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dinner invitation after returning from California. The two businessmen sat with drinks in the library. Perfunctory conversation planted the seeds that they carried to the dinner table. Once the first two courses were completed, William got the real discussion underway.

“As I told you on the phone, Rolland mentioned to me that you were visiting Wallaby in California as a candidate for president.”

Matthew had his own preface: “Rolland has been my mentor at International Foods for more than ten years. I don’t feel any ill will toward him for telling you, as long as you respect the fact that my trip was confidential.”

“Of course,” William said, and took a drink of water. Then he began. “Matthew, an unusual feeling swept over me when I heard this.” Already his enthusiasm was quickening. “I realized that Wallaby must be up to something really big if they were calling on someone of your caliber. It’s been a long time since Peter Jones has made any brash statements about us, the industry, or anything. Too long.

“I thought it would be interesting to meet you when you returned. You see, a plan began to unfold in my mind, one that you may find interesting.” A smile lighted William’s face, and he leaned forward a little. In a lowered voice he revealed the heart of the matter: “I’ve always had a strong admiration for Wallaby. But of course it’s the sort of thing one must keep in check at ICP.

“Sure, we currently have a great portable computer. But we’re not innovative the way Wallaby is. And I suspect that they’re up to something new. Something exciting.”

Matthew saw the purity of William’s candor and honesty. His intuition was waking, and he was beginning to understand where this conversation would take them. With this sureness, he offered a teaser.

“I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets by saying yes, you’re correct. They’re up to something. And yes, it is something very exciting.”

William pushed his untouched plate aside. The two men shared a moment of heavy silence, each considering his own tactics. Maintaining a hint of a smile, William was the first to make a move. “Matthew, I would like to suggest a possible business arrangement.”

Matthew gave an agreeable nod.

“ICP is gigantic. Everything we do is planned many years into the future. Although our personal computers are outselling Wallaby’s Mate system, I suspect that whatever they have coming down the pipeline will be completely unexpected and radical.”

“Correct.”

“Yes,” William said. “That’s what I figured.” He paused thoughtfully. When he spoke, his voice was casual and revealing, the way a man’s voice becomes when he is dead certain of the object of his desire.

“I’ve always envied Peter Jones and his company. But of course I’ve got my own company to worry about. For my own entertainment, I’ve been looking for some time at Wallaby as a case study. I’ve toyed with the idea of spinning out a rebellious group of engineers and forming a new subsidiary with the charter to build radical new portable computers. However, members of the board to whom I’ve casually mentioned this have not responded positively. They’re focused on bigger systems and desktops, which, along with service, account for most of our business. I must concede that I understand their lack of enthusiasm. We are an East Coast company. We’re buttoned-down numbers people. Out west, they do things differently. Profits follow passions.”

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “I think I’m beginning to catch your drift.”

“I’ll get to the point, then. Wallaby’s products are not compatible with our systems. Ours take a lot of time to learn how to use. Granted, Wallaby’s Mate isn’t a whole lot better, but there’s something about it that makes it friendlier, and it’s certainly easier to lug around.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Matthew quipped.

“Right. So I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve got nothing to lose by sharing my fantasy with you.” He took another gulp of water, then went for it. “Matthew, I really like Wallaby. I think it has created, and will keep creating, exciting technologies. Peter Jones has an absolute vision of what small computers should be. We at ICP can’t do that. We are a big company, with big computers.” William’s hands unfolded before him. It was a gesture of offering. “So what if Peter Jones and Wallaby became a part of ICP, but were left alone in California to do their thing?”

Matthew was speechless.

“Say you, Matthew, were to go into Wallaby, the strong leader that you are, and begin bending Jones and the company toward becoming compatible with ICP’s systems? Then, when the company is oriented in a compatible direction, so that Wallaby’s computers can work with our big systems, ICP and Wallaby merge, but let Wallaby maintain its freedom as an independently operated subsidiary.”

