Hot Shot

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  He took the webbed chair next to her, noticing as he sat that rust had formed around the screws on the arms. "Clothes aren't important."

  "Try giving them up."

  He stretched out his legs, looked up at the sky and closed his eyes. "Did you talk to Suzie?"

  "She called me yesterday."

  "She's got this stupid-ass idea that she's moving out."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Well?"

  "You want some spaghetti?"

  "So what did you tell her?"

  "I didn't tell her anything. Suzie's a grown woman."

  "So what did she say to you?"

  "She said she's leaving you, Sammy."

  He pushed himself out of the chair. "Yeah, well that's what she thinks. See, she wants a kid."

  "I know. She wants a husband, too. You're getting what you deserve, kiddo. I've been trying to tell you that for a long time."

  "You know, you really piss me off. You're my mother, not hers. You're always taking her side. Right from the beginning."

  "I'm my own woman, Sammy. I call it like I see it."

  He splayed his hand on his hip and glared at her. "Yeah? Well, you see it all wrong. She's important to me, you know. I need her."

  Angela sighed and reached out to touch him. "Oh, baby. You're so hard to love."

  "Databeck tendered an excellent offer, Susannah," Leland Hayward said over lunch at a pretty cafe in Ghirardelli Square. The venture capitalist was still one of SysVal's most influential board members. In addition to Hayward and the four founding partners, SysVal's board consisted of bankers and investors who had been brought in as they needed expansion capital. They were, by nature, conservative men, and as Susannah had visited privately with each one over the past four days, she had been dismayed to discover how nervous they were. Even Hay-ward, who was accustomed to taking risks, was worried.

  He sprinkled Sweet'N Low into his coffee and shook his head. "You have to understand that when someone who's as much of a wildcatter as Sam starts getting cold feet and says we should sell, I have to listen."

  "The company is solid," she insisted. "There's no reason to sell."

  "You're behind schedule on the development of the Wildfire. You've just lost the contract with the state of California. That doesn't seem so solid to me."

  "We only lost the contract because of the rumors about the sale."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  Susannah understood only too well. If she or Mitch had expressed worry over the financial state of the company, the board members would have been concerned, but not frightened. But when a swashbuckler like Sam said he wanted out, the board was thrown into a panic.

  They finished their coffee and prepared to leave. As Leland rose from his chair, he frowned. "By the way, Susannah, I'm not too happy with your service people right now. They picked up my computer a few weeks ago when I was on vacation, and they haven't returned it or brought me a replacement."

  Susannah pulled out the small notebook she kept in her purse and jotted a reminder to herself. SysVal policy dictated that any employee who received a complaint was responsible for following through on it. No one at SysVal-from the Chairman of the Board to the newest member of the typing pool-was exempt.

  "I liked that machine," Leland went on. And then he chuckled. "Having one of those Blaze III test models made me feel like a pioneer."

  Susannah looked at him curiously. "You had one of the test models?"

  "Sam gave it to me. He found out I hadn't been using a computer and said I was a disgrace to the company. It took me a while to get used to it, but now I can't get along without it."

  Susannah thought of her own missing computer and wondered if someone in Engineering had pulled in all thirteen of the original test models to troubleshoot them. She reassured Leland that she would have a replacement machine sent over that afternoon, and once again asked him to reconsider his position.

  "I've learned to trust my instincts," he said. "And right now my instincts are telling me that SysVal is in trouble."

  She returned to her office frustrated and depressed. Her secretary handed her a pile of phone messages and she flicked through them, hoping to find something from Paige. For days, she had been leaving messages with the maid at Paige's villa in Sardinia, but so far she had heard nothing.

  She was still thinking about her sister the next morning when Lydia Dubeck, an eager young MBA from Harvard who was one of the company's newest directors, poked her head into her office. "It's the darndest thing, Susannah. No one in Engineering seems to know anything about a recall of those thirteen test models. There aren't any work orders, and no one has heard about any problems. I guess that's good news."

  Susannah was still troubled. "Sam's assistants should have a list of all the people who have one of those computers. Have someone get hold of it and find out the status of every machine."

  But when Lydia caught up with her late that afternoon, she looked tired and irritated. "I don't know what the big deal is. Sam's apparently the only one who has a list. You'd think it was some sort of state secret. None of his assistants will give it to me, and he was in one of his moods when I finally ran him down."

  Susannah didn't have to ask what that meant. Lydia had obviously received one of Sam's famous tongue-lashings. She thought for a moment, and decided that it was unwise to go into battle with Sam over something that was probably trivial, especially when a much bigger fight loomed ahead. "Thanks for trying, Lydia. Forget it for now."

  She spent the rest of the afternoon in meetings. When the last one broke up at six, she decided to see if Mitch was still around so she could run some new ideas about financing the Wildfire past him.

  His office was more formal than any of his partners' offices. The windows were draped in a cream and maroon stripe, the chairs deep-seated and comfortable. Various civic awards hung on the walls, along with framed photos of his children.

