The phone rang. Vanessa said, So I see that Number 11 has gone and blabbed about the MSP.
Not really, said John. But you know what? Here's my guess. You and your egghead palsy-walsies have some scary new gizmo that can locate a lost hamster from outer space. Am I correct?
You're a smart one. Meet me for lunch at the Ivy by the Sea. I don't want to leave Santa Monica. Use your big macho clout and get a table for three.
John was there early, then Vanessa arrived. They were surrounded by chattering dishes, tinkling glasses, car noises and seagulls screeching outside. Both were slightly twitchy with their own worries. Vanessa was speaking her thoughts aloud. I'm going to lose my job if I get caught. What am I saying? I will get caught. It's only a matter of how many minutes before they catch me.
Caught doing what, Vanessa?
You'll find out soon enough. She made a tetrahedron of cutlery, using the tines of her forks to join a spoon and a knife. John knew she wanted to ask him something, and he was right. John
Yes, Vanessa?
Do you think I'm she took a big gulp of breath cold?
What? Oh Jesus, Vanessa, please don't go taking me too seriously. It's not a good idea.
Don't flatter yourself, John. But I mean it. Do you think that I'm capable of .
Of what?
Vanessa blushed. This is so embarrassing. Okay, I'll say it: of being loved. Vanessa looked as if she'd suddenly discovered she was naked in public.
Yeah, of course you are, Vanessa. But
But what ? Vanessa's voice expressed weakness for the first time John had noticed.
You're lovable, Vanessa. John tried to think of how to phrase what he said next. But you've gotta rip your chest open and expose your heart to the open air, let it get sunburned, and that's bloody scary. He bit an ice cube. Even still, most people seem to do it automatically. But you and I it makes us balk.
And ?
Shit. Like I'm the person to speak? Thirty-seven and single. But I did make The Other Side of Hate, and you know why it bombed?
Why?
Because I thought I could fake it. It was so humiliating when it tanked. People think I don't care, but I do. Those reviews were just ouch.
But now?
I guess the thing about exposing your heart is that people may not even notice it. Like a flop movie. Or they'll borrow your heart and they'll forget to return it to you.
The air between the two of them was thick and warm like in a tent. Neither knew what to say next. Ryan came in out of breath. Try finding a taxi in L.A. My car battery's dead. He made does-he-know? eyebrows at Vanessa. She shook her head. John had the desperate look of somebody who's about to quit a job they've held for twenty years.
Vanessa explained to him what an MSP was a complex computer program, the opposite of a SpellCheck a MisSpellCheck. The premise of the MSP is that all people consistently misspell the same words over and over, no matter how good a typist a person might be. Misspelling patterns are idiosyncratic unique like fingerprints, and the MSP also takes into account punctuation patterns, rhythms and speeds.
You could log on as Suzanne Pleshette or Daffy Duck, but the MSP will identify you after about two hundred fifty words. It's so finely tweaked, it can tell you whether you're having your period or if your fingernails need trimming.
John asked why the cops hadn't run an MSP already. Vanessa said: This is hush-hush stuff, John. They only do it if they think you might be linked to a missing plutonium brick or to trace you if they think you're violating your position in the witness protection program. It's not a standard security check, let alone for a starlet missing a few days. It also sucks up so much memory that all the in-office computers develop Alzheimer's while it's in use.
John slapped a $100 bill on the table. Come on, he said. We're going to Vanessa's office.
John and Ryan were in the car following Vanessa. John phoned Ivan to see if he'd fly them in his jet stowed not far away at Santa Monica Airport. John could feel Ivan's sigh on the other end. To go where, John-O?
Wyoming, probably I'm only guessing. For Susan.
Ivan hesitated. If nothing else, the Susan Colgate fixation had brought John back from the dead after Flagstaff. There's the European marketing meeting for Mega Force this afternoon. You said you'd be here. Ivan was silent a moment, then spoke. Okay, John-O.
Great. We'll be on the tarmac in a half hour.
It was a brainless sunny day, and the high noon sun flattened out the world. The trees looked like plastic and the pedestrians like mannequins. Patches of shade formed deep holes. As arranged, Vanessa parked her car in her company's lot while John and Ryan parked across the street. It's Security City in there, said Ryan. They don't just take your picture when you drive in there. They take your dental X-ray.
Do you have any idea what Vanny's doing right now, Ryan? She's going to get fired for using this MSP thing.
Ryan said, You call her Vanny?
John waved his hand in a well-of-course-I-do manner. Ryan then asked John, Well, we knew she might get fired. Is she doing it for me, or is she doing it for you?
John laughed a single blast of air.
Ryan fiddled with the rearview mirror outside the passenger door. You know, John, when you grow up these days, you're told you're going to have four or five different careers during your lifetime. But what they don't tell you is that you're also going to be four or five different people along the way. In five years I won't be me anymore. I'll be some new Ryan. Probably wiser and more corrupt, and I'll probably wear black, fly Business Class only, and use words like cassoulet or sublime. You tell me. You're already there. You've already been a few people so far.
But for now for now me and Vanessa Vanny, really do love each other and maybe we'll have kids, and maybe we'll open a seafood restaurant. I don't know. But I have to do it now act quickly, I mean because the current version of me is ebbing away. We're all ebbing away. All of us. I'm already looking backward. I'm already looking back at that Ryan that's saying these words.
They sat and stared at the low-slung corporate-plex. The tension of waiting for Vanessa was becoming too much. They didn't talk. They tried the radio, but it came in choppy so they turned it off. A bus stopped beside them and John and Ryan watched the passengers inside it, all of them focused forward and inward. The bus pulled away and they saw Vanessa burst out of the company's front door carrying a cardboard bankers' box. Her stride was off as she speed-walked to her parked car. She pulled away onto the main road, up beside John's car. She rolled down her window and said, C'mon, let's go to the airport. Her eyes were red and wet.
Are you okay?
Just go. I'll meet you there. She sped away.
By the time they reached Vanessa at the Santa Monica Airport's parking lot, she'd composed herself. Shall we go to Cheyenne, then? she asked.
Honey? said Ryan.
It's okay, Vanessa said. I didn't like it there anyway.
I never even got to see your cubicle.
Vanessa opened up the bankers' box and Ryan looked inside. There was a Mr. Potato Head, a framed four-picture photo booth strip of her and Ryan, a map of Canada's Maritime region, and several plump, juicy cacti.
Ivan was at the airport. John slapped him on the shoulder and introduced him to Ryan and Vanessa. Ten minutes later they were up in the air.
I found her, Vanessa said.