Dana Gordon has life timed down to the second. Usually. She supposes that's why her assistant raises a questioning eyebrow when, despite there being no other executive to follow her into her office, she says "Hold my calls,". They do it all the time on Mad Men and those guys aren't as rich as Dana. But they didn't have e-mail and Blackberries chaining them to the workplace every waking moment, or, she had to admit, many hard-charging women like her. She sighs, as she always does when she thinks about that, because there still aren't a lot. It's been a long day and most of her take-out lunch is still on the desk, almost untouched. She sips her warm Diet Coke and remembers Mexico, though of course, that Coke was sweeter and didn't have ice-melt in it. Any memory of Mexico quickly becomes a memory of Ari, even though part of her wishes it wouldn't because she hates to remember how in awe of him she was back then, what a turn-on she used to find in his casual rudeness, the easy display of power she's had to study and master. She can't thunder and storm like he does, not without getting a reputation of at least peri-menopausal insanity, but she has found that making people strain to hear her husky tones works pretty well, sometimes. She's less proud to think about the night she was buzzed and lonely, allegedly finishing up paperwork and Mrs. Gold and the kids were in the South of France. Phone sex, really, Dana? Although, of course, she pretended it was something about work, just as she used to when she was a shy accountant in tortoiseshell glasses. "Dana Gordon, my dark goddess," he blurts out, “How may I help you today?” Even feeling uninhibited from the wine she had at her working dinner, she's surprised that he never asks how she got that number, or seem surprised that she called. "Are you alone?"
"Is your schmuck of a boyfriend at home?"
"He's not a schmuck, Ari," But the quiver in her voice as much as says he hasn't been around.Looking back, Dana concedes that Adam kind of was a schmuck, but she'd never admit that to Ari, even after all this time. "And I'm at the office."
"I would like to fuck you on that big desk," Ari said, almost matter-of-factly."And he's a schmuck to leave you alone so much."
"When we were fucking," she reminded him. "I had a little desk."And you had a girlfriend that withheld sex when she got mad. Whom you married.
"Oh, God, Dana," And the way he says her name like he wants her gets her practical panties more than a little wet, because it reminds her of how he came in Mexico. "Do you have to be such an accountant? Just get into the fantasy or something."
"I'm in development now," she told him, wondering if that sounded as sexy to him as it felt to her.
"Well, then," he told her. "Develop some hard nipples."
Before she even knew what she was doing, she found herself unbuttoning her plain white blouse and leaving the phone on speaker.She doesn't know why. She used to be self-conscious about her dark nipples, but once you fondle them and talk about it on speakerphone, that kind of self-consciousness is beside the point. This is another favor Ari has done her that she could never tell him about. "They're so hard, Ari. They want you so much." She had gotten into it, now, gotten a little loud, and she's grateful that it's late, feeling that it's only her diligent reputation and the way she crosses her sevens saving her from total hedonistic ruin. But she likes it, too. So much so that she puts up only token, modest-girl, resistance when he says that she should stick a finger in her cotton Jockey For Her underwear, where she is wet enough to polish the big wooden desk to a high sheen. Ari describes rushing into the office, knowing the adjacent conference room is occupied, sweeping her computer to the floor and, well, banging her silly, knowing all the while that the industry big-shots in the next room could finish their meeting at any time and get a look at a different type of takeover. When she hears that, a fantasy she'd confessed lying on the beach at Rosarito, she's touched that he remembers. And incredibly turned on. And not thinking of anyone else, even his wife, whom she generally pities.
From the speaker, she can hear that they both come, at almost the same time, something the shy accountant with the glasses used to mistake for compatibility. But, of course, Dana's clarity didn't only come with the Lasik.Still, it almost felt like sharing something, if only for a moment.