Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake (22 page)

‘Snowflake said he met you on the flight over here,’ said Beth.

‘Yes,’ answered Minnie cautiously, wondering what else Jackson had told her.

‘Neat,’ said the girl. 

‘I’m waiting for my taxi,’ cautioned Minnie. 

‘Do you mind if I chill out with you until the car turns up?’

‘Please, be my guest,’ said Minnie politely.

Beth leaned back in her chair, tipped her face towards the sun. ‘I’m married to a pro surfer,’ she said to Minnie, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘but I can’t even swim.’ 

Minnie smiled. ‘Opposites attract.’

Beth laughed. ‘Like oil and water?’

‘Yes, I suppose it comes down to chemistry in the end,’ said Minnie, relaxing.

There was a pause while they sipped their drinks.

‘You really should consider swimming lessons though – just in case you fall into the ocean by mistake,’ said Minnie. 

Beth abruptly snorted. She had an infectious unladylike laugh that wouldn’t be out of place at a horse show. Beth playfully flicked Minnie on the elbow. ‘Fall into the ocean by mistake… ha… ha… Snowflake said you were funny… ha… ha… honk hee.’

Minnie giggled helplessly at Beth’s breathless laughter. She also felt a warm glow that was more than the after-effects of her tea. It was a warm, delighted feeling. She wanted to throw her arms around this beautiful stranger who thought she was funny. Not weird funny.

She decided not to let on that, actually, she had been serious about the swimming lessons.

It was a quick trip back to the motel from the Silver Star Grill. Minnie sat on the bed. Television and the Internet had been her constant companions in this room.

To take her mind off her feelings of chronic loneliness she started to think seriously about the required apology. Failure to deliver was clearly not an option for Minnie. Unless, she thought, she could somehow reach out to Greene in an indirect way. She needed to meet the demands but also be honest. She began to consider including the apology in a very specific speech. Then she had a better idea and immediately emailed mathematician Sid Zane for advice. He called her straight back despite the time difference. What he proposed was simple and Minnie liked that. Together they quickly talked through a plan that Minnie put into action the second she disconnected the call. She emailed every single person who had contacted Sid Zane about the voice-recognition test and asked them for permission to share their emails with a fellow Parkinson’s sufferer. 

The next morning, after a quick breakfast at the diner, she stepped out along the street. People walked underneath umbrellas to protect them from the morning sunshine but Minnie was happy to feel the heat directly on her skin. She felt brighter and better now she had a sense of purpose. Breaking the ice with Parker Bachmann had also improved Minnie’s mood immensely. Also, if Greene wouldn’t change his mind and she had to make a public apology, at least she would be less terrified about what would come out of her mouth if an official speech writer was putting the words in there for her. Minnie was more than happy to apologise but it didn’t feel right to deny that Greene had the disease. Time would catch up with him. How long did he think he could hide the symptoms? Levchin was another matter entirely – she didn’t want to help him full stop.

For the time being she decided to have one more go at getting Greene to change his mind. However, it was essential that she speak to him without Levchin around. She didn’t think that would prove to be too difficult. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend more time in Levchin’s company than was absolutely necessary. 

Minnie needed access to a printer so she headed back to the main Public Library on Larkin Street to get the job done. The library, as before, soothed her with its impressive size, solid architecture and studious atmosphere. 

She had hundreds of emails to print and it took a while. Soon she had a paper mountain of contacts; people who had got in touch with Sid Zane regarding the voice-recognition software. More and more people were contacting him all the time. She smoothed her hand over the paper pile, still warm from the printer. She began to file them, filling three document holders.

Greene was surprisingly open to Minnie’s suggestion to meet up. She had to contact him through his over-protective personal assistant, Meredith Lockhart, but the arrangements were straightforward. 

This time, there was no covert plan to get into his house. Greene even sent a car over to the motel to collect Minnie. He still hadn’t made a public appearance and had so far shunned his office headquarters in Silicon Valley, preferring to hide out at home. 

