Part 4 (1/2)
T. J. grinned. His father had told him Tom was ”chill” but he hadn't expected someone quite so . . . casual.
”So, T. J., what's on your mind?” Tom said, leaning back in his chair and smiling to the waitress to let her know they'd order whenever she was ready. He glanced at the television hanging on the wall behind her: Animal Planet. Excellent. Last month, Tom had complained to the owner of University Cafe that the only thing they ever played on the television was CNBC, which, in his opinion, created a hostile atmosphere. There was nothing more depressing than the exaggerated reality of the twenty-four-hour news cycle, he'd explained, and cafes like this one ought to inspire the entrepreneurs of Silicon Valley to be more innovative, not more mired in the what-could-go-wrong ideas pitched by newscasters. The owner had laughed and promised to test other channels. Tom had suggested Cartoon Network, but Animal Planet wasn't a bad compromise.
”Well,” T. J. said, ”I'll get straight to the point. I heard you were setting up an incubator, and I'd like to get involved.” So, that's what this was about. Tom chuckled and smiled. ”I am starting an incubator! It's going to be fantastic. I'm such a believer in positive energy, and I think there's nothing better than getting a lot of really smart, ambitious, creative minds together in one s.p.a.ce and seeing what happens.”
”I agree. Completely. And I'd really like to be part of it.”
”Awesome. What do you want to do?” Tom asked as he directed his attention to the waitress, who had approached the table. ”I'll take the turkey avocado Panini and a-what kind of beers do you have on draft?”
”Fat Tire, Budweiser, Stella-”
”Fat Tire. Perfect. T. J., what are you having?”
”I'll have the grilled chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side. And sparkling water, please.”
Tom nodded (what had become of college kids these days, ordering dressing on the side and sparkling water?) and smiled at the waitress.
”Thank you, my dear,” he said, before turning back to T. J. ”Where were we?””You were asking what I'd like to do at your incubator,” T. J. said, ”and I was going to say that I'm open to hear where you think my skills would be most useful.” T. J. hadn't expected this to be so easy. It was like Tom was asking him to write his own job description.
”Well, what are your skills?” Tom sat back in his chair and tried to stay focused on T. J., though he was secretly watching the television screen behind his head, where a lion was stalking a herd of elephants somewhere in Africa.
”I'm very strong both quant.i.tatively and qualitatively.” T. J. had rehea.r.s.ed his answer in front of the mirror this morning. ”I've done two investment banking interns.h.i.+ps, in New York and in Hong Kong, but I've supplemented that rigorous quant.i.tative a.n.a.lysis with minors in economics and French, which have given me an opportunity to explore softer skills.” The camera panned in on a baby elephant. Uh-oh.
”The economics degree gave you softer skills?” Tom lifted his eyebrows.
”Well, compared to the rigor of hardcore investment models, economics is awfully theoretical and fuzzy.”
Tom nodded; perhaps that was true. He'd never studied much of either.
T. J. waited for him to say something, but Tom had turned to the waitress who was holding their lunch.
”So,” T. J. said, trying to refocus his lunch partner. ”I think I could fit in anywhere.”
Tom took a bite of his sandwich, and chewed carefully. ”Do you want to be an entrepreneur?”
”More than anything,” T. J. said. ”In the long term, I want to be a venture capitalist, but I think the best way to be a good investor in start-ups is to start something of your own, you know? Besides, after two summers working in huge companies with a.s.shole bosses, I really think I'm better off working for myself.”
The lion was getting close, hiding behind a bush.
”Sure,” Tom offered. ”Working for yourself is great. Set your own hours, make the decisions. It can be a lot of pressure, though,” Tom said, half listening as he looked past T. J.'s head to the television.
T. J. laughed. ”Oh, I think I can handle the pressure. I had a project last summer where I had forty-eight hours to finish a one-hundred-fifty-page pitch deck for a critical client meeting. I literally slept for four hours over two days-didn't leave the office, didn't shower, had all my meals delivered to my desk-but it went off without a hitch.” The TV cut off right as the lion was closing in on the herd, snapping Tom back to the conversation. ”What's a pitch deck?” Tom glanced at the waitress, then at the television, indicating she ought to turn it back on, which she did, as T. J. continued. ”A pitch deck is something you make in PowerPoint, then print out and bind and give to clients. It explains the costs and benefits of a deal. So, there are a ton of charts and graphs explaining everything.”
”So, you came up with one-hundred-fifty pages of charts and graphs in forty-eight hours?” The adult elephants saw the lion and started to charge, the mother placing herself between the lion and the baby but-it cut out again. Dammit!
