Embrace in Motion

by Karin Kallmaker

  "Wasn't my idea," Leslie reminded him. She had wanted to watch the first run of the software, but instead had been banished.

  "You were making me nervous with all your what-ifs. And the programmers didn't want to screw up in front of you. You're practically their mom."

  "Thanks," she said wryly. Some of the programmers at MagicWorks were in their thirties, not that you'd know it from their behavior.

  "Uncle Richard, I still don't understand what you and Mom are making," Matt said. Leslie was glad to see that his aura of gloom had lifted considerably.

  "Let me give you an example," he said. "Remember in Aladdin how Robin Williams did the voice of the genie?" Matt nodded. "Well, he also inspired the artists who drew the genie. He moved in ways that fit his voice and artists laboriously recorded the gestures and movements. Now imagine if they could have filmed Robin Williams instead. And then matched, say, six to ten of his movements to an equal number of poses for the genie, and then had a computer review all of Robin's performance and then draw all of the genie's movements to match?"

  "Uh-huh," Matt said dubiously. "So what does that do?"

  "It means quality animation based on human movement without frame-by-frame drawing. It'll be a brand new way to create animated films.

  "Think of this, Matt. You could collect some pictures of Abraham Lincoln and scan them into your computer. Then you could film yourself walking and talking, then overlay the pictures of Lincoln and your film and presto! An animated Lincoln that you created based on what you read and knew about him."

  "That would be way cool," Matt said. "I could make Lincoln say anything." He bit into his bagel before Leslie noticed the cream cheese was two inches thick.

  Leslie met Richard's gaze over Matt's head. They both knew that Matt was likely to create a Lincoln who skateboarded and quoted X-Man.

  "Not unimportantly," Richard said, "some very large companies will pay us a great deal to have the software — that is, after your mom finishes convincing them they can't survive without it."

  "And no one beats us to it," Leslie added.

  "Ever the optimist," Richard said. "So you'll be back at the office bright and early, going through all those resumes you got from prospective attorneys."

  Leslie saw Matt's face fall back into his lines of gloom. "Sorry, Richard, but I have plans. Matt's going to play hooky with me." She was rewarded by Matt's first genuine smile in what seemed like weeks.

  Richard smiled indulgently. "Fair enough," he said, patting her hand. "Go have fun wherever it is you're going."

  "You're a great boss," Leslie told him as he was leaving. "And a great friend."

  He kissed her lightly, his attitude fatherly, though at 41 he was only her senior by two years.

  "Did Uncle Richard ever want to marry you?" Matt asked the question later that evening from the depths of the pajama top he was pulling over his head.

  "Nope, never. We're just best friends," Leslie said.

  "We've made great partners for holy moley — twenty years — but romance has never been a part of it. Not like with your dad."

  Matt was silent, his face carefully neutral. She knew he was desperately missing his father and thinking about how nice it would have been to have "uncle" Richard around all the time. He understood that she was not interested in men, but at the moment Uncle Richard was the only other adult prominently in her life. Poor little guy, she thought, he was so lonely sometimes, and she knew his loneliness was not a commentary on her mothering. He was just at an age when he wanted ...more.

  He went off to bed and Leslie spent the next hour polishing off another bagel and channel-surfing while she played "if onlies" in her head.

  If only she had been happy married to Alan. If only Sharon had been able to adapt to having a kid around, then Matt would have had a second adult in his life on an everyday basis and not miss his dad so much. If only she and Carol had had some flickering of passion between them—they'd have made both their sons ecstatic. If only almost-forty women with offspring didn't produce anti-endorphins in every eligible lesbian they met. If only Captain Janeway would beam into her living room.

  She would have moped for a couple more hours, but she remembered that she did have a vastly more interesting job ahead of her, now that they knew their software could work. She needed to start interviewing consultants for package design and technical writing. Her trip to Chicago and New York to interview design agencies was definitely on. And, heaven forbid, she had to hire a lawyer to write their patent application and take care of a lot of other corporate business Leslie didn't even want to think about. Maybe she could get Richard to do the dirty deed. She'd had an antipathy for lawyers ever since they had almost turned her amicable divorce from Allan into World War III.

