Chapter Four: The Rules are Reiterated

February 4, 2004

He had to admit, she did glamorous right. Simon stood in the doorway to the full sized bathroom adjoining Tracy's office. She was standing in front of the lighted mirror, brushing her hair into a soft up-do, held in place with diamond-studded pins and sheer force of genetic good luck. She puckered her lips and took out a lipstick to fix the color.

Simon couldn't remember how many times he'd watched her in this little routine. She tended to get nervous before social affairs, rocks in the stomach and that sort of thing, and appreciated the calming effect his presence had on her. Just another Tracy inconsistency that kept him glued to her side throughout the years. In business situations, she was a force of nature. But whenever things got chatty, or small talk ensued, questions about the kids and pictures of the summer home in Monterey, Tracy seemed to get jittery.

He knew it had been the main force behind her drinking, all those years ago. Tracy drank to calm her nerves, to give her courage to face the smiles and the niceties she was forced to endure during these social occasions.

Simon knew this because Tracy had told him one night in her apartment two years ago, when she'd been up all night crying, hurting, wanting a drink so badly it made her crazy. Because Annabeth was out of town. Because she couldn't face it alone, and he was all she had. She'd told him how nervous she got, how much she hated it, the questions and the curiosity. She'd let him hold her because there had really been nothing she could do at the time to stop him.

It of course had triggered another long spout of distance when, after the crisis was over, she'd realized how much she revealed. Now, even now, she held herself very tightly in social situations, not wanting him to see her cringe, not wanting him to gauge her level of discomfort.

He was doing it now, and she knew it. She glanced at him in the looking glass, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Make yourself useful, Professor," she murmured, holding out a diamond necklace in her fingertips. "Help me with this."

He crossed the short distance to stand behind her. As he worked the delicate clasp, he couldn't help watching their reflections in the mirror. He was taller than Tracy, just a few inches, but enough to make her seem diminutive as she leaned back to give him better access. Other than the height difference, they looked good together. Both had good features, high cheekbones, strong jaw lines, healthy complexions. Her eyes were almost the same shade as his, and when she smiled, she had dimples in almost the same spots as he did.

But that's where the similarities ended. Where Tracy seemed to exude class and breeding, this eloquent and innate sense of privilege that shone through her like a light, he looked like exactly what he was—a Midwestern transplant with a head for science who'd lucked into a consulting job that made him incredibly wealthy. He was no more comfortable in a tux than she was in group therapy. Somehow, though, their differences balanced and coalesced, turning them into a formidable team—her Katharine Hepburn to his Jimmy Stewart, although she'd mock him for the comparison if he ever told her.

Simon finished hooking the necklace and gently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him. She frowned, but didn't struggle as he held her. In fact, she closed her eyes and actually seemed to relax in his arms. "So, Boss Lady," he murmured into her hair. "Am I here as Professor Answer Man, or have you decided to forego your superficial boy toys and take me as your escort tonight?"

"You never seemed to mind my superficial boy toys before," she sighed, a small smile flickering across her perfectly painted lips. "Actually, I can't remember, are you between wives at the moment? What was the last one? Number Three? Or was that Five?"

Simon had to laugh, and he squeezed her gently. "I'm between matrimonial states at the moment, if you must know. And while that was a fine attempt at avoiding my question," he grazed his lips against her ears. "It didn't work."

It was the touch against her ears that pushed just a little too far, and Tracy stiffened against him. Her voice, still laced with humor, took on a harder, cooler tone. "Do we need to reiterate the rules, Professor Fullerton?"

Simon groaned, releasing her as he headed toward the door. "Not the damned rules…."

"If you'd learn them, really learn them," she lectured, following him out into the office and turning off the bathroom lights behind her. "I wouldn't have to keep nagging you." She put her hand on his shoulder as she quickly paced him, moving ahead to grab her wrap off the back of her chair. "Rule Number One—"

"Business first. Business always comes first," he quoted in a monotone.

"And why does business come first, Professor?" She handed him her wrap. It was a sparkly black thing that complimented her strapless scarlet dress, and he placed it over her bare shoulders as she continued to talk. "Business comes first…" she prompted.

"Because business is why we're here," he finished for her, reaching behind her to grab the tiny black clutch from her desk and hand it to her.

"Exactly. We are not here for fun, or for games, or for moonlit strolls through the garden of life…."

