The evening roads were slippery when the worst of the rain hit, and Rhea came around a corner too fast and the Triumph started to hydroplane. She came perilously close to expending Hellawatts to stop it. Only quick reflexes and physical strength let her tap the brakes, steer into the spin, and straighten out before she went into the side of the house built right on the corner. From that point onward, she drove at a much slower pace.
Rhea pulled into the lot at the Angus Barn and pounced on an empty parking space. The Angus Barn was a good place, and it was always busy, even at eight p.m. during crappy, miserable weather. She ran the motor for a few minutes, waiting for a break in the rain. It didn't come, so she resigned herself to getting soaked and made a run for it. She wielded her small umbrella like a sword and let her briefcase fend for itself. A slightly damp young hostess got the door for her as Rhea stepped into the old building. It really had been a barn at one time.
"Nice car," the hostess told Rhea as she checked the seating chart.
"Thanks," Rhea said.
"Will it really do two hundred?"
"I don't know," Rhea admitted.
"Wish I could take it out on a day like today—I've never driven a fast car in a storm like this."
"Triumphs are too light to drive fast in bad weather," Rhea told her. Rhea thoroughly approved of the infant and child stages of the human life cycle. She would have loved to have had a childhood herself. Teenagers though, scared her, and she didn't scare easily. But she smiled and said, "Maybe the rain won't let up," in a voice that said she hoped the young woman got the chance to go out and speed through it. She didn't hope that, but she didn't want to be rude, either.
"You think so?" The girl brightened. "I hope you're right. That'd be great." She looked into the vast main room. "Your reservation?"
"Roberts, for eight o'clock."
"Here you are . . . I can seat you now if you'd like."
"Wonderful."
"We'll put you at one twenty."
"Good," Rhea said. "Mr. Roberts will be joining me shortly."
"Got it," the hostess said, and led Rhea across the floor.
Rhea sat and watched the table's hurricane lantern waltz shadows across the red and white squares of the table cloth. She wondered what was keeping Roberts. He'd probably run into the new construction on the interstate. On the best of days, that would slow him down ten minutes if he weren't expecting it, and today was not the best of days. Rhea considered the wine list as she waited. She settled on a glass of Chateau-Reep '85, and sipped thoughtfully, enjoying herself as her waiter pampered her. She had been in some so called "good" restaurants where the staff seemed to have forgotten just who was serving whom. Not here though. Her waiter was attentive without being smothering, and helpful without being obsequious.
She took a cracker and loaded it with cheese from one of the three crocks on the table. Not bad.
Roberts showed up about fifteen minutes late, looking a little pale. "Sorry," he said as they shook hands. "Some maniac in a Lincoln shot through the roadwork on I-40 doing eighty on the shoulder. An eighteen-wheeler jackknifed to miss him, and about a dozen cars piled into it. I was almost the thirteenth."
"Are you okay?" Rhea asked in concern. "This can wait."
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Actually, as far as I can tell, no one was hurt, which has got to be a minor miracle." He sat down across from her and hefted the menu, which probably had more text than USA Today, although it had fewer pictures.
"What looks good?" he asked. "It's been a year or three since I was here."
"Well," Rhea said, "I think I'm going to start with the short ribs, but everything sounds wonderful, except maybe the broccoli."
Roberts grinned. "Come on," he said, "how can you dislike such an essentially fractal vegetable?"
"Well," Rhea said, "I prefer chaos theory myself, but it's certainly no strange attractor."
Roberts settled on prime rib au jus, and after the waiter had taken their orders, he poured a glass of wine and sipped appreciatively. He did a good job of putting his traffic adventure behind him.
"Well," he said after a moment, "I won't keep you in suspense." He set the wine glass down and rocked it around on its base. "I've been fighting a pitched battle the last few weeks, but I sneaked around their lines, came up from behind and yelled 'boo!' I don't think they knew what hit them, and I'm hoping they don't find out. If we can come to final terms today, I've got your funding."
"That's good to hear," Rhea told him, trying to keep her voice calm and even. It was hard—what she really wanted to do was jump up and start singing like the frog in the old Warner's cartoon. Hello, my honey! Hello my baby! Hello, my ragtime gal! And wouldn't that have a salutatory effect on negotiations. She could still blow it, she reminded herself. She could be Michigan J. Frog on the way home if everything worked out. Rhea opened her briefcase, and pulled out a manila folder, which she offered to Roberts.
