Chapter 16

I looked at my closet. With the exception of my jeans, the rest of its contents would be history in an hour or two. I thought of all of the interviews that I had sweated though in those suits, of all the project status meetings I had stayed awake though in those slacks, of all the late evenings trying to make sense of yet another marketing manifesto in those shirts. All soon to become a part of my past, like my engineering career. Less than a week ago...

Lisa interrupted my woolgathering. "Remember, clean socks today."

"I'm not that bad."

"I know. But I do have to tease you about something."

"Why?"

"I'm entitled."

There was no answer possible to that. I found her and kissed her.

"Ready for your big makeover?"

"We saw what I looked like on Saturday."

"Only sorta. Back then it hadn't been fitted. Now it will fit, and when we get home, I'm going to let Muammar loose on your closet."

"Can I keep my jeans?"

"We'll have to find you an Old Navy. Some of those jeans look like you fought the Boer War in them."

"I'm not that old."

"I didn't say you were. I said that the jeans look like you fought the Boer War in them. Or, if you wore them to that last disaster that Assad rescued you from, the Bore War. Were those folks really that dumb, or did they put on a special show for us?"

"They were always that way. Speaking of bores, you talked to Kevin yesterday."

"We need to call the other companies, too."

"Yesterday, you talked to Kevin, I talked to Susan. We need a day off without assholes."

"So let's go see Stacy."

Stacy found us as we stepped off the escalator. She seemed to have some sort of high-power radar that found major clients.

"Hi, Herb. Hi, Lisa. You look... better. What's the improvement?"

"I had my hair redone yesterday."

"Who?"

"Gwen. 'Hair by Gwen.'"

"She did a great job. You look more... senior executive. Do you have her card? I could use someone like that for a few of my clients. If she could convince you, she can handle anybody."

"I'm not that much of a problem."

"No, dear. You're just a wee bit intransigent." Stacy gracefully changed the subject. "First, we try on his purchases. Then, once he's fit to see the new you, I'll show you what I've picked out for you." She turned to me. "Herb, did you know that she is high-maintenance?"

"I'm learning."

Lisa pouted. She got a kiss on the tip of her nose to raise her spirits. She rubbed her hands up my thighs, and started to raise something else.

"Stop that. You'll make all the salesmen in menswear jealous."

Stacy led us back to the fitting area. A large cart was heaped with bundles of socks and packages of underwear.

"If you're doing a makeover, might as well do a whole fresh start." She picked off a package of shorts from the stack. "All silk. Now let's see what the new man looks like."

Two of the suits needed some additional adjustments, but the rest of the wardrobe fit perfectly.

Lisa decided that I should change into my new slacks. I now looked like a typical Sand Hill Road denizen. I watched from a comfortable armchair as Stacy introduced the new, improved Lisa. I was impressed. Some of the selections fit, and some had to be marked for tailoring. We would pick up her stash, and the rest of my wardrobe on Monday. Our bill had now wandered north of the Lexus range, and was approaching Rolls-Royce status.

"While you're here in the mall, you should accessorize a little more. There's a Hermès boutique at the other end of the mall. The walk would do you both good. I need to pack everything for you, and then we can have an assistant bring it down for you."

The idea sounded great. It was a bright sunshiny early afternoon, and we walked hand in hand through the mall. There was a jeweler's on the way to the Hermès boutique. They had Breitling watches, and my Seiko landed in Lisa's purse. ("It's much better for the metaphor if it actually is a Breitling, honey.") The Breitling weighed a bit more than the Seiko, but the Breitling could also navigate an airplane. And it could change time zones without massive amounts of fiddling, as Lisa pointed out. The Hermès boutique was indeed at the far end of the mall. A large box of silk scarves and a dozen more neckties weighed less than their cost in cash. Lisa is not the carrying kind. I got the transportation duties.

The mall had one of those fill-up-the-walkways events going on. In this case, it was antiques. Antique dealers sat out in the sunshine next to two or three carefully selected pieces, hoping to lure a shopper into examining their wares. I recognized the dealer from Tiberon, who was minding some carved end tables. He did not recognize me.

Lisa nudged me. "New lamps for old. New lamps for old."

"He wouldn't get the joke."

Six spaces down from the dealer, was a display of cushions and carpets. The cushions looked similar to the ones that the djinni had added to the living room. I paused to look at them. The proprietor of the stand was a middle-aged lady wearing a plaid coat.

