His office was more like a three-fifths-scale model of a proper office, in Lilliputian London style, so the war dance was less impressive than it might have been with more room to express itself. "You like it, then," Art said, once Fede had run out of steam.
"I do, I do, I do!"
"Great."
"Great."
"So."
"Yes?"
"So what do we do with it? Should I write up a formal proposal and send it to Jersey? How much detail? Sketches? Code fragments? Want me to mock up the interface and the network model?"
Fede cocked an eyebrow at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, we give this to Jersey, they submit the proposal, they walk away with the contract, right? That's our job, right?"
"No, Art, that's not our job. Our job is to see to it that V/DT submits a bad proposal, not that Jersey submits a good one. This is big. We roll this together and it's bigger than MassPike. We can run this across every goddamned toll road in the world! Jersey's not paying for this-not yet, anyway-and someone should."
"You want to sell this to them?"
"Well, I want to sell this. Who to sell it to is another matter."
Art waved his hands confusedly. "You're joking, right?"
Fede crouched down beside Art and looked into his eyes. "No, Art, I am serious as a funeral here. This is big, and it's not in the scope of work that we signed up for. You and me, we can score big on this, but not by handing it over to those shitheads in Jersey and begging for a bonus."
"What are you talking about? Who else would pay for this?"
"You have to ask? V/DT for starters. Anyone working on a bid for MassPike, or TollPass, or FastPass, or EuroPass."
"But we can't sell this to just
"Yes-"
"Yes, but loyalty is bidirectional. There's no basis on which you may expect loyalty from an institution unless you're loyal to it."
"I suppose."
"You know it. I know it. Institutional loyalty is every bit as much about informed self-interest as personal loyalty is. The Tribe takes care of me, I take care of the Tribe. We'll negotiate a separate payment from Jersey for this-after all, this is outside of the scope of work that we're being paid for-and we'll split the money, down the middle. We'll work in a residual income with Jersey, too, because, as you say, this is bigger than MassPike. It's a genuinely good idea, and there's enough to go around. All right?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"I'm asking you. This will require both of our cooperation. I'm going to need to manufacture an excuse to go stateside to explain this to them and supervise the prototyping. You're going to have to hold down the fort here at V/DT and make sure that I'm clear to do my thing. If you want to go and sell this idea elsewhere, well, that's going to require my cooperation, or at least my silence-if I turn this over to V/DT, they'll pop you for industrial espionage. So we need each other."
Art stood and looked down at Fede, who was a good ten centimeters shorter than he, looked down at Fede's sweaty upper lip and creased brow. "We're a good team, Fede. I don't want to toss away an opportunity, but I also don't want to exploit it at the expense of my own morals. Can you agree to work with me on this, and trust me to do the right thing?"
Fede looked up. "Yes," he said. On later reflection, Art thought that the
"Linderrr?" Fede said, cocking an eyebrow.
"I hit her with my car," Art said.
"Ah," Fede said. "Smooth."
Art waved a hand impatiently at him and went out to the reception area to fetch her. The receptionist had precious little patience for entertaining personal visitors, and Linda, in track pants and a baggy sweater, was clearly not a professional contact. The receptionist glared at him as he commed into the lobby and extended his hand to Linda, who took it, put it on her shoulder, grabbed his ass, crushed their pelvises together and jammed her tongue in his ear. "I missed you," she slurped, the buzz of her voice making him writhe. "I'm not wearing any knickers," she continued, loud enough that he was sure that the receptionist heard. He felt the blush creeping over his face and neck and ears.
The receptionist. Dammit, why was he thinking about the receptionist? "Linda," he said, pulling away. Introduce her, he thought. Introduce them, and that'll make it less socially awkward. The English can't abide social awkwardness. "Linda, meet-" and he trailed off, realizing he didn't actually know the receptionist's name.
The receptionist glared at him from under a cap of shining candy-apple red hair, narrowing her eyes, which were painted in high style with Kubrick action-figure faces.
"My
"Ooh, right here in your office?" Linda said, covering his hand with hers.
"Someone with
"Ahh," she said. "What a disappointment."
"I'm serious. I want you to meet my friend Fede. I think you two will really hit it off."
"Wait," Linda said. "Isn't this a major step? Meeting the friends? Are we getting that serious already?"
"Oh, I think we're ready for it," Art said, draping an arm around her shoulders and resting his fingertips on the upper swell of her breast.
She ducked out from under his arm and stopped in her tracks. "Well, I don't. Don't I get a say in this?"
"What?" Art said.
"Whether it's time for me to meet your friends or not. Shouldn't I have a say?"
"Linda, I just wanted to introduce you to a coworker before we went out. He's in my office-I gotta grab my jacket there, anyway."
"Wait, is he a friend or a coworker?"
"He's a friend I work with. Come on, what's the big deal?"
"Well, first you spring this on me, then you change your story and tell me he's a coworker, now he's a friend again. I don't want to be put on display for your pals. If we're going to meet your friends, I'll dress for it, put on some makeup. This isn't fair."
"Linda," Art said, placating.
"No," she said. "Screw it. I'm not here to meet your friends. I came all the way across town to meet you at your office because you wanted to head back to your place after work, and you play headgames with me like this?"
"All right," Art said. "I'll show you back out to the lobby and you can wait with Tonaishah while I get my jacket."
"Don't take that tone with me," she said.
"What tone?" Art said. "Jesus Christ! You can't wait in the hall, it's against policy. You don't have a badge, so you have to be with me or in the lobby. I don't give a shit if you meet Fede or not."
"I won't tell you again, Art," she said. "Moderate your tone. I won't be shouted at."
Art tried to rewind the conversation and figure out how they came to this pass, but he couldn't. Was Linda really acting
"Let's start over," he said, grabbing both of her hands in his. "I need to get my jacket from my office. You can come with me if you want to, and meet my friend Fede. Otherwise you can wait in the lobby, I won't be a minute."
"Let's go meet Fede," she said. "I hope he wasn't expecting anything special, I'm not really dressed for it."
He stifled a snotty remark. After all that, she was going to go and meet Fede? So what the hell were they arguing about? On the other hand, he'd gotten his way, hadn't he? He led her by the hand to his office, and beyond every doorway they passed was a V/DT Experience Designer pretending not to peek at them as they walked by, having heard every word through the tricky acoustics of O'Malley House.
"Fede," he said, stiffly, "This is Linda. Linda, this is Fede."
Fede stood and treated Linda to his big, suave grin. Fede might be short and he might have paranoid delusions, but he was trim and well groomed, with the sort of finicky moustache that looked like a rotting caterpillar if you didn't trim it every morning. He liked to work out, and had a tight waist and a gut you could bounce a quarter off of, and liked to wear tight shirts that showed off his overall fitness, made him stand out among the spongy mouse-potatoes of the corporate world. Art had never given it much thought, but now, standing with Fede and Linda in his tiny office, breathing in Fede's Lilac Vegetal and Linda's new-car-smell shampoo, he felt paunchy and sloppy.
"Ah," Fede said, taking her hand. "The one you hit with your car. It's a pleasure. You seem to be recovering nicely, too."
Linda smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek, a few strands of her bobbed hair sticking to his moustache like cobwebs as she pulled away.
"It was just a love tap," she said. "I'll be fine."
"Fede's from New York," Art said. "We colonials like to stick together around the office. And Linda's from Los Angeles."