'We can't not afford it,' Susannah countered.
Sam grinned, thoroughly enjoying having someone besides himself deal with Miss Appearances-Are-Everything for a change.
It was March, and they had been in their new offices for nearly five months. The three of them were sitting in a booth at Bob's Big Boy, where they had gotten into the habit of meeting for breakfast most mornings so they could coordinate their activities for the day.
Sam took a swig of Coke. 'You might as well save your breath and give in, Mitch. Susannah's still a socialite at heart. She's almost always right about this crap.'
'It's not crap,' she said, planting the heels of her hands on the edge of the table and getting ready to dig in. 'The two of you think anything that's not immediately quantifiable is unimportant. That's the problem with you technical types. You're either punching calculators or walking around with your head in the clouds.'
She settled back in the booth and waited for her jibe to pierce through their early morning grogginess. Neither man was at his best until ten o'clock. She, on the other hand, jumped out of bed full of ideas.
'You've got to control her better, Sam,' Mitch said earnestly. 'There's a definite pattern developing here. Have you noticed how she always picks mornings to attack?'
Susannah gave Mitch a smug smile and turned to her husband. 'He's joking, Sam. The way we know that Mitch is joking is that his jaw is in its unclenched position. God knows, if we waited for the man to crack a smile, we'd be here forever.'
Mitch shook his head sadly over his coffee cup. 'Vicious personal attacks at seven-thirty in the morning.'
'Stop distracting me,' she said. 'You know I'm right.'
Mitch grunted and took another swig of coffee.
They had decided to unveil the Blaze at the First West Coast Computer Faire to be held next month at San Francisco's Civic Auditorium. This trade show, capitalizing on its California location, promised to be larger than the one in Atlantic City, although no one was exactly certain how many disciples of small computers would attend.
Unfortunately, the Blaze wasn't ready. They were still having difficulties with the power supply, and Yank wasn't satisfied with the cassette tape version of BASIC that would be used to operate the machine. In addition, the cases for the two models they intended to have on display had been delayed. And they were nearly broke.
Susannah had done her best to push the large, unsolvable problems to the back of her mind and focus on those she could solve. Foremost in her mind was making certain that the launching of the Blaze wasn't overshadowed by all the other products that would be on display at the Faire.
She picked up half a slice of toast that Sam hadn't eaten and renewed her attack. 'This is going to be a huge show. Our booth is impressive, but the Blaze could still get lost. To make sure that doesn't happen, we invite the press and the most important members of the trade to a private party the night before. They'll all be in town for the Faire. We'll give them something to drink, some food, and we'll show them the Blaze then instead of waiting for the next day.'
'Sorry to side with the enemy, Mitch,' Sam said. 'But I like Susannah's idea. We'll be able to jump start all the competition.'
Susannah was grateful for Sam's support. She never knew which side of an issue he would come down on. But then, Sam was unpredictable about everything. Being married to him was like existing on a constant adrenaline high. Although it was frequently exhausting, she had never felt so alive in her life. Alive, but on edge, too. He wanted something more from her, something that she wasn't giving him. But she couldn't imagine what it might be.
Mitch threw up his hands. 'All right. I admit it's a good idea. But you know our financial picture as well as I do, Susannah. You have to do everything on a shoestring.'
'A thread,' she promised, crossing her heart. 'I'll do it on an absolute thread.'
Susannah arrived early at the downtown restaurant where they were holding the party to launch the Blaze. Her clothing budget still limited her to shopping at Angela's outlet stores, but she wasn't displeased with her inexpensive black crepe trousers and the tunic top she had spruced up with a sequined applique' from a fabric shop. Her hair was pulled away from her face and confined at the nape of her neck with a silver metallic scarf. She was alone. The men had been working on the software and she hadn't seen them since early afternoon.
She paused just inside the doorway of the private party room to take in the effect of the decorations. Bunches of balloons in lipstick red and lacquer black-the colors of the new Blaze logo-gave everything the festive atmosphere of floral arrangements, but without the expense. At one end of the room, a dais dramatically displayed the only two fully assembled Blaze computers in existence.
Behind the computers hung an enlarged reproduction of the spectacular new logo. The Blaze name, in curving letters that were black at the bottom and gradually turned into hot red at the top, rose in a stylistic pyramid of flames with the central A forming the apex. SysVal was neatly printed beneath.
Walking forward, she stopped in front of the machine that held the key to all of their futures. The physical design of the Blaze had been Sam's. From the beginning he had known what he wanted-something small and sleek that would look comfortable in people's homes, a friendly machine with rounded edges instead of sharp corners and a soft ivory-colored case that didn't fight its surroundings.
As Susannah gazed down at the Blaze, she saw the embodiment of Sam's dream. The computer and the keyboard were one harmonious unit. Instead of duplicating the shape of a typewriter, the Blaze keyboard was wide and shallow with keys contoured to fit the fingers. She ran her hand over the flat top that housed Yank's genius compacted onto only sixty-six chips, an incredible engineering feat.
Someone entered the room behind her. 'Hi, baby. It's beautiful, isn't it.'
She turned, then sucked in her breath as the man she loved walked toward her.
'Oh, Sam… What have you done to me?'
His beautiful hair was gone-that wild black biker's hair she loved to crush in her hands when they made love, the long, dark strands that sometimes slipped between her lips when he drove high and hard inside her, his rebel's hair, the hair that had snapped in the breeze like a pirate's flag the day he had stolen her from her father's care.
It still hung bone-straight, brushed away from his ears, but the back didn't even reach the top of his white shirt collar. White shirt collar, dark blue necktie, sport coat. Each item was more loathsome than the last. Those were Cal's clothes, her father's clothes, not the clothes of a blue-skies thinker who dreamed of changing forever the dying days of the twentieth century.
Only the jeans were familiar, but even they weren't right. The denim was new, the seams dark and tightly stitched instead of soft and frayed. The stiff zipper lay nice-boy flat over his crotch, the prim new denim de-sexing him.
She hated it. She hated every bit of it. Her eyes returned to his hair. It swept back from his temples, revealing two ordinary ears unadorned by a swaying silver Easter Island head. They were the respectable ears of an IBM salesman, of an FBT vice-president. How could those ears belong to a small computer evangelist who sold the future instead of bibles?
Behind her the gay red and black balloons bounced forgotten, and her palm left a sweaty imprint where it had rested on the top of the Blaze.
'What have you done to me?' she whispered again.
Sam looked at her quizzically, but before he could say anything, the door swung open again and Mitch walked in with Yank. Mitch was unbearably smug as he slapped Sam on the back and patted his lapel. 'Doesn't your boy look great, Susannah? He and I went on a little shopping trip. He changes his tune when you dangle a three-hundred- dollar imported Italian sport coat in front of him.'
Yank was wearing his version of dress-up, a wrinkled brown corduroy suit with a narrow, mustard-colored tie hanging askew. The underside of the tie extended barely three inches below the knot.
Mitch shrugged apologetically at Susannah. 'I only had so much time. Do something, will you?'
She busied herself reknotting Yank's tie. As she worked, she tried to calm her inexplicable feeling of panic. Sam was Sam, she told herself. Cutting his hair and putting on a sport coat didn't change anything for either one of them. Besides, she had said from the beginning that he needed to look more like a business man, and now she had her wish. She glanced over at him busily loading the Blaze display programs. They were married, but marriage didn't feel the way she had always imagined. She had no sense of safety or stability. Instead, every day was an adventure full of new battles to be fought. Sometimes, she was almost overwhelmed with the intensity of just being alive on