  He was deeply engrossed in a meaty-looking report lying open on his desk, and she paused for a moment to study him. Gold cuff links glimmered discreetly at his wrists. His collar button was securely fastened, his necktie neatly knotted. As he looked up at her, the lenses of his hornrimmed glasses flashed in the light of his desk lamp. For a moment she tried to reconcile this bastion of corporate respectability with the man who had soul-kissed her sister.

  "You want to go get some dinner?" she asked.

  "Sorry. I'm meeting Jacqueline." He quirked an eyebrow as she made a face at him. "You're welcome to come with us, Susannah. Jacqueline enjoys your company."

  "Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I'm not in the mood to discuss dead philosophers tonight." She settled down in the chair across from his desk and kicked off her heels. "Are you going to marry her?"

  He immediately turned stuffy. "Really, Susannah."

  "Well, are you?"

  The loudspeaker crackled in the hallway outside. "Attention everyone. We have a lost pig in the building. Anyone spotting a two-hundred-pound porker answering to the name of Yoda should notify security at once."

  Mitch sighed and Susannah cast her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh, Lord, I hope they're kidding," she said.

  "Around here you never know."

  Susannah's smile died on her lips as she thought how much this company meant to her, especially now that her marriage was over. "God, I love this place. I don't want to lose it, Mitch."

  He took off his glasses and slowly folded in the stems. "I don't want to lose it, either, but it's not the worst thing that could happen. If we sold SysVal, we'd all end up with more money than we could spend in six lifetimes."

  Susannah had refused to think about defeat herself, and she hated the idea that Mitch had even considered it. "This isn't just about money. We've built a wonderful company, and nobody is going to take it away from us."

  "Sam has a lot of support, Susannah. Don't try to kid yourself about that."

  "We have support, too. You know as well as I do that most of the board members don't even like Sam."
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  "Maybe not. But when he starts screaming 'fire,' they certainly start thinking about running for the nearest exit."

  She poked her feet back into her shoes. Not for one moment had she considered the possibility that Mitch might change sides, but now she was no longer so certain. "I'm getting the feeling that you have some sort of contingency plan in mind, and I don't like it. We're not going to lose this company."

  "That's emotion speaking, not logic. We have to be ready for anything. As much as we may want to deny it, we need to face the fact that we might not win."

  She jumped up from her chair. "You face the fact. You and that computer brain of yours. I'm going to be too busy trying to keep us together."

  "Susannah, you're overreacting."

  The fact that he was right didn't make her any more conciliatory. She had imagined Mitch fighting at her side forever. Now she realized that might not happen. If at some point Mitch decided that the battle wasn't winnable, he would regroup. And that might very well put him on the other side.

  Her fingers closed tightly around the papers she was carrying. "You're either with me or you're against me, Mitch. There's no middle ground. If you're with me, don't waste my time waving yellow flags. And if you're against me-then you'd better stay the hell out of my way, because this is one fight I'm not going to lose."

  He slapped down the report he had been reading and stood. "SysVal isn't life and death, Susannah. It's only a company."

  "No! It's an adventure." She threw SysVal's Mission Statement in his face, speaking Sam's words from the depth of her heart. '"We have set out together on an adventure to give the world the best computer humankind can produce. We will support and stand by our products, placing quality and integrity above all else. We relish the adventure because it gives us the opportunity to put ourselves to the test of excellence.' I believe it, Mitch. I believe every word."

  "Don't confuse rhetoric with real life."

  "It's not rhetoric. We have to have standards. Not just as a corporation, but as human beings. Otherwise, we've wasted our lives."

  She stalked out the door and down the hallway. The tight bonds of their partnership seemed to be unwinding in front of her. She found herself heading for Yank's lab. It was late, but he would probably still be there. She would only stay a few minutes so she could watch him work. Just a few minutes in Yank's presence would steady her.

  Chapter 27

  The SysVal town house where Susannah was staying was located at the end of a narrow road and tucked away on a hillside thick with redwood and oak. She had just carried her first cup of Saturday morning coffee out onto the small private patio to enjoy the solitude when she heard her door bell ring. Setting down the cup, she went inside to answer it. As she crossed the small kitchen on her way to the foyer, she found herself hoping it was Mitch. Sometimes he stopped by on Saturday mornings, and she needed a chance to mend her fences with him, especially after their argument last week. But when she opened the door, she found her sister standing on the other side.

  "Paige!"

  "Don't slobber. It's only been a couple of weeks."

  Susannah pulled her sister into the small foyer and gave her a hug. "Long weeks. I missed you."

  Paige hung in her arms a moment longer than necessary, then pushed herself away. "Sardinia was a bore. I flew in last night." She tossed the strap of her purse over the banister, then glanced around at the foyer and into the living room. "This place is a dump."

  The town house wasn't palatial, but it was hardly a dump.

  Even so, Susannah didn't argue. "Temporary housing. I can't find anything I want to buy. How did you find me?"

  "I called Mitch. What's wrong with him, anyway? He sounded funny on the phone."

  "He was probably in bed with Jacqueline Dane." Susannah was surprised at how sharp she sounded. "Come on into the kitchen. You can fix us some breakfast."

  "Me! I'm company."

  "I know, but you're a better cook than I am."

