Free About Face by James Calder

in character, deflecting questions that could have embarrassed Rod, keeping him from having to open his mouth too much.
    For the time being, I hung back, drinking soda water, watching the guests, taking in the buzz of conversation. Appetizers were consumed and the time came for the first round of toasts. They would be followed by the signing of the contracts, then dinner and more toasts. Dr. Plush, the dermatologist who’d started the company, gravitated toward me when he saw my camera.
    â€œAre you from the press?” he asked hopefully. Two wings of peppered hair flanked his big fleshy ears. His nostrils flared, his eyes were big. He had a reputation for charm and charisma.
    I explained who I was and what I was doing.
    â€œI see,” he said. “When do we get to see the masterwork?”
    â€œTonight after dinner.”
    He raised his glass, which was full of tomato juice. His wife, Connie, came over with a martini glass in her hand. She was elegant in an Armani suit and a string of pearls. Her skin had a surprising amount of topography for the wife of a dermatologist about to introduce a new therapy to the world. She ran the business side and moved with an air of being in charge.
    â€œRonald,” she said, “it’s time for the toasts.” She looked me up and down and looked at the camera. “What’s that for?”
    The doctor told her. “I didn’t sign a release form,” she said.
    â€œIt’s not necessary. This won’t be distributed,” I replied.
    My insolence brought a glare. Her eyes were cold gray marbles. “It’s not myself I’m concerned for. You’ll clear any footage you shoot with the principals involved.”
    Dr. Plush winked at me. I winked back, raised the camera, and framed him. He produced an ingratiating smile. He struck me as a fundamentally nervous man, the kind who turns his nervousness into egotism.
    A high, narrow table sat against one wall. Above it were gator-board posters representing each of the deal’s three partners. The contracts were on the table. I kept the camera on Dr. Plush as he made his way toward them. He had a smile and a pat on the back for everyone. Rod was also making his way to the table. Wendy had his arm securely in her grip. As Rod finally extricated himself, Plush gave Wendy a knowing wink.
    I clenched the camera a little tighter and kept him in the frame. What had that been about? He’d winked at me, too, but not like that. Was he in on the game? Connie Plush entered the frame a moment later, a scowl of disdain on her face. Her eyes were on Wendy. My viewfinder stayed with Wendy as she worked her way back toward the bar. She had a talent for small talk, but I also noticed she asked a lot of questions about the deal, questions the men in the room were glad to answer.
    Glasses were tapped and attention called to the table where Rod, Plush, and a handful of others had gathered. Mike Riley, Algoplex’s CEO, was there, along with the men from Sylvain Partners—and they all were men—in their respectably somber suits. A Sylvain lawyer led off the toasts with some words about the great venture Plush, Algoplex, and his company were embarking upon, one that soon would be unveiled. Epidermal gene regulation would make headlines.
    Dr. Plush stepped up next. “This really is a proud day for me. I started my clinic as a small practice in Palo Alto, taking cases of every kind: eczema, bullous diseases, melanoma, you name it.I never envisioned the growth it has enjoyed, nor the fruits my research would bring. But, as my wife likes to say, I’ve always had a special
feel
for dermatology.”
    He paused for the chuckles. “The market for cosmetic treatments hardly existed when I was in medical school. It’s been a tremendous boon to the field. But I don’t want to forget that, as significant as that market is, our business is more than cosmetic. Eternaderm may also be able