I snapped to attention. A new toy manufacturer was a big deal. I hadn’t heard anything about it, not even rumors.
“There’s a new competitor out there? No one new presented at the festival,” I said.
“I’m sure they’ll be at the national New York convention in November. The new owner’s rollout strategy is a bit unorthodox. He wants to sneak-attack his competitors.” Ichiro’s cheek lifted playfully. “Butssssshhhh. You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Why’d you mention it to us, then?” I asked.
My relationship with Ichiro had always been complicated. He was friendly and polite. I sensed good in him. But his greater demons of capitalistic excess hung on to him like a parasite. One minute, he was friendly and insightful. The next, he was assessing your work at a sexual health company like an internet weirdo ranking women on their “feline hunter eyes” and “forehead ratio.”
But when he looked at me, I didn’t see any of that second Ichiro. The bottom-line devotee was gone, and in his place was a man who’d been around the block a time or two and needed a place to park his advice.
That worried memorethan if he’d been a total asshole.
“Because I like you, Scout. You’re a weird fish, but you’re smart and good at your job. And I like Clara and your new friend here, too. Iwantto see you succeed. But with this fresh blood coming in…you should be very, very worried.”
3
Fly the Sexy Skies
I felt bad for Hudson.
Not as bad as I felt for myself, but still.
I felt bad.
Before this convention, I knew Hudson as a golden boy. Always smiling, always happy, always leaving a trail of laughter behind him wherever he went. There wasn’t a stranger he couldn’t befriend or a room he couldn’t work. I’d never seen a guy glow before, but even from the distance I kept between us, he did just that.
But once Mr. Ose left, Hudson and I made our way to the Cleveland airport for our flight. Somewhere along the way, he surprised me.
He wilted.
It was like someone had pulled his spark plug. All his intangible energy vanished. He didn’t even try to talk to me—shocking, considering he’d barely let a minute pass between us without repeated attempts at collegial bonding.
At the beginning of the trip, I’d been thrown off balance by his questions, his jokes, his persistent chatter. Now that it was gone, I…I missed it.
Problem: The happiest guy in the world looks absolutely miserable.
Proposed Solution: ????
When I was stressed or upset, I turned to work, revising plans or rerunning calculations or cleaning my soldering irons. Hudson didn’t seem the type. He seemed like thetalk about your feelingstype—not my strong suit.
So as we walked through the Cleveland airport in search of our gate, I compromised. Not feelings. Not work. But a secret third thing.
“Do you…want a Cinnabon?”
Great work, Scout. Were those dynamite conversational skills what they taught you in human interaction school?
“You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to cheer me up. You clearly had a game plan with Mr. Ose, then I showed up and said all the wrong things. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything to Clara. It was my fault Mr. Ose didn’t convert.”
Part of me wanted to agree. But I couldn’t. No, going full-frontal with the news that he’d never worked on a sex toy hadn’t been great optics. But in retrospect, Clara’s insistence on top secrecy about The Fantasy’s designs made selling this thing nearly impossible. Not even her best two nerds could sell it.
“I…I wasn’t exactly stellar out there either,” I admitted. “I don’tpeoplewell.”
“You’re doing fine with me.”
