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Four months had passed since William Harrell and Matthew Locke had traded secrets in New York…and since Matthew and Laurence Maupin had met on her bed.

They were together again now, backstage at Lincoln Center in New York City, preparing for the announcement of ICP and Wallaby’s strategic alliance before an audience of executives from both companies, and industry partners, customers, and the press.

“Matthew, you seem a little nervous, and that will show to the audience,” Laurence said, standing before Matthew, who sat backstage in a dressing room. A makeup attendant patted his forehead and cheeks with flesh-tone powder.

“I’m just excited,” he said.

“Smile. Make sure you smile,” Laurence urged, trailing Matthew as they moved along the rear hallway to the stage area. They stopped behind the curtain’s edge, and Matthew checked his watch.

“Hello, Matthew,” William Harrell said warmly, joining them. Though they were dressed similarly, William appeared very cool, very calm, very much in control, the very opposite of how Matthew was feeling.

A man appeared wearing a microphone and earpiece headset. He nodded to Laurence then faced Matthew. “Mr. Locke, you’re on in one minute, as soon as the music stops.”

“Good luck,” William said, shaking Matthew’s hand. He stepped aside, opening a clear path to the stage.

The auditorium grew silent as the overhead lights dimmed and the piped-in classical music dissolved. An announcer’s voice greeted the audience and a large screen unrolled, on which a slide projector beamed the Wallaby logo.

“Good luck,” Laurence whispered, squeezing his hands. A spotlight focused on the podium gaped wide and bright.

The announcer boomed: “Please welcome the Chairman, President, and Chief Executive Officer of Wallaby, Incorporated, Matthew Locke.”

Applause sounded when Matthew appeared. He traversed the distance to the podium with clear composure and stood before the audience a few moments, allowing them to take in his dark gray suit, his confident air. He graced the audience with a sweeping smile, then focused his attention at the center of the auditorium, just above the heads of his audience, as his mistress and tutor had taught him.

“Thank you, and good morning. Today will mark a very important day in Wallaby’s history. As you know, Wallaby is a company that has always been focused on empowering individuals with portable computer technology. Many of you today, stowing your own Joey or Joey Plus in your briefcases and folios, have first hand experience with Wallaby’s products, and today we’d like to take that experience to the next level.”

In sync with his speech, the slides Matthew had shown the executive staff just four months ago, when he first proposed the strategic alliance with ICP, flashed behind him on the high screen.

“What we are about to show you will enable Wallaby to continue to deliver on its original vision of powerful portable computing, but with more flexibility than ever. That means customers who were previously locked out of the Joey platform because of its incompatibility with other systems can finally hop on the bandwagon and benefit from the Joey’s advanced technology, and continue to access files and documents created on those other systems, simply and easily.”

At this the crowd stirred. It was exactly the kind of reaction Matthew had hoped for. Barely able to contain his smile, he pressed on.

“Today, Wallaby announces a new and friendly personality in compatible computing.” The spotlight on Matthew faded to a dim glow, and a second circle of light appeared, center stage.

“But rather than standing here and telling you about our exciting news, why don’t I let the new Joey II show you.”

The excited audience silenced. On drum roll cue a shrouded, remote-controlled box about the size of a shopping cart glided from stage right to center stage, into the spotlight. The drum roll intensified.

The entire auditorium went black for a few seconds, then cymbals crashed loudly. The shroud was gone, and there, bathed in intense light, was a dark gray prototype Joey II computer.

Matthew himself joined in the thunderous applause. He felt as though an intense wave of heat had just washed over him. For the first time in Wallaby’s history, someone other than Peter Jones was revealing a new product before a cheering audience.

Seconds later the computer’s screen, controlled by an automated script, came to life, and its image was projected, via video output, to the overhead screen for all the audience to watch.

The screen cleared and then the Joey II went into a six-minute animated presentation demonstrating the system’s new features, including a new slot for plugging in a local area network card, a larger hard disk, faster fax sending and receiving, and built-in file translation software for reading documents and other files directly from ICP’s formerly incompatible BP desktop and portable computers.

When it was over, cymbals crashed and the audience applauded wildly, thrilling Matthew to the bone. He stole a quick glance to his left, offstage and behind the curtains. Laurence signaled with a thumbs-up gesture.

He turned back to the audience and waited for the applause to finish.

