“So, what do you think?” Sarah asked.
Martin leaned back in his office chair, and for a moment he was somewhere else. Then he leaned forward. “It’s a great idea. But even with all the work that had been done before we acquired Rainwhite, we’re still going to have to put another two and a half million into it to finish development and market it. I just don’t know if it’s worth it given the lackluster sales on the original game.”
Sarah stood up. “But don’t you see how this could change everything? With the right marketing…if we can get just half of the original players to buy the DLC, we should break even. Anything over that is gravy. And if it works, you could box a premium set that includes the DLC in time for next Christmas.”
“Half is a big number Sarah, a really big number.”
Sarah put both hands on Martin’s desk. “I checked the stats. There is a solid base of players for this game. Thirty percent of them are still playing the vanilla version. That’s a nice chunk of people who are devoted to the title. We give them a DLC, especially one as economically priced as we can make this one, and a lot of them will come on board.”
“I give you that, Sarah. Make sure to tell Eamon that when you talk to him come Monday. But it’s still two and a half million. And we have our big rollout in Mirrored Nation: Reflections in eight months. If that doesn’t go as we hope…”
“I know. But Mirrored Nation: Reflections is going to be fine.”
“Well, as I said. Tweak your presentation, put the numbers on the table and let Eamon decide.”
Sarah gathered up her things. “Thanks, Martin. I really appreciate the help.”
“Any time.” Martin watched Sarah leave his office. He went back to work.
Chapter 17
Sarah and the DLC team met on Saturday morning and went through their demo, their art presentation, the rest of the story boards, everything. Sarah spent the rest of the afternoon polishing up her spreadsheet and creating a power point to showcase the finances and earning potential of the DLC.
She dressed for the Opera. The only thing Sarah added to the outfit was a diamond necklace and earring set her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday, her gloves and a pale blue Indian silk shawl decorated with multicolored birds and flowers.
To her surprise, Eamon appeared at her door promptly at five thirty. “Let’s go, Miss Adams,” he said as soon as she opened the door.
On the way out to his car, she asked, “Why are we leaving so early?”
“Well, it’s a long drive to St. Joseph. If we want to get there in time to eat, we have to hurry,” Eamon explained. He opened the door for her and then went around and got in himself.
“We aren’t going to the Lyric?”
“Missouri Western State University. This is an alumni event. Dinner and the premier performance of Madame Butterfly.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. An alumni event, and a student performance. “Are you sure this dress isn’t a bit much?” she asked him as they sped northward.
“As you can see, I’m dressed formally. You’ll be just right,” Eamon assured her.
“I’ll take your word for it, sir.” Sarah sat in silence for a moment, searching for a topic of conversation. “It was interesting to meet Miss Gilmore. I am glad I chose the flowers that I did. They suit her.”
“Yes, they did,” Eamon agreed. “Martin tells me you’ll be ready to make your proposal on Monday.”
Fearful that Martin had not kept his word, Sarah asked, “Did Mr. Ellesworth tell you anything?”
“Only that he promised you that he wouldn’t tell me anything,” Eamon smiled and glanced briefly at Sarah. “Martin’s a good guy. He keeps his word.”
Silence fell between them again and Sarah watched the scenery go by. The buds on the trees were beginning to open. They were haloed in a green so light, so fragile that one could almost believe it didn’t exist. Here was something that Kansas City gave her that San Diego did not, the four seasons, clearly outlined and flagrantly displayed. Southern California had seasons, but they were muted and almost impossible to see unless one knew how to look. It was spring, but Sarah felt frostbitten, forlorn and foolish. She was duped by a guy with good manners and patience who pretended to like her but who just wanted to seduce her. Having decided that she wasn’t worth seducing after all, he wanted to use her to turn a profit for his company instead. A smart woman would get the hell away, but Sarah wasn’t smart, she was ludicrous, she was second-rate she was—”
“What is it Sarah?”
Startled out of her reverie, Sarah looked his way, unshed tears shining in her eyes. “Homesick,” she mumbled. “I’m homesick, that’s all.”
