THE CONNECTED

FALL 2015 No knock. Sappho stood in the doorway to Ford’s office. “What a goddamned time to spring two old ladies on me!” His back to her, Ford was reading the label of a yogurt container promising huge raspberries in its interior. As his plastic spoon scraped the bottom, he asked, “How big a deal would it be for the Celestial Kingdom Yogurt Ltd. to throw in at least one, just for kicks?” Then he tossed it into his waste basket. “What the hell were you doing in there?” Ford didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. Her hand was thrust in front of his face, thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “You and I work this close to each other. It’s not like we need a transatlantic cable!” Ford mulled the notion over. The image of their working in close proximity was slow to register. He could see them arguing in close proximity, pretending to respect each other in close proximity and, as happened one disastrous late evening a year ago, making love, no…copulating, in close proximity. But working together, two colleagues leaning over each other’s desks in intense concentration, in intense mutual cooperation? No. He turned up a blank. Sappho’s hands flailed the air above him like a thresher. He felt turbulence on his neck. “You dumped a couple of goddamned New Zealand women on a ‘feel-good’ meeting!” Ford swiveled his chair around. He couldn’t flail the way she did. She looked like Shiva dancing madly. It made him envious. But all he could do was enjoy the show. Sappho huffed, “And you sat there making a goddamned paper airplane!”