Tony passes a prototype around the table. Small enough to fit very neatly into the palm of the hand with a dull, matte finish that won't catch the light. Easily concealed. "Al, unfortunately, since you're teleconferencing in, you won't be able to handle it yourself, but if you swing by the Malibu plant sometime, you're welcome. I think we all understand the applications of this, and it's based on the same tech as what we developed for the Stinger platform, so cheap to market."
The board, in fact, very clearly does. They all turn and look at him -- except for Obadiah, his mouth flattened into a line. Tony has his foot out of Obadiah's crotch now, but he still tilts his head back and doesn't bother to hide the grin.
...
A good meeting, so couple of the guys who are actually, physically there go out for dinner afterwards. Long and boozy and Michelin starred, followed by retirement to Tony's hotel room to talk shit about Boeing's continuing merger difficulties, and Tony hasn't drunk nearly enough brandy or cognac or Scotch to feel the effects that strongly, but time nevertheless seems to run strangely slow. It dilates. Colors look more intense, and Obadiah still isn't talking to him when they're the last ones in the hotel room. Randall is in the bathroom, taking the longest piss in history.
Good thing the suite has more than one bathroom.
"So," Tony says. It's just him and Obadiah. Obadiah is sitting on the sofa, frowning at the carpet, and Tony is sitting on the carpeted steps some way across. "I didn't mention, did I, that the prototype actually works. At least in theory."
Obadiah barely looks over. He's still pissed -- though, to be honest, Tony doesn't entirely understand why Obie is so much more pissed tonight than usual. It's not like Tony hasn't done this at, uh. Half the board meetings since he was twenty-one. It doesn't really ever get old.
Tony puts the prototype down on the carpet. Beige carpet and track lighting above, so it makes the grey stand out.
"Haven't figured out how to keep everybody within five feet from dropping over, too, but that's the beauty of it. Limited range. It wouldn't do a thing to you if you were in the hall."
Randall, the useless fuck, has finally made it out of the bathroom. He's so drunk that he can't get his belt undone, and Tony ostentatiously twists around to look at him.
"How are you doing, Randall, my man? You're going to need somebody to call car service for you."
When Tony turns back around, he finds, to his (somewhat) surprise, that Obie is just a couple feet from him. Standing with his hands on his hips.
Neither of them says anything; Randall stumbles against something metallic and expensive sounding and there's a whimper because he's stubbed his toe or something, but still, neither Tony nor Obie says anything. Again, it's the New York skyline in the background, but it had been the fall Board of Directors meeting, and the October moon is low and big enough to be seen even in New York. Especially in New York.
Like an American quarter, hanging in the sky in Brussels.
"Are you going to or not?" Obadiah says.
And Tony picks up the prototype, holds it up by his cheek, and grins. Obadiah looks at him for another moment, hands still on hips, face unreadable -- then goes to fetch Randall from the pile he's collapsed in on the marble foyer without saying a word more.
...
In normal circumstances, this would have merited a lot of triumphant laughing in bed, but it is possible, perhaps, to understand why Tony didn't have a chance this time.
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The board, in fact, very clearly does. They all turn and look at him -- except for Obadiah, his mouth flattened into a line. Tony has his foot out of Obadiah's crotch now, but he still tilts his head back and doesn't bother to hide the grin.
...
A good meeting, so couple of the guys who are actually, physically there go out for dinner afterwards. Long and boozy and Michelin starred, followed by retirement to Tony's hotel room to talk shit about Boeing's continuing merger difficulties, and Tony hasn't drunk nearly enough brandy or cognac or Scotch to feel the effects that strongly, but time nevertheless seems to run strangely slow. It dilates. Colors look more intense, and Obadiah still isn't talking to him when they're the last ones in the hotel room. Randall is in the bathroom, taking the longest piss in history.
Good thing the suite has more than one bathroom.
"So," Tony says. It's just him and Obadiah. Obadiah is sitting on the sofa, frowning at the carpet, and Tony is sitting on the carpeted steps some way across. "I didn't mention, did I, that the prototype actually works. At least in theory."
Obadiah barely looks over. He's still pissed -- though, to be honest, Tony doesn't entirely understand why Obie is so much more pissed tonight than usual. It's not like Tony hasn't done this at, uh. Half the board meetings since he was twenty-one. It doesn't really ever get old.
Tony puts the prototype down on the carpet. Beige carpet and track lighting above, so it makes the grey stand out.
"Haven't figured out how to keep everybody within five feet from dropping over, too, but that's the beauty of it. Limited range. It wouldn't do a thing to you if you were in the hall."
Randall, the useless fuck, has finally made it out of the bathroom. He's so drunk that he can't get his belt undone, and Tony ostentatiously twists around to look at him.
"How are you doing, Randall, my man? You're going to need somebody to call car service for you."
When Tony turns back around, he finds, to his (somewhat) surprise, that Obie is just a couple feet from him. Standing with his hands on his hips.
Neither of them says anything; Randall stumbles against something metallic and expensive sounding and there's a whimper because he's stubbed his toe or something, but still, neither Tony nor Obie says anything. Again, it's the New York skyline in the background, but it had been the fall Board of Directors meeting, and the October moon is low and big enough to be seen even in New York. Especially in New York.
Like an American quarter, hanging in the sky in Brussels.
"Are you going to or not?" Obadiah says.
And Tony picks up the prototype, holds it up by his cheek, and grins. Obadiah looks at him for another moment, hands still on hips, face unreadable -- then goes to fetch Randall from the pile he's collapsed in on the marble foyer without saying a word more.
...
In normal circumstances, this would have merited a lot of triumphant laughing in bed, but it is possible, perhaps, to understand why Tony didn't have a chance this time.
...
Breathe. Easy. Easy.
You remember this one.