Matthew’s mind raced at the prospect of this outrageous coup. If it were successful, it could be bigger than anything he ever dreamed could happen at International Foods. He had a million questions to ask, and his eagerness was written all over his face. But before he could utter a word, William raised his hands.

 

“Wait. Just one more thing to think about. For you it would eventually mean the opportunity to move into the highest ranks of ICP.” In earnest, he said, “My expiration date isn’t too far off into the future.” There, William thought, he’d said his piece. He felt himself relax a little. There was nothing more he could say. While respecting Matthew’s silent deliberation, he stole a woeful glance at a portrait of his beloved Martha, smiling from where she sat framed in silver on the antique china closet. I need this, my dear, he said to her silently, I need to have this.

Her sanction came out when Matthew spoke: “It’s brilliant.”

William breathed a silent sigh.

Matthew advanced his own view of the overall premise, and when he finished he sat back and clasped his hands in his lap, his face glowing with certainty.

Any concerns William might have had for Matthew’s strategic ability and comprehension now departed. “Bravo,” William said. “Of course, there’s much we’d have to discuss.” Then, cautiously: “And this plan must remain a secret between us. You and I will guide it along privately through its early stages, until we reach the point where a merger makes perfect sense.” He studied Matthew’s expression for any sign of consternation, and was pleased to find none.

“You know, its funny,” Matthew said, with no hint of humor in his voice, “The big concern I’ve had about considering this job at Wallaby was ICP. Now your big concern and my big concern may very well wind up becoming the computer industry’s single biggest concern ever.”

“Quite,” said William, raising his glass to toast his new secret partner.

 

The touch-tone sound of the computer’s modem brought William back to the present.

As planned, Matthew had sent him an e-mail message that validated the decision he had voiced earlier to his advisers.

However, when he read the last part of the message, about Peter Jones’s possible departure from the company, he felt a shiver. Granted, he was relieved now that Matthew had won support, and that the secret merger plan could proceed. He favored a scenario whereby Jones stayed with Wallaby and continued to lead the development of the company’s future products.

Pondering this, he studied his finger on the Joey’s trackpad. Sliding his fingertip across the smooth surface felt natural and intuitive, a genius design. Peter Jones’s genius design. Without the trackpad, the Joey would not function as it did. Elegant. Silky. Smooth. Right.

Staring at the small flat black space beneath his finger, a dark thought prodded his sense of certainty. Without Peter Jones, could Wallaby operate as smoothly and naturally as a peripheral of ICP?

 

*

 

Peter blinked awake in the room’s gauzy afternoon brightness.

Whiffing a good, familiar smell, he shut his eyes for a little while, listened to her moving around, moving things around.

“Hi.”

He opened his eyes. Kate was crouched before him. He propped himself up on one elbow.

“Oh,” he moaned, touching his fingers to his temple.

“How you doing?”

He shrugged and his eyes met hers, then shifted past her shoulder. Several pieces of luggage sat by the doorway. “What’s all that for?”

“We’re going away for a bit.”

He yawned. “We are?”

“Yep. I’m taking you to the Maine house for a little while.”

“Okay,” he said, offering no argument.

“First, we’re going to treat you to a nice hot shower. Come on.” She gently helped him up and out of the room.

In the bathroom she went about undressing him.

He stood before her naked, watching her dip her hand in and out of the shower, adjusting its temperature.

“Kate,” he said, his voice rubbery.

“Hmm?”

“You’re an artist.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I was wondering. About when you’ve created something. When it’s something really good. You know, like a new CD. And when it’s all done, you have it and hold it in your hands. And there it is. All said and done. You can keep going back to it, but no matter how great it is, it’s past. History. So. What I want to know is, do you ever feel like you’ll never be able to do it again? Do anything again?”

“All the time, love.” She took his chin in her hand and kissed his forehead. “But no matter how hard it seems at the time, if you did it once, you can do it again.”

“Promise?”

“You know it.”

“Good. Will you come in here with me?”

“Yes.”