  It was going to be fun interviewing graphics firms and ad agencies, and playing with design and marketing literature. Let Richard hire the lawyer.

  "So, Geoff, I have a favor to ask," Sarah said. 'I'm moving to your neck of the woods —"

  "You are? This is a great place to live. You'll love it here. Why are you pulling up your stakes?"

  "Remember my paramour in Louisville?" Sarah shoved down the little flutter in her heart. Romance was singing "I Will Follow Him" with the appropriate change of pronoun.

  "How could I forget? I hardly saw you after she showed up."

  "Well, she has this really great opportunity to produce a documentary, but she has to move to the Bay Area to do it, and the idea of commuting back and forth to see her is just too much for me."

  "You are that besotted? She must be a real Circe." Geoff sounded skeptical.

  "Besotted doesn't cover it," Sarah said. "We've been living together for almost two months and I still don't see enough of her."

  "Sounds faintly nauseating," Geoff said. "So what's this favor you need?"

  "I bet there's a local job bulletin from your AAPA chapter you could fax me..."

  "There is indeed. I have it right here. The onlything of interest is a software start-up company, and I'd apply but the paycheck would be a cut for me. I can't live on promises of huge bonuses when the software takes off."

  "Oh," Sarah said, trying not to let her disappointment show. "Basically, in lieu of partial pay you become a part investor, so to speak."

  "You got it. Of course I know someone who did that with Netscape and now he has a cabin in Vail and a yacht in the Bahamas."

  Sarah piffed. "I should be so lucky. But I guess a lead is better than arriving with no place to interview. Can you fax the ad to me? Send it to my home fax, because my boss knows I'm leaving, but no one else does yet." She rattled off the number. "You're a doll," she added.

  "I know. It's going to be great having you in this part of the world. I don't think I know anyone who dances as well as you do."

  "Except you, kind sir," Sarah teased.

  "You'll have to let me parade you at the company Christmas party. We will cut an impressive figure."

  "I don't suppose Melissa will mind," Sarah said. "She's going to be very busy, and she doesn't particularly like dancing. And if I don't find a job right away, I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands."

  Geoff’s speaker beeped and he hurriedly said good-bye. Sarah sat staring at the phone for a few minutes. Romance was still singing "I Will Follow Him," but she was sure she could hear another voice crooning, "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered."

  "Listen, Matt, I don't have time to argue with you about it. Start laying out the stuff you want to take with you and we'll discuss this when I get home. I've got a million things to do."

  "Aw, Mom," was Matt's answer, but he hung up and Leslie turned her attention back to her desk.

  "Les, I wanted to give you this before you go." She looked up, then waved Mark Davis into a chair. "It's the time specs and, well, I wrote some ideas I have for marketing, and I have a name I kind of like."

  Leslie hid her sigh of irritation. "Mark, everyone has ideas and I'm glad to consider them. But—"

 
; "I know, I'm just a programmer and all my creativity comes out in C Plus Plus or not at all."

  "That's not what I meant. Yes, it is. That is what I meant," Leslie admitted. "I'm sorry, Mark. I've been deluged with input today."

  "Well, unlike all the other geeks who work here, I wrote my ideas down. In English, not code." He handed her a neatly stapled document no more than a few pages long.

  "You're the king," Leslie said, making her voice breathy. She fluttered her eyelashes. "The master. The absolute best programmer who works here—" A cough from the doorway made her look up. "The best programmer sitting in my office," she hastily amended. "What can I do for you, Gene?"

  Mark excused himself, murmuring something politic about getting back to work. Gene Williams eased himself into the chair Mark had vacated and swallowed a long slug from his Jolt cola.

  "I told the guys to leave you alone today," Gene said. "But you've still had a steady stream of them. Sorry about that."

  "It's okay. They're all so excited about the product and don't realize that I'm not making any decisions about the way we package it on this trip. I want to get ideas from the agencies. And it's not as if we're rolling out for mass market like we did with MagicBullet."