”Oh, no. I checked the spelling and the alignment and made sure there weren't any typos. The charts and everything are pretty standard for the company and just have to be updated and pasted into the deck.”
”Ah.” Tom beckoned the waitress. ”What's going on with the television?”
”I'm not sure, Mr. Fenway. Let me check to see why it keeps cutting out.””Thanks, love.” Tom smiled and looked back at T. J. ”Here's the thing, T.
J. I think there are a lot of people who think they want to be entrepreneurs, but they don't really. I mean, starting a company is tough. You have to put your life and reputation into your idea, to live and breathe it all the time.
And no matter how great you think your idea is when you start out, you question it sometimes. It can be easy to get sidelined by people who tell you it's impossible.”
T. J. smiled. He'd heard this before. ”I totally understand that. I think growing up in Silicon Valley has given me a great perspective on the commitment it takes. And having been through two corporate interns.h.i.+ps, I know I have the motivation to stick with it.” Tom nodded. This kid was obviously bright and polished, but he didn't have the spark. It wasn't his fault-most kids didn't. ”So, what's your idea?”
”My idea?”
”Yeah. You want to join the incubator, so what business idea are you working on?” The TV flickered back to life. Now the lion was devouring the baby elephant. The rest of the herd had vanished.
”Well, I don't actually have an idea yet. I think that's what's so great about the incubator. It gives you time to really think about an idea.” Tom chuckled at this. ”Oh, I don't know that sitting around in an office on Sand Hill Road is going to suddenly inspire an idea!” Again! The TV cut out. What was going on? Tom sat forward in his chair and looked around the room. Was anyone else seeing this? A girl at a table in the corner was holding-was that a remote? No, it was her phone, but she was pointing it at the television. What was she doing? ”Excuse me a second, T. J.”
Tom stood up and walked over to the girl. ”Excuse me, Miss?” The girl, a pretty young thing who was obviously shy, looked up anxiously from her computer at the man standing over her.
”May I ask you a question, Miss . . . ?”
”Oh . . . uh, Dory. Amelia Dory,” she said, not used to being approached by strangers.
”Well, Miss Dory, may I ask you a question? What were you just doing with your phone?”
Amelia blushed from behind her gla.s.ses. ”Oh, I-I'm so sorry. Were you watching?”
”I was,” Tom said. ”And I completely missed the slaughter because someone kept turning off the TV”
”I'm so sorry, I didn't realize anyone was watching and I-well, I just really hate those programs. I mean, the baby elephants are always so helpless. But I can't keep from watching them. They just totally suck you in.””So, you stole the television remote?”
”No, I,” Amelia paused. ”Well, I used my phone.” Tom smiled. ”And how, exactly, did you use your phone to turn off the television?”
Amelia blushed. ”I actually . . . Well, I wrote a little program linking the phone signals with television and radio frequencies, so I can control them with my iPhone. It's like an eye. The program is, I mean, in that it can see other devices and access their frequencies.” Tom looked carefully at her for a moment, studying her face, her demeanor, the shyly proud excitement in her voice as she admitted her invention. This girl had it.
”No one's done that before. It's like your iPhone sends out a ripple in still water.” Tom reached out his hand. ”I'm Tom. Tom Fenway. I think your invention is very clever. Do you have a minute?” Tom sat down in the chair across from her. ”Actually, I'm working on a paper. I missed cla.s.s the other day and have this new a.s.signment and I-” Tom interrupted. ”I promise I'll let you get back to your a.s.signment, but first I want to make you an offer. I'm starting an incubator on Sand Hill Road and I'm looking for smart people like you to come and use their skills to start companies. I'll put the money in.” Amelia's jaw clenched and she looked back towards her computer. The conversation earlier with Adam was still fresh and she was still upset.
”Was it something I said?”
”No. I'm just . . . I'm not interested.” Tom paused, mouth still open. He'd never been rejected so abruptly.
”Do you mind if I ask why not?”
”I don't want to start a company. I like programming. I love programming. And I have no interest in making money off of it.” Tom leaned back and smiled broadly. Oh, she was so it. She was the real deal. ”Trust me, I completely understand why you feel that way, but if you approach it the right way, you can have both,” Tom said.
”No, I'm sorry. I'm really not interested. And I have to get back to this paper.”
”Well, Amelia, I admire your conviction and your invention.” Tom took out a pen. ”And I'm giving you my contact information in case you change your mind.”
”Hey,” she protested as he scribbled onto the inside cover of her notebook, which was sitting open on the table. ”Take care, Amelia.” Tom returned to the table with T. J. ”Sorry about that,” he said.