Free About Face by James Calder Page A

to treat a number of other conditions involving connective tissue. Sylvain has given us the resources, and now Algoplex will give us the computing power to develop those treatments. Here’s to you, Rod and Mike, and to our old friends from Sylvain: May we all enjoy an enduring and profitable relationship.”
    After a round of clinks and “Hear, hears,” Mike gave Rod a little push. His glass trembled as he set it on the table. Rod was not a drinker, but he’d downed two vodka martinis in preparation for this moment. He fumbled for a piece of paper in his pocket, unfolded it, and squinted at the crowd.
    â€œUntil I met all of you, I never knew how deep skin was.” Rod got a laugh or two. “Seriously, this opportunity is very, very exciting for us. We think Eternaderm and its offshoots will be a perfect application for our technology.”
    He looked up from the paper. “To speak personally for a moment, I’ve put in a number of years at my work, always with the same faith it would find the right outlet, just as Dr. . . . Dr. . . .” His face reddened as the name eluded him.
    â€œPlush,” Wendy said. “Like the carpet.” Everyone laughed.
    â€œThanks,” Rod mumbled. “Just as Dr. Plush did . . . have faith, I mean . . .” He couldn’t recover from the gaffe. My own face reddened in sympathy. He finished his toast by going back to the piece of paper and reading quickly. He talked abouthow Algoplex’s software would enhance Eternaderm and how Sylvain’s capital would make it all possible. It was a little more detail than the crowd needed, and the claps and clinks and gulps at the end may have been as much for the fact that Rod was done as for what he’d said.
    I kept shooting as the contracts were signed and a check was handed to Rod. After it was over, Wendy rushed up to Rod and planted a kiss on his cheek. “That was very nice, Rod. Don’t worry about your mistake.”
    Rod flinched and shook his head.
    â€œNo, really,” she said, taking his hand. “You were fine. I’ll get you another cocktail.”
    I kept the camera rolling. If nothing else, it was fascinating theater. I wondered what the real Alissa would have done.
    â€œYou’re finished now,” a woman said, speaking into my ear. “We’re going to start dinner.”
    I lowered the camera and turned. It was Connie Plush.
    I said, “Rod will let me know when I’m done.”
    Rod saw what was happening. “I want Bill to be here,” he said.
    â€œWhy?” Connie demanded. “The other AV guy doesn’t have dinner with us.”
    The room lights were being adjusted. A gobo projection appeared on the floor, the Plush logo revolving in a ghostly dance. The other AV guy at work.
    â€œNonetheless, I would like Bill to be here,” Rod said. It occurred to me he was trying to compensate for his toast performance by asserting himself.
    Dr. Plush joined us. Wendy was with him. She stuck a new martini glass in Rod’s hand. “Is there a problem, dear?” the doctor said.
    Connie Plush gave a jerk of the head to her husband. “This gentleman—
Bill
—seems to think he’s invited for dinner.”
    Wendy said, “You don’t need any more pictures do you, Bill?” She smoothed the pocket of my linen jacket as if, having staked a claim to Rod, I was also her property.
    â€œLadies,” Dr. Plush responded, “I don’t think it would hurt for him to stay.” He didn’t want to miss his chance for screen time.
    â€œConfidential information will be discussed,” Connie said. “And we don’t have a place set for him.”
    I looked straight at her. “I don’t need a seat. I don’t care about eating.” The truth was, I’d be happy to go out to the bar, except that I wanted to keep an eye on Wendy.
    â€œBill’s been NDA’d,” Rod said.