is for a tenth—they say they only want ten percent of the company now.”
“It’s still free money, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like you won’t be in control.”
Lizzie sighs again. “George, that would value Fine Technologies at
twenty-nine million dollars
.”
“Sounds okay to me.”
Lizzie is often charmed by George’s vagueness about business matters. But not right now. “We have earnings, George! Almost a half million dollars last year! When fucking TK Corporation, with two million in revenues and not a dime in earnings, gets a market cap of two hundred thirty million the day of their IPO? No way! Plus it’s
Microsoft
, George.” After she left the News Corporation online debacle, she joined a little company called Virtual Fortress that made firewall security software for web sites, just as prices for firewall security software started dropping; when Microsoft entered the business, her company immediately went belly up.
“TK Corporation is Nancy McNabb’s brother Penn’s company? So go public.”
“Why should I go public? This is a real business, with real products. The company doesn’t need the capital.”
“Then don’t go public.”
“And you and I don’t need the money. We can’t find any stuff for this place that we like enough to buy anyway,” she says, gesturing toward the dark, naked dining room and the dark, naked room with books and the piano but no name. “And not counting Russia, we haven’t taken a real vacation since about 1996.”
“You know, it’s funny. My mother used to say to my dad, after he bought some big wind-powered composting unit or gone on a sailplane fishing trip to Alaska or something, ‘Perry, you just can’tspend money
fast
enough.’ We’ve actually reached the point now where we can’t spend it fast enough. You know? Literally. This couch is really not comfortable, you know.”
“With Microsoft it’s the
principle
of it, George. They said eight million for a fifth. It was a handshake deal.”
“Whose hand did you shake?”
“Figuratively.”
“Well, there you go.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.” Lizzie sips her martini, then puts her glass on the red coffee table that looks like scuffed, circa-1960 Formica but is, in fact, 1924 Le Corbusier—the single really expensive object they own. “Honey?” she says, her face softening. She puts her hands on his crossed knees. “How’re you feeling about your mom?”
He looks at Lizzie and shrugs. After a moment, he says, “I was all set for the ordeal. Months, years. ‘Is it better to have someone you love die suddenly or after a long illness?’ And now I get both. Bang
and
whimper.” He sticks his tongue into the apex of his glass, lapping the last, vermouthy drops of gin. “Two mints in one.” He looks up from the glass. “I haven’t talked to her in like … three weeks.” For several long minutes, they sit in silence, both looking out the six-foot-high back windows as Louisa dances with her shoulders hunched up around her ears and her arms turned inside out. She is doing one of her impromptu rap performances for Rafaela.
“I really should be doing this somewhere out West,” Lizzie suddenly says, sliding down and crossing her own legs so they are knee to knee.
“Fine. We’ll move. Make sure Rafaela tells the kids.”
“I can’t do this business here the way it should be done. I feel like I’m overseas, in some island outpost where I never quite know what’s going on back at headquarters. And everything needs translating, and the phones don’t work. It’s so hard.”
“Your phones don’t work?”
“Figuratively. So they bought
Reality?
That’s so excellent.”
George smiles. “He’s committed to thirty-nine weeks.”
“No! George!”
“I know. It’s crazy.” He’s still smiling. “I told him your fake-real web-site idea for the show. ‘Clever,’ he said.”
“So Mose gets it?” she asks.
“The show? I think so. Yeah. He wants to
“It’s still free money, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like you won’t be in control.”
Lizzie sighs again. “George, that would value Fine Technologies at
twenty-nine million dollars
.”
“Sounds okay to me.”
Lizzie is often charmed by George’s vagueness about business matters. But not right now. “We have earnings, George! Almost a half million dollars last year! When fucking TK Corporation, with two million in revenues and not a dime in earnings, gets a market cap of two hundred thirty million the day of their IPO? No way! Plus it’s
Microsoft
, George.” After she left the News Corporation online debacle, she joined a little company called Virtual Fortress that made firewall security software for web sites, just as prices for firewall security software started dropping; when Microsoft entered the business, her company immediately went belly up.
“TK Corporation is Nancy McNabb’s brother Penn’s company? So go public.”
“Why should I go public? This is a real business, with real products. The company doesn’t need the capital.”
“Then don’t go public.”
“And you and I don’t need the money. We can’t find any stuff for this place that we like enough to buy anyway,” she says, gesturing toward the dark, naked dining room and the dark, naked room with books and the piano but no name. “And not counting Russia, we haven’t taken a real vacation since about 1996.”
“You know, it’s funny. My mother used to say to my dad, after he bought some big wind-powered composting unit or gone on a sailplane fishing trip to Alaska or something, ‘Perry, you just can’tspend money
fast
enough.’ We’ve actually reached the point now where we can’t spend it fast enough. You know? Literally. This couch is really not comfortable, you know.”
“With Microsoft it’s the
principle
of it, George. They said eight million for a fifth. It was a handshake deal.”
“Whose hand did you shake?”
“Figuratively.”
“Well, there you go.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.” Lizzie sips her martini, then puts her glass on the red coffee table that looks like scuffed, circa-1960 Formica but is, in fact, 1924 Le Corbusier—the single really expensive object they own. “Honey?” she says, her face softening. She puts her hands on his crossed knees. “How’re you feeling about your mom?”
He looks at Lizzie and shrugs. After a moment, he says, “I was all set for the ordeal. Months, years. ‘Is it better to have someone you love die suddenly or after a long illness?’ And now I get both. Bang
and
whimper.” He sticks his tongue into the apex of his glass, lapping the last, vermouthy drops of gin. “Two mints in one.” He looks up from the glass. “I haven’t talked to her in like … three weeks.” For several long minutes, they sit in silence, both looking out the six-foot-high back windows as Louisa dances with her shoulders hunched up around her ears and her arms turned inside out. She is doing one of her impromptu rap performances for Rafaela.
“I really should be doing this somewhere out West,” Lizzie suddenly says, sliding down and crossing her own legs so they are knee to knee.
“Fine. We’ll move. Make sure Rafaela tells the kids.”
“I can’t do this business here the way it should be done. I feel like I’m overseas, in some island outpost where I never quite know what’s going on back at headquarters. And everything needs translating, and the phones don’t work. It’s so hard.”
“Your phones don’t work?”
“Figuratively. So they bought
Reality?
That’s so excellent.”
George smiles. “He’s committed to thirty-nine weeks.”
“No! George!”
“I know. It’s crazy.” He’s still smiling. “I told him your fake-real web-site idea for the show. ‘Clever,’ he said.”
“So Mose gets it?” she asks.
“The show? I think so. Yeah. He wants to
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