THE FIRST TIME I MET HER...IT’S JUST LIKE yesterday—I can never get it out of my mind.
It was in the summer of 1987. At that time I was a rep for American Protective Technologies (APT), selling industrial security systems. Although I learned that I had been a “borderline” hire for the old, conservative company, I inherited a fantastic territory—one that nobody else wanted—basically the west and southwest side of Chicago, that included some of the city’s most dangerous neighborhoods and crime-ridden slums. But this was also a major industrial and commercial area that proved to be a bonanza for me, since virtually every business there was in desperate need of some kind of burglar-alarm system.
Before I got the job, but had applied for it, I was advised to either get married, or to acquire a “significant other,” someone whom I could tell the company interviewers that I was going to marry—soon. Apparently, that would make me appear more stable—more likely to fit in with the company’s conservative culture. So I dated, then got engaged to a woman six years older than me, but very attractive. I told her that I was older than she was and very much in love with her—both lies. But I needed someone...Her name was Michelle, and she was actually a very sweet girl, and I did feel a bit guilty about snowing her but... Her father, a butcher I think, was also a nice guy and seemed to like me, while her mother sensed that I was not being truthful and hated me for it.
But the more her mother tried to break up our romance, the more that Michelle became committed to marrying me. So shortly after I was hired by APT, Michelle and I were married in a big church wedding. It wasn’t until the day before the wedding that I told her the truth about my age. She was shocked by my deception but went through with the wedding anyway.
Now I had a great job, but was married to a woman whom I neither loved nor cared for. Wildly successful selling, I spent a lot of my money on other women. Sometimes I would stay out all night, and come home to Michelle with the flimsiest of excuses. I was always on the lookout for another fling, preferably a one-night stand.
Then one day I got a lead for a big company named J. J. Tomkins, out west of Midway. When I first called on them I gave the receptionist my card and asked for the general manager, Walt Sievers. I was told to have a seat, and would be called for by and by. I assumed that, as usual, the receptionist would let me know when Walt was ready to see me, and she would direct me to his office. (It was a big place!) I was slightly surprised when a young woman, in her mid-to- late twenties, came through the door and introduced herself as “Mr. Sievers’s secretary.” This was the first time I met Carla Mendez.
The first thing I noticed about her was the self-assurance, the confidence in the way she carried herself. This was definitely no shrinking violet—no one who fretted about what someone might think of her. Carla was not truly beautiful in the classic sense, but nevertheless was extremely striking, appearance-wise, especially her big blue eyes that seemed to laugh and look right through you at the same time.. At first I simply smiled and walked a couple of paces behind her as she led me to Mr. Sievers’s office. But I immediately noticed, looking at her from behind, that she had a very plush, round ass and long beautiful legs. Hmm. Then I caught the scent of her lilac-infused perfume. I find it kind of funny now how the pleasing fragrance of lilacs could be a prelude to death!
Once in front of Mr. Sievers, however, I forgot all about his secretary and went into my pitch. J. J. Tomkins manufactured large printing presses, so major theft was not their prime concern. But the factory was so spacious and had so many points of entry that young hooligans were regularly breaking in at night and committing some pretty serious pilferage of precision tools and office supplies and, worst of all, vandalism. One solution the company had was to hire more nighttime security guards, but this would be very expensive. So they decided to bite the bullet and put in an electronic security system with huge up-front installation costs, but very manageable monthly maintenance charges after that.
Although J. J. Tomkins wanted to get an effective system designed and installed as soon as possible, there was just so much to cover that it was going to take me a number of visits to all areas of their plant before I could give them a firm proposal. And each time I called on them it was the same routine—I would wait in the lobby until I was summoned by Walt Sievers, then escorted to him by his secretary, Carla Mendez.
On every successive sales call I got to know Carla better on those very brief trips from the lobby to the GM’s office. After that first time, instead of me following behind her, we walked side by side—sometimes talking to each other, sometimes saying nothing. But in that very short time, she cast a spell on me like no woman ever had before. As I said, she was not beautiful in a traditional way. She had rather plain facial features and kind of a nervous laugh, which was initially a bit irritating. But she nevertheless exuded a sexuality like I had never encountered before.