  "I know," Gene said. At thirty-seven, he was the managing programmer, and the oldest of the bunch. "But since I'm here —"

  Leslie laughed. "Go ahead, give me your ideas."

  "Actually, I don't have any. But I read Mark's stuff while it was in the printer tray, and he's got a very hot idea for the name."

  Leslie flipped through the pages, then cocked her head to one side. "Motion." She mimicked tasting wine. "I like it. I'll play with it," she promised. "You can tell Mark I liked it. It's certainly better than Piglet."

  "Hey, no one told you we renamed it now that it works, did they? Piglet is still the code name for all the prototypes, but what we're working on now is called Tigger." He launched into the Tigger song and wouldn't stop until Leslie pushed him out of her office.

  She leaned out of her door, looking for Melody, the secretary/administrative assistant extraordinaire she and Richard shared. No sign of her as usual. Lord knows she had become the fastest typist Leslie had ever seen, but she balanced it nicely against a propensity to gossip and undertake duties nowhere near her job description, like restocking the fridge in the programmers' cave of a work area. She suspected that Melody had followed Mark back to the cave with plans to hibernate.

  Richard's door was ajar, so she peeked in and found him hunched over his keyboard.

  "Hey boss, I'm almost out of here," she said.

  He grunted and continued typing, then looked up. "I found us an attorney," he said.

  "You already went through the stack I sorted for you?"

  He shook his head. "This one came in the fax this morning." He waved a piece of paper in her direction, so she had no option but to take it.

  "But what about —"

  "I have a good feeling about this one."

  Leslie bit back an exasperated sigh. Richard could be so maddening. If she argued with him he'd never look at the others. She glanced down at the resume in her hand.

  "Well, she seems pretty qualified. CompuSoft? Richard, I thought you said we'd never hire anyone from the home of computer fascism."

  "Ah, but this fascist is abandoning ship."

  "After what, six years? I hardly think it's for ideological reasons after this long."

  "I have a good feeling," he said again, and then he gave her one of the smiles that made her fillings ache. The smile said, "I've made up my mind and all further discussion is to humor you."

  "Will you at least look at the top six resumes in the stack? They're just as qualified and maybe one of them will give you a feeling, too. You never know, this MacNeil woman could give you hives when you actually interview her and you'll need a second choice."

  "I'll look them over," he promised.

  "Jesus H., Richard. Is this your little lesson in what happens when Leslie delegates upward?"

  He smiled again and Leslie just kept herself from stamping her foot. He could bring out the child in her so easily, the brat. Smiling as sweetly as she could manage, she put the MacNeil woman's resume back on his desk.

  "I'll see you in two weeks," she said.

  He waved and went on smiling. Brat.

  "Knock 'em dead, baby," Melissa said, then she kissed Sarah breathlessly. "I know you'll be great. They'll beg you to work for them."

  Sarah returned the breathless kiss with a more thorough one of her own, then she slid out of the Jaguar in front of Pacific Air. She waved to Melissa as she drove away, then watched the car until it was out of sight. Melissa was bound for the symposium in Portland — Sarah had convinced her that it was foolish to pass up the chance to network when it was only a long day's drive away.

  Besides, she was going to be in San Francisco for half the time Melissa would be gone, so why shouldn't Melissa go? Faced with such logic, Melissa had conceded with a loving kiss. Sarah strode through the terminal with her overnight bag bouncing on one hip and knew she was smiling. All she had to do was think of their future and the smiles wouldn't stop. She founding herself humming "For Once in My Life." Debra had given up on her and while Sarah regretted the loss of closeness with Debra, she couldn't let it dim her happiness and a sense of well-being that she hoped would carry her through what was sure to be an unusual interview.

