About Face (8 page)

“Are you from the press?” he asked hopefully. Two wings of peppered hair flanked his big fleshy ears. His nostrils flared, his eyes were big. He had a reputation for charm and charisma.

I explained who I was and what I was doing.

“I see,” he said. “When do we get to see the masterwork?”

“Tonight after dinner.”

He raised his glass, which was full of tomato juice. His wife, Connie, came over with a martini glass in her hand. She was elegant in an Armani suit and a string of pearls. Her skin had a surprising amount of topography for the wife of a dermatologist about to introduce a new therapy to the world. She ran the business side and moved with an air of being in charge.

“Ronald,” she said, “it's time for the toasts.” She looked me up and down and looked at the camera. “What's that for?”

The doctor told her. “I didn't sign a release form,” she said.

“It's not necessary. This won't be distributed,” I replied.

My insolence brought a glare. Her eyes were cold gray marbles. “It's not myself I'm concerned for. You'll clear any footage you shoot with the principals involved.”

Dr. Plush winked at me. I winked back, raised the camera, and framed him. He produced an ingratiating smile. He struck me as a fundamentally nervous man, the kind who turns his nervousness into egotism.

A high, narrow table sat against one wall. Above it were gator-board posters representing each of the deal's three partners. The contracts were on the table. I kept the camera on Dr. Plush as he made his way toward them. He had a smile and a pat on the back for everyone. Rod was also making his way to the table. Wendy had his arm securely in her grip. As Rod finally extricated himself, Plush gave Wendy a knowing wink.

I clenched the camera a little tighter and kept him in the frame. What had that been about? He'd winked at me, too, but not like that. Was he in on the game? Connie Plush entered the frame a moment later, a scowl of disdain on her face. Her eyes were on Wendy. My viewfinder stayed with Wendy as she worked her way back toward the bar. She had a talent for small talk, but I also noticed she asked a lot of questions about the deal, questions the men in the room were glad to answer.

Glasses were tapped and attention called to the table where Rod, Plush, and a handful of others had gathered. Mike Riley, Algoplex's CEO, was there, along with the men from Sylvain Partners—and they all were men—in their respectably somber suits. A Sylvain lawyer led off the toasts with some words about the great venture Plush, Algoplex, and his company were embarking upon, one that soon would be unveiled. Epidermal gene regulation would make headlines.

Dr. Plush stepped up next. “This really is a proud day for me. I started my clinic as a small practice in Palo Alto, taking cases of every kind: eczema, bullous diseases, melanoma, you name it.
I never envisioned the growth it has enjoyed, nor the fruits my research would bring. But, as my wife likes to say, I've always had a special
feel
for dermatology.”

He paused for the chuckles. “The market for cosmetic treatments hardly existed when I was in medical school. It's been a tremendous boon to the field. But I don't want to forget that, as significant as that market is, our business is more than cosmetic. Eternaderm may also be able to treat a number of other conditions involving connective tissue. Sylvain has given us the resources, and now Algoplex will give us the computing power to develop those treatments. Here's to you, Rod and Mike, and to our old friends from Sylvain: May we all enjoy an enduring and profitable relationship.”

After a round of clinks and “Hear, hears,” Mike gave Rod a little push. His glass trembled as he set it on the table. Rod was not a drinker, but he'd downed two vodka martinis in preparation for this moment. He fumbled for a piece of paper in his pocket, unfolded it, and squinted at the crowd.

“Until I met all of you, I never knew how deep skin was.” Rod got a laugh or two. “Seriously, this opportunity is very, very exciting for us. We think Eternaderm and its offshoots will be a perfect application for our technology.”

He looked up from the paper. “To speak personally for a moment, I've put in a number of years at my work, always with the same faith it would find the right outlet, just as Dr. . . . Dr. . . .” His face reddened as the name eluded him.

“Plush,” Wendy said. “Like the carpet.” Everyone laughed.

