The Bottom Line [antikvár]

Friday Evening He checked off the last item on Katie's must list, swung back in his swivel chair and stretched. Long day, damn it, but now everything was buttoned up for the week away from the office. He had called Smitty again, finished his notes for the Waldorf meeting and composed the blast at the Polex people for the shabby quality of the last plastics shipment. Best to handle that one himself, much as he loathed paperwork. The Lexington Avenue office was deserted now. Katie, the last to leave, had said her "good-by, have fun" a half hour ago. The electric desk clock showed 7:03. He had been here since seven-thirty in the morning, but now that he'd cleared his pad of the final niggling detail, he felt good, even if he was late for his drink with Meg before the NSGA dinner. He pushed back from the clean desk. One of his three phones rang. It was the private line-unconnected with the Top Court switchboard-with the unlisted number. Probably Meg. He picked up the receiver with a feeling of annoyance. "Hello. . . . McGowan." "Hey, Jim." He recognized the familiar voice. "Tony Percevale. ... I figured you'd still be hanging around that sweatshop." American colloquialisms flowed effordessly from the bilingual Argentine who had spent his prep school, college and early business years in the United States. "How you doin', Tony? Where you calling from?" "Here in New York. I just got in from Buenos Aires. How about buying you a drink?" "Nothing I'd like better." He meant it. Seldom did he feel so relaxed as when trading business and personal chitchat over the glasses with his old classmate from Brown. Tm tied up tonight-toastmaster at a sports goods industry dinner. But Im meeting Meg right now for a quick one at the St. Regis. How about joining us?" "Thanks. You know how much I'd like to see Meg, but I want to talk to you alone. How about after your meeting?" "No can do, Tony. Meg and the girls are going out to the Island and