So far the plan was working. Enrique had assured her that the president would remember her. The company was making a vigorous effort to recruit among disadvantaged minorities. She was one of the few successes. “If I might have permission to speak with you in private, Mr. Bartlett.”
“Mr. Bartlett has an unexpected emergency at the Wilkinson, Ms. Klein,” Tingley put in. “He needs to take care of it quickly, so he can return to his guests.”
Mr. Bartlett waved Tingley off. “I’d be glad to see you anytime, Ms. Klein. Phone my secretary. I’ll tell him to expect your call.”
Suggesting that she could interrupt him by phone rather than passively mailing or faxing her request was very generous, but she couldn’t delay their meeting and give Tingley time to intervene. “I have some documents I’d like to show you tonight, if possible.” She pulled out Enrique’s fiche. The plan was that Mr. Bartlett would have to leave the party with her and go to where there was a reader.
“Of course.” He took the film from her before she could stop him. “I’ll be sure to go over this before our meeting.”
“These documents wouldn’t have anything to do with poor Enrique Leon, would they?” Tingley asked. “I saw him bending your ear this evening.”
That wasn’t part of the script. “Actually—” She fumbled for an answer. Enrique was listening in via her scanner telemetry. “I only met Mr. Leon today.”
Mr. Bartlett turned away from her. “Don’t let him involve you in his discontent, Ms. Klein.” She suspected that he’d handed off her fiche to Tingley. “In fact, if anybody like him bothers you, let me know immediately, and I’ll personally see to it that he’s discharged.”
“Don’t let Tingley get away with the fiche,” Enrique whispered inside her head, confirming her worst fears.
She was at a loss what to say. “That’s very gallant of you.” This was not working. She had to stop them from leaving. “I’d consider it a personal favor—”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Enrique hissed.
“We have to hurry, Mr. Bartlett,” Tingley said.
“I’m almost old enough to remember what a favor is,” Mr. Bartlett said. He had a smile in his voice. “But unfortunately, Al’s right. We have to hurry. I’ll make time for you when I get back, about midnight.”
Could Tingley’s claims regarding her have reached as far as the president’s ear?
“This is doing no good at all.” Enrique sounded exasperated.
Mona shook her head and tried to furrow her brow in what she’d learned was an expression of dismay. “I’m afraid I have to recharge my batteries before then.” She made a vague gesture toward her eyes, hoping neither of them would know better. “I might as well keep the fiche until our meeting.”
Mona held out her hand, but Tingley made no move to return the film. “This is the only copy? You didn’t make one for yourself?” he asked.
Whenever she scanned documents, the readout was stored on chip until she erased it. Tingley evidently didn’t know that about her, either. “I didn’t think I’d need one. I expected to take care of the matter tonight.”
“I’ll have a copy on your desk first thing Monday morning,” Tingley said.
“I could be doing further research until then,” Mona still had her hand out.
“You’re very conscientious, Ms. Klein,” Mr. Bartlett said.
“Tingley’s waving the fiche right in front of you,” Enrique fumed. “If I were there, I’d just reach out and snatch it.” He couldn’t, of course, not without getting himself locked up for assault, but his swashbuckling attitude seemed quixotic and somehow charming.
“I can copy it at the Wilkinson,” Tingley said, “and put a copy in your mailbox at home.”
At this point, speaking with the president alone seemed impossible. All she could think of was to ask Mr. Bartlett to take her with him to the Wilkinson. Even if he didn’t accuse her of coming on to him, at the very least, he’d have to question her discretion and integrity, ruining her career. But if she did nothing at all, she’d have no career to worry about anyway.
“My apartment’s between here and the Wilkinson,” she blurted. “If you’ll follow me, I can scan the film there and store it on my computer, and you can pick up the original on your way back.”
“You can’t do that,” Enrique burst in.
“It’ll just take a minute,” Mona said, “but I’ll have to page a cab first.”
“No need for a cab,” Mr. Bartlett said. “Al was going to ride along with me to my appointment. It’ll be entirely respectable for you to come along with the two of us.”
“Don’t go with Tingley,” Enrique said. “Who knows what he might do to stop us from wrecking his career. It’s not safe.”
All of a sudden he was worried about her safety? “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Bartlett,” she said.
“Of course you’ll have to sign a release,” Tingley said. “I think there’s one in my car.”
“If only I could read it,” she demurred.
“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, Al,” Mr. Bartlett said.
Tingley mumbled something unintelligible, but he had no choice but to sign the form Mona produced, promising that none of them would later file suit over any word or action that took place within the next three hours. She had packed the release with her, the way people used to pack condoms, as protection in case of intimacy. She’d left home hoping to be invited to know Enrique better, never imagining that she’d be sharing a form with the president of her company.
Still, even with the release signed and the recorders turned off, she couldn’t relax. Not with Enrique muttering, “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” in her ear every thirty seconds as he trailed behind in his car.
From her seat in back, she directed Mr. Bartlett to her apartment via a route past the University’s library, which was open until midnight. Tingley didn’t have to be reminded that the library had a copier that could handle fiche.
“It’ll save time if I can have a hard copy to go over for you during the meeting tonight,” he told Mr. Bartlett.
“I could go in and make one for you,” Mona offered. “I know my way around.”
“Mr. Bartlett and I can handle it,” Tingley said.
Mona held her breath.
“Al.” Mr. Bartlett shook his head. “Ms. Klein doesn’t want to wait here by herself.”
Tingley didn’t respond immediately, and Mona relished the turmoil that had to be raging in his mind.
“What’s going on?” Enrique asked, as if she should know more than he did, listening in. Sighted people could be so lost when they had to depend on just their hearing.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Tingley said, as if he expected Mona and Mr. Bartlett to behave like baby rabbits and not move a muscle until Daddy got back.
“So,” Mr. Bartlett began when they were alone. “I’ve enjoyed watching you match wits with Al to get to me.” He twisted around in the front seat. “It’s obvious you want something. I can’t wait to hear what it is.”
Mona had been so intent on maneuvering herself into Mr. Bartlett’s presence that she hadn’t thought about how to phrase her request, except that she didn’t intend using Enrique’s ridiculous “script.” “I hope you know that I’ve tried to be an asset to the company and that I’d like to keep my job.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Ms. Klein,” Mr. Bartlett assured her. “So why all this conniving?”
“Because somebody had me transferred yesterday to the Special Projects Department, and everybody there is going to be fired tomorrow.”
“What makes you think that?” He sounded incredulous.
“Just look at the roster: a few misfits and troublemakers, but also several managers who’ve reached their level of incompetence but can’t be demoted, and all the protected whistle-blowers, plus some others—mostly moved onto the list within the last week—who’ve had unfortunate personal run-ins with certain people in power.”