"Peter, come one, at least look at it," Neal whined in the passenger seat as he shuffled through several sheets of printouts in his lap.
"Neal, I don't want it! I want the one Elle picked out for me. End of story," Peter responded. Neal looked closely again at the crinkled sheet of paper in front of him.
"This thing is archaic! You need a briefcase just to carry the phone!"
"Neal, enough. We are going in, we are handing the salesman that paper, he will bring me that phone, and we will leave," Peter said, "And be back in time for the game at three."
"But if we just look around, we can get one so much better!" Neal persisted.
"We? There's no we. This is my phone, and my upgrade, so I will get the phone that I want," Peter said, and Neal sighed and slumped in his seat. Peter had mentioned weeks ago that he was due for an upgrade on his cell phone, and Neal had been begging him to let him come with him. The old flip brick Peter carried around annoyed Neal to no end, and this upgrade was the perfect chance to get his friend something a little more updated. But Peter was Peter, and technology was a mystery he could not explain, much less operate. As they pulled into the Verizon store, Neal practically jumped out of the car before it was parked. Walking briskly ahead of Peter, Neal went directly to the counter where the smart phones were displayed. A whole assortment of Blackberry's and Andriod's lie before him, and then, at the end, was the iPhone. Neal decided it was worth another shot.
"Peter, come, just look. It doesn't hurt to look," Neal said, and Peter shot him a look that said 'You are unbelievable' but obliged and walked over.
"Now these phones can do so many things. We can set them up to receive your email, you can go on the internet," Neal said as he picked up a Blackberry, "Look, this one even has an app that allows you to get the game scores sent right to the phone, right after they happen!"
"I can get the game scores?" Peter said, mildly more interested than before.
"Yes! The game scores, and the weather, and the news. Look," Neal took the Blackberry out of Peter's hand and replaced it with an iPhone, "This one you can plug in the car and play music through."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you work here," a young saleswoman came over and exclaimed as she looked at Neal, and walking closer to him, she whispered flirtatiously, "I wish you did."
Neal, distinctly aware of this opportunity, leaned against the wall and suavely told the saleswoman of his predicament.
"My friend here is a fabulous FBI agent. He's a hardworking family man who risks his life everyday for our safety," Neal's charisma and charm were running full throttle, "And I, as his consultant, keep telling him he needs a phone as good as he is. But Peter, he just can't see that." Neal looked empathetically from Peter to the saleswoman, his blue eyes wide with concern. Peter looked at Neal in disbelief and mouthed 'You are ridiculous'.
"Well, sir," the saleswoman addressed Peter, "You have a very good friend here," she looked at Neal again, "A very good friend." Neal smiled triumphantly as the saleswoman took Peter's old phone out of his hand.
"I'd suggest to you, just as your intelligent friend did, the new iPhone. It has an app for everything, quite literally, as well as music playing, picture taking, and video recording capabilities. It's the right choice for you."
Peter shook his head and said, "I really just want something simple. I just want to be able to call Elle." He turned the iPhone over in his hands, "But it would be nice to be able to get the game scores."
"Why don't you try it, Peter?" Neal coaxed, "You can always return it." After a few more minutes of deep pondering, Peter's face fell a little as he decided to take the new iPhone. While checking out, Neal was bouncing around like a little kid. They left the store twenty minutes later, with Neal carrying the brand new iPhone, a black hard shell protective cover, and a business card with the saleswoman's cell phone number on the back. In the car, Neal immediately began playing with the new toy. The two didn't talk during the ride except for an occasional "I set up the ESPNnow app for you!" or "You can webcam from your phone!" They pulled into Peter's driveway, and Neal stayed sitting in the car.
"Aren't you coming in? Elle expects you for dinner," Peter said bluntly.
"Oh yeah," Neal said, "I'm coming. I'm just downloading the MET Museum's weekly artistic culture updates."
"Neal," Peter said coolly, "Why do I need the MET Museum's weekly artistic culture updates?"
"Well, I just want to make sure you make the most use out of your new phone," Neal said, and when that didn't wipe the perturbed look off of Peter's face, he said, "I downloaded the ESPN app first." Peter just shook his head and walked inside.
"Honey! So glad you're home. Satch ate a chocolate Hershey Kiss, and I'm worried about him," Elle said as she kissed Peter on the cheek, "We might have to take him to the vet."
"Oh, there's an app for that!" Neal exclaimed as he walked in after Peter, "I'm already downloading the canine chocolate toxicity calculator."
"He got an iPhone?" Elle asked in disbelief.
"He got an iPhone," Neal confirmed.