  Paige grumbled the entire time she was preparing their breakfast, but Susannah noted that she still made the effort to hunt through the shelves for cinnamon to add to the French toast, and that she refused to put the bread slices on the griddle until they had soaked in the egg batter a full ten minutes.

  Susannah sank her teeth into the first bite. "Ambrosia. It's almost worth putting up with your nasty temper just to taste your cooking."

  Paige ate a few bites, then set down her fork. Her hair tumbled forward, spilling like rumpled silk over the shoulders of her expensive designer blouse. She looked deeply unhappy.

  "What's wrong?" Susannah said, putting down her own fork.

  "Nothing, really. Nothing and everything. I don't know. What happened between you and that bastard you married was awful, but those weeks in Greece… They were nice, that's all."

  Paige wasn't demonstrative, and Susannah knew this was the closest she could get to a statement of affection. "You're right," she said. "They were nice." She toyed with the handle of her fork while she chose her words carefully. "Paige, all that time we were together in Greece, you played the big sister and I got to be the little sister. I loved it. But right now I need to be the big sister again for a few minutes."

  "Terrific," Paige said scornfully. "This is just what I need after traveling halfway around the world."

  Susannah reached out and cupped her sister's arm. "You have a gift that's in short supply these days, kid. You're a natural-born nurturer. But you keep turning your back on that gift, acting like it's not important. And I think that's why you're so unhappy. Why don't you give yourself a chance?"

  "A chance to do what?" she said fiercely. "I don't have a husband or kids. Men are jerks. The ones who aren't gay are sex maniacs."

  "Paige, it's 1982. Marriage isn't the only way you can fulfill yourself. Why don't you stop whining about how awful your life is and start looking around you? There are hospitals full of sick children who could use a little of your attention. There are schools that need teacher aides, community centers looking for volunteers."

  "I'm one of the richest women in California, Susannah. I can't just call up the Girl Scouts and tell them I want to help sell cookies."

  "I don't know why not. Money should give you freedom instead of hemming you in. Figure out for yourself what you want to do and then do it."

  Before she could go on, the telephone rang. She went over to the counter to answer it.

  "Hi, baby doll. It's me."

  At the sound of Angela's voice, Susannah smiled. She was grateful that her estrangement from Sam hadn't marred her relationship with his mother. Angela had changed very little in the past six years. She continued to fight off her birthdays as if each one were a lethal dose of poison, and she was having a high-voltage relationship with a man nine years younger than herself who adored her.

  "Sorry to bother you, honey, but I had a broken water pipe in the garage sometime last night-one of the pipes that goes to a shampoo sink. Anyway, a neighbor got the water turned off, but everything's a mess."

  Susannah was puzzled. It wasn't like Angela to worry her with household emergencies. She listened as Angela detailed her problems getting a plumber.

  "Is there something I can do to help?" she asked.

  "I tried to get hold of Sam, but he didn't answer."

  If Sam wasn't home this early on a Saturday morning, he obviously hadn't spent the night in his own bed. This time the ache was less noticeable.

  Angela went on. "I just thought someone should know about it because of all those computers that are stored on the other side of the wall. I'm afraid the water might have gotten to some of them."

  "What computers?"

  "The ones Sam sent over a few weeks ago. Part of a new project or something. He was worried about security."

  Susannah had no idea what Angela was talking about. Why would Sam be storing SysVal equipment in a garage? She reassured Angela that she would take care of it. They chatted for a few more minutes. Susannah hung up, t
hen began punching in the number of SysVal's switchboard.

  Her finger stalled before she completed the call. Something wasn't right.

  "Paige, I have to run out for a while. It can't be any fun for you staying alone at Falcon Hill, and there's a perfectly good extra bedroom here. Why don't you pack a suitcase and move in with me for a few weeks?"

  "You just want a free housekeeper," Paige grumbled. But Susannah could see that she was pleased with the invitation. By the time she left for Angela's, Paige had started making out a grocery list.

  Angela let Susannah into the garage and left to meet a friend in the city. The garage smelled damp from the broken water pipe, but still familiar. A rush of nostalgia came over her as she remembered the hope and excitement of those early days. This part of the garage was now used only for storage. Boxes of beauty supplies took up the shelves that had once held those first SysVal computer boards. The abandoned burn-in box housed crimped rolls of old hairstyle posters. Her eyes swept from the burn-in box to the dusty workbench and then to the wall that divided the beauty shop from the rest of the garage.

  Two rows of cartons marked with the Blaze logo had been stacked there. She carefully counted them. There were thirteen.

  Flipping on all the lights so that she could see better, she stepped through a shallow puddle of water and made her way over to the boxes. The flaps weren't sealed. Pulling them back, she saw a silver-gray computer inside. It wasn't packed in molded Styrofoam like a new machine, but had been stored unprotected. With some effort she wrested it from the carton and set it on the floor. Although she could see that it had been used, she didn't have a list of serial numbers, and she had no way of knowing for certain if it was one of the thirteen test models or not.

  Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, she opened the next carton and continued to unpack the machines. Perspiration formed between her breasts and tendrils of hair stuck to her damp cheeks. She was breathing heavily by the time she maneuvered the eleventh computer from its box.