ThisTimeNextDoor (12 page)

“Start as you mean to go on. If you let her walk over you now…”

“You’re right. It would be fun, don’t you think? Just us, Elvis, and the casinos? We could do something more formal next year when we have the reception. This would just be like a starter wedding.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Rose said.

“You’d do it? Make the drive?”

“Sure. And I bet your unborn child won’t be the first baby to visit Nevada in utero. Maybe they sell baby tees for that.”

Brighter than Rose had seen her in months, Blair grabbed the salad bowl, laughing. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’d started to worry it was going to be just me and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Thanks a lot,” Rose said, draining her drink. “Now you’re calling me names.”

Blair squeezed her. “Let’s order two pizzas. I’m starving. And if you ever question what I put in my mouth again, you’re dead. I don’t care how much I love you.”

Rose saluted her with her drink, nodding. “Ditto.”

Dinner was excellent. Blair ate enough for three, Rose drank enough for two; they sat, bundled in blankets on the deck, watching the San Francisco skyline disappear under a blurry gray fog across the bay. They had the happiest evening together they’d had since John had entered their life.

Knowing it might not last.

* * *

The cubicles spread out over a hundred feet in each direction. On the perimeter, offices with tall, skinny windows surrounded the sea of gray carpeted dividers. The ceiling was white, the carpet was tan, the walls were beige.

It was like a maze of oatmeal, Mark thought.

“Have you seen our new building before, Mr. Johnson?” the woman escorting him down the corridor asked. As they walked, curious heads popped up like pocket gophers in a soccer field, checking him out.

At first he didn’t realize she was talking to him. “Call me Mark,” he said, his palms sweating.

Did they know who he was? Is that why they were staring like that? It was supposed to be a secret. Ancient history.

“Here’s his office,” the woman said. Bridget, her badge said. She was in her mid-twenties, short curly hair a nondescript sandy blond—
more beige
, he thought—with glasses. Dressed like an administrative type, not technical, which is to say she was wearing a blouse and black pants instead of the jeans programmers liked to wear, male or female.

When she saw the room was empty, her eyes widened with alarm. “He should be back any second. I don’t know what happened to him. Can I get you anything? Coffee? RedBull? M&M's?”

“M&M's? Really?”

“If that’s not okay, we’ve got Twizzlers, PowerBars, fresh fruit, and cashews. No peanuts, since Allen Buckworth is allergic. Like, fall over and die allergic.” She looked at him expectantly.

“I’m fine.” He made his way to a chair in front of the glass and black steel desk and sat down.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

He gave the most reassuring smile he could manage. “I’m fine. Really.”

Nodding, she left. As he watched her go, he noticed a guy step out from behind a cubicle to whisper something to her. They looked back at him, saw he was watching, and quickly turned away.

They knew. Damn it.

The CEO of WellyNelly, Sylvester Minguez, burst into the office with his usual loud charm, striding right over to him and slapping him on the shoulder. “Mark! So awesome to see you, man!”

Though Mark had tried hard over the years, it was impossible not to like Sylvester Minguez. The CEO of a promising tech start-up in the Bay Area who insisted people call him Sylly—pronounced “silly”—was determined to be liked, and what Sylly was determined to get, Sylly got.

Well, not with everyone. “Hi, Syl,” Mark said.

Flashing him a mock frown, Sylly closed the door. “You’ve refused the M&M's. I can’t believe it.”

“I gave them up. Bad for my health.”

“None of us are getting any younger, are we?” Sylly said, perching himself on the front of his desk next to Mark. His sharp brown eyes moved over him like the laser in a photocopier, taking in every inch, remembering everything. “You’re looking good. New threads?”

Mark leaned back, crossed his legs, ankle on knee, and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You promised when I took the job you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

White teeth flashing in his confidently cheerful face, Sylly shrugged. “I didn’t.”

“They know. It’s obvious.”

“Word gets around.”

“You could deny it.”

“That wasn’t part of our deal,” Sylly said. “I can hardly erase your name from the source code. Your fingerprints are everywhere.”

“Tell them it’s a different Mark Johnson. It’s not like my name is Sylvester Minguez or something crazy like that. There are thousands of Mark Johnsons in the world. We’re a dime a dozen.”

