style="font-size:15px;"> “Let go of me,” she yelled.
He covered her mouth with his, his tongue darting in her mouth around hers. He held her tight, moved his right hand on to her rear end. She pounded his back with her fists, trying to break free of his grip, failed. Then he felt her knee as it hit him in the groin. She broke free as he fell to the ground.
“You son of a bitch,” she screamed. “I can’t believe you did that. Are you nuts?”
He laughed, holding his groin. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long. It was worth it.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m going down to talk to Marjorie,” she yelled, tears filling her eyes. “I’m going to do everything I can to get you fired.”
Tim’s laughter grew louder as he stared at her. “Not like you can prove any of this. Just like Mary. Remember.”
“You went too far this time. I’m not going to take it. I’m not going to take this.” She turned and ran from the room.
Chapter 3
Herman Pearson
Tuesday, May 18, 2010 - 8:35am
Herman Pearson stepped out of his red Cadillac, looked up at the sign on the roof of the red brick building that said WKXR, 96 Rocks, in blue and white, grinned. He rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers, yawned, then closed the door.
I’m the reason this station is still in business, Herman thought to himself. If it wasn’t for me, all these people would be out of jobs. Not like they can work in another radio station. Except for Tim Harrelson of course.
His mind went back to the call from Bruce Thompson yesterday. He told him that Tim was sexually harassing Diane Crawford. Even want as far as kissing. It was an unwanted kiss.
Pearson shook his head, took a deep breath. Why on earth is she making a big deal of this? She’s leaving the station in two weeks. Not like she doesn’t ask for it for the way she looks all the time. Be nice if she wore a short skirt more than once every two weeks but what can you do. She’s a beautiful woman with large breasts and nice legs when you saw them.
He turned and had a quick glimpse of Joan Mueller on line the coffee cart. She had a small oval face, brown hair that fell over her ears, and a pair of wide hazel eyes that were covered by brown rimmed glasses. She was taller than Herman, about 5-6, wearing a white blouse and red dress that was loose, her stomach protruding over her belt. Probably getting a donut or a muffin or a bagel or all three, Herman thought, shaking his head.
He walked over to her; she turned and looked at him. He nodded his head and she walked over to him.
“Any reason you’re on line?” Herman asked.
“Just getting some coffee.”
“We have a coffee maker inside,” Herman answered. “If you’re getting a donut and a bagel, just say so.”
“I don’t like the coffee inside. That was all I was getting.”
“If they have a special flavor, you can buy it in the store and save some money since coffee is over a $1.00.”
“It’s not 9:00 yet Mr. Pearson.”
“Yes, that’s fine. That was one of the reasons that I let Mary go. She was out here and in the office on some days after 9:00. If you were at your desk, you could be turning on your computer, checking any messages from last night and any e-mails in case anything came in that was important. Instead, you’re out here.”
Joan clicked her teeth together, taking a deep breath.
“Think of it this way. We’re the cowboys in the fort and we want to make sure the Indians aren’t attacking us. You should be here at 8:30 checking your e-mail, then go outside to get your coffee and whatever else you’re having if there wasn’t anything that was important.”
“Fine. I’ll go in now.”
She walked past Herman, holding the door open for him, then walked quickly up the stairs to her desk. “When you get to your desk, please let Tim know I’m here and I need to see him. I know that he’s at his desk at 8:00.”
“Yes, sir.”
Can’t believe she’s lasted this long, Herman mused.
He walked up the stairs, seeing his office as he reached the top. Joan was at her desk, turning the computer on. She picked up her phone, punched in 4 numbers, then said “Tim,” Mr. Pearson needs to see you.” She shook her head. “He’s on his way up.”
“Let me know if there is anything important.”
“I will.”
Herman shut the door, smiled as he sat down in his leather swivel chair. He heard a knock at his door and said “come in.”
The door opened and Tim walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Hey Herman.”
Herman gazed at Tim, his 5-9 thin frame, his sandy hair long, parted low to the left, brushed across his skull and over his ears. His pug nose was small and his mustache was large and bushy.
“Have you lost your mind,” he said, shaking his head.
Tim took a deep breath, dropped onto a brown couch. “It’s not what you think.”
“Really. You didn’t kiss Diana Crawford and put your hand on her ass.”
“No, I just told her that when she goes to California, she should look hot and get some pictures of herself and she’ll be on drive time.”
“Tim, when are you going to stop lying to me?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Tim, I don’t care that you kissed Diane. I don’t even care that you grabbed her ass. Don’t you see that you’re falling into her trap?”
“Trap.”
“Yes. Trap.” He threw his hands in the air. “Don’t you think she would love the idea of crying sexual harassment and get some money from us before she goes to California. I mean, she doesn’t have another job.”
“I guess I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“Look, I’m a guy. I worked for someone who put out memos telling women to wear short skirts to the office because it’s inappropriate to wear pants and long dresses. Now you see casual attire all the time. When I was working in sales at a TV station, gorgeous women like Diane and Mary wore short skirts every day.”
“I know,” Tim replied, shaking his head.
“Those were the days,” Herman said, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Roberta had legs that never ended. And those breasts. Some of the guys deliberately bumped into her” - he paused, his smile grew large - “just to feel them. And that perfume.”
“She sounds really hot.”