“Well you are going home in a few weeks.” When Sarah didn’t answer, Eamon said, “You are going home over Memorial Day weekend aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Sarah whispered. “Yes, I am.”
Eamon studied Sarah out of the corner of his eye as she pulled herself out of whatever funk she was in. When she took a deep breath and put her game face on, he thought, Atta girl!
“So, tell me about this event. Is this charity, or is a social thing like a reunion?” Sarah asked him.
“Both. Missouri Western is a great school. I was already a millionaire by my senior year, but I stayed because I really liked it there. I had great teachers and I loved singing in the men’s choir. By the way they have a reunion after the opera that’s fun.”
“Then it really is too bad that Ms Gilmore couldn’t attend,” Sarah said.
“Yeah, it is,” Eamon replied. “Ah! Here we are.”
Eamon pulled into the parking lot next to the Fulkerson Center. He helped Sarah out of the car and offered her his arm. They walked into the banquet area together and Eamon steered them over to the cash bar.
“Do you want Moscato or something else?” he asked.
“Diet lemon-lime, or seltzer water,” Sarah replied.
“Ah, so you’re going to be the DD?” Eamon asked.
Sarah who hadn’t considered that at all replied, “If you need a designated driver, I’ll be glad to serve in that capacity.”
Eamon just looked at her for a moment, but his eyes were filled with mischief. Finally he gave her a nod. “Done and done. Consider yourself designated.”
“Sarah!”
Sarah turned to the sound of her name. Martin and Andrea Ellesworth approached. Andrea held out her hands to Sarah. “Marty didn’t tell me you were going to be here tonight.”
“I think it was rather last minute, Mrs. Ellesworth. Mr. Byrne’s guest had an unexpected emergency.” Sarah smiled; glad to see a friendly face.
“Call me Andy. Let’s sit together during Madame Butterfly. Martin always makes crude remarks in my ear to try and get me to laugh.”
Sarah giggled. Martin came up to the two of them. “I see you two are conspiring.”
“Yes. Yes we are,” Andrea said to her husband. “Now be sweet and get me a drink, darling.”
“Sure thing, babe.” Martin made his way to the cash bar.
Sarah looked around. Eamon was now across the room with a group of men. Andrea followed her gaze. “Ah. The choir. Both Martin and Eamon were members. They met here at Western MO in their freshman year and hit it off really well. The two of them made enough money to pay Martin’s way through law school and put Eamon in the black. When he passed the bar exams after law school, Eamon and he joined forces again.”
Andrea paused a moment and then nodded toward Sarah’s dress. “Ralph Lauren. And it’s absolutely beautiful on you. Eamon get it for you?”
“Yes, but I’m just a corporate drone filling in for his regular date. I would have refused, but I only have two evening gowns. You saw the best one the other night. I’ll give this back—“
“Don’t give it back. Eamon’s bought Nicole a dress or two in his time when she’s filled in for his regular date. To my knowledge, he’s never been the least bit interested in Nicole. He’s not propositioning you with the dress.”
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Sarah’s stricken expression told Andrea a great deal. “You wish it were a proposition?”
“No. No,” Sarah denied vehemently. “Eamon is very…he can be very kind when he chooses. When I first met him, he was…very kind. But he just found me amusing for a moment and then decided I was more valuable as an employee.”
Andrea took Sarah’s arm, leaned in close and said quietly near her ear, “I’ve known Eamon a long time, Sarah. You are more than just a momentary amusement or a valuable employee. But Eamon doesn’t want to care about anyone. Caring for someone means losing his freedom, or so he believes.” Andrea gave Sarah a quick hug. “Come on, let’s put on our party faces and join the crowd.”
Sarah and Andrea walked over to where Eamon and Martin were. Eamon introduced Sarah. “Guys, this is Sarah Adams. She’s an alto with the Little Blue Community Choir.” Eamon slipped an arm about her waist and drew her close. “I heard her group sing this last winter. They are really very good.”
“Good blend then? No ‘sss’s slithering across the choir?” One of them asked. Obviously, this was a chorister.
