Crosstalk Read Free Page A

him, he doesn’t even hear you. It’s like he’s off in another world. Hamilton thinks he’s a genius, the next Steve Jobs or something, but
I
think he’s mentally unstable.”
    “He’s not unstable,” Briddey said. “He’s just a little eccentric. And he
is
really smart.”
    “The Unabomber was smart, too,” Trent said. “Let’s hope he’s not homicidal, and that he’s enough of a genius to come up with some ideas to tide us over till the one I’m working on is ready, or we’re dead. We’ve got to have something ready by the time Apple rolls out the new iPhone, and now that—”
    His voice cut off, and Briddey thought he must have another call, but a few seconds later he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.”
    “That’s okay. I understand. You’ve got a lot riding on this.”
    He laughed harshly. “You have no idea just how—” His voice cut off again.
    “Trent?” Briddey said. “Are you there? What happened?”
    “Bad connection,” he said. “What I was trying to say is, I want everything—the phone, the EED, everything—to be perfect for us, and I can’t stand the idea of having to wait to be together, really together. I love you so much.”
    “I love y—”
    “Look, I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll see you at the meeting. And till then, check your email. I sent you something.”
    He had, a virtual bouquet of golden rosebuds, which opened into lush yellow roses and then morphed into butterflies.
    How sweet!
Briddey thought, watching them flutter around the screen to the tune of “I Will Always Love You.”
    The butterflies morphed again, into letters forming the words “Now that you’ve said yes, our troubles are over!”
    Except for me telling my family,
Briddey thought.
Which I have got to figure out how to do
now
, before they come over to see why I haven’t answered their messages
.
    There was a knock on the door.
Oh, my God, it’s them,
Briddey thought, but it couldn’t be. They never knocked. They just walked in. Which meant this must be Charla. “Come in,” Briddey said, and Charla opened the door and leaned in, looking bemused.
    “Art Sampson and Suki Parker want you to call them as soon as possible,” she said, “and you got a message from C.B. Schwartz.”
    Let’s hope it’s his ideas for the new phone.
“Did you put it on my computer?” Briddey asked.
    “No, I mean a
message.
” Charla held out a folded piece of paper as if it were a poisonous snake. “He wrote it by hand and everything. I mean, who does that anymore?”
    “He’s a genius,” Briddey said absently, reading the note.
    “Really? Are you sure? He never answers his emails.”
    The note read, “I need to talk to you. C.B. Schwartz.” If this was something about his ideas for the phone not being ready, she’d better talk to him before the meeting, so she could warn Trent.
    She asked Charla for the number of his lab and called him, but there was no answer, and it didn’t let her leave a message. “Get me his cellphone number,” she said to Charla.
    “It won’t do any good,” Charla said. “There’s no coverage down in that sub-basement where he has his lab.”
    “What about our voice-texting function?”
    “It doesn’t work down there.”
    That was ridiculous; it was designed specifically for areas with poor reception. “Give me the number anyway, in case he’s not in his lab.”
    “He’s
always
in his lab.”
    “Well, then I’ll text him,” Briddey said, and Charla reluctantly gave her the number.
    “I doubt if it’ll do any good,” Charla said. “He refuses to carry his phone with him. Suki says he never even turns it on.” She frowned. “You’re not going to make me take a message down there, are you? The sub-basement’s
freezing,
and there’s nobody down there but him. And he creeps me out, the way he lurks down there and never talks to anybody. Like that guy who lives in the dungeon in that movie, the Hunchback of Notre