"So I take it I'm not your date tonight," he quipped as he followed her to the door.

She paused, turning to face him with that maddening smile of hers. "Of course, you're my date," she said coolly. "But that doesn't mean you're getting lucky."

And he had to laugh as he shook his head and followed her out towards the elevator. "Of course not," he said. He should have known better, he thought as he steeled himself against the closing doors.

The Freedom Energies reception hall occupied the entire top floor of the high rise that housed its corporate offices. The pre-launch dinner was like so many others, designed to lure in prospective buyers with glitz and glamour and the promise of cold, hard profit in every elegant detail.

Simon had to admit even he was impressed with this place in full function mode. Carrie Albertson crossed to meet them as they stepped out of the elevator. The event planner wore colorful African robes, her curly black hair wrapped in a golden turban, her face happy and animated as she led them around the event space. "We got the pink rosebuds from a supplier in Spokane. I know it's a distance, but we think the quality speaks for itself." She pointed to the tables, which glistened in white linen splendor. Each place setting shimmered with crystal and silverware, sparkling china plates and ornately-folded rose-colored napkins that resembled roses in the center of each plate. "We'll be starting the appetizers at seven-ish, and seating for the meal will be at eight-fifteen. Your podium is there," she turned Tracy to face a large acrylic podium at the front of the room. It was clearly designed to capture not only the attention of all party-goers, but to give an almost other worldly quality to the speaker. "What we're going for here is a mixture of the old and the new, the traditional and the innovative."

"It's like having dinner in a Stanley Kubrick film," a voice said from the elevator behind them.

"Annabeth," Tracy cried, turning to wrap her friend in a quick embrace. "You made it."

"I told you I'd make it," Annabeth said curtly as she handed her coat to Simon. She reached just to his chest, silver-black spiky hair barely clearing the top of his shoulders when she stood perfectly straight. She looked for all the world like something from a New Age production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, thin and ageless and fey, with gauzy flowing outfits the color of a summer sky. Of course, that's where the ethereal quality ended. Under that sprite-like exterior was a spirit of pure granite, toughened by a lifetime of hard knocks and obstacles.

Simon watched her and Tracy together as he flagged down a server and had him bring Annabeth's coat to the check station. The two women couldn't have been further apart visually if they tried, but there was an almost electric connection that happened when they were in the same room together. Tracy always seemed to soften in Annabeth's presence, coming as close to personable as he ever saw her get when the older woman was there. Annabeth's voice, accented in a now-faint New Zealand drawl, seemed to warm a part of Tracy that nobody else, not even Simon, could touch.

It killed him to resent her, knowing how much the older woman meant to Tracy, but there it was.

"So, we're all high-tech, are we?"

"It's the company of the future," Tracy laughed as she put an arm around Annabeth's shoulders. "Freedom, future, alternatives…you did actually read the information I gave you, didn't you?"

"If you say it's okay, I'll invest my money," Annabeth said. "Is that a movie screen behind the podium?"

"What a terrible attitude to have! I could rob you blind."

"Come on, Tracy, everybody knows you're honest as the day is long," Simon said. He'd flagged down another server and asked her for a bottled water for Ms. Walker and himself. "You want something, Beth?"

"I want a gin and tonic to get me through this dog and pony show," she murmured. "But I'll take a bottled water. How are you doing, pet?" This was addressed to Tracy.

"Oh, I'm sure the presentation will go alright. We still have a few weeks to go until the IPO, so we're not expecting miracles—"

"I'm not talking about the presentation," Annabeth said, pulling Tracy closer to her as she lowered her voice. "How are you doing, pet…?"

Simon saw the look flicker across his friend's features, fear, frustration, embarrassment. It was the usual, whenever somebody asked her to talk about herself. And it was gone in a flash, caught no doubt only by himself and Annabeth. "Right as rain, although I think Carrie needs me for a sound check before the guests arrive."

Carrie insinuated herself into the group, starting on a non-stop narrative as she whisked Tracy off to the podium…and safety.

Annabeth stared at the two of them for a long time, taking the bottled water the server had just returned with before giving Simon a long, knowing look. "Train wreck, isn't she?" she muttered, nodding towards Tracy.

Simon nodded his head as he opened the bottle and took a sip. "Yup."

Coming in Chapter Five: And the Floor Opens and Swallows Her Whole