She did have some obviously Hispanic qualities, but I figured she was not pure Mexican or whatever, because she had those big blue eyes and light brown hair. She was also tall, yet had an excellent posture—totally unconcerned with her height, as many tall women are. Physically she was very sure of herself, but what got to me most was her expression, or maybe you’d call it an aura, that compelled me fantasize that she had just had sex and was looking for more—right now! And at first this was all I thought about with her—just going to bed. But with every meeting, there was something else that attracted me to her. Was this real love? Soon I made as many appointments at Tomkins as I could—to go over this detail or that—just so I could be led to Walt’s office by Carla Mendez. Then one day when I went out there, she was absent from work for one reason or another, and when some other girl came for me in the lobby, I was more let down than I had ever been in my whole life. It was then that I knew that I was absolutely crazy about Carla.
Finally I gave Walt Sievers our formal proposal—and it was a big one, with electronic eyes, ultrasonic domes and contacts and tape at every single possible entryway. If Tomkins went for this it would net me about ten grand in commission! I knew that there was competition for the project from Central Security Systems (CSS), with basically the same apparatus and service for a considerably lower price, but I was used to this and not worried in the least. APT had by far the number-one reputation in the security business, although CSS had more clients in the Chicago area. But almost never did a serious, growing company want to even take the slightest chance on compromising security for merely a lower price. For just about everyone, buying on price might work for fasteners, tools and other supplies—but not a company’s security. And besides, despite its number-one market share, CSS had recently acquired the unenviable reputation for a number of its clients recently having their security systems compromised and being burglarized, big time. Anyway, APT was considered the best, so...
And the hell of it was that I had applied at CSS before I called APT about a sales job, and CSS turned me down flat because I didn’t have “enough college education or any experience in the security business.” APT, on the other hand, interviewed me extensively (including a long chat with the sales manager, Bill Grilli) and gave me a battery of intelligence and psychological tests before finding me “adequately qualified.”
J. J. Tomkins would be a major deal, so I didn’t expect an instant decision from them. When about two weeks after I made the proposal, I got a message to call the press manufacturer, my heart started beating faster. I was actually confident of the sale and I breezily called my prospect. “Joe Shea returning your call.” But instead of connecting with Walt Sievers as I expected, a husky female voice answered, “Joe, this is Carla Mendez, Mr. Sievers’s secretary.” This was not all that surprising, as every now and then it would be a prospect’s secretary that would get me on the line before putting me through to her boss. But what Carla said next sent shivers up and down my spine.
“Hi, Joe. I was just wondering if we could get together for maybe a couple of drinks after work some time this week—maybe today or tomorrow.”
I cannot remember ever being more stunned—or as happily surprised—as I was at that moment. If I had met Carla at Butch McGuire’s, or some other singles bar (that I frequented even though I was married), I would have hit on Carla in a New-York minute. But where a potential sale was concerned, especially like the one that hung in the balance with J. J. Tomkins, there was no way that I would do anything that could have potentially detrimental effects on the outcome of the deal, like hitting on my prospect’s secretary.
At first I was utterly speechless, and when I finally could talk, I stuttered, “Uh—yeah—uh—sure, Carla. But—uh—you know that I’m married and—uh—I wouldn’t want Mr. Sievers to find out or—uh—you know...”
“I know. I saw your ring. And I promise—I won’t say a word to Mr. Sievers. The truth is, I’m very attracted to you and I thought, well...”
God! I can’t believe this! There was nothing more in this whole world I’d rather hear! “Well—uh—Carla,” I stuttered, “I think you’re a very interesting and attractive lady, but—uh...”
“Aw—you’re so sweet to say that.”
“No. I really mean it Carla. I swear to God...”
“So can you make it today?”
I didn’t give it another thought. So what if I blow the sale! “Sure! You have someplace in mind?”
We met at the old Home Run Inn, at 31st & Pulaski. We were supposed to meet at 5:00, but
I couldn’t wait and got there fifteen minutes early. Imagine my surprise when I saw Carla already there sitting at the bar! I sat on the stool next to hers and almost immediately she put her arm through mine, making me tingle all over. This was almost too much for me to take! I think she sensed my unease and took her arm back—but not without sliding her hand slowly and provocatively.
“So you’re early, too,” she husked.
“Uh—yeah—uh—well—uh—traffic went a little better than I thought.”