"Honey, I'm impressed!" Elle responded.
"He'll be fine! It says a dog of this size needs much more chocolate to be in danger," Neal said and then turned to Peter, "See, your new phone just saved your dog a trip to the vet."
"You're really something else. I'm watching the game," Peter said as he flipped on the remote and sat down on the couch. Neal sat in the chair across from him, still playing with the phone. It wasn't until dinner that Neal put the phone down, and it wasn't until after dessert that Peter asked Neal to show him how to work the phone. Looking at the screen made Peter's head spin. It was now a collage of colorful little squares, with titles ranging from things as normal as ESPNnow to as odd as Facetime and Insanaquarium.
"What's 'ensa-aquee-um'?" Peter tried to pronounce the foreign word. Neal just looked blankly at him, and Peter pointed to the square with little bubbles and a goldfish.
"That's 'Insane Aquarium'," Neal replied, "It's a really fun game."
"But, I don't want games. I just want the game scores and Elle's number on my phone," Peter said.
"But, you can do so much more, just look—Hey, you don't want my number?"
"Oh yeah, better put yourself on speed dial. Right next to the National Bureau and the Prison Commissioner…" Peter joked, but Neal actually looked hurt. "I'm kidding. Come on, show me how to work this thing."
The next half hour passed as the two friends fought to overcome age and cultural barriers surfaced by the new piece of technology. Neal couldn't hold in his frustration as Peter asked for the fourth time, "So it really doesn't have a keyboard?" and Peter couldn't help but snap when Neal bit back, "It isn't rocket science!" Finally, it seemed as though Peter had at least somewhat grasped the concept of making a phone call, writing a text message, and checking a baseball score. The safari app and Facetime could definitely wait for another day, Neal decided, and Peter drove him home.
The next morning at the Bureau, Neal found Peter sitting at his desk, looking taxed and ready to crawl back into bed.
"Tough case already?" Neal asked hopefully. He was ready for something challenging.
"You!" Peter stood up and pointed at Neal, who stepped backwards in shock, "You made me get this thing! Do you know I tried to charge it before I went to bed and ended up calling Hughes at one in the morning! And Elle tried to call me, but I hung up on her. And to top it all off, this thing says that New York won, but the paper says this morning the Knicks lost last night. It's going back!"
"Peter, Peter," Neal said calmly, "Let me see it." Peter threw it across the desk. "Easy! You can't do that!" Neal reprimanded.
"Look, you just have to get used to it. It's gonna' take a while, it's like a new car," Neal said soothingly.
"I think I need a new consultant," Peter said bluntly.
"The Rangers won, Peter, you were in the hockey section, not basketball."
"I hate it."
"Give it a day. You'll love it."
"I don't need this."
"Game scores…"
"Newspaper."
"One day," Neal finished as he walked out of Peter's office, "One day."
Throughout the day, Neal called and texted Peter incessantly, even though they were only a few feet away. He could tell this was irking Peter, but he knew it was a chance for Peter to get used to the phone. He was even surprised by a text from Peter late in the afternoon- "Celtics lost, Knicks made playoffs!" By the end of the day, Peter could successfully send and receive a text message, call and receive a call, and efficiently navigate the ESPN app. Neal took it to be a successful day of learning, and they parted ways at the end of the work day.
Neal stood at home alone is his apartment, with a glass of cabernet in one hand and a paintbrush in the other, working on a piece he intended to give to June for her birthday when his phone rang. It was eleven in the evening, too late to be anyone calling to meet up for drinks. He was surprised to see it was Peter.
"Look at me! I can do this!" the other end said.
"I told you so, buddy. What's up?" Neal said.
"Oregon Trail. Is that like, the Oregon Trail?"
"Huh?"
"The app. I'm in the app store. Is this like the Oregon Trail game?"
"I guess, just download it and see. You can always delete it."
"I can?"
"Yeah, Peter."
"Awesome. Well, night then, Neal!"
Neal was in disbelief. Peter must have really taking a liking to his new iPhone. Happy for his friend and happy for the share he knew he would have in the new phone, Neal went to sleep. Early the next morning he woke and headed to the bureau, stopping along the way to get a coffee for him and his partner. He entered Peter's office to find him staring blankly at the wall, eyes bloodshot and muscles tense.
"Peter?" Neal asked concernedly, "What happened?"
"Cholera," was the answer.
"Excuse me?" Neal asked.
"Cholera. I almost won, and cholera killed me." Finally it clicked that Peter was talking about the Oregon Trail game he called about last night.
"How late did you stay up playing that?" Neal asked.
