Two from the Heart(39)

She sits back, takes her first deep drag, and closes her eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she says. “That is heaven.”

Holy shit. A chink in the armor. I decide to push my luck. I want to know more about my main character.

“So Bron has never had a girlfriend?”

Daisy sips her beer and flicks the ash off the tip of her Marlboro. She looks right at me.

“Don’t you do any research?”

I admit I’m not exactly Woodward or Bernstein. I write fiction. I make stuff up. And web searches are not a go-to technique for me—especially because I don’t own a computer.

“Humor me,” I say.

“You want me to start at the beginning?” she asks.

“I do.”

I settle back. The slight beer buzz feels great with the cool night air. The only thing missing is a campfire. Because I’m about to hear a story.

First, Daisy tells me, Bron is not one of those up-from-nothing guys. He was born rich. Super rich. Family estate on Boston’s North Shore. Summer home on the Vineyard, right next to Carly Simon. Bron was an only child. Dad was an international banker, never home. Mom spent all her time at charity events and sailing. Bron was always kind of a nerdy kid. Loved mechanical stuff and electronics, hated sports. Dad dropped dead during a golf game with Gerald Ford. Mom drowned a year later during a regatta off Nantucket.

Bron skipped his last year of high school. Got a free ride to MIT. Dropped out his sophomore year when he invented a software program to control satellite telemetry.

Time out. “Satellite telemetry?”

“Automated digital communications. The way satellites talk to the controllers and to other satellites. His programs were pure genius. Revolutionary. Everybody wanted them. Business. Government. Military. So he started his own company. Age twenty-two. Then started building and launching satellites of his own. And that’s all he’s ever done.”

“No friends?”

“Maybe a couple work colleagues over the years. But nobody close. He never wanted to mix work with pleasure.”

“No problem when all you do is work.”

“Bingo.”

“No girlfriends? No hot affairs with female astronauts?”

“Has he been on dates? Probably. Here and there. I don’t think he’s a virgin. But he doesn’t really know how to talk to women. Obviously.”