“Sure,” she said as she moved her leg up against mine. This was incredible. Here I was, almost always the aggressive one, but this girl, who I dearly yearned for and deeply desired, was coming on strong to me! I could hardly stand it, and I must have seemed foolish to her.
Nevertheless she didn’t miss a beat and said, “What, you’re not gonna have a drink?”
“Uh—oh yeah, I guess I’ll have something, maybe...”
“You’re probably right. We should get a table. I’m starving! You ever have a pizza here?”
“Huh? A pizza? Uh—yeah. I love the pizza here.”
When we took a table in the darkened room, Carla made sure that we were always touching somehow—either our toes, our knees, or our hands, at every opportunity.
“Aren’t you gonna have any pizza, Joe?”
I was really and truly so enthralled by being this close to her that I hadn’t even been aware that the waiter had brought the pizza some time ago.
“Wha’—uh—pizza—oh, sure,” I mumbled, putting a juicy slice on my plate.
I can’t remember what we first talked about, I just knew that this chick wanted to get intimate with me and I was more than ready and willing to do that. But I do remember being a bit shaken by the turning point in our conversation. This is when she made it clear to me that it would be really good for her if APT didn’t get Tomkins’s business, but CSS, our competitor, did.
“So that’s why you been so hot for me, huh?” I said, immediately snapped back to reality.
“Oh, no, Joe. You got the wrong idea—honest!”
“No, Joe. You really turn me on! You have since the first time I met you.” And she took both my hands in hers and pressed her knees firmly up against mine. I made no move to resist.
“You’ve had this planned all along haven’t you?”
“No Joe. I swear...”
“What. Do you think I’m a kid or something? So what’s in it for you?”
Now she abruptly pulled back, puffed up self-righteously. “Just what kind of a girl do you think I am?” Then she started to get up to walk away.
“Hold on!” I exclaimed pleadingly. “What am I supposed to think, anyway? Here I thought that you liked me, and now it seems that all you wanted was for me to screw up so my competitor can get the order. And there’s no way that CSS can do as good a job as APT, and you know it!”
“Forget about the business,” said Carla reestablishing physical contact with me. “It’s not important really. Let’s just you and me be nice again. Okay?”
“Oh, jeez, Carla! You gotta know how I’m feeling about you.”
And the subject of the business was dropped from then until much later—until we had gone to a little motel at 39th and Cicero and had twice ravished each other like animals—by far the greatest sex I had ever had. And it was clear that she wanted more. At that time I would have done anything for her.
“So tell me the deal with CSS.”
“That’s okay, Joe. As long as we can be together—that’s all that matters,” she cooed, stroking me sensually.
“No, really,” I persisted. “There must be some reason. Maybe there’s some way else I can help you.”
“No. It’s not really for me anyway. It’s just...”
Acting as if she had just realized that she had no choice but to tell me, she said, sounding very reluctant to talk about it, “Well, I have this cousin, Jorge, who’s a foreman for one of CSS’ installation teams—no—there’s no reason to go into this.”
“No, I gotta know, now. Please, Carla?”
Sighing deeply, as if this were the very last thing in the world she wanted to talk about, she continued, “Anyway, when I was little—about three or four—my dad passed away. And my mom—well—as time went on—uh—for now, let’s just say that it wasn’t a great environment for a little girl being around her. So my dad’s sister’s family—the Martinez family—took me in and raised me like their own daughter. Jorge, their oldest son, he’s my cousin, but then he was like my big brother.”
“This is the guy who works for CSS?”
“Well, forget him for a minute. Tell me about you...Uh—you been at Tomkins long?”
“Just over a year, now. I’ve had a bunch of jobs, but this one at J. J. Tomkins, working for Mr. Sievers, is the best one I ever had.”
“Yeah. Walt seems like he’d be a good boss.”
“Oh, he is, Joe. He’s very considerate and respectful. And when I found out that they needed a burglar alarm system, I recommended CSS, just so Jorge could make a few bucks, y’know?”
“But then when APT got into it and I met you, I didn’t know what to do, because I really liked you. You know that don’t you?” she asked, continuing to caress me into a fiery passion.
After yet another bout of steamy, sweaty lovemaking, I said, “So what can I do? I think I’ve sold them already on APT.”
Carla sighed again and said, “You’re right. It’s probably too late now to do anything.” After pausing a few beats, she said as if struck by a sudden inspiration. “I know...No. No one would believe that.”
