"Susan," I said. "Susan Hirsch."
It was simple perversity that made me use her maiden name. The receptionist smiled appreciatively, as if I had told her an important thing. Her hand twitched as if she were going to pick up the phone but she didn't. Instead she said, "Excuse me," and stood and went into the inner office. She was there maybe five minutes and came out.
"Mr. Sterling has made room for you," she said.
"How nice," I said.
She gestured me into Sterling's office. It was a corner office with windows facing north and west so you could see the Charles River and Fenway Park and all the way to the horizon. Sterling stood as I came in and walked around his desk to meet me. He was a tall guy, leaner than I would have thought for a tackle, with a good tan. A good tan, in Boston, in March, means you've been south recently or want people to think so. His hair was longish and steel gray and went nicely with the tan. His gray pinstripe suit fit him well. He was wearing good cologne.
"Spenser, Brad Sterling," he said. "Nice to meet you."
His handshake was firm and genuine. He looked right at me as we shook. Then he motioned me toward one of the black captain's chairs in front. of his desk. It had the Harvard seal on the back. On top of a file cabinet was a Harvard football helmet and framed on the wall was his varsity letter certificate.
"Pull up," Sterling said, "and sit."
I did. He went back around his desk and sat in his high-backed executive swivel and leaned back.
"Patti said something about Susan Hirsch," he said.
"Actually she still uses her married name," I said.
"Really. I'll be damned. I haven't seen Susan in years."
"Actually, you have," I said. "You saw her last week."
Sterling smiled. "Except then," he said.
"And you told her you were in trouble, and you asked her for help."
"She told you that?"
"Uh huh."
He shook his head.
"Susan was always a little dramatic," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "Hysterical. Just because her ex-husband whom she hasn't seen in twenty years shows up asking for help"
"Well, really, I didn't ask for help."
"Oh," I said. "Susan misunderstood. She thought you needed help and sent me over to provide it."
"What's your relation to Susan."
"Lover," I said.
Sterling widened his eyes and made a humorous snorting sound.
"Well, you are, by God, direct, aren't you?"
"Saves time," I said.
Sterling had his hands tented in front of him, the fingertips brushing his chin. He tapped his fingertips together a few times while he looked at me.
"Lesson there for me," he said. "That would make you the private eye."
"It would."
"I've heard about you. Always sort of amused me Susan would end up with a private detective."
"Hard to figure," I said. "Want to tell me about your troubles?"
"So you can help me?"
"Yeah."
"Because Susan asked you to?"
"Yeah."
"How do you feel about helping out your girlfriend's ex?"
"She says I'll like you," I said.
He grinned. His teeth were very white and even. "Of course you will," he said. "Everybody likes me."
"Susan says that you're being sued for sexual harassment."
"So, you're saying that somebody doesn't like me?"
"Tell me about it," I said.
He smiled and shrugged and leaned back farther in his chair and put his feet on the desk.
"I was running a thing at the Convention Center. Big
charity do. Brought in Sister Sass from New York, had a ton of celebarooties. Message from the President. Lot of press."
"Which charity?"
"Sort of a fund-raiser gang-bang for all the deservings, you know? Care and placement of orphans, shelter for battered women, AIDS research, other intractable diseases, help for the homeless, safe streets programs, everybody in one swell foop."
"And?"
"And it was a blockbuster. I slept about two hours a night pulling it together, but it was a whizbang when we got it airborne."
"I sort of meant `and the harassment'?"
"Oh, sure, of course."
Out the west window I could see the shadow of a cloud drift over Kenmore Square toward Fenway Park.
A little less than a month and baseball would be back. It seemed too early. It always did in March. Too cold to play ball, the ground too soggy. The wind too bold. But April always came and they played. I looked back at Sterling. He was sitting at his desk looking friendly.
"And the harassment?" I said.
"Nothing much, really," he said. "All these charities have a ton of volunteer do-gooders around. Mostly women, the kind who think they're important because their husbands are rich. And a lot of them are goodlooking in that rich wife way, you know. Perfect hairdos, expensive perfume, very silky. So I may have flirted with a couple of them, and they took it wrong."
"How would you define flirting?" I said.
I was almost sure that I opposed sexual harassment. I was less sure that I knew exactly what it was.
"You know, kidding around, telling them how goodlooking they were. Hell I thought- they'd be flattered. Most women are. Cripes, if they weren't married I'd figure them for a bunch of lesbos."