LIBERATION

“When’s your last day?” the woman asked.

“They’re giving me some time to wind things down. Get things tied up. Et cetera. Next week some time.” He drummed his fingers on the teak table, put his right ankle on his left knee and flicked his foot a few times. Took a sip of his bourbon and water. She’d never seen his face so tense, his limbs so jittery.

“So what exactly did you say to this woman, this remark that got you canned?”

“I swear, Meg, all I did was try to make her feel good by complimenting her outfit. I thought it would cheer her up. I knew she’d been struggling with some personal problems. I didn’t know what they were, I just overheard things in the coffee area. It wasn’t until they allowed her to ’confront’ me—he wiggled his fingers—that I found out that, I guess she felt her husband was being emotionally abusive. You might think that that would be an excuse for her being hypersensitive, that she might explain that. But that’s not how it went. She used it as an excuse to be angry at me, angry at all men. Lump us all together.” He sighed deeply and looked at the view of the bay, although he gave no sign of appreciating it.

“Okay, I get it, but what were your exact words?” She wasn’t sure the restaurant deck was the ideal spot for this conversation, but at least it was neutral, and she wanted to stay as neutral as possible. It seemed important to hear his side of it. And the view was good; she didn't have to look at him unless she wanted to.

“For Christ’s sake,” he said. “I don’t remember every word of what I said. She was wearing a nice dress. It really…brought out her best features.” If she'd blinked, she would’ve missed the quick upturn of the corners of his mouth.

“Please don’t tell me you said something about her body.”

He took another sip and turned to look at the two couples who were seating themselves a few tables away. She waited. No answer. No indication he’d heard her, although it was quiet, the middle of the afternoon.

“It wasn’t the first time, I assume.” He glanced at her, silent affirmation. “Didn’t you get sexual harassment training? How did you not know better?”

“It’s just habit. When I started there, the gals loved it when you said something nice about them. Nice legs, looking good, pretty dress. No one took offense. They smiled and said thank you, and I felt good about probably making their day.”

“You thought you made their day? Did they tell you that?”

“They didn’t have to. They smiled when I said it, and they smiled when they saw me. Women go to a lot of trouble to look good, just the right dress, fix their hair, the makeup, all that. You know that. You know that.”

The waiter peeked around at them. “Everything okay?”

“Can you please bring me a glass of white wine?” She turned to the man. “You want anything?” The man raised his empty glass. “One more of the same.” He turned and watched the waiter disappear into the dark interior of the restaurant.

“I love women, you know that.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. He looked tired. She wondered if he was having trouble sleeping. They sat in silence until the waiter brought their drinks. He took bigger sips now, as if he expected someone to snatch the glass away.

“When I see a beautiful woman, I want her to know that she’s beautiful.” He turned to look at her. His face was looser now, the words spilling out more easily. “That I think she’s beautiful. Even the just pretty ones, even the average ones, they enjoy a little boost to their self-esteem. Don’t tell me they don’t.”

“You always were a flirt, I’ll grant you that. Maybe that’s why you’re on your third wife.” She regretted that remark as soon as she said it, in spite of its accuracy. “But that’s neither here nor there. We’re talking about the workplace. Being professional.”

“That’s another thing.” The pitch of his voice had ticked up. He put his hand on the armrest and pushed himself around to face her. “Professionalism. Back in the 70’s we prided ourselves on professionalism. It separated us from the hippies and losers. Then along came casual Friday, then business casual. Meg, those girls—those women—I swear to God, they came to work looking like they were going to a bar on ladies night, hoping to get picked up. The skirts got shorter, the blouses got…” He shook his head and leaned back again. “The sexier they got, the more we had to go to sexual harassment classes. I guess I should have figured it out, seen that they wanted the upper hand for a change. I mean, I get that. Women’s lib.”

She rolled her eyes. “No question, things have changed. But admit it, you’ve always pushed the envelope. Think back. The things you used to say to my friends. Not appropriate.” She shook her head.

He didn’t hide his smile this time. “Well, that thing with Jessica…talk about a flirt.”

“That thing with Jessica? What thing with Jessica?”

His smile faded, and he took on a wild-eyed earnestness. “Nothing. Just that—.” He interrupted himself to wave his empty glass at the waiter. “It’s just that, you’re right, I probably did take it too far with the flirting. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“A thing is not flirting. A thing is something else. A thing is like…a hookup. A one-night stand. An affair. Daddy, you did not have an affair with Jessica. Please tell me you didn’t. She was only seventeen, Daddy.” He looked away. Looked out at the bay, his face blank as the flat water below them.

She stared at him with wide eyes, but she wasn’t seeing. She was sitting on this deck, next to her father, with a view of the bay and the city beyond, and yet she wasn’t. Something had changed in her: her body had floated away, and her vision was distorted in an odd, unprecedented manner. For a moment, she couldn’t identify the man sitting next to her.

“Thank God,” she said finally. She turned to him. “Thank God they fired you before your disgusting, out-of-control impulses fucked up someone else.” She had never spoken to him like this. The tie was broken, the veil was lifted, and she felt stronger than she’d ever felt. She stood up. “Thank God.”