  Sarah supposed it was a good sign of MagicWorks's solvency that they were willing to pop for her airfare. Richard Deacon was a character, that was for sure. He'd been quite anxious to meet with her right away and assured her a Saturday appointment was no problem. It was almost as if he had a deadline to meet. But he was the president, and they make their own deadlines. Usually. He'd also mentioned that there was a lot of negotiating room in the salary, and if it came to nothing she'd still have the weekend in San Francisco where she could access Alumni Resources for more career opportunities and look for a place to live.

  The fog was just lifting in San Francisco as they made the final approach, and the pilot even dipped the wing on the right side of the plane to give them all a better look at the unforgettable landscape. Two beautiful bridges, green islands, ridges encrusted with eucalyptus, a gigantic park right off the ocean and a thick forest to the north... Sarah's spirits soared. She would love living in this city, as much as she loved Seattle. There were hiking trails and redwoods close by, perhaps not as magnificent as Olympic Forest and Mt. Rainier, but the green was there, in sustaining abundance. She already knew that there was a thriving archery community and she might run into a few familiar faces.

  As she navigated the compact rental car from the airport in South San Francisco to Mountain View, her spirits dipped a little. From the highway it all looked like one big strip mall. They drooped further when her destination appeared to be an industrial park that had seen better days. But the green and blue MagicWorks logo was not as dilapidated as the building it was attached to.

  The side door was unlocked as Richard had promised and she thought it was bad security. But the moment she stepped inside she was greeted by a bright-eyed young woman whose every move was accompanied by a faint tinkling sound... coming from the small bells at the ends of her corn row braids.

  "You must be Sarah MacNeil," she said with a welcoming smile. "I'm Melody Baker. I'm thrilled to meet you. I've never met an Olympian before, although my brother was an NCAA finalist in discus one year, but he tore a ligament, you know this one right here—" She pointed to her elbow. "And that was that, but he probably never would have made it to the Games, but you did twice, and you even —"

  "Thanks for watching the door, Melody."

  Sarah turned to face the newcomer. "You must be Richard Deacon." She fought down a smile. He reminded her of a rather short department store Santa Claus, except he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt left over from a Grateful Dead concert.

  "I am indeed. Come right with me and we'll get down to business." His smil
e of greeting came with a knowing half-wink just like Edmund Gwynn's in Miracle on 34th Street. Sarah suspected he was a charmer, which meant he could also be... difficult.

  Sarah smiled thanks at Melody, who seemed rather nice if you liked bubbly personalities.

  "Yes, she's always that way," Richard said, once again as if he knew what Sarah was thinking. "I wouldn't have her any other way. But then, I'm a morning person."

  "So am I," Sarah said. "I have colleagues who think I should be skinned at those wonderful eight-thirty staff meetings." She felt her back muscles relax.

  "Can I get you some coffee?"

  "No, thanks. The one thing airlines give you these days is coffee and I'm all coffeed out for the day."

  "Hungry?" He glanced at his watch. "Geez, it's after lunch." He punched a button on his phone. "Melody, are there any sandwiches left?"

  "I think so," came the answer. "You want one? How about Ms. MacNeil? I think there's two turkey with Swiss."

  Richard was so obviously hungry that Sarah nodded when he glanced at her inquiringly. Truth be told, she was starving, but eating and answering questions was not the easiest thing to do gracefully.

  Melody popped in a few moments later with two sandwiches, a small bag of Fritos and two sodas. She handed the Jolt cola to Richard and proffered the other can to Sarah.

  "I pegged you for a Diet Coke kind of woman," Melody said.

  "You pegged me right." Sarah took the can with a smile and found herself thinking she could get used to working with these people.

  Richard took an enormous bite out of his sandwich. After a swallow, he observed, "You don't look like a CompuSoft fascist."

  Sarah choked on her sandwich. "Just what does a CompuSoft fascist look like?"

  "Sweaters," Richard said, grinning. "Sweaters and vests."

  Sarah glanced down at her dove gray suit. "I do own sweaters. I want to be clear on that point."

  "I forgive you," Richard said with a broad grin. More soberly, he said, "Look, Sarah, I can't describe our product to you unless you come on board and sign all that stuff our outside counsel recommends, and you can't talk about what exactly you're working on, I'll bet."