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short memory and insatiable appetite. Right now, it’s convinced itself it wants Julep. That’s a plus, Ms. Tedros, but in itself means nothing. What counts is the American public still desiring Julep three, five, or ten years from now. What’s imperative is breaking down that infamous short memory and lodging Julep in the psyche of the American consumer. And that requires time, commitment, and not a small amount of money.”
    Restan picked up his scotch, sipped, and replaced it in the center of the napkin. Corrine reined in her impatience, told herself to let him talk. They would get to where they were headed soon enough.
    “Long before I ever met with Stanley,” Restan went on, “I had my marketing and research and development people working on how Julep fit with our anchor sodas and doing detailed projections about its future place in the line. I knew what a major soft drink company, like mine, could and could not realistically do with a product like Julep, Ms. Tedros, and I knew what my competitors could and could not do with it, but what I did not know, and should have, was just how stubborn and foolish Stanley Tedros would be when we brought the offer to the table.”
    Restan signaled the waiter for more drinks and then turned back to Corrine. “You know, Stanley will end up running Stanco Beverages into the ground if he tries to market and distribute Julep on a nation-wide basis himself. It can’t be done, not given his present resources.”
    “I know,” Corrine said.
    “Which brings me back to my original question,” Restan said. “Why this meeting and a request for an extension? My offer’s not going to change. It’s fair, more than fair, and the total package is better than what my competitors offered.”
    The waiter brought the drinks. Restan waved away the offer of a lunch menu.
    He sat back and made a show of taking Corrine in. “One thing I’m curious about,” he said. “Who sent you? Buddy or Stanley? I’m betting Stanley. Another is, am I first on the list? Or have you already slept with the other two reps?”
    Restan picked up his drink and saluted her. “Not that you’re not quite a piece, Ms. Tedros, and very likely more than adept in the bedroom, and certainly more appealing than another round of golf, but a little between the sheets action is not going to change my offer. Tell Stanley he’s overreaching on this one.”
    “Is that what you think? Stanley sent me here to fuck you?”
    “Not exactly an original idea,” Restan said, “though I’m sure it’s worked admirably well on other occasions.”
    Corrine shelved her anger and shook her head no. “You have it all wrong.”
    “I do?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why?” Restan asked, smiling. “Why are you here, and why are we having this conversation?”
    It was the question Corrine had been waiting for, and she thought she was prepared to answer it.
    She was conscious of Restan watching her and of a slow change taking place, as if his pupils were adjusting to a different light than the one streaming through the bank of windows.
    Corrine felt something lurch inside her.
    She slid back her chair and got up. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, then turned and walked quickly across the room.
    In the restroom, a woman on the long side of forty stood before the mirror adjusting the lines of her lipstick. Corrine found the first available stall and just managed to lift the lid of the toilet before she threw up. She’d barely finished before she dropped to her knees and started all over again. It felt as if her insides were being ripped out. She went through one more cycle before she was completely empty.
    She heard the woman ask if she were all right, then move toward the door and leave. Corrine lifted her head and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and got up.
    Her throat burned, and she blinked back tears.
    For a moment, she’d forgotten where she was.
    She leaned against the inside of the stall. Her forehead