“We are a community choir, but we sing really well for a community choir,” Sarah assured them. The talk immediately turned to music, and Sarah had the opportunity to promote the Little Blue Choir’s upcoming spring concert.
All the while, Eamon was making a steady inroad on what appeared to be some sort of whiskey. It seemed that most of the men of the Men’s Chorus were doing the same, alternating between drinks from the cash bar and clever little flasks that Sarah thought had gone out with Prohibition.
By the time dinner was announced, most of the members of the choir were swaying gently as they made their way toward the dinner tables. The meal slowed them down a little but not much. Sarah began to despair of making it long enough to actually hear Madame Butterfly.
Andrea caught Sarah’s eye and they both excused themselves to go to the powder room.
“We have got to do something!” Andrea said. “I am not missing Madame Butterfly this year.”
“What do you mean, this year?”
“The college opera company decides to do Madame Butterfly about every other year. And every time, Martin and the rest get plastered. Half the time, I never even get to see the opera.” Andrea dragged her comb through her hair. “Well, it’s not happening this year. We are walking them around this campus until we can be certain that they won’t pass out before the third act. But first, we must confiscate the flasks!” She caught Sarah’s eye in the mirror. “Are you up for this?”
“Definitely!” Sarah assured her. “I didn’t come all this way in a fancy dress just to watch a bunch of guys get drunk.”
Andrea shoved her comb back into her purse. “Let’s go then.”
The two women walked out to the table. Dessert was being served, but Andrea nodded toward the door.
“Come on, Marty, I need some fresh air,” Andrea told him.
“Ooo, you called me ‘Marty.’ That’s always a good sign.” Martin rose and offered Andrea his arm.
Sarah turned to Eamon. “Can we go with them? It is incredibly warm in here.”
Eamon’s head rolled a little but he fixed his eye on Sarah and said, “Anything for you, sexy.”
Sarah was about to say something, but Eamon got to his feet, swaying. She jumped up quickly, grabbed her things and tucked her arm under his, propping him up as they went outside.
The air outside was cool. A breeze hit them in the face the moment they turned the corner of the building. Sarah could see Martin and Andrea up ahead; she saw Andrea, her arm around Martin’s waist, deftly removed the flask from Martin’s tuxedo jacket and tuck it in her purse. Andrea made it look easy.
Just then, Eamon stumbled and Sarah wrapped her arms around him to keep him from falling.
“Hey, Sexy Sarah! Do you want to be friends again?” Eamon asked, pressing against her causing them both to sway like young poplars in the breeze. Sarah frantically felt his jacket pockets for the flask.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Why do you keep feeling me up?” Eamon inquired.
“You go first!” Sarah demanded.
“Okay. The guys voted you best ass in skinny jeans, best tits in t-shirt and an all round luscious babe,” Eamon explained.
“What? You conducted a poll?”
“Not me, honest. But you did knock Nicole out of first place.”
“That is so chauvinistic!”
“Yeah, but admit it, you love it.”
Sarah thought about it. Then she smiled. “It’s better than being voted Most Likely to be the Virgin Sacrifice in a Video Game, I suppose.”
“Oh, you know about that category…”
“Oh my God!” Sarah frantically searched his pockets once more.
He leaned closer to her ear and said, “If you’re looking for my love machine, it’s a bit lower.”
Sarah leaned back as Eamon cocked one of his eyebrows at her in a drunken leer.
“Your what? Eamon, you are going to be so embarrassed tomorrow when you sober up.”
She took her hands out of his jacket pockets.
“Hey, why aren’t you feeling me up anymore?”
Exasperated, Sarah responded, “Because I can’t find your flask.”
Eamon reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a flask and handed it to her. “Wanna drink?”
“I’ll take that!” she told him. “Hey, why are you and the other guys getting drunk tonight?”
“It’s Madame Butterfly. There’s no nooky after Madame Butterfly. All the women are too pissed off to have sex. So we all get drunk.”
“Well, you weren’t getting any anyway!” Sarah assured him. “I don’t want great piece of ass added to my reputation at work.”