"This is what my lawyers came up with, based on our last talk," she said. "I've read it, and taken out some of the more weasely sections. I think it's a good deal for both of us. See what you think."
Roberts took the folder and skimmed the boilerplate with an expert eye. It didn't put him to sleep, though Rhea saw him suppress a yawn. When he hit the real meat of the contract, he pushed back from the table and read more slowly, absently whirling his half-full glass with his left hand. "Interesting," he said finally.
Rhea wasn't sure that sounded good. "But?" she prompted.
"Well," he said. "I don't see our little subagreement, the one where—"
The Ride. Rhea suppressed a grin. She'd left that out on purpose to catch his attention and mask any other quibbles he might have had. She had him now.
"I thought it might pay to be a little circumspect," she said. She held out a hand and took the folder back, flipping pages rapidly until she was about three-quarters of the way through. "Look here," she said and pointed to a short paragraph.
"Primary TRITEL liaison representative will audit all final operational tests, wherever conducted . . ." Roberts read. He glanced from the paper to her, back to the paper, then back again to her. His eyebrow rose and a little half-smile curled across his lips. "Wherever conducted?"
"Wherever," Rhea confirmed.
The smile spread slowly across Robert's face until he was lit up like a lighthouse. He put the folder down carefully. "Ms. Samuels," he said, "we have a deal."
It was all Rhea could do to stay in her seat, but she managed. "It just so happens that I have a pen with me," she told him. She smiled at her own excessive casualness—after all, he had to know what a boon this money was going to be for Celestial. "May I?" She took the contract and signed with a flourish, then passed the pen to him.
"Shall I sign in blood, or will ink do?"
Rhea winced. Even now, two years after the Unchaining, some people didn't take it seriously. "Not funny," she said. "Take my advice; don't ever joke about that. Not in North Carolina."
Roberts looked properly chastised. "Sorry," he said, and signed his name with a bold sweep of the pen. "It's just so much like what we used to laugh at the Holy Rollers about that even now sometimes I can't take it seriously." He checked all the carbons and handed the contract back to Rhea. "Are you religious?"
Rhea took the contract, separated the TRITEL carbon and put Celestial's copy in her briefcase. "No," she said. "Not religious at all. But I am . . . careful. Very, very careful." Which was true enough, she thought. She shut the case and spun the thumbwheels of the combination lock. "I don't believe in taking unnecessary risks." She set the case down and grinned. "I do have a pretty flexible definition of necessary though."
Roberts smiled back at her and raised his glass. "A toast then," he said. "Ad astra per aspera. Bring on the necessary risks!" They clinked glasses and sipped appreciatively until the waiter arrived with the first course.
The food was excellent, and they made amiable small talk as the Barn gradually emptied. Before Rhea knew it, she was using his first name, and he hers. Finally, over wedges of chocolate cheesecake so rich that Rhea could practically see the militant little calories overflowing her plate and mustering on the table cloth, Roberts got serious again.
"You're an unusual woman, Rhea," he said. "Even today, it's still rare to find women in the sciences. And a physicist who understands business? Forget it."
Rhea didn't like where this was heading. "And don't forget," she interrupted, "a physicist with 'great tits.' "
Roberts paused, but he wasn't deflected. "Yes, they are," he admitted, "and you must have extraordinary eyes, too, to have read my screen from that angle at that distance. You weren't intended to see that. In my own defense, I'll say that it was a sincere appreciation from someone who intensely admires the female form, but realizes that packaging isn't everything." He looked her straight in the eyes. "And in your case, the content is quite as fine as the wrapper. I would consider it a great honor if I could see you socially sometime."
Rhea had been afraid of that, and she didn't know why. Roberts was an attractive and interesting man, and she knew she could do worse. Had done worse, on several occasions. Somehow, though, the idea of the two of them just didn't feel right. She laid her hand on his and squeezed lightly. "Thanks, Al," she said. "That means a lot to me. And I want you to know that I think the same of you."
"But—?" Roberts said.
"But, I'm afraid I can't mix sin and business." She smiled a sincere, professional smile and met his eyes. She was lying through her teeth, but he couldn't know that. She'd mixed sin and business with relish before (and it had been an excellent sandwich, she thought. Best on whole wheat.).
Roberts nodded. "Well the sin could wait," he said slowly. "But I understand." He freed his hand and proffered it. "Friends?"
"Friends." Rhea took his hand again, and this time shook it. "Barbecues, movies, poker—you name it. Just no dancing."
Roberts managed a convincing grin. "I can live with that," he said.