“Believe what?” I asked, ready to do anything for her.
“No. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Try me. Please.”
“It was just a thought, but—uh—what if you told Mr. Sievers that you had—you know—added up the cost wrong—and that the real amount would be much more than what you told him originally?”
“Can’t do it, Carla—not on one this big. Y’see, there’s been too many preliminary estimates by our technical guys—especially for the eyes and the movement sensors, so those costs are all figured in the proposal. And then on any potential deal as big as Tomkins, my sales manager, Bill Grilli, has been monitoring each charge, every step of the way. So his finger is in the pie—y’know?”
When I mentioned Bill Grilli, she slightly stiffened—I don’t know—but she definitely had some kind of reaction to his name. But she quickly resumed her rap without missing a beat.
“Yeah, Joe. I hear ya. I’ll just have to tell Jorge that we can’t do anything on this one.”
“I’m sorry but...Hey! You still wanna see me and everything don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, Joe,” she sighed, but her answer was mostly physical, snuggling up close and holding me tight.
I loosened myself slightly from her embrace, reached to the nightstand, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and lit one up, laying an ashtray on my chest.
“Can I have one?” she asked.
“Here,” I said, as I put a second one in my mouth, lit it, and passed it to her.
There must be some way I can help her and her cousin out!
“What ya thinkin’ about, Joe?”
“I haven’t got it thought through yet, but maybe I could forward some leads to you and—uh...”
“Wouldn’t ya get into trouble if you did that?”
“Ha! I’m always gettin’ into trouble, Carla. Like right now, with my old lady!”
“Oh, gosh. I don’t wanna be the cause of...”
“Nah! I’m just kidding. My wife is used to me comin’ home late by now.”
“Hmh! If you were my man, there’s no way I’d let you get away with being with another woman!”
If I were her man! Just the thought of this boggled my mind!
But I low-keyed it and said, “I bet.”
Carla snuggled even closer while I picked up on my previous train of thought.
“Y’know,” I mused, thinking out loud. “We—uh—especially me—get so many leads coming over the phone that...” And my voice trailed off as I began to scheme—seriously.
“Yeah?” high-pitched Carla, her curiosity aroused.
I didn’t answer immediately, silently going over my plan. Then, “I think I got a way to help your cousin out!”
“Really? How—uh...But I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble or anything!”
“No. That’s the beauty of this deal. My bosses’ll never know!”
“No—I don’t think so,” I said, still plotting as I sat up and lit another smoke. “See, Jeanie—she’s our receptionist and she also answers the phone. When someone calls in that’s interested in our services, Jeanie writes it down on a pink slip and gives it to the salesman whose territory the caller’s in—okay?”
“Well, what I’m thinkin’ is, that I can just not call the guy and pass the lead on to you and you can give it to your cousin or whoever. How’s that?”
Carla pulled me back down and hugged me. “Can you do that? Waitaminute! Won’t that hurt you—I mean...Then you wouldn’t get the business and...”
“Don’t worry about it! I got so much business now—almost more leads than I can handle anyway.”
WHEN I GOT HOME THAT NIGHT—ACTUALLY it was about three in the morning—Michelle was sleeping soundly. This confirmed what I had told Carla, that my wife had gotten used to me staying out late. When I first started fooling around, Michelle would wait up for me all hours of the night.
The next day at work, I decided to put my plan to help Carla’s cousin into action. In the morning alone I got four leads—nice ones, too—but I only called one and put the others in my pocket for Carla. I was just about to call her to tell her about them when I was tapped on the shoulder from behind. I guess I must have been feeling guilty or something because I almost fell out of my chair.
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Joe!” exclaimed the startled girl who tapped me. It was Penny Vickers, Bill Grilli’s secretary.
“Jeez, you scared the hell out of me! What’s up, Penny?”
“The boss wants to see you in his office.”
He couldn’t possibly know—or could he? Quickly thinking that it would be impossible for him to know about the leads, and my plans for them, I got up quickly and followed Penny to the rear of the sales office. Even though there could be no trouble about the leads, I prepared myself mentally for the worst. The truth is that Grilli simply hated my guts, and it was never a fun thing to be called into his office. Never mind that I was bringing in the bucks like no one else. Every time I was summoned by him, it was to get chewed out for one thing or another.
