'Some of us are stopping off for a drink tonight, and I thought you might like to join us.'
'Great. Count me in.' Well, why the hell not? Roger thought bitterly. What's there to go home to, anyway? Just a cold, frigid wife, that's all. Well, maybe after I've had a couple of drinks, Diane will begin to look interesting again. Although I doubt it. He said, 'Where?'
'There's that new place around the corner. You know, the one that looks like an English pub. I understand it has atmosphere, drinks are reasonable. Pig and Whistle, I think is the name.'
Roger nodded. 'I may be a little late, but I'll come by.'
Cord slapped his hand against the door. 'Fine.' He turned and walked away, swaggering a little as he always did.
Instead of returning to the Apperson account, Roger stared at the computer in front of him and thought about Marcus Cord. The man was easy to envy, for he had the handsome attributes of wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and a dimpled smile which made women take a second look. He had been a football player in college, which hadn't been so many years ago to have lost Cord his muscular and well-developed physique; and combined with a charming and sophisticated manner, which was not affected but extremely natural, Cord made the women take that third and fourth look as well. He exuded sex like an aura around him, and damnit, he knew it.
Roger remembered when Diane had first seen him after shopping one night a couple of months ago, when she had met him for a ride home. By chance, Cord had been standing outside the office building with him at the moment Diane walked up, and when she laid eyes on the man, Roger knew she was violently attracted to him. Physically, lustfully, hungrily; not with love or tenderness which had characterized her desire for Roger. Animal instincts — pure bitch heat, and he had felt the rise of jealousy spread through him. He had been rather nasty to her that night, and they had ended the evening in a bitter fight. He had thrown the way she had acted toward Cord at her then, with all the acid of a man scorned. She in turn had denied everything, swearing it was only Roger she wanted, and that he was fabricating and fantasizing the whole thing. The problem had been that she really hadn't done anything. There was nothing Roger could point to except the explosive air which had been generated. He knew and she knew and Cord knew; but that didn't win the argument for him.
Still Marcus Cord was higher up in the corporation than Roger. He was in another section, a vice president in charge of customer service, which meant that his power over Roger was only indirect — but not worth crossing. Roger knew that if he alienated Cord, his chances of a good long term career at Waller, Waller, Crist, and Maxwell would be ended.
Besides, Roger had no reason to feel that Cord was a threat to his marriage, or that Diane, as indifferent as she was in bed, would ever consummate her desire if offered the chance. Cord had enough women to satisfy the most accomplished satyr. Although married to a beautiful woman from all that Roger had heard, he was nonetheless the office cocksman. He was smart enough not to fool around where he worked, or at least if he had, there had been no talk of it. God knew he could have had any of the nubile, mini-skirted girls in the typing pool, and they wouldn't have kept their mouths shut for a second. Yet when Cord was some other place — a bar, a restaurant, anywhere where there was a female around — he was definitely on the prowl. Roger had heard from another of the staff that Cord had once picked up and later bedded an airline stewardess on the forty minute run between Los Angeles and San Francisco — an almost impossible feat.
Roger shook his head. Why the hell couldn't he be that way? He was so God-awful inhibited, not at all like Cord. Why was he so damned straight and staid? He slammed his fist against the desk top. Well, if Diane kept up the way she was going, he would damn well stop being so stuffy and start being more of a swinger!
Roger stayed late at the office, even though he didn't feel like it. The Apperson account went slowly after he got back to thinking about it, instead of his wife and himself and Marcus Cord. He had to get it done; he had promised it to his boss, Ernst Pierson by the next morning. It was the hour here and the hour there of overtime which made the company begin to take notice of him, of that he was sure. Take notice they had: two fifty dollar raises in six months, and promises of promotions and other benefits. The firm was shorthanded, too, which made his position even more valuable, and Roger willed himself to put in the overtime and forget how tired he was. He wanted to get ahead and earn more money, and this was the way to do it. He had to be on his toes, though, and that took a lot out of him. He realized that some of the problems around his home were his, but that didn't excuse Diane's perpetual iciness and indifference to his needs.
Roger finished at a quarter to six, and put the account portfolio on Pierson's desk before leaving.
He doubted that Cord would still be at the Pig and Whistle, but he felt like he deserved a drink anyway. He walked around the corner and entered the little bar. It took him a moment to let his eyes accustom to the dimness, for the crowd of men and women and the miasma of smoke blanketed what little light filtered from the lamps and windows.
The Pig and Whistle was as Cord said it was: an American idea of what an English pub might look like. The walls and ceiling were in a pseudo-Tudor wood beam design, with the stucco painted white. There was a long oak bar, highly polished, manned by a large, English-accented bartender who sported a handlebar moustache. There were long wood handles attached to the beer spigots, and Whitbread and Guinness Stout were advertised as being served.
There were groups of small, roughly hewn tables and matching chairs scattered haphazardly around the room. A pert waitress passed among the customers with a brass tray of beer glasses and other drinks. She was dressed in 18th Century fashion, except with an extremely short skirt, and she made sharp and slightly suggestive remarks to anybody who spoke to her. A couple of men were throwing darts at a circular cork board in one corner. Roger didn't recognize the shorter of the two, but the other man was definitely Cord.
Cord laughed as the other man stuck a dart in the wall next to the board, slapped the man on the back and turned. He saw Slater and raised a hand in greeting. 'Roger! Over here, man!'
Roger made his way through the packed mass and reached Cord. 'Sorry I'm late. Where is everybody?'
'They've all gone. It's just us two.' Cord turned back to the man he had been playing with and said, 'My friend is here. Thanks for the game.'
'I owe you for two, I think,' the stranger said good naturedly. 'For someone who never played darts, you caught on pretty fast.'
Cord laughed and together, he and Roger crossed to an empty table, leaving the other man standing alone. He took the chair next to the wall and gestured for the waitress. 'That man over there owes me two beers,' he told her when she arrived. 'Serve one to me and one to him,' he added, pointing to Roger. 'And make it quick.'
'I'll make it in my own sweet time,' the girl snapped. She swung the tray around and walked off, her rear end twitching provocatively.
Cord laughed and then grinned at Roger. 'She looks tempting. Right, Rog?'
Roger smiled back awkwardly. This was the first time he had been with Cord alone on a social occasion. He felt uncomfortable, over his head in new and strange waters. Cord was an over-powering force, he suddenly realized, somebody he would be entirely unable to cope with.
The beer appeared quickly and again the girl swished her skirt and jiggled the globoid cheeks of her ass at Cord. This time Cord leaned over and patted her thighs lightly. She turned and in mock anger told him to stop with the familiarity. He only patted her again. The scent of sex was heavy in the air. Cord merely had to say when and she'd ask him where, Roger thought to himself. He gripped the thick stein handle and drank deeply of the golden brew. It washed down his throat and he quaffed again. The waitress left, winking at them.
Cord lit a cigarette and sipped the beer and looked very earnestly at Roger. 'I'll be honest with you,' he said. 'Actually, there was nobody else here. I only wanted you to come.'
'But why…?'
'Why tell you that a group of us were meeting here? Simple. In case I was overheard by those pack of ears in the office. I didn't want them to know about it.'
Roger's head buzzed. A warning bell rang in the back of his mind, but he couldn't figure why, any more than he could figure why Cord had gone to all this trouble. 'I don't understand,' he replied, frowning slightly.
'You know, Roger, that you've been noticed.'
'Noticed?'
'In the office. You've shown ambition and a knowledge of the business, and you're young. You should go far with us.'
Roger couldn't help but feel pleased. Cord only paused in his praise to order another round, and as Roger finished one beer the other appeared in its place.