“Not at WellyNelly. Not who seemed to know the source code on his first day as if he’d written it himself. You’re a legend around here. Of course people guessed.”

Mark rubbed his face with both palms. “I should’ve used an alias.”

With another whack to Mark’s shoulder, Sylly got up and sat behind his desk, grinning. “It’s great to have you back. Admit it, you’ve got to be a little bit proud of yourself. Look around, you did this. Your acorn has grown into a very strong, very profitable tree. Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of it?” He pointed a finger at him. “Openly. Not like some hermit taking wire transfers while he slums it with unappreciative children in Iowa.”

“Wisconsin,” Mark said. This was pointless. He hadn’t come here to talk about his career, his ego, or lack of either. “I’m actually here to cash in on the referral bonus I know you’ve set up. The company website says we’re eligible for five grand if we get somebody we know to work here.”

“As if you need the money. You know how rich you’ll get when we go public or sell?”

“You MBA types are always saying that. How many people in the Bay Area have gone broke over the last twenty years waiting for their stock options to be worth something?”

“You still can’t believe your little hobby is more successful than you ever dreamed it could be,” Sylly said.

“I never dreamed it because I didn’t want it.” Mark reached over to grab a Nerf ball on the desk. Squeezing the orange foam in his fist, he looked around for the hoop, found it over the dart board near the mini-fridge. “My dad was dying, Syl. I wanted to help my mother get through it. That’s all.”

“No, it’s not all. You helped thousands—hell, we’re pushing a million users now, Mark—get through the shitty tragedies of life.” For the first time, Sylly looked genuinely frustrated. “I just don’t understand why you’re not proud of what you made. WellyNelly helps people. It’s not spyware, it’s not boring corporate evil shit, it’s
nice
. We’re the good guys. Why are you ashamed of that?”

“I’m not ashamed, I just don’t want…” Frustrated, Mark threw the ball, missed the hoop.
 
“I don’t like all the attention.”

Sylly held out his hands, palms up, looking around. “What attention? Who’s bugging you? So the staff here is curious to see what you look like. Hiding for years makes people curious. It’s not like people are chasing your car demanding autographs. Taking pictures of you clubbing.” He grinned.

“They will if and when Welly goes public. You said yourself, imagine how rich I’ll get.”

“You won’t be the only one, buddy,” Sylly said, rubbing his palms together. “We can console one another. Misery loves company. And we’re going to be very, very miserable.”

Mark retrieved the ball, threw it at Sylly’s smug head. “How’s your mom?”

“Excellent. Thank you. She uses WellyNelly to manage her diabetes.”

“I’m glad. Not about the diabetes. That sucks.”

“And your creation helps her deal with it. As well as me, my sisters, her doctor, the pharmacy, and the insurance company. Just like you envisioned.”

Mark sat down. The only way to win an argument with Sylly was to keep your mouth shut. “Anyway, about that job referral thing. I know somebody.”

“Vegetable or mineral?”

He meant, was she technical. “I’m not sure. She’s got a degree in biology from Cornell. Doesn’t want to be a doctor but has a great personality, real smart, team player and all that bullshit. I thought you might find something for her.”

Sylly’s dark eyebrows were high on his forehead. “She?”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

He shrugged. “Really. I even assumed she was gay for a while.”

Sylly tapped his fingers on his lips. “But now that you know she’s not, here you are.”

Mark leaned forward, trying not to lose his temper. “Look, she’s my neighbor. She just moved here from New York and needs a job. We’re practically family. Her best friend is about to marry this guy that’s about to become my brother’s cousin-in-law…” He trailed off, realizing that sounded ridiculous. “Anyway, I just want to help her out. She’s fun. Has lots of energy. I wouldn’t recommend her if I didn’t think you’d like her.”

“I’m thinking you wouldn’t recommend her if
you
didn’t like her,” Sylly said.

“I do like her.”

“And you want her to like you right back, don’t you?”

Frustrated with an argument he hadn’t expected, Mark felt his patience give way. “Not all of us use the workplace as our personal harem, Syl.”

Sylly’s eyebrows came down. Any hint of a smile vanished. The cold, hard steel that had made him CEO of a rising tech startup rose to the surface.