“Thanks,” Rod mumbled. “Just as Dr. Plush did . . . have faith, I mean . . .” He couldn't recover from the gaffe. My own face reddened in sympathy. He finished his toast by going back to the piece of paper and reading quickly. He talked about
how Algoplex's software would enhance Eternaderm and how Sylvain's capital would make it all possible. It was a little more detail than the crowd needed, and the claps and clinks and gulps at the end may have been as much for the fact that Rod was done as for what he'd said.

I kept shooting as the contracts were signed and a check was handed to Rod. After it was over, Wendy rushed up to Rod and planted a kiss on his cheek. “That was very nice, Rod. Don't worry about your mistake.”

Rod flinched and shook his head.

“No, really,” she said, taking his hand. “You were fine. I'll get you another cocktail.”

I kept the camera rolling. If nothing else, it was fascinating theater. I wondered what the real Alissa would have done.

“You're finished now,” a woman said, speaking into my ear. “We're going to start dinner.”

I lowered the camera and turned. It was Connie Plush.

I said, “Rod will let me know when I'm done.”

Rod saw what was happening. “I want Bill to be here,” he said.

“Why?” Connie demanded. “The other AV guy doesn't have dinner with us.”

The room lights were being adjusted. A gobo projection appeared on the floor, the Plush logo revolving in a ghostly dance. The other AV guy at work.

“Nonetheless, I would like Bill to be here,” Rod said. It occurred to me he was trying to compensate for his toast performance by asserting himself.

Dr. Plush joined us. Wendy was with him. She stuck a new martini glass in Rod's hand. “Is there a problem, dear?” the doctor said.

Connie Plush gave a jerk of the head to her husband. “This gentleman—
Bill
—seems to think he's invited for dinner.”

Wendy said, “You don't need any more pictures do you, Bill?” She smoothed the pocket of my linen jacket as if, having staked a claim to Rod, I was also her property.

“Ladies,” Dr. Plush responded, “I don't think it would hurt for him to stay.” He didn't want to miss his chance for screen time.

“Confidential information will be discussed,” Connie said. “And we don't have a place set for him.”

I looked straight at her. “I don't need a seat. I don't care about eating.” The truth was, I'd be happy to go out to the bar, except that I wanted to keep an eye on Wendy.

“Bill's been NDA'd,” Rod said. “Please, Mrs. Plush, I've hired him to do a film.” He took another gulp of his martini. He was already beyond his limit. I'd need to keep an eye on him, too.

“The film's done, though, isn't it, dear?” Wendy said. Connie seemed surprised that Wendy was on her side. I wondered again what was going on with those two and Dr. Plush.

By now a Sylvain man was listening in. “If it's all the same to you, Rod—”

“It's not,” Rod cut in.

This stunned the Sylvain man into temporary silence. He looked at Mrs. Plush. “Well, if there's no real danger . . .”

She glared at him. “You're on the hook for this. I don't want to hear about some insider-trading case down the line.” The glare turned on me. “No cameras during dinner.”

Our little group disbanded. Connie had lost out, and I could see by the way she marched the doctor to his seat that she wasn't used to it.

“I'll bring you a doggie bag,” Wendy said, putting her hand out to give me a pat.

I stepped out of her reach and said, without smiling, “My bite's worse than my bark.” She withdrew her hand quickly.

In the end, I was squeezed in next to Mike. Rod's face had a numb look by the time the first course was served; it had been anesthetized by alcohol. His lips remained parted in a blubbery kind of way. I was the recipient of a certain amount of sympathetic small talk from people nearby, who had seen my encounter with Connie Plush. It gave me the sense that I was not the first to get the treatment from her. I responded politely, wishing the courses would move along.

Just before dessert, Wendy excused herself to use what she called “the little girls' room.” I was pretending to listen to a discussion between Mike and an Eternaderm scientist. I'd draw too much attention if I bolted after Wendy, so I waited fifteen seconds before excusing myself as well.

As I got to the door, the waiters came marching in with dessert. I stepped aside to let them pass, then went into the corridor. A closed ladies' room door stared at me. I knocked and called Wendy's name. Somehow I knew I wouldn't get an answer. I knocked again to make sure no one else was in there, pushed open the door, and called, “Hello?”