“Today you just saw a prototype of the new Joey II computer, the first engineering collaboration between International Computer Products and Wallaby.

“When the Joey II is available in six months, Wallaby and ICP will begin a co-selling relationship. For the first time in history, two former rivals, Wallaby salespeople and ICP salespeople will share and support the same customers.

“This is a non-financial arrangement, and represents a first-ever strategic alliance between our companies, enabling Wallaby to continue to develop exciting and powerful portable computers, now with built-in ICP compatibility that makes the Joey II the perfect companion to ICP’s line of BP desktop computers.”

The presentation continued, and Matthew detailed the specific markets and technologies that each of the companies had agreed to develop together. Afterward, as Matthew and Laurence were collecting their notes and briefcases, William strolled into the press room.

“Well done, Matthew,” William said, smiling politely to Laurence.

“Thank you.”

“May I have a word with you?” William said. “It will only take a minute.”

“Sure,” Matthew said, shutting his briefcase. “I’ll be right back, Lauri,” he said, and followed William from the room.

“In here,” William said, pushing into an empty dressing room. The light from the hallway fanned into the room and aided their search for the wall switch.

Finding none, Matthew switched on one of the makeup tables mirrors. Twenty light bulbs lit up around the mirror’s rim, and he turned around the chair facing it and seated himself. William pulled up a small stool and sat down.

“It all went very well, Matthew,” William said. “I just wanted a moment alone with you to tell you how happy I am, especially after the shakiness we’ve experienced over the past few months.”

“Thank you. And I understand. We’ve both had our own concerns, you on one side, me on the other.”

“Yes,” William agreed. “I sometimes didn’t believe we would make it to this day, but we did, and now we’re ready to move into the final phase.” The final phase: ICP acquires Wallaby, and Matthew comes under William’s command. “And they bought your response with nary a doubt,” William said. “That was good. Because they’re going to have a big surprise in a couple of months.”

He was referring to the reporter’s question that had been directed to Matthew minutes ago: “With this ‘strategic alliance,’” the reporter had said, affecting a difficulty with the definition of the agreement, “aren’t you afraid, Mr. Locke, of a possible ICP takeover of Wallaby in the future? Or is this perhaps something you may want?”

Despite the dead-on accuracy of the reporter’s speculation, Matthew had not wavered in his response, explaining, with a discernible hint of Peter Jones’s once-infamous arrogance, that today’s strategic alliance announcement was as close as Wallaby intended to get to ICP. To further squash the theory, he threw in a nugget about takeovers, and how FTC regulations would prevent ICP from subsuming Wallaby as long as Wallaby continued to build portable computers.

However the reason his response had sounded so believable to everyone, and to himself especially, because it was the truth.

Was.

Right then, as he had answered the reporter’s question, a new plan, a revised plan, had crystallized in Matthew’s mind: There would be no eventual merger between ICP and Wallaby.

“It’s back to the office for me,” William said, checking his watch.

Matthew said good-bye and turned to face himself in the mirror. He felt different, felt he looked different. Younger. More alive than ever. He pinched back a smile as he whispered the words he would say if it were Peter rather than himself looking him in the eye right now: “I told you so.” He said it again, and this time broke into a huge self-satisfied grin, his laughing eyes piercing back from the mirror into his own.

“Matthew?” Laurence stepped into the room. “Who are you talking to? Is everything okay?”

This somehow stuck him as funny and he let out a burst of laughter. “Fine. Great. Super,” he said. He whisked his fingers through his hair and inhaled a deep breath.

Ironically, he at once understood that Wallaby - no, that he - now had ICP in a precarious position. William himself had told Matthew that he had not approved any new portable computer designs, banking everything on today’s announcement, so that ultimately he could acquire Wallaby with its now-compatible technology. The way Matthew saw it, Wallaby - delightfully modest and manageable, both in size and volume compared to ICP - now held at least a two-year technology advantage over the world’s biggest computer company. And the thought of having them by the tail delighted Matthew beyond any dream he ever had of merging the companies as one.

“Good,” Laurence said. “Come on, let’s go play in the city.” She shook her rental car keys at him. “I’ve got the keys.”

“Wrong,” Matthew said, and with a playful look in his eye produced his hotel room key and twirled it on his finger. “It looks like I’m holding the only key we’ll need.”