"Until three. And then I got up at five to play before work. And Cholera of all things! Isn't that eradicated in this country?" Peter asked genuinely. Neal just looked at his partner. This was unlike Peter, to sacrifice sleep for anything but Elle or work, but Neal figured it was just a phase. But the next day, Peter came into work enraged.
"What happened this time, Peter?" Neal asked.
"I was beat out by Sammy Sosa in the home run derby."
"Did you sleep?"
"A little. But really, Sammy Sosa?"
The week progressed, and by Friday, Peter was so fed up with losing at the games on the iPhone that he called Neal in his office.
"We're taking a lunch break," Peter said, "Get your coat." Wondering where they were going, Neal obeyed and followed Peter out to the car. It wasn't until they were halfway there that Neal realized where Peter was taking him.
"Peter! You can't!" Neal exclaimed.
"I have to. It's for the best." The situation was equivalent to returning a puppy to a pound. Neal pouted the rest of the way there, and dragged his feet as he followed Peter back into the Verizon store. The same saleswoman was working, which seemed to perk Neal up a bit, even as Peter explained that the new smartphone wasn't working out for him and he would like to refund it for the phone on the crinkled printout. Peter checked out the new archaic flip phone he was handed as Neal chatted with the saleswoman, and in a few minutes they were back in the Taurus with Peter's new phone. But this time, Neal made no effort to play with it.
"Don't you want to check this one out?" Peter offered.
"No, that has two settings: boring and mundane. I don't indulge in either," Neal replied, and Peter rolled his eyes at his friend's dramatic reply.
Back at the office, everything was back to normal. Peter had a phone that didn't tempt him with games, didn't present a mystery when he tried to call Elle, and black ink on his fingertips from checking the game scores in the newspaper. Neal had seemingly rebounded, because he stayed at his desk chatting with Jones and didn't bug Peter all day. Later that evening, Peter got a text from Neal: The Knicks won. Odd, Peter thought, that Neal should text him a sports score, but he thought maybe he had heard it on the news. The next day was a Saturday, and Peter got another text: Private art exhibit at MET, out of range, with June. Although slightly frustrated that Neal would leave his range without permission, he wasn't too concerned. It wasn't until he got a text on Sunday morning saying: Take mountain pass instead that he decided he should go check on what Neal was up to. He found Neal on his couch in his apartment, staring in deep concentration at a small black device he held in his hands. Neal startled when he saw him, but said nonchalantly,
"There's another private exhibit this week at a smaller art museum downtown. Want to join me?"
"Neal, how do you know that?"
"MET Museum's weekly artistic culture updates."
"How do you still get MET Museum's weekly artistic culture updates without my iPhone?" Peter questioned.
"Who said I needed your iPhone. Maybe I was due for my upgrade, and I got what I wanted."
"You have no upgrade. The FBI pays your bill. This," Peter gestured to Neal's anklet, "Is your upgrade."
Neal shot him a 'must you' look and then held up the iPhone.
"How did you get that?" Peter asked annoyed.
"Mandy," Neal said with his charismatic smile.
"The saleswoman?"
"Yes. See, she saw how unappreciated I was after you returned the phone, and she felt I deserved to be rewarded for my compassion and patience I have in working with you everyday," Neal responded.
"Your compassion and patience?" Peter could not believe what he was hearing.
"Yes, she used her store credit to buy it for me. Now, if you don't mind, I am actually meeting up with her for a private show downtown. Don't worry, it's in my radius," Neal said as he shrugged on a tasteful cardigan.
"You live in a fairytale," Peter said bluntly.
"Now Peter, you had your chance and you gave the phone up. Don't take your poor decision making skills out on me," Neal said.
"My poor decision making skills?" Peter was increasingly becoming more annoyed.
"I'll text you when I'm back," Neal said, and he couldn't resist adding one more jab at Peter, "That thing does text, right?"
Peter just stared at him and shook his head, "I'll be waiting for you with an orange suit when you get back."
"I'm sure you will, buddy, chao!" Neal said as he swiftly ducked out the door. Peter was left standing in the apartment in disbelief. But as he looked around at the cleanly kept studio, with wine bottles neatly arranged in their holders, a chess game half through on a coffee table, and a half done painting that already surpassed any artistic talent Peter could muster a million-fold, he couldn't help but laugh at his best friend. He thought back on all the times Neal, who wasn't actually an FBI employee, went undercover and risked his life to solve a case, all the times he'd helped Elle with her catering options, and the friend, no, brother, he had become to Peter.
"Enjoy your phone, buddy," he said quietly, "You earned it."