Hot Shot (65 page)
"This is forever, isn't it, Mitch?"
All the laughter, all the mischief faded. He gazed down at her kiss-bruised mouth, and his face was young and tender with the depth of his emotion. "Oh, my love. My sweet, sweet love. This is till the end of the world."
They weren't children. They had lived through other loves and other lives, and so they knew the gift of their joining was precious. He entered her aggressively, possessing her with the boldness of a man who could only find happiness with a woman of daring spirit.
She accepted him fearlessly, filled with the wild joy of a soul that had found its mate.
Their bodies fit together as if they had been designed on the day of their creation to make a perfect match. And when they cried out at the very end, they were still gazing into each other's eyes.
EPILOGUE
The Northern California weather was chill and crisp the January morning Susannah took her place as Chairman of the Board and Chief Executive Officer of Falcon Business Technologies. She wore her most conservative gray suit, her lowest black pumps, her simplest earrings. The only other piece of jewelry she permitted herself was the heavy gold wedding ring on her left hand. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but the number of large diamonds that sparkled in the band made it a bit flashy for FBT tastes.
A small group of men greeted her at the entrance of the Castle. "Welcome to FBT, Mrs.
Blaine."
"Good to have you on board."
"Wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Blaine."
"Ms. Faulconer," she said. "But please call me Susannah."
They beamed their pleasure at her—a dozen dark-suited executives who knew that her sister's proxy had given her control of the corporation's largest single block of stock. She searched their ranks for the sight of a female face, but then remembered that women at FBT rarely rose above the ranks of middle management.
The men were gracious tour guides, leading her through the building as if she had never been there. They chatted as they escorted her along the hushed hallways and into richly carpeted offices. They opened doors and cupped her elbow to guide her.
"We've planned a long orientation period for you, Susannah."
"No need to hit you with too much at the beginning."
"We have a complete staff set up to advise you. They'll answer any of your questions…"
"… explain our policies."
"… direct you so you don't misinterpret any of our procedures."
"They'll keep things running smoothly so you won't be bothered with too many details."
"We thought it best if you concentrated on public relations for the foreseeable future."
"Holding press conferences."
"Giving interviews."
"Being a woman, I'm certain you'll want to do some redecorating."
"Your assistants have a list of the charitable functions we'd like you and Mr. Blaine to attend in the next few weeks. Quite important."
She smiled her cool, inscrutable smile and envisioned the executive dining room as it would look when it was transformed into an employees' child care center. The precious speck of life already growing inside her would be one of its very first customers.
She desperately wished Mitch were with her today, but it would be at least six more months before they could turn SysVal over to that brilliant band they'd chosen to lead their young company into a mature, profitable adulthood. She was going to miss working with him. By the time he came on board at FBT, her pregnancy would be advanced. She smiled as she envisioned the macho strut that was going to put in his walk—the first man in history to impregnate the CEO of Falcon Business Technologies.
Her head lifted ever so slightly as the building's loudspeaker system emitted three gentle chimes. "Mr. Ames to security," a soft voice announced. She tried to imagine that voice warning of a Japanese invasion in the parking lot.
She endured another hour of polite admonitions and veiled commands before she excused herself and headed to the offices of the chairman. As she walked into the reception area, an army of identically clad assistants snapped to attention. They began picking up leather folders and legal pads. And as they walked forward, their mouths moved.
"Mrs. Blaine, if I could brief you on your agenda for the week…"
"Mrs. Blaine, we've scheduled your first press conference for—"
She held up her hand. "My name is Faulconer. You may call me Susannah. And the next person who says a word to me will—I swear to God—be given permanent responsibility for cleaning out every coffeepot in this building."
Turning her back on all of them, she walked into the private office of the chairman of FBT and shut the door.
With the exception of the many sprays of flowers from well-wishers, the office looked much as it had when her father had occupied it. She toured the room slowly, touching familiar objects—the bookcases, side chairs, a brass lamp. The gold and blue draperies drawn back from the great wall of windows were exact reproductions of the ones she remembered. Her father's huge desk with its polished malachite top still dominated the room. The bronze FBT falcon hung on the wall behind it, its wings spread wide to encompass the globe on which it perched.
The awesome scope of the task she had set out for herself swept over her. "Oh, Daddy, what am I doing here?"
But her father wasn't talking to her today. Maybe he knew what she had in mind.
To steady herself, she began opening the cards propped in the various flower arrangements. One was from Paige and Yank. They were converting the old guest house at Falcon Hill into a state-of-the-art laboratory for Yank. He had decided to work independently, dividing his time between projects for SysVal, Sam, and whoever else managed to capture his imagination. It amused Susannah to watch the man who had once been so involved in his work that a nuclear explosion couldn't distract him now shoot up his head at the faintest echo of Paige's footsteps. She could only imagine what he would be like when they had a child.
A dozen roses had arrived from Mitch's children. Their thoughtfulness touched her, even though she suspected their father had been behind it. Still, they were wonderful kids, and the cheerful acceptance with which they had greeted her marriage to their father had been a blessing.
