Before Shenar entered Frank’s office she posted a mental reminder of the various areas of the room, what furniture, pictures, drapes or windows each contained, which would be most and least likely to offer a sheltering back-drop.

She walked in on the wake of the receptionist’s salute toward the door. A man was standing to the left of the heavy desk, staring out the window, chin raised.

He was red. Not a protective red, as though he’d spent time too close to the sun, more like war paint, as though the sun had ventured too close to him.

He turned when she closed the door and looked at her, his chin still hovering well above his Adam’s apple. Although he made no other move, Shenar’s skin prickled in a circuitous flux around her, as though she was being scanned from several angles in a sweep.

I’m looking for Bob. You must be Bob. Bob? I’m Shenar, the contractor who wanted to meet you. Shenar tried out several options in her mind, recognizing that it would be important who pronounced the first words in this meeting. While she stared and surmised, Bob’s eyes glittered with what she knew was the perception of opportunity.

“Well. Frank didn’t mention you had a certain,” his hand enveloped her in a flourish, “charisma.” Sparks seemed to shoot from him as he theatrically examined her. “I’ve seen your work,” he continued suggestively. “Ever heard of me?” She heard something in his voice, not just intelligence, but something else, not just the desire for a challenge, but a need for it, for a full-throttled challenge that wouldnıt be contained in ethereal grays, wouldnıt settle for radiating from eyes only, but would sweep through his entire being, slosh out into the room, and attempt to engulf everyone. His voice was tame, self-assured.

“I look at a lot of work. I don’t always remember who did what. Your name’s familiar to me from credits, but I’m not sure what credits.” As an afterthought, she added, “That’s not why I wanted to meet you before I decided to...”

“Foolish,” Bob interrupted “You should always know your enemies, lady. Always.”

“I don’t work with enemies. If that’s your attitude about this project, I can’t see any reason to get involved.” She hoped she sounded insolent.

Bob checked his neck for stubble, looking at her from beneath his lashes. His eyes were large, the same color as his hair, sienna. He dropped unexpectedly into what Shenar thought must be a sumo wrestler’s crouch and wove back and forth. “Come on! A little conflict never hurt anyone! Think of it as creative exercise! Maybe it’ll open you up to new possibilites.”

Bob’s last line sounded like it had been lifted from the speech she’d delivered to Frank during her inital interview. They must have hashed her qualifications through a grinder. She smiled, despite herself. He looked ridiculous, like a New Age combatant clownishly inviting her to a match. Working with him might be interesting. She didn’t want to give Bob the impression that she would take to his suggestions like a hopeful pet, so she declined the silent offer to answer in mimic, backed off a step, threw up her hands, and said, “Look, I’m interested in ideas. Let’s see if ours clash.”

“Even better if they do!” Bob straightened and smiled. “I know you have your doubts about me,” he acknowledged gallantly. In the pause, Shenar thought she detected the morphing of a sneer. “Frankly, though, I’m disappointed. I’ve already won you over. I was hoping for a fight,” he clenched his fists and shadow-boxed the air, “You can’t imagine the compliment it was to me to know that your” he emphasized the word significantly, “involvement in the project depended on you approving me,” another exaggerated emphasis. “I was expecting to show my stuff.” He swaggered toward her, stopping short of a respectable distance.

She held her ground.

His smile wavered at the edge of a grimace. “I was hoping it would take you longer to approve of me.”

“You were hoping I would consider you either too stupid or too brash to work with. And, if all I had to judge from was your behavior, you’d have your wish. You do have a point about conflict and creativity. And, I have to admit, while I can’t remember any of your work specifically, I can’t remember your name being attached to anything horrible. I always remember bad credits.”

Bob curtsied, touching an imaginary sword to his forehead and sheathing it just as Frank entered the office.

“Good, good, I see progress has been made!” Frank rubbed his hands dramatically and grinned. “Don’t let me interrupt.” He strode around his desk and relaxed into his chair, pyramiding his hands over his lap.

“We...”

“Uh...”

Bob’s and Shenar’s mutual glance silently forged a “first come first served” pact between them. This time, Shenar, moving between the two, was quickest on the uptake, “I know the client wants to use the Internet on a subscription basis to provide interactive sex therapy. I know their idea is coming from the interactive sex toys already available. I’ve been reviewing some of this stuff, though, and frankly, the level of interaction is neither sophisticated nor particularly titillating.”

Bob snorted. “I'd sure like to know what your definition of titillation is, lady!”

Shenar glared at him.

“I’m not sure the object is titillation, Shenar,” Frank said.

Bob and Shenar found themselves doing a double take into each other’s surprise at Frank’s statement. “Why not!” It was simultaneous.

“Sex requires titillation, Frank.” Bob was still eyeing Shenar as though she might run over part of his territory.

“Frank,” Shenar lowered her voice, “I have this idea. I’m interested in the client’s avowed interest in exploring technology, and, well, this idea I have will blow them away, and will pave the road to greater profit for everyone. Listen. I’m thinking about using the computer at the level of fantasy, so couples can produce their own material, explore their own desires, rather than using material that neither portrays them nor addresses, specifically, their desires. At the same time, the videos Iım thinking of will help individuals confront their fears about their own bodies, what they might look like ‘in position’, so to speak. Despite what the studies say, I’m not sure that fu...making love to one person while fantasizing about someone else, while it may be normal, doesn’t undermine a relationship. The kind of material Iım thinking of would question that theory, and still be available to be used in any way the client wished” Shenar’s eyes gleamed with heat and moisture. Her body swayed. Her hands wove hula-mime images in the air.

“How many people do you think are going to want to see videos of themselves or their lovers in compromising positions? If you ask me, it seems like that might undermine...”

“See, Bob, that’s the problem. We don’t really know. All we do know is what we’ve all been taught, all the rationalization that we’ve used for years to prop up our fragile little sexual egos...”

Frank stood, breaking into Shenar’s excitement. “I hope this means you’ll join us,” he said.

Shenar looked from one to the other. She dropped her hands. Her brain felt feverish from the rush of ideas she had been trying to compress into a coherent outline. “Yes. Well, I think so. My ideas, though, are going to require changes in our contract with the client. We have some things to talk about. But, yeah, I’d like to do this.”

“Good. That does it, then. Let’s get started.” Frank extended his hand to Shenar then reached across and slapped Bob heartily on the shoulder. “Good work,” he said to Bob.

Bob looked from Shenar to Frank. “Oh,” he said, carefully, “It didn’t take any work on my part.”

Frank laughed in response as the three headed out of the office, then took Shenar aside and stage whispered, “Bob thinks the reason I’m considering you is because I have a crush on you, and the reason you’re considering this job is because you know I have a crush on you.”

Text & Graphics © 1999 by Gail Rae Hudson

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