Part 85 (1/2)
”Ooh, I'm jealous,” Lester said. ”He's my arch-rival, after all.”
”I hadn't thought of it that way. He *is* kind of cute --”
”Hey!”
”In a slimy, sharky way. Don't worry, Lester. I miss you, you know?”
”Really?”
”Really. I think I'm about done here. I'm going to come home soon.”
There was a long pause, then a snuffling sound. She realized he was crying. He slurped. ”Sorry. That's great, babe. I missed you.”
”I -- I missed you too. Listen, I've got to go meet this guy.”
”Go, go. Call me after dinner and tell me how it goes. Meanwhile, I'm going to go violate the DiaB some more.”
”Channel it, that's right.”
”Right on.”
Sammy met her in the lobby. ”I thought we could go for a walk around the lake,” he said. ”There's a trail that goes all the way around. It's pretty private.”
She looked at the lake. At twelve o'clock, the main gates of the Magic Kingdom; at three, the retro A-frame Contemporary hotel, at nine, the wedding-cake Grand Floridian Resort.
”Lead on,” she said. He led her out onto the artificial white-sand beach and around, and a moment later they were on a pathway paved with octagonal tiles, each engraved with the name of a family and a year.
”I really liked your article.”
”You said that.”
They walked a while longer. ”It reminded me of why I came here. I worked for startups, and they were fun, but they were ephemeral. No one expected something on the Web to last for half a century. Maybe the brand survives, but who knows? I mean, who remembers Yahoo!
anymore? But for sure, anything you built then would be gone in a year or two, a decade tops.
”But here...” He waved his hands. They were coming around the bend for the Contemporary now, and she could see it in all its absurd glory. It had been kept up so that it looked like it might have been erected yesterday, but the towering white A-frame structure with the monorail running through its midriff was clearly of another era. It was like a museum piece, or a bit of artillery on the field at a civil war reenactment.
”I see.”
”It's about the grandiosity, the permanence. The belief in doing something -- anything -- that will endure.”
”You didn't need to bring me someplace private to tell me that.”
”No, I didn't.” He swallowed. ”It's hard because I want to tell you something that will compromise me if I say it.”
”And I won't let you off the hook by promising to keep it confidential.”
”Exactly.”
”Well, you're on the horns of a dilemma then, aren't you?” The sun was nearly set now, and stones at their feet glittered from beneath, sprinkled with twinkling lights. It made the evening, scented with tropical flowers and the clean smell of the lake, even more lovely. A cool breeze fluffed her hair.