A quick inspection of the stalls confirmed that she'd given me the slip. I burst down the corridor and into the main restaurant. Scanning for Wendy, I froze when I saw a form I knew. It was the receptionist from Silicon Glamour, the beefy man with the thick mustache. He wore a polo shirt. His arms were huge.

“Did you see her?” I said.

He didn't look up from his beer. “See who?”

“Alissa. Wendy.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, man,” he said, then turned away.

I ran out to the parking lot just in time to see a pair of exiting taillights. My keys were back in the dining room, in my camera
case. I went back inside and stood behind the SG guy. “Tell Rupert he can get off of Rod's back about Alissa.”

His head didn't move an inch. “You better get off
my
back.”

His voice was a soft, deep rumble. Speaking low as he did, he left me with the sense that he could blow my eardrums out if he chose to. His argument was convincing, and in any case I couldn't leave Rod alone with those vodka martinis. I was left to return to the private room, cue up Rod's film, and ponder why Wendy would go to such lengths to pass herself off as her daughter.

Algoplex was in motion
the next day. Now that the deal was sealed, teams were being assigned, milestones scheduled, supply chains activated. The halls were abuzz with the task of tailoring Rod's software to Plush's program.

The only person looking less than energized was Rod himself. It was eleven o'clock and his desk was an uncharacteristic mess. He tended to fill coffee cups and then abandon them in various locations. Today no fewer than six cups were sprinkled around the office.

I'd covered for him at the end of the dinner last night by saying to the others at the table that I'd seen “Alissa” on my way out of the rest room. She wasn't feeling well, had to leave, and had asked me to give Rod her apologies. Now I was in his office to talk to him about what I'd really seen.

Rod had been in no shape to discuss it last night. He'd taken it upon himself to drink to every round of the after-dinner toasts. He dozed most of the drive home and his hangover was under way by the time I left his house. His face was the color of chewed paper this morning.

Mike Riley strode in whistling a tune, as he was inclined to do. A look from Rod caused him to shut his lips. He reported
that the first check from Sylvain had been deposited. This would take care of Algoplex's immediate needs. The rest of the money was due seventy-two hours after the signing.

“Good,” Rod grumbled, “we can actually pay our employees this month.”

Mike smiled. He was a stocky guy with square shoulders and a square face, quick to smile or joke. His dark hair was cut short and parted on the side. “Fun night, huh? You kept up with the big boys on the martinis. That impressed them.”

“Then they're idiots,” Rod said. I could hear how dry his mouth was.

Mike couldn't be stopped. “Alissa was looking good.”

“That wasn't Alissa,” Rod replied.

“Okay, take it easy, Rod. I had a feeling something was up. I figured you made some other arrangement. It was a gutsy move.”

“I need to talk to Bill, Mike. Thanks.”

After absorbing Rod's stare for a few seconds, Mike left. I felt bad for him. He revered Rod's genius. Though he treated him at times like an awkward little brother, he was Rod's biggest cheerleader. Today he'd cheered the wrong team.

“I hate those events,” Rod said. “Nothing but head-patting and bogon flux. It's business, not a love affair.”

“Connie Plush wasn't in a petting mood. You stood up to her, though. She was right, you know, I shouldn't have stayed for dinner.”

“Yeah. It wasn't like her to back down.”

“That's what was interesting. Nobody else would say no to you, especially not the Sylvain guys. They must want this deal pretty bad.”

“Connie's all right in my book—tough but fair. Ronald leaves all the business to her.”

“Maybe they don't like a tough woman.”

“The only thing I know for sure is that Plush needs my technology. It's the future of biotech. It's the reason Stanford started their Bio-X program and Berkeley started QB3.”

I was glad to see Rod's confidence bouncing back. I moved on to the primary business at hand. “I sent Wendy an email this morning. I took the diplomatic route so as not to scare her off. Thanked her for her performance. Suggested we get together to talk about Alissa.”

“I don't believe in hell, but I hope she fries in it,” Rod said.

“I'd say she's pretty well-done already. We can put some heat on her ourselves, but first we have to make her believe it's safe to be alone with us. Did you notice how she pretended like you knew where Alissa was?”