The first time, it was to let me know that a guy from one of my accounts had complained that he needed to have an additional single window protected, and that I had never called him back. I probably should’ve followed up with the guy, but I was working on some huge proposals at the time and I just forgot about this small-fry. Then he reamed me because an officer of my bank had called him and reported that I had been scamming them into paying for my parking. In order to acquire customers outside the Loop, the bank advertised that for doing a transaction, any parking ticket would be validated, and no parking costs would be assessed. So I opened an account there and made a transaction at the bank just about every day, even if it meant cashing a check for only a couple of bucks. Maybe I was morally in the wrong, but I was technically right, and this way I could save a shitload of money. After being yelled at by Grilli, I paid for my parking myself.
Now when I took a seat across from the sales manager, it did not take him long to start hammering me again. This time it was because he had noticed that my sideburns were too long, and that I was wearing “French” shoes. Actually they were Florsheims, and winged-tipped ones, too, but they had buckles instead of laces. I protested that most of the sales guys my age in the area had sideburns long and bushy, and many of them wore shoes with buckles. But Grilli said that these guys were all “losers” and not the APT-type. Finally we compromised, and I agreed to cut my sideburns short, but I would be allowed to wear the “French” shoes.
I was so rattled by this session that I went home early. I just couldn’t understand why Grilli was on my case so much, when I was selling over 100% of quota. Nor did I call Carla with the leads. I had a date to see her after work in a couple of days and I would simply hand them to her in person. Besides, I was getting a bit paranoid—imagining that my office phone was tapped. Plus I knew that Grilli knew that I was cheating on my wife. A couple of girls I had dumped had sent humorous greeting cards to my office, vainly trying to rekindle my interest, and he had intercepted them and given them to me himself—along with a knowing smirk.
The following week, everything became a little clearer to me regarding Grilli’s nasty attitude towards me. Like most salespeople I knew, Grilli overindulged in drinking quite often. He never did this with me, of course, but he did every now and then with Tom Hopnik, one of my fellow salesmen with whom I was quite friendly. One night after work, when I had plans to meet up with Carla around seven, to kill some time Tom and I had a couple of beers in the bar on the ground floor of our office building. I voiced my chagrin about the boss’s attitude towards me and Tom told me not to worry about it—there was nothing I could do.
“Don’t worry about it? This guy’s my boss, for Christ’s sake!”
“It’s not really personal, Joe. It’s just that Bill hates all Irishmen!”
Oh, that! For those of you that don’t know, the Irish/Italian animus goes deep in cities like New York, Boston and Chicago, and can be quite contentious. Even so, I knew for a fact that in Chicago, an Irishman marrying an Italian girl (and vice versa) was a typical spousal combination. I myself...
“That asshole knows damn well that my mother is full-blooded calabrese! Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Tom just shrugged his shoulders in an expression of helplessness, ordered a shot of something, downed it, then turned back to me. “Yeah. Well, there might be some other stuff, too.”
“What ‘other stuff?’”
Now Tom swiveled around on his stool, to make absolutely sure that neither Bill Grilli, nor any other APT guys were in the bar. Then he nudged closer to me and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Now, ya gotta promise me, Joe...What I’m gonna tell ya, it didn’t come from me. Okay?”
“I swear to God!”
“Nah, maybe we should just forget it,” he said, distancing himself slightly.
“No way, José! Not after all that buildup...Bring him another shot!” I called out to the bartender. “Put it on my tab...Okay, Tom,” I hissed. “Out with it!”
Tom drained his shot, took a deep breath and said, “Let me ask you this. You ever hear of an APT salesman named Sean Rooney?”
“Uh, sure...Like I don’t know anything about him—you know—as a person. But his name’s on just about every account in my territory. He must have been pretty good.”
“He was damned good! And he was a salesman here at the same time that Grilli was selling.”
“That’s right. Now, obviously Grilli must have been a monster, otherwise he wouldn’t be the manager, right?”
“But apparently, Rooney was a super monster...And when Grilli got promoted here, Rooney was moved up to corporate in New York. He’s Grilli’s boss now!”
“Yeah. Anyhoo, Grilli thinks that Rooney’s success was an Irish thing...Like he’d do anything to get an order, he had Irish connections, yada, yada, yada...And that’s how he outsold Grilli, not on just better sales ability. So he thinks that anyone with an Irish last name—like Shea—who sells good...Well...”
