"I thought we might talk about it before. See where we each stand."

"That's what the contract negotiation's for," Mitchell said.

"I just want you to know," Jazik said, "I'm not taking any token cheap shit you might happen to offer. We don't come to a quick agreement, you got a walkout on your hands."

They came to the end of the hall, to a fire door with a sign that read no admittance. authorized personnel only. Mitchell stopped and looked at the man now.

"I thought everybody was happy."

"From where you sit," Jazik said, "in your wood-paneled office. You don't happen to be operating a fucking machine all day long."

Mitchell was tired and didn't want to lose his temper. He said, "What're you pushing me for? You don't have a grievance. Let's wait, okay? Contract time we'll talk all you want."

"Maybe some people don't want to wait," Jazik said. "They want to let you know conditions got to be a lot better."

"Here's the thing," Mitchell said. "We get in an argument now I'm liable to forget who you are and knock you on your ass. So for the time being, why don't we stay friends?"

He pushed through the heavy door, into the high-level vibrating sound of the plant, and let the door swing closed in the business agent's face.

O'Boyle said, "I thought you quit smoking?"

Mitchell leaned over the desk to get a light from him. "I started again. You listen to the whole tape?"

"Twice."

"Well?"

"I think you're being blackmailed."

"How much do I owe you so far?"

"Mitch, you're in fairly serious trouble."

"Fairly serious. What's really serious?"

"Tell me how you met the girl and started seeing her. Everything."

"I met her in a bar-"

"Wait a minute, I want to get it down." O'Boyle moved the tape recorder closer to Mitchell and turned it on. "Okay."

"I met her in a bar, a little over three months ago."

"What bar?"

"I forgot the name. One of the topless go-go places down on Woodward."

"What were you looking for, some action?"

"Jim, you want me to tell it? I was out with Ross. Once a week I take him to lunch, and I try not to make it a Friday, because he starts his weekend with the first martini. But it was Friday. I pay the bill, we're walking out, it's only two clock, I'm thinking, thank you, God, I did it. And he says, 'I don't feel like going back. Let's stop someplace and have a tightener.' "

"So you stopped at the go-go bar."

"We stopped at four of them. Nice sunny afternoon we're doing the topless tour. The last place, she's sitting at the bar. Ross sees her, pats her on the ass thinking she's one of the go-goers and tries to move in."

"What kind of shape were you in?"

"Not bad. I just had beer."

"So you sat down with her?"

"Ross did, I sat next to him. He begins with the usual bullshit about his forty-two-foot boat and his place in Canada. Pretty soon he's dropping the news that he's president of Wright-Way Motor Homes and how would she like to go up north in one this weekend. You know, that ski lodge he's got an interest in. She says, 'Wow, ride up north in a house trailer.' Ross says no, a motor home, with a built-in bar, the whole thing custom-designed and equipped, including a chauffeur. And she says, very innocently, 'Gee, I don't know, sport. I don't know if I'd be able to handle it, a custom-designed motor home.' You know, putting him on a little. He says, 'I got a ski lodge up there, near Gaylord. I own it.' She says, 'That sounds great. What do you ski on this time of the year, the grass?' "

O'Boyle, watching the tape recorder, looked up. "She used the word sport. That's what the guy called you a couple of times, didn't he?"

Mitchell paused, nodding. "You're right."

"Go on. Wait a minute," O'Boyle said then. "If she doesn't work in the place and I assume she's not a hustler, what was she doing there?"

"A friend worked there. Cini used to pick her up sometimes, drive her home."

"Where did Cini work?"

"I'll get to that," Mitchell said. "I didn't start talking to her until her friend joined us. Actually I came back from the can and the other girl's there and Ross's already switched over, giving her the business. So I sat down next to Cini."

"You know the friend's name?"

"I forgot. Donna. No, Doreen something or other. She's black. The best-looking black girl I ever saw. That's why Ross jumped on her. Really good-looking." Mitchell paused.

"Go on," O'Boyle said.

"I don't remember how Cini and I started talking. I mean, what about. But it was nice. She didn't give me the innocent big eyes she gave Ross. We just started talking-I think about meeting people, you know? How people meet and start dating and then sometimes they get married. She told me she was married when she was eighteen and divorced two years later. So now she was taking a secretarial course at Wayne, night school, and working as a model during the day."

"What kind of model? Ads? Commercials?"

"Let me get to it. We started talking and, Jim, I'll be a son of a gun, I asked her to go out to dinner."

O'Boyle looked at him, saying nothing.

"I mean we started talking and I liked her. She was real. No bullshit put-on or, you know, cute acting."

"She was real."

"She was very honest and sincere, down to earth. She used a few words once in a while like 'shit,' but it was natural. She was easy to talk to and we started laughing at things each other said."

"So you took her out to dinner."

"Yes. Listen, you try and think of a place to go you're not going to run into somebody. It's almost impossible."

"I've never been faced with the problem," O'Boyle said.

"Yeah, well good for you. We ended up in someplace downtown, I'm looking around the whole time we're there expecting somebody to walk in. Place you never even heard of, all of a sudden you start picturing all your friends and neighbors walking in."

"Guilty conscience."

"That's what I pay you for, huh?"

"You score that night?"

"Jim, we were having a nice time, that's all. I didn't even think about it."

"Well, when did you start thinking about it?"

"I guess when I saw her without any clothes on."

"That could do it."

"I told you she was a model? Well, when I first met her she worked in one of those places you go in, take pictures of a nude girl, fifteen bucks for a half-hour."

O'Boyle stared; he didn't say anything.

"Thirty bucks you can body-paint them."

"How much for a plain old-fashioned lay?"

"She didn't do that. Maybe some of the others did, I don't know."

"She just took her clothes off for any guy who came in."

"Jim, she didn't see anything wrong with it. She said a body's a body, everybody's got one, so what's the big deal? I told you she was… natural, honest."

"A real person."

"She was different. Jim, I'm not good at describing people. But I'm telling you I liked the girl. In fact, you want to know the truth, I fell in love with her. Can you hear me saying that? I fell in love. I felt like I was twenty years old. We had a good time together, we enjoyed each other and we didn't even do anything. I mean exciting. We didn't go out and spend a lot of dough. I'd come to the apartment and most of the time all we did was talk. Have some wine, listen to music and talk. You understand what I'm saying?"

"You're going through your menopause and you thought you were in love."

"I was in love. Christ, I know the feeling. When I wasn't with her I'd think about her all the time. I'd get a pain inside."

"Where, in your crotch?"

"In my gut. Jim, I'm telling you it's a real honest-to-God feeling that's got nothing to do with sex. We went to bed, of course, naturally. But that wasn't the big thing. We liked being with each other. Listen, we'd sit there and ask each other questions like what's your favorite color? What's your favorite vegetable? What's your favorite movie?"