Undo | Page 8

said Peter Jones in a calm voice from behind the closed door. "Please leave a message at the tone. Beep."
Matthew Locke was not amused. Like a father exercising his right to open any door in his own home, he entered the office.
He was met with the sound of continuous clicking from Peter's keyboard. The office was small and sparsely furnished, with simple overstuffed furniture and gray carpeting. Peter was sitting before his computer at a black lacquered desk against the wall, his back turned to Matthew. He closed the door behind him and waited for Peter to turn around.
"Nobody's home," Peter repeated over the sound of his staccato typing.
Matthew eased himself into the chair beside the couch, remembering the first time he had sat in this very office, more than two years ago, when Jones had hired him to run the company. My God, Matthew thought, how he has changed - how everything has changed.
All at once, the room was silent. Peter Jones turned around in his chair.
One thing had not changed: Peter's eyes. Deep and black and seemingly bottomless, certain and sharply focused, like the eyes of a young boy determined to win a swimming race. Matthew felt his toes grip at nothingness inside his dock shoes, felt his feet slide silently backward a fraction of an inch across the natty carpet, as if he were taking a step back from the edge of the board for fear of diving once again into that dark pool. And with this thought came another...of water, and splashing, thrashing, losing grip... Loss. Determined, Matthew quickly sobered himself of the troubling memories that had momentarily distorted his focus.
He stood. "Peter, unless you and I can come to some understanding about how we're going to run the business, I'm going to suggest some drastic changes at tomorrow's board meeting." To avoid Peter's eyes he glanced at the computer screen.
Peter smoothly turned the screen's dimmer knob and stared at Matthew. "There'll be some changes, all right," Peter said.
The gravity of the younger man's tone went unnoticed by Matthew. His attention had been captured by what he'd seen on the screen before it darkened. It appeared that Peter was working on some sort of graphic. A drawing with little boxes. Probably a sketch of a new computer design, Matthew concluded. The pang of pity he felt changed to frustration when he recognized the root of the problem: Why can't he understand that this is exactly what he should be doing, designing new computers, and let me run the company?
"It's too late for any more discussion," Peter said, flicking away the shock of dark brown hair hanging over his brow. "I know all about your plan to suggest a reorganization, Matthew. What, you're surprised? I know everything that goes on here." He made a disgusted noise. Then, as if to signal the end of the discussion, he took a pen in hand and directed his attention to a legal pad. With intense concentration, he began drawing a line spiraling round and round from the middle of the page outward.
"It's not too late. That's what I'm trying too tell you," Matthew said. "I don't think you realize the severity of things around here. How bad it's gotten."
Peter began humming a tune to himself.
"The board is very disturbed about the schedule slips, and furthermore, the weak sales - "
Peter's meditation ended. The pen flew within inches of Matthew's face. He leaped to his feet. "Don't you dare come into my office and tell me how to run my company." The younger man was all tensile, his body resonating with indignation. "Now leave me alone! Just get out of here!"
Matthew held his place. "Peter, please."
"Out!"
It was hopeless. There was no way Matthew would be able to reach him. "Okay, Peter," Matthew said with a resigned sigh. "You win."
The room was silent. Peter stood there with his eyes closed, waiting for Matthew to go.
Matthew turned to leave, then paused, his hand on the door latch. He waited half a minute, until Peter opened his eyes and looked at him.
"What?" Peter asked, wearily.
"That's what I want to know."
"What's what you want to know?"
"What went wrong. Why." Prepared for more flailing, Peter's reaction surprised him.
Without looking at Matthew, Peter came toward him. He picked up the pen he had moments before used as a missile. He lowered himself down onto the sofa and casually crossed one leg over the other. He held the pen bearing the Wallaby logo by each end between his fingers. Emphatically, yet softly, he explained. "You don't understand. You just don't get it. You don't know the truth about inventing products like Wallaby's. In the long run, it's all that really matters. That the products are true to the visions that inspire them." He gently placed the pen in