Undo Part 11

"Well, then. See you," she said. She was satisfied with the way that had come out, a practiced social indifference to her tone.

Pressing her heels into the horse's ribs, she trotted off past the buildings and toward the hills across the low, golden, gra.s.sy field. She let herself look back. He was still standing there, watching her ride off. She hastily returned her attention to the path.

After Mighty Boy warmed up she pushed him hard, leaning into his powerful gallop. As if testing her will, yesterday's clear, hard thoughts of Matthew's secret plan and of her celebration bowl melted away, and were supplanted by fantasy. Her heart raced, and her mind ran free with raw and fiery images of the provocative Jean-Pierre.

"Thank you, Martin," Matthew Locke said.

Peter turned to Hank Towers for an explanation for this break in custom; it was he, Peter, who always started the meeting with opening remarks. But Hank's attention, like that of everyone else in the room, had s.h.i.+fted to Matthew. Something was wrong, but before he could speculate, Matthew spoke.

"As we are all aware, Peter and I have been at odds about how this company should be managed."

Peter threw his pen down on the table. With an audible huff he pushed himself back in his seat with straightened arms. "What's going on here?"

Matthew ignored this and continued, his eyes roaming from person to person in careful, measured doses.

"Peter and I have very different styles and strategies, which is positioning you, the executive staff and board of directors, in the middle of our discord. The situation isn't healthy for Wallaby." He let this sink in for a moment while he got up and walked toward a pitcher of water. Slowly he poured himself a gla.s.s.

"Peter," he started, resting the gla.s.s, "I've decided to ask the board of directors to accept my resignation - "

Peter could not believe his ears, and before Matthew had even finished with his explanation Peter was already celebrating inside. Hallelujah! Here he had thought that Matthew was going to propose a reorganization, but instead he was resigning. It was priceless! Maybe, Peter thought, Matthew had realized himself that he was not cut out for high technology, and would be better off going back into the potato chip business, with its bright colored plastic bags, its brainwas.h.i.+ng the public on the virtues of junk food, its pureeing of rotten ingredients -

" - provided," Matthew continued, "that they don't approve my recommendation that you relinquish your duties as Wallaby's vice president of Joey, and chairman of the board."

The room spun. Suddenly, all eyes were fixed on Peter. He blinked, and tried to focus on a single pair, but those glanced away, as did the next pair, and the next. He leaned back in his chair. It squeaked loudly. He looked up at the whiteness of the ceiling for a moment and let his mind drain. Suddenly he understood Matthew's little game. He laughed at the ceiling. For a split second he had actually thought it could somehow be true, that Matthew was going to resign, that that was what Matthew was trying to warn him of, threaten him with yesterday. Such was not the case. Resigning was the farthest thing from Matthew's mind.

The absurdity - proposing that the board give him the boot.

Admittedly, considering the rumors that were flying about a reorganization, he'd been more than a little apprehensive late last night. But upon waking this morning, he'd told himself there was nothing to fear. He was the company's founder, and he wasn't going anywhere - except where he d.a.m.n well pleased. This was preposterous. It was laughable. And he laughed hard and full, his shoulders pitching a little. None of the others joined in the fun.

When he managed to get his laughter under control, he straightened up and placed his clasped hands comfortably in his lap. "Sorry," he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gave himself a little shake, and blew out an exaggerated breath.

"Forgive me for laughing, Matthew," he said with a smile, flattening his hand over his heart, "You had me going there for a second. I thought you were going to make my job easy."

His smile vanished. "But I guess you're not. So I'll spell it out for you." His face was relaxed and smooth, and he spoke coolly.

"Matthew, you're not right for Wallaby anymore," he said. He let this hang in the air for a few moments. To his way of thinking, as chairman, his decision was already made. Out of courtesy he would explain to Matthew the circ.u.mstances, as a coach would after try-outs to the child who doesn't have what it takes to make the team.

"You did a good job of helping to get the organization in place for managing us through troubled waters. You created a strong sales force, and you did some other good things. I can't remember them all right now, but you did some okay things. However, were you to remain in your position any longer, this company would fail because of your weakness. You have no vision."

All this time Matthew had remained on his feet. Peter was impressed with how well he was taking it. Let's see, Peter thought, how he handles this part.

Peter opened his leather portfolio, which contained copies of the organizational chart he had prepared yesterday, listing himself as the acting president and CEO. "I think we can work out a respectable severance package, with full relocation, of course,"

he said, graciously, "and - "

"Peter, " Matthew said, cutting him off.

Oh wonderful, Peter thought, just what he had feared. Matthew was going to beg to stay. Yet he saw no sign of anguish on Matthew's face. Perhaps he was experiencing shock?