Minnie suspected that Greene had probably agreed to this meeting in order to make absolutely sure she had the perfect apology planned before it was beamed over the Internet. It was classic controlling behaviour.

She was heartened by the thought that even a meeting by appointment was progress. Still, she approached his house with a degree of caution. High-voltage memories still intruded at the periphery of her thoughts. She shuddered. In her mind it was still an exclusive gilded prison and she had spent enough time behind bars to last her a lifetime. 

They didn’t meet in his black-painted office this time. Minnie was shown to a side garden by a member of staff – not the same stretch of lawn, thankfully, where she had been dramatically Tasered and arrested. It overlooked an impressive man-made pond that was wide enough to sail in. There was a small rowing boat moored at the edge as if to prove this point.  

This was a more private place – a secluded area surrounded by trees that had been horticulturally cultivated into shape using strict cuboid-infrastructure canes. Minnie loved square shapes from a mathematical perspective but a tree that had been very vigorously pruned into a dense cube was different. Its natural organic beauty had been reduced to a formal, no-nonsense green brick. The trees almost looked embarrassed. 

Greene seemed a little less formal, a little more relaxed, probably because he knew Minnie was going to do what he wanted. 

 ‘You wanted to see me?’ Greene was standing next to a dramatic arch of purple roses – even flowers had a gothic edge in Greene’s presence. There was an outdoor lounge area comprising immaculate white sofas and low glass-topped tables.

Minnie still felt a bit unsettled, as though the square trees would come alive at any second and scare her senseless. She never knew where she was with Greene. He made her nervous.

She breathed deeply and said, ‘I wanted to give you this paperwork.’ She began to take the printed emails from their wallets and pile them up on the nearest knee-high table. 

‘You couldn’t have just emailed me the details?’ Greene asked, raising a groomed eyebrow.

‘We’re talking about quite a lot of emails – hundreds in fact. Not really what you want in your inbox.’ Her eyes dropped to the paper mountain to get the point across.

‘What’s this about?’ 

Minnie explained, ‘It’s all the people who contacted Sid Zane. He is the mathematician who worked on the voice-recognition software.’ 

Greene stared, but he didn’t speak so Minnie continued. ‘These people have been helping with the Parkinson’s research. The emails include their name, age, location, symptoms and brief background information. Some have included much more detail than others.’ She started to falter. ‘I thought you might find it, um, interesting. I’ve divided them into geographical areas, starting with the States. The UK is also included along with other countries around the world. Sid Zane really reached out to people. I have their permission to let you look through them.’

Greene approached the table and picked up a handful of emails. A plane passed overhead. Minnie studied its route with the concentration of an air traffic controller. He read out a few names on the list, pausing occasionally to control his breathing, ‘Addison Miller, elementary teacher, Idaho; Samantha Garcia, cashier, Colorado; Wyatt Williams, stand-up comedian, Georgia.’ He paused and continued. ‘Gabriel Perez, farm labourer, Arizona; Joseph Parker, a furniture maker from Oklahoma…’
 

Minnie nodded encouragingly. Greene’s eyes scanned over a few more pages and then he stopped reading out the names.

He said, ‘Look, Ms Chase, I…’

‘Minnie, please.’

‘
Minnie
, I can see you have put some effort into this but…’ he shrugged, his handsome face struggling to see the relevance, ‘…cashier, furniture maker… farm
labourer
? I have nothing in common with these people.’

16

The trick is to keep breathing

Minnie was always so shrewd and intuitive when it came to working out numerical situations but faltered when it came to people. She had made yet another miscalculation when it came to Greene. More than one miscalculation, in fact, as it appeared that he was not only averse to surprises (
losing control,
thought Minnie), but was also unable to see himself as just an ordinary person. 

It was becoming crystal clear that he was a proud man who was never going to admit that he was ill. The emails failed to make their mark on him. He was in denial. What’s more, while the meeting in the garden didn’t close with a Taser episode, it did now take a turn for the worse.

‘I will apologise but don’t make me lie,’ pleaded Minnie.

‘You are over-complicating the matter, Miranda.’

