Allegra Goodman - The Cookbook Collector

“Did you break your finger?” Emily asked Orion as they sat down, women on one side, men on the other.

He glanced down at the splint on his left hand. “Oh, I did that playing Ultimate.”

“You still play Frisbee?”

“Of course.”

“He’s in a league,” said Molly.

“I still remember your father’s poem about watching you,” said Emily.

“She’s read all Dad’s poetry,” Orion told Molly.

“Boy trumps dog …,” Emily quoted.

“God. Stop!” Orion laughed. “You don’t have to recite them.”

“I happen to like his work,” Emily protested, as Jonathan’s ankle rubbed her shin, his leg pressing against hers underneath the table.

They ordered elaborate salads with smoked duck, and pizzas with caramelized figs, small rich entrées. There was a wine list, but none of them knew what to make of it, until Jonathan decided on champagne so they could toast Veritech. He didn’t know which kind to get, so he ordered the most expensive bottle listed.

“Very good,” the waiter said with a half smile, and Jonathan laughed a little, after the waiter had gone. He had missed the waiter’s smirk, and thought him silly. Softly lit, decorated with murals of scenes from the movie Casablanca , the restaurant was just a bit precious for Jonathan. On one wall, a sad-eyed Humphrey Bogart watched over them, and tears glistened in Ingrid Bergman’s eyes.

“One hundred twenty-two dollars a share,” Jonathan boasted to Orion. “As of today—right, Emily?”

She nodded, ducking her head, a little embarrassed that she knew Veritech’s price the day after Thanksgiving.

“That’s amazing,” said Molly, and she looked at Orion as if to say, Really? And could that happen to us too, with ISIS? Orion played with the ragged edge of his sleeve.

“The shares split last week,” Jonathan told them, because he knew Emily wouldn’t boast.

“That’s just sick,” Orion said.

Indeed. If Emily could sell just a fraction of her stock, she would be beyond wealthy. Of course, if was the operative word. The lockup held until June. The price couldn’t rise forever, but when would it fall? How would she pick the right time to sell? A delicate question. She and Alex and Milton avoided the subject. They knew intellectually that they had to sell some stock in the summer, but selling felt like cannibalizing their own offspring. Jonathan was about to discover this, but he didn’t understand the feeling yet. It was hard to see over the edge of an IPO.

“Is this all right?” The waiter presented Jonathan with the champagne.

“I should hope so,” said Jonathan cheerfully. As the waiter poured him a glass, he added, “Pour for everyone.” Then came his toast: “To Veritech, and to the future.”

“To infinity and beyond,” Orion said.

“Hell, yeah.”

“But let’s get our products working,” Orion murmured.

“Orion, here, is still doing research,” Jonathan explained to Emily and Molly. “We’re building, and he’s busy breaking code.”

“I broke Lockbox,” Orion confessed.

“How?” Emily blurted out. Lockbox was supposed to be unbreakable, the code impervious. Thousands, millions of Internet shoppers depended on Lockbox to safeguard their transactions. If Lockbox broke—even in the safety of the office—that would be a major setback. A breakdown wouldn’t necessarily derail the ISIS IPO, but it might delay it, and a delay these days, even for a few months, was like derailment.

“Better to know now, right?” Orion said.

“It’s the new version, 2.0, not the one we’ve shipped,” Jonathan reassured Emily and Molly. “The original Lockbox that everyone is using out there is totally fine.”

“What did you do?” Emily asked Orion.

She felt Jonathan tense. He pulled his legs away from hers under the table.

“The new code is buggy,” Orion said.

But Jonathan contradicted. “It was ready until you broke it.”

“If it was breakable,” said Orion, “then obviously it wasn’t ready.”

“There’s testing code and there’s fucking with it.”

“There’s solid work and wishful thinking,” Orion said. “You can’t tell clients you’ve got stuff ready when you know it isn’t ready.”

“I tell them what we will have ready, if everybody does his job,” said Jonathan.

“I’m talking about reality,” said Orion, “not some myth of magical security solutions—”

“Oh, come on, you guys,” Emily interrupted.

“Yeah, really,” Molly said.

Emily chided, “This is the same debate we have all the time between programmers and marketing. Do you think you’re so unusual? We broke something just a couple of weeks ago, and now it’s crippled.”

“Broke what?” Curiosity trumped aggression. “You’re building something new. What are you building?”

“It’s not public yet,” Emily replied.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, you can,” Jonathan wheedled.

“Well, I won’t.”

“We have ways of making you talk,” he teased.

“She’ll never tell you.” Orion spoke lightly, but his words suggested his greater knowledge of Emily, and their older friendship—and once again he angered Jonathan.

“I’m tired of your predictions,” Jonathan said quietly.

“You don’t have to listen,” Orion pointed out. “Usually you don’t.”

Jonathan was toying with his half-filled champagne flute. The glass looked so delicate in his hand that Emily reached across the table and placed it safely next to hers.

“You didn’t have to fight with him,” Emily told Jonathan in the car.

“He started it,” said Jonathan.

“What difference does it make? You should know better.”

They drove up Mass. Ave. with its multicultural holiday lights: shooting stars and stylized dancers. “He’s irresponsible,” Jonathan declared.

“Why? Because he disagrees with you sometimes?”

“You wouldn’t defend him like that if he worked for you.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, I know you.”

“Well, I don’t attack my friends in restaurants.”

“I didn’t attack him.”

“I thought you were going to break his glass and stab him with it.”

“Hire him at Veritech,” said Jonathan. “Seriously. We’ll pack him up in Bubble Wrap and ship him. We don’t want him.”

“But you might need him.”

“For what? Talking about our products?” Jonathan was indignant again. “Next thing I know, Green Knight comes up with a security system just like ours.”

He amazed her. He was all energy, and all competition. She was driven to succeed, but her idea of success was focused, pure, and self-defined. Jonathan’s idea was annihilating his rivals. Even now, he wove through traffic, muscling his way into one lane and then another, shaving seconds off the drive to Somerville.

“We’re very different,” she said.

He smiled. “No, we’re not. You just like to pretend we are.”

“Why would I pretend?”

“Because you’re a girl.”

“What do you mean I’m ‘a girl’? I talk like a girl? I throw like a girl?”

“Yeah. Exactly. You throw like a girl.”

“Take it back.”

“No.”

“Take it back.” She tickled him under his arm, and the car swerved. “Sorry! I’m sorry!”

“You could wait for a red light,” he pointed out, but waiting was difficult.

When they got to his apartment, Jonathan left the lights off. His roommates, Jake and Aldwin, were away for the long weekend, leaving their bikes in the living room, a shadowy obstacle course Jonathan didn’t bother navigating.

“Now take it back,” said Emily, even as he took her in his arms.