free.”
“How convenient.”
“I like to eliminate complication.” He says it matter-of-factly, like he's already penciled me in.
“So when do I come in?”
“When I call you. And I’ll be picking you up.”
“Yeah, but, don’t I have to sign a contract or something?” I can actually feel my life getting more important as we talk. “And I’m interested in getting to know the lay of the land. I want to know who and what I’m working for.”
And maybe, just maybe, after some adventures, I'll have the courage I need to actually end a conversation with my parents without flouncing out or slamming a door. I peer at him. “Jack?”
Crickets chirp and traffic hums a few streets away.
“Don't worry, Jack, I'll never tell a soul. Your competition will never know.” I pause under a street lamp. “Jack?”
“I thought we’d keep things less formal.”
I can feel myself blush hotly all over, even though I’ve got goose bumps from the September night air. “I don’t mean I expect a salary or anything.”
“It’s not that,” he quickly assures me. He kind of smiles. “By the way, did you get a new car? What did you name it?”
My Spidey-senses tingle. “What did I name it?” Aragorn-With-a-Bungee-Cord wants to know what I’ve named my car? “Jack, what’s going on?”
He stares at me hard, as if daring me to look away. “Nobody can know. Nobody. ”
“About me ?” I squawk. “Are you so embarrassed that—”
“About the gear.”
Nobody can know about the gear? “But Jack,” I point out, “isn’t designing gear what Into the Wild does? As a company?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Jack. Why don’t you just admit that you don’t want to be associated with—”
“Lisa, it’s not you.” His nostrils flare for just a sec. “It’s Into the Wild.”
“You’re ashamed of Into the Wild?”
“I’m not ashamed of anyone.” He faces me squarely. “Lisa, I made sure that everyone I hired at Into the Wild is good at some sport or some outdoor activity. I want a staff that’s invested in the company. They understand everything we make and sell, and they help me test the designs.”
“Sounds good,” I offer cautiously.
“It was a sound idea,” he agrees, “but then something happened that I didn’t expect.”
He says it as though it was something world-altering, like Bilbo finding the ring in Gollum’s cave. I stay quiet, wondering if he knocked someone up or caught someone embezzling, and what it has to do with me.
“My company became…” He pauses, barely able to say whatever it is.
My mind races. Became what ? “Jack?”
“Elitist,” he finally says.
“Huh?”
“Elitist,” he repeats. “A crack team of super-adventuring snobs.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I know they won’t go for the idiot gear. Not unless I can prove its viability first.”
I stare at him.
“I’ve had this idea for the new line for a while,” he explains, “but no good way to test it. It's a potential gold mine and I want to pounce.”
“And that’s where I come in?” My voice is as sharp as a Ginsu knife.
“Yes.”
“You want to hoodwink your snobbish company?”
“Not hoodwink,” he says. “It’s just that I didn’t realize—”
“That you’re just as big a snob?”
He seriously does a double take. “What? I’m not—”
“You called it ‘idiot gear,’ Jack. To my face. And you want me to be your undercover idiot.”
He looks so busted that he doesn’t even try to spin it. “Everyone’s an idiot at something,” he finally says.
And his voice is just rational enough, just sympathetic enough, to make me REALLY hate him. “Oh yeah?” I challenge. “What about you? What’s something you’re an idiot at?”
Even in the shadows cast by the streetlights, I swear I see his eyes darken. Okay, maybe not his eyes, but definitely his expression, like he’s sinking back into the dimness of a dark, evil emperor hood. He opens his mouth to answer,
“How convenient.”
“I like to eliminate complication.” He says it matter-of-factly, like he's already penciled me in.
“So when do I come in?”
“When I call you. And I’ll be picking you up.”
“Yeah, but, don’t I have to sign a contract or something?” I can actually feel my life getting more important as we talk. “And I’m interested in getting to know the lay of the land. I want to know who and what I’m working for.”
And maybe, just maybe, after some adventures, I'll have the courage I need to actually end a conversation with my parents without flouncing out or slamming a door. I peer at him. “Jack?”
Crickets chirp and traffic hums a few streets away.
“Don't worry, Jack, I'll never tell a soul. Your competition will never know.” I pause under a street lamp. “Jack?”
“I thought we’d keep things less formal.”
I can feel myself blush hotly all over, even though I’ve got goose bumps from the September night air. “I don’t mean I expect a salary or anything.”
“It’s not that,” he quickly assures me. He kind of smiles. “By the way, did you get a new car? What did you name it?”
My Spidey-senses tingle. “What did I name it?” Aragorn-With-a-Bungee-Cord wants to know what I’ve named my car? “Jack, what’s going on?”
He stares at me hard, as if daring me to look away. “Nobody can know. Nobody. ”
“About me ?” I squawk. “Are you so embarrassed that—”
“About the gear.”
Nobody can know about the gear? “But Jack,” I point out, “isn’t designing gear what Into the Wild does? As a company?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Jack. Why don’t you just admit that you don’t want to be associated with—”
“Lisa, it’s not you.” His nostrils flare for just a sec. “It’s Into the Wild.”
“You’re ashamed of Into the Wild?”
“I’m not ashamed of anyone.” He faces me squarely. “Lisa, I made sure that everyone I hired at Into the Wild is good at some sport or some outdoor activity. I want a staff that’s invested in the company. They understand everything we make and sell, and they help me test the designs.”
“Sounds good,” I offer cautiously.
“It was a sound idea,” he agrees, “but then something happened that I didn’t expect.”
He says it as though it was something world-altering, like Bilbo finding the ring in Gollum’s cave. I stay quiet, wondering if he knocked someone up or caught someone embezzling, and what it has to do with me.
“My company became…” He pauses, barely able to say whatever it is.
My mind races. Became what ? “Jack?”
“Elitist,” he finally says.
“Huh?”
“Elitist,” he repeats. “A crack team of super-adventuring snobs.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I know they won’t go for the idiot gear. Not unless I can prove its viability first.”
I stare at him.
“I’ve had this idea for the new line for a while,” he explains, “but no good way to test it. It's a potential gold mine and I want to pounce.”
“And that’s where I come in?” My voice is as sharp as a Ginsu knife.
“Yes.”
“You want to hoodwink your snobbish company?”
“Not hoodwink,” he says. “It’s just that I didn’t realize—”
“That you’re just as big a snob?”
He seriously does a double take. “What? I’m not—”
“You called it ‘idiot gear,’ Jack. To my face. And you want me to be your undercover idiot.”
He looks so busted that he doesn’t even try to spin it. “Everyone’s an idiot at something,” he finally says.
And his voice is just rational enough, just sympathetic enough, to make me REALLY hate him. “Oh yeah?” I challenge. “What about you? What’s something you’re an idiot at?”
Even in the shadows cast by the streetlights, I swear I see his eyes darken. Okay, maybe not his eyes, but definitely his expression, like he’s sinking back into the dimness of a dark, evil emperor hood. He opens his mouth to answer,
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