He made himself sit down. He laughed, but it didn't come out his hearty, impressive laugh. It was a laugh he hadn't heard since college days (except in dreams; nightmares of the past)—weak, frightened, ineffectual and apologetic.
There was a knock at the door. He straightened in his chair, took a deep breath, said, "Come ahead."
The door opened. Mr. Tzadi stood there, his round face solemn. "Before you become too involved in your numerous and important duties, Der, I would like to suggest that we have lunch together."
Derrence blinked. "Yes ... how about today?"
"Today would be fine, Der. We could talk about the company and our respective positions. You could, perhaps, help me with a rather pressing problem."
Derrence relaxed quite suddenly. "Twelve o'clock. Come by here?"
"Yes, Der." The door closed.
Derrence lit a cigarette. He no longer trembled. In that luncheon invitation he read a deal.
At noon, Tzadi appeared in the office doorway. Derrence was dictating a memo to Personnel on the company's tacit acceptance of two-hour lunch periods by all but secretarial help. He broke off in mid-sentence and smiled at Mercy. "We'll finish later, dear. You've typed those other memos, haven't you?" Mercy said, "Most of them." She rose and turned to the door, and only then saw Tzadi. She said, "Hi, Ed," and walked by him and out of the office.