Angela had sent a splashy display of carnations, snapdragons, and daisies. So far, she was the only one Susannah and Mitch had told about their baby, and she had immediately announced that the child was to call her "Na Na."
"Not 'Granny,'" she had insisted, adjusting the silver-studded sleeves on her new red leather jacket. "I'm too young for that. But 'Na Na' has a nice ring."
Mitch and Susannah were touched by Angela's offer. Both suspected she would prove to be a first-rate grandmother, regardless of what she chose to call herself.
Susannah's eyes teared as she read the card from her former mother-in-law. "You'll always be my daughter. Knock 'em dead, kiddo!"
She walked over to the malachite desk, and after a moment's hesitation, took her place in the great leather chair that had once belonged to her father. The panel of switches that controlled the FBT fountains was still there. She jotted down a note to have it removed.
That sort of power held no interest for her.
As she pushed her notepad aside, she spotted a small package wrapped in silver foil. It couldn't be from Mitch; his present had been on her night table when she had awakened that morning. While he had looked on, she had unwrapped a week's supply of naughty black underwear imprinted with the FBT logo.
"Dress for success," Mitch had said, and then he'd kissed her until she could hardly breathe and dragged her into the shower, where they'd made love.
After turning the silver box about in her hand, she opened the envelope that accompanied it and pulled out the card. In big block letters were the words remember your roots. It was signed, "Sam."
Inside the package she found a small gold charm, a perfect replica of the Blaze. She cupped it in her hand and told herself that a wise executive understood changes couldn't be made overnight. Adjustments had to be implemented slowly. Upheaval threatened people, made them feel insecure.
The wise executive understood the value of tact and patience.
And then she gazed about the spacious office and remembered that this was the place where her father had humiliated Sam.
"You were wrong, Daddy," she whispered. "You should have listened to him."
Taking the charm with her, she got up from the desk and went over to investigate the walnut cabinets. In one of them, she found the equipment that tied the executive office into the building's loudspeaker system. In the next cabinet was the elaborate stereo system that Cal had installed. She pulled a tape she had brought with her from her purse and slipped it into the cassette deck.
Looking down at the little Blaze charm in her hand, she smiled to herself and whispered,
"This one's for the kids in the garage." She picked up the microphone and switched on FBT's loudspeaker system.
"Listen up, everybody. This is Susannah Faulconer speaking. Beginning in exactly one hour, my door is open. Everybody in this company who wants to talk to me, start lining up. Rank doesn't count. First come, first served. My door stays open until we're done.
And you'd better be ready to strut your stuff, because starting right now, I'm throwing this corporation into chaos. All official policies are suspended. All normal procedures are up for grabs. We're going to rediscover who we are. And when we're done—if we're very smart and very lucky—we'll be ready to dazzle the world." And then she hit the button on the cassette recorder.
While the hallowed halls of FBT filled with the music of the Rolling Stones, she settled back at her desk, propped up her feet, and waited for the screams to start.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This novel is based upon fact: the events surrounding the birth of the personal computer industry. These events, as well as the people, corporations, and organizations which were involved, serve as the factual foundation upon which my fictional drama takes place. My fictional characters are not intended to resemble real people, and any interplay my characters have with real persons and actual corporations is entirely a product of my imagination.
Of the many books and articles I have read to research this novel, the most useful was Steven Levy's fascinating book
Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution
. Also useful were
Fire in the Valley: The Making of the Personal Computer
, by Paul Freiberger and Michael Swaine;
Silicon Valley Fever
, by Everett M. Rogers and Judith K. Larsen;
The
Ultimate Entrepreneur: The Story of Ken Olsen and Digital Equipment Corporation
, by Glenn Rifkin and George Harrar; and
Charged Bodies: People, Power and Paradox in
Silicon Valley
, by Thomas Mahon.
Readers interested in the rich and fascinating history of the Apple Computer Corporation would enjoy Michael Moritz's excellent
The Little Kingdom
, as well as John Sculley's
Odyssey
, a work that I consider one of the most intriguing books published in the last decade—a business book that has all the page-turning qualities of best-selling fiction. I would like to thank all of these authors for fueling my imagination and giving me so much of the valuable background for this novel.
I am deeply indebted to my trio of technical advisors: Dan Winkler, Gerald Vaughan, and Bill Phillips. Any errors in this book are entirely my responsibility. The three of them did their best with me.
I would also like to express my heartfelt appreciation to the wonderful people at IBM and Apple Computer, Inc., who so patiently answered my questions. Thanks also to Mary Pershall, Richard Phillips, John Titus, and DeDe Eschenburg for their helpful contributions.
And to the people at Pocket Books—you're the best! A special thanks to my editor, Claire Zion, who believed in this project from the beginning and never lost sight of the vision, not even when I did. Steven Axelrod, you have truly been a blessing. And I will forever be grateful to Linda Barlow, who encouraged me to write
Hot Shot
and whose extensive contributions to the final draft were critical.
Thanks, Lyd, for helping me learn what sisters are all about. Ty and Zach, be your best.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Naperville, Illinois
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