"You're a brilliant young man," Matthew said. "You've made this industry what it is. Were it not for you, we all know this company could never have been." His words flowed easily, without tremor.

"You had a dream to make portable computers for individuals, and you created this company out of sheer willpower and brains.

Everyone here acknowledges that."

This was worse than Peter had thought. How long would he and his team have to sit through this, he wondered. Should he stop him now, and thank him? No, he told himself. Let him finish. After all, he had hired Matthew, and if anyone was to blame, it was he, for not realizing that a potato chip man could not be transformed into a silicon chip man. At this last thought he felt the start of a giggle in his chest, and he was forced to bow his head and pinch his lips tightly together to contain his laughter.

Matthew paused. What Peter didn't see were the sympathetic glances sent his way by the members of his hand-picked team. He resumed, "I was hired to complement you so that you could concentrate on developing your product ideas without the burden of managing a rapidly growing organization..."

Resigned to listening to the rest of Matthew's good-bye speech, Peter let his mind concentrate on important things. Leaking batteries, for instance. Longer screen life. Easy-to-service keyboards. Storage. Faster performance. Yes, that one was becoming more and more important. Must have faster performance.

Matthew's voice had become a faraway drone. "But I cannot do my job without having the power to fulfill my responsibilities. You have managed to create a rivalry with your once-greatest fans..."

What else? Agents. Now there was a subject he had become more and more interested in. Which reminds me, Peter thought, I've got to call the guys at MIT and see what they've come up with that we might use with the -

"IJoey Plus computer is late for delivery because of your inability to manage your organization. All that must change."

He sensed that Matthew was winding down, and focused once again on the here and now. Glad tidings, etcetera.

"So I have decided to ask each member of the board and executive staff to vote."

Peter looked at Matthew. "And what are we going to vote on, Matthew?" he asked, his voice pitched a good deal higher than usual.

"As I said," Matthew went on, planting both of his hands on the back of his vacant chair, "I cannot do my job as long as you have the final say in everything. I am asking the board and the executive staff to decide which of us will run this company. If they choose you, I will resign."

He looked around the room. Everyone seemed to think their blank notepads were fascinating.

"Matthew, now I'm getting angry," Peter said, rising from his seat. Unconsciously he began popping the b.u.t.ton of his ball-point pen up and down with his thumb. "Can we please stop this desperate little game?"

"This is no game. I am perfectly serious. And as this company's president, I intend to conduct a vote."

The clicking stopped. "A vote? Then be my guest," he said, sweeping a hand at the mannequins seated around the table. "Go ahead, Matthew, ask. Ask everyone in this room who they want to run my company."

Hands in his pockets, Peter began to pace slowly around the room, like an impatient father awaiting the inevitable. "Wait," Peter said. "Better still, Matthew, I'll ask, okay?"

Matthew shrugged deferentially.

Peter stepped behind Alan Parker, general manager of the Mate division, the first executive Peter had hired when he had founded Wallaby.

"Alan," Peter said, resting his hand on Parker's shoulder. "What do you think about all of this? Pretty awkward, I agree. But nothing we can't take care of, right? Do I need to repeat the questions? Who do you think should be in control here at our company?"

Parker sat upright, his attention focused on his hands, which he held tightly clasped together on the table. Normally a warm and friendly person, Parker had worked as Peter's right-hand man during the early years of Wallaby when they had found themselves a major force in the Fortune 500. He removed his gla.s.ses and brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. His dread was palpable.

"Yes, Peter," Parker said, his voice struggling against fond memories, "we did build Wallaby into a wonderful thing. And if it weren't for you, this industry would have never become what it is today. However, you and your Joey team have created a rivalry with my Mate group. My division, which provides the b.u.t.ter for our bread, feels that you, the very inventor of our livelihood, think the Mate, and my people who work on it, are second-cla.s.s citizens."

He swiveled in his chair to look at Peter with his complaisant, pleading eyes. "Because of the way you behave I can't do my job, either. It's like you've abandoned your roots in favor of Joey, like you've forgotten all about the millions of people, the millions of children, who use a Mate computer every day. Mate is your family, and we feel abandoned."

Peter moved his face closer to Parker's. "Spare me the history, Al. Okay? I'm sorry if you're sensitive about the way things may seem, but face it, you know our future lies in Joey. What do you need to hear? What can I say to make you feel better? I think you and your group do a great job keeping Mate alive, and you can tell them I said so. I'll even tell them myself. I'll come over every other week, if that's what you want, and pat them on the back. Matthew can't do that. He can't even work a Mate computer.

How the h.e.l.l is he going to talk to the people who keep it alive?"

Parker stiffened. "That's not the point. Don't you see? You're doing it right now. Doing what you always do, changing and twisting things around to suit you. Only you."