"Kirghiz. From Turkey. Nice, aren't they?"

I prodded the cushions.

"What would it take to furnish a room with these?"

"It would be difficult. Most of the rug dealers in the Bay Area don't like to deal with the exporters for those cushions. I'd probably have to bring them in directly."

"Are you a rug dealer?"

She produced a card. "I'm Marsha. Sometimes I'm a rug dealer. Usually, I help people find the Persian rug that they want: I'll go to the dealers and sift through their entire stock of rugs, so the client only has to go see rugs that they might actually buy. Most Westerners don't appreciate the social side of rug buying. Actually, I'm an interior decorator, but my taste is a bit too extreme for most folks who are looking for a decorator: I don't do frou-frou real good."

Lisa brightened. "How would you do on a house?"

"I'd love to do a house. What kind of house? What are your tastes?"

Lisa smiled. "Larger. Eight thousand square feet. We'd need pretty much everything. Two kid's rooms. Three guest rooms. Library. Home office suite. Master suite. Living rooms. Dining room. Tastes?" Lisa leaned into me. "Nothing extreme. We like to be comfortable. We'll be working out of the house, entertaining. Some number of the people we work with will be Middle Eastern: Persian, Indian, like that. I'd like for them to be comfortable."

"How far along are you? Is this a redecorate, or are you starting from scratch?"

"We're getting a house and having it rebuilt. We're still dickering over details, but we should have that settled in a day or two."

"So, bare walls on out. Do you have a contractor?"

I interrupted. "Look, this is getting serious. We should talk where we don't get quite so interrupted." A lady in a lambskin jacket was admiring the cushions and seemed to have an anxious desire to know the price. "Do you have an office or something?"

"I work mostly out of my house. The folks at the Pasha Rug Gallery in Menlo Park let me keep some of my stock there. Why don't we meet there at six?"

We could collect Warren and Sarah, and get back to Menlo Park by six.

"Fine. Do you have a card?"

She handed one to Lisa, who promptly handed it to me. I was doing all of the carrying on this excursion.

My little dynamo came barreling in through the door and gave me a fast hug.

"Hi, Daddy. Soda?" I nodded towards the kitchen. Her trajectory followed the nod. The refrigerator had indeed been replenished.

She was followed in the door by her chauffeur, Lisa, whom I had expected; and her friend May, who I had not.

Sarah was back at the door, tugging on wrists as soon as the front door closed. "Mommy-Lisa. May. Girl talk."

Lisa flashed me her "oh-my-God-I'm-not-the-parent-but..." look. It didn't work this time, either. The trio disappeared into Sarah's room, and I heard the door close. I returned to my book.

Warren showed up about an hour later. I raised an eyebrow.

"Not working?"

"Gee, Dad. Can't a guy take a day off?"

"Of course. We've got to go up to Menlo Park to see a decorator before dinner."

"Cool. You got the house? When do I get to see it?"

"Not yet. We still have to wait for the papers to go through. Should be another day or two."

"You're not going to leave us home alone while you go?"

"Is it responsible parenting to leave a twelve-year old at home alone in charge of a ten-year old?"

"No. It's dumb. But Mom did it all of the time."

"That's why I won't."

I got a nodded thank you.

Warren looked at me, then did a double-take.

"Wow. Now you look just like the guys who Rajiv's always arguing with."

"Lisa decided I needed a makeover."

"And she couldn't wait for it to happen on TV."

"Something like that."

"Well, now that you look like a VC, can I borrow five million dollars?"

I laughed. "Do you have a business plan that I can show to my financial analyst?"

"Dad, you ruin all of the fun. Speaking of plans, do you have any word from the bank?"

"I talked to Nariya when we were there yesterday. A week ago, it seemed like it was going to be a simple incorporation of your business to protect Rajiv. Then you sat down with Lisa and explained what was actually happening. Now you need intellectual property agreements to protect your interests. It would have been much easier if you were an adult and an employee. Then you would have already signed your soul away with a standard employee intellectual property agreement, and everybody (with one possible exception) would be happy. Now it's taking a law partner and two university professors as consultants to sort out the necessary agreements and the contracts. Nariya's hoping everything will be done so that you can sign papers on Friday. Rajiv seems to have come to an agreement with his VCs, so we need to get your paperwork complete."

Warren looked around the room.