“That’s crazy, Tom!” I exclaimed heatedly, loud enough so that others in the little bar turned our way.
“Hey, man! I think so too, okay?” he protested defensively. “I’m just tellin’ ya what he said.”
Then Tom ordered another shot and stared into the bar mirror, as if in thought, like maybe he shouldn’t have told me this. But I sensed that there was more—I don’t know how—I just did.
“So, is that it? He hates Micks and I’m a Mick, so...But there’s something else, ain’t there?”
“No. Not really.”
“Whaddayamean, ‘Not really?’ There is something else, isn’t there?”
He still would not look at me. “C’mon, Joe. What I told you is what he said. I’m takin’ a chance tellin’ ya that much.”
“Goddamnit, Tom! What else does the prick have against me?”
“It’s all speculation, Joe. There’s no way I can possibly know if there’s anything there or not.”
“I thought we were friends—or at least buddies who watched each other’s backs.”
“We are, Joe,” said Tom sincerely, finally turning my way. “But—I dunno—this is real personal and I don’t have a clue whether any of it’s true, so...”
“What is it, man—please?”
Again with the deep breath, then, “Think of some of our conversations. You’ve told me that you been playin’ around with other girls—besides Michelle—right?”
“Yeah. Well I don’t have a clue how he found out, but Grilli seems to know that.”
I told Tom about the cards intercepted by the manager. “So he hates me because I’m immoral too, right?”
“Nah, it ain’t that. He fucks around on his wife, himself.”
“He told you that?” Somehow, it didn’t surprise me at all. It was also just like him, I thought—for him to brag about it to a subordinate.
“Yeah, actually he’s told me about his extracurricular activities a couple a times. But this thing about you—if it’s true, I mean—it’s not really a moral deal, y’know?”
“What the hell is it, Tom?” Now I was starting to get angry.
“Cool it, man, will ya? I knew I shouldn’t have gotten into this,” he moaned, and looked up at the ceiling as if to get help from on high.
“Tom, I swear if you don’t tell me...” I said threateningly, standing up for emphasis.
“Okay! Okay! Just get a hold of yourself, will ya?”
I said nothing. I didn’t have to. But I sat back down.
“Alright,” he continued with a sigh of resignation. “Y’know that big deal you got—Thomas or whatever the name is, I forget.”
“J. J. Tomkins.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Well—uh—Grilli’s been out there a few times—y’know—when the tech guys were doing estimates. You must have known that. He always gets involved with those big jobs.”
“Yeah?” I knew about that, but never gave it a thought. All of a sudden, I started to feel little flying things swooping around my stomach, and the only thing I could do was to order a shot for myself to keep from being overcome by the feeling of dread about what Tom was going to say next.
“So anyway, he says that there’s this juicy little Chiquita out there, and—uh—well—she’s real hot and everything, and, about a year or so ago, he met her somehow, he makes a pass at her, and she hops into bed with him one afternoon, and—uh—she’s really fantastic—like she really knows her way around the sack!”
“She does, huh?”
“That’s what he says,” and now Tom had the hint of lechery in his eye as he warmed to the subject. “I wish I could get me something like that!
Now the fluttering had ceased in my stomach, and the dread had passed. I was simply devastated. “So Tom, did Grilli say what this little Chiquita’s name is—or at least what she looks like?” I already knew the answer, but there was still the tiniest sliver of hope that it might be someone besides Carla.
Then Tom looked askance at me, with kind of a bewildered look. “You don’t know, do you? I knew it was bullshit!”
“What was bullshit, Tom?” I asked calmly.
“Well I can’t remember the name he told me—Carrie, Carmen, Carmelita, something like that.”
“Carla! That’s it. So you do know her!”
“Yeah. I know her. But what does this have to do with me, anyway?”
“Well, dig this! He claims that because she’s so hot, he wants to get together with her like they had been doin’, but she won’t do it with him no more. And y’know why?”
“Well, he thinks that she’s ballin’ you!”
“Did she tell him that?”
“No. He just assumes that you met her out there and—well—you know. Now, I thought he was crazy because this chick is the GM’s secretary and...He’s the guy you deal with, right?”
“See? And I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to mess around with the secretary of a client as big as that one, right?”
“No, I wouldn’t do anything as dumb as that.”