutes’ sleep. But the train lurched sideway and he was jostled awake. He stared out thewindow. There were no houses to look at anymore. Only sooty, brick apartments. Monroe crossed his arms and rode the rest of the way to Grand Central Station in agitated silence.

    The day improved quickly.
    Carmen loved the earrings and she came close to forgiving him (though he knew full restitution would involve an expensive dinner and a night at the Sherry-Netherland).
    In the office, Foxworth was in a surprisingly cheerful mood. Monroe had worried that the old man was going to grill him about a recent, highly padded expense account. But not only did Foxworth approve it, he complimented Monroe for the fine job he’d done on the Brady Pharmaceutical pitch. He even offered him an afternoon of golf at Foxworth’s