‘No, really I’m not,’ said Minnie earnestly. ‘I just want to do the right thing.’

‘What happened to doing the right thing at The Savoy? Like keeping your mouth shut.’

Minnie stared at the gothic blooms behind Greene’s head. He was always a chess piece ahead. This was some feat considering that Minnie was an exceptional chess player. 

Greene continued talking, which was a surprising turn for a man who was economical with words. ‘I want people to know that there are different disorders that can masquerade as Parkinson's disease.’

Minnie shook her head. ‘I think that’s misleading. I also feel that you know the truth as you are fighting so hard to deny it.’

‘There is no diagnostic test that can confirm this disease.’ He looked almost triumphant. ‘My MRI and CAT scans are normal. My brain is
normal
.’

‘Your brain is not normal,’ said Minnie without missing a beat. ‘Your brain is exceptional. You have intelligence, drive and determination. You are one of the smartest businessmen in the world. Being involved with the natural gas project has probably been the best experience of my life.’ She thought this might sound a little sad but it was certainly true. She spoke from the heart. She had no illuminating personal moments that outshone the last three months at Jones & Sword.

Greene’s eyelids flickered. Minnie detected a micro-emotion of gratitude or perhaps even an understanding, but he did not outwardly acknowledge the compliment. 

His tone softened, however. ‘I know the symptoms will outsmart me in the end, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’ He gave a small smile, an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Minnie was uncomfortable with bridge analogies. People on bridges could jump off them. She smiled back and said, ‘I think you could do so much more though. Your support right now would make a huge difference.’ She looked again at the pile of emails. ‘I’m not suggesting you bare your soul to the world, but please don’t deny that there are doubts about your health. Don’t distance yourself from the disease like it’s the plague. We could use the speech to show these people some support. It would do enormous amounts of good.’

Greene shook his head. ‘I think you’ve mistaken me for the kind of person who gives love to the world. I make substantial
financial
contributions. There is a clear and marked line.’

‘You could cross the line?’

 ‘People are always wanting something from me.’ There was a bitter sharpness in the way he said this. ‘It doesn’t stop. It is take, take, take, all the time. Well, it stops here.’

‘I think then, that you’ve surrounded yourself with the wrong people,’ said Minnie, determined not to give up.

There was a steelier edge to Greene’s voice again. ‘Please show me some respect. We both know that I don’t need a piece of voice recording software to confirm that I have Parkinson’s. I keep my hands behind my back so you don’t see the tremors – externally noticeable symptoms that haunt me. I’m slowing up. I can’t sleep.’ 

‘This reclusive life you have planned – where is the joy?’ questioned Minnie.

Greene scoffed at this. ‘I’ve always led a reclusive life. It is not exactly a giant leap. What you propose is my worst nightmare. I am
not
going to be the poster boy for Parkinson’s.’

‘You have nothing to hide,’ said Minnie. ‘I know you are a good man.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Okay, but I know a bad man when I see one,’ said Minnie. She realised she was getting nowhere and deliberately changed the subject. ‘How is Dr Levchin enjoying his all-expenses-paid trip to San Francisco?’

Greene didn’t answer. He clearly wasn’t thinking about Levchin. His usually unreadable face now showed a haunted expression that alarmed Minnie. She was unprepared for such raw emotion.

‘Who will love me like this?’ whispered Greene, turning his handsome face away from her so she couldn’t see him looking so vulnerable. ‘I refuse to let the world watch me fall apart.’

Minnie stood, barely breathing, feeling utterly helpless. She knew she would love James George to the ends of the earth. It wouldn’t matter what he had done or what neurological disease he had. 

She inhaled and said quietly, ‘You are not unloveable. This disease doesn’t make you a monster.’

Then the old Greene resurfaced, cold and detached.  ‘No one else needs to know about this until the time is right. I’m talking ten years down the line.’

Minnie could see that there was no way she would change his mind.

Greene confirmed this. He said abruptly, ‘You will issue a total denial that I have this disease. No further discussion. Please leave now.’