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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] announcement that he was deeding them Falcon Hill as a wedding gift. He told them that he wanted to spend more time at Pebble Beach, that he no longer needed such a large house. And then, casually, he suggested that Susannah convert the guest house at Falcon Hill into something comfortable for him when he was in town. She had barely slept the night before, and now her heart felt as if it were shrinking in her chest. He was trapping her. Until that moment she hadn't realized how much she had been looking forward to living independently from her father. Why hadn't she guessed that he would want to continue to have her at his beck and call? Now, by giving them Falcon Hill as a wedding gift, he had made certain that her marriage wouldn't inconvenience him, that she would still be available to do his bidding. And then she was filled with guilt at her selfishness. Joel Faulconer had given her everything. He was the shining prince who had rescued her. How could she be so ungrateful? Throughout the rest of the meal she found herself thinking about debts of love and wondering how they were ever repaid. She loved her father very much, but did she owe him her life? Later that evening, when Cal took her to her suite, she tried to discuss her feelings with him. He drew her into his arms and rubbed her back as if he were comforting a child. "I think you're overreacting, darling. I know he can sometimes be domineering, but I'll be there to make certain he doesn't take advantage of you. Let's not cast a shadow over such an extraordinary gift. Falcon Hill is worth millions." "Is that all you can think about? How much Falcon Hill is worth?" He stepped away from her, his face mirroring his surprise at her outburst. And then his eyes grew as chilly as the silver streak that shot through his hair. "You've deliberately chosen to misunderstand me. I don't appreciate being snarled at." She pressed her fingertips to her temple. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired." "I'm tired, too, but I don't snap at you." "You're right. It was unforgivable." But Cal refused to accept her apology. Giving her a stony look, he stalked from her suite. Susannah felt the familiar tightness in her stomach as one more male chose to punish her with silence. She returned to San Francisco feeling as if something hard and cold had taken up permanent lodging inside her. After his confrontation with Joel Faulconer, Sam had jumped on his bike and headed for San Diego. Although he had a couple of friends there, he made no effort to contact any of them because he didn't want company. Instead, he played Breakout in the arcades, slept on the beach, and woke up at night with the cold sweats. All he could think about was what a prick Faulconer was. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't blot out the image of Susannah standing there watching her father make an asshole out of him. Day after day he got angrier with Yank. This was Yank's problem, not his. Sam was tired of playing father and mother to a guy who couldn't drive three blocks without getting lost. Yank should be out hustling his own design. But Yank couldn't see any further than his next hack, and Sam knew that his friend didn't have the most rudimentary understanding of the significance of what he was doing. And then one night while Sam was playing his dozenth game of Breakout, he saw Yank's hands in his mind the incredible genius of those hands and his anger dissolved. That was when he realized that Joel Faulconer was right about him. He hadn't even started to think big enough. He'd been so wrapped up in the idea of selling Yank's design to somebody else that he hadn't listened to the voice inside him telling him that handing Yank's genius over to a fat-cat company went against everything he believed in. He got on his bike that same night and headed north. He was going to start his own company. No matter what it took, no matter what sacrifices he had to make, he was going to do it. And the closer he got to San Francisco, the more he found himself thinking about Susannah. He kept remembering all those leggy San Diego girls with their short shorts and those skimpy halter tops that outlined their nipples. Wherever he went, they had given him sexy come-ons, but even though many of them were more beautiful than Susannah, he kept thinking about how cheap they looked. He hated imitations. AH of his life he had been surrounded by inferiority the shoddy little house he had grown up in, the incompetent public school teachers with no tolerance for a sullen, gifted rebel who had asked all the wrong questions, the father who spent every evening staring at the television screen and telling his son that he was a loser. For as long as he could remember, Sam had dreamed of surrounding himself with beautiful objects and exceptional people. And now, making the best microcomputer had become inexorably linked in his mind with having the best woman. By the time he reached the Valley, he was convinced that if he could have Susannah Faulconer, he could also have everything else that was missing from his life. The next day he quit his job and packed up the computer board, the television everything he needed to demonstrate Yank's machine. That same afternoon he began to make the rounds of Silicon Valley electronics shops. No one was interested. By the second day, he was seething with frustration. "Just let me set it up," he told a Santa Clara store owner. "Let me give you a demo. It'll only take a few minutes." "I don't have a few minutes. Sorry. Another time maybe." The following day he had his first piece of luck. One of the store managers agreed to watch Sam's demonstration and even marveled over the elegance of Yank's design. Then he shook his head. "It's a neat little machine, no doubt about it. But who'd buy it? People aren't interested in a little computer. What are they going to do with one?" The question drove Sam crazy. People figured out what to do with a computer that was all. How could he explain something so rudimentary? "Hack around," he said. "Play some games." "Sorry. Not interested." On the fourth day the machine never made it out of the trunk of Yank's Duster because Sam couldn't find one store owner who would agree to see it. "Let me just show you what it can do," he pleaded. "Look, it'll only take a few minutes." "Listen, kid. I'm busy. I got customers." In an electronics store near Menlo Park, Sam finally lost his temper. He slapped his hand down on the countertop so hard he knocked a box of switches to the floor. "I've got a machine here that's going to change the future of the world, but you're telling me that you're too goddamn busy to spare a few lousy minutes to look at it!" The owner took a quick step backward. "Get out of here before I call the cops!" 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