“Nah. I’d never tell. Gentleman doesn’t tell.”
Sarah laughed. She knew she should be angry, but she wasn’t. “Not happening, Eamon. Come on, let’s walk. I don’t want you to barf all over me during the opera.”
“All right.”
Sarah kept her arm around his waist as they walked and walked until he was leaning on her less and walking on his own more. Sarah saw Andrea and Martin heading for the Arts building and she steered Eamon that way.
They got seated just in time. The house lights went down and Madame Butterfly began. Given what Eamon had revealed, Sarah did her best not to cry, but when Butterfly appeared on stage, child in arms, singing One Beautiful Day, Sarah burst into tears, along with half the female audience. This was accompanied by soft groans from the guys. By the time Butterfly sang her suicide aria, Sarah had gone through all her Kleenex. Eamon had silently passed Sarah a handkerchief.
The company got a standing ovation. As they made their way out of the theater and into the night, Andrea and Sarah walked ahead of the guys, who were managing on their own.
Andrea sniffed. “Bastards!”
“Yeah. Bastards!” Sarah affirmed, wiping her nose again.
Andrea pulled out Martin’s flask. “I need a drink.” She took a deep slug of booze. Andrea’s eyes were ringed with the remains of her mascara. She held out the flask for Sarah, but Sarah shook her head.
“Can’t. I’m the designated driver.”
“I am as well, but we aren’t leaving just yet, you’ll see.”
Martin and Eamon walked behind them, heads down.
By that time the rest of the choir caught up to them. “Come on, we’re going to Rudy’s to wash the taste of suicide out of our mouths.”
Most of the men were almost sober by now. Sarah wanted to go home, but Eamon was all for going with the crowd. So, Sarah drove and just followed the herd.
Rudy’s turned out to be a bar with a large private room in the back. The public area was pretty quiet for a Saturday night. Sarah suspected that the locals knew enough to stay away. The private room had a cash bar, and flasks began to appear once more. Bowing to the inevitable, Sarah gave Eamon back his flask.
The par
ty really got started then. Someone must have dumped a hundred bucks into the juke box because music poured continuously from its depths. The guys sang to most of it, some of them danced to it or tried to dance.
Then, someone got the idea to revisit some of their concert repertoire. The jukebox was unplugged and the guys began to murder some truly marvelous songs.
When they began a ritual slaughter of one of her favorite madrigals, Sarah could stand it no longer. “Stop, in the name of heaven, stop! Orlando de Lassus is rolling in his grave!”
Martin stood up and looked at Eamon. “Ho, McClintock!” He shook his empty flask and turned it upside down. “Very good party, but no whiskey—we go home!”
Eamon turned his flask upside down as well. “No whiskey—we go home.”
“Thank God,” Sarah whispered. She gathered their things, and guided Eamon out to the car. He was back to a serious wobble again, so she propped him up against the side of the car and said, “Keys!”
His response was an indistinct grunt.
Sarah didn’t have time for anything but getting back to Kansas City. She fished around in his trouser pockets until she found his keys. Then she opened the passenger door and shoved him inside. It took her almost five minutes to get Eamon buckled up, because he was sitting on the buckle. She finally managed to pull it out from underneath him. By this time he was semi-conscious.
Sarah got in on the driver’s side, adjusted the seat, the mirror and then took a deep, deep breath. Sarah checked out his music selection on his very fancy car stereo. One of his playlists was named “Sarah.” Curious, she chose it. She liked the songs. She fired up the car and headed home. Eamon was, for all intents and purposes, out for the count, so the trip home, while long and lonely as she sped down the I-29 toward the City was at least peaceful.
Sarah debated whether to go to his place or hers. What was funny awhile ago was now a giant pain in her neck. Sarah decided to take him to her apartment. First of all, she didn’t have enough money with her for a cab to take her from his place to hers, and second, she didn’t want to be responsible for his car tomorrow. She’d take him to her place. When he woke up in the morning, he’d be sober enough to get his own ass home!
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