Mark stared back at him. WellyNelly had settled a sexual harassment claim the year before. One of the marketing guys had been sleeping with one of the admins, and it went sour—or at least that was the guy’s story. The subject was taboo and Mark had never learned the details. “Sorry,” Mark said. “But you know I’m not like that.”

Sylly’s hard look didn’t waver. “You swear you’re not just trying to get into her panties?”

Infinitesimal pause. “I swear.”

“Because you’re not just some low-level grunt around here, no matter what the paperwork says.”

“I know.”

“You’re the prodigal programmer, the native son, the founder. The brains of the outfit. The big daddy—”

“Enough,” Mark said, cringing. “My God, give it a rest.”

“As you noticed, everyone here knows exactly who you are. If you bring in women you’re trying to get naked, there are lawyers out there who’ll jump on us like flies on shit.”

“I’m not trying to bring in
women
, plural. It’s woman, singular,” Mark said. He thought of something. “Is this a speech you give all the men in the company? Because that means you’re not allowing anyone to refer women to work here. Call me paranoid, but isn’t that asking for trouble?”

Sylly looked down at his desk, fiddled with a pen.

“What’s the ratio these days, male to female?” Mark went on, glancing toward the cubicles. “I’m seeing a lot of Y chromosomes out there. A case might be made WellyNelly is has a gender-based hiring problem, don’t you think?”

The hard look in Sylly’s eyes faded. He pursed his lips together.
 

That got him,
Mark thought.

“This is important to you?” Sylly finally asked. “It’s not just for show? You can’t just get her an interview and you’re off the hook?”

“No, I’d really like to get her a job.”

“Well, then, that’s going to cost you.”

Mark let out his breath, ready to deal. “You can give her my salary, I was thinking. I don’t really need it.”

Sylly stared, then rolled his eyes. “You know, for a genius, you’re full of some pretty stupid ideas.”

“Thanks.”

“Pay her your salary,” he repeated. He threw his head back, threw a disgusted look at the ceiling. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

“It was just an idea.”

“Even if she was a seventy-six-year-old lesbian without a vagina, there’s no way you’re opening yourself up to any possible claim that you were trying to compel her to have sex with you, you get my drift?”

Mark put his hand over his eyes. “Nice mental image. Thanks.”

“Got it?”

He nodded. “You said it was going to cost me.”

Sylly stood up and wandered over to the window, a smile creeping over his face. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

Mark stifled a groan. “This isn’t going to be good.”

Flashing a grin, Sylly slapped his hands together. “On the contrary, my geeky hermit friend. It’s going to be excellent. For everyone.”

Chapter 8

“MARK’S AT THE DOOR!” BLAIR called from the top of the stairs.

Rose looked over from her new ladder, duct tape in hand. She was coated in sweat, hair glued to her forehead along with clumps of dust, dirt, desiccated insect carcasses, and less identifiable nastiness. After Blair bought the ladder and made her favorite stir-fry for dinner, Rose tackled the dirty work. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

In a minute she heard Mark clomping down the stairs. Her heart lifted, hoping for news about the job. And, she had to admit, it was just nice to see him.

“So much for letting them freeze to death,” he said.

“This is all for me. I was dying last night. I thought California was supposed to be warm.” One last strip and she decided she was done. “I used the whole roll, just in case.”

“Who needs ducts when you have tape?”

“Exactly.” She climbed down.

“Hey, you fixed the light.” He looked around the dingy basement. “I think I liked it better before.”

“I didn’t want Blair tripping and falling if she ever came down here.”

He put out a hand to help her at the last step. His fingers wrapped around her upper arm, his knuckles brushing her left breast. If it were any other guy she would’ve thought it was intentional.

“Let’s turn it on and see if it works,” she said.

He plucked a wad of gray nastiness out of her hair. “Ew.”

“Yeah. I wish I’d worn a hat. I can’t wait to take a shower.” She pulled the elastic band out of her hair, bent over and rifled her hands through the strands, shaking off as much of the dust as she could. “Okay, you’re killing me. Do you have good news or bad?” She straightened and combed her fingers through the tangles while Mark stared, silent.