Hummingbird Salamander(16)
Was this a valid clue? Or was this just a coincidence?
Too early for me to know the difference.
But, deep inside, I felt a thrill.
My head felt clear, working on this mystery, like I’d been fuzzy before and hadn’t realized it.
That was enough to make me want to pursue it.
Which required me legitimizing it.
[22]
I stopped by Alex’s office: another glass cube with a minimalist desk, shockingly offset by a whaling scene in a gold Victorian frame and, in the corner, a stubby, faux Doric column with a bowl of gummy bears on top. Like usual, it smelled of his spice cologne. Reeked of it.
He gave me a cheery smile, looking up from his laptop. He wore the glasses that performed no known use for him.
“You know, Allie’s up for a raise,” Alex said.
No preamble, as if he’d come to my office.
“Oh really?” The hierarchy was shifty in our company, but I was responsible for her performance review.
“Yeah—she’s hitting it out of the ballpark. Thanks for keeping her on the straight and narrow.” All these dead words we used.
The message was clear. Allie had complained about the Vilcapampa research.
“I agree,” I said.
He looked pleased about that, as if he’d expected an argument.
“So, what do you want?” The largesse would be of use to me.
What I wanted and what I needed—were they the same? Maybe some part of me wanted Alex to say no. Needed Alex to say no and stop me. Because I wasn’t going to stop myself.
“I know it’s short notice, but I need to go to that conference in New York.”
Alex frowned. “I thought we’d decided to skip it this year.”
“I took another look. Seems important for some of what we’re working on.”
Alex took off his glasses, chewed on one stem. You could see the accumulated bite marks had torn the plastic off, revealing wire underneath.
“Kind of a rebuilding year. And you’ve got the pipeline project.”
“Allie’s doing great on the pipeline project. Like you said, she’s hitting it out of the ballpark.”
He considered me. A full-on, taking-my-measure look. Like, was I playing him somehow.
“Allie says you’ve got her on a wild-goose chase, since you mention her.”
He’d brought her up first, but whatever.
“I haven’t let her in on the details, but I think the Vilcapampa companies are a good possible client. They’re international, but have local affiliates. There’re hundreds of subsidiaries. The backing behind some popular brands. Like you said, a rebuilding year. Some of their reps will be in New York. Could be worth millions.”
Didn’t mention Vilcapampa Enterprises owned the knock-off brands, mostly, the second-or third-tier ones that mimicked the brands people knew and loved. Didn’t mention that Vilcapampa had their own in-house security analysts. That the closed familial hierarchy meant even if I’d been serious, getting an in, getting an audience, would be tough.
Alex considered that a moment. One thing I’d never done, or been good at, was generating business. He had me on record as saying I didn’t think that was an analyst’s job. But, mostly, I stood out like a sore thumb. My body made men uncomfortable. Women, too.
“Yeah, she said you were researching that. I have to admit, I wondered why. Still, seems like short notice and the pipeline thing can’t really—”
“Tell you what—how about in return this year Larry takes my place on your yacht retreat?”
Flash of anger. I could see it there, plain. There was a way he had to control his body’s reaction to me calling him on that. How we both knew I’d never get that invite, ever. Then it was gone. But I’d expended capital, and I wouldn’t know how much until the punishment. Maybe the punishment would even be disguised as a perk.
He wouldn’t look at me as he said, casual, “Oh, what the hell—go. Have fun. Just don’t order room service or book a room with a gold-plated toilet.”
That was my cue to laugh. But I didn’t.
[23]
“Work toward a better world, but never forget what world you live in.”
Strange, this compulsion. I lived within it, but also studied it from afar. I would be in a meeting presenting charts, ideas, diagrams to a client and they would have no idea I was somewhere else, in another world. And neither would I, at first, and then I would have the peculiar feeling of continuing the presentation while spying on my own distractedness. Muscle memory of so many other presentations carrying me through. Click of the key to advance the slide; the transition from statements to the questions I only asked when it was safe.
The nylons that signaled “familiar” and “safe” to the client. The high heels, with their wide, pragmatic soles. The stiff, siege-like quality of my dark gray business suit, that kept them far enough away that they could not peer into my thoughts.
But my thoughts kept spilling out, strange and stranger. I kept having a dream. Every night. The hummingbird flew down like a tiny god, to the back deck of our house. Some fairyland version, glowing phosphorescent in a cascade of emerald, sapphire, and hot pink. As if revealing a true self as it descended steep from on high. Looking the whole time as if being moved seamlessly by an invisible hand from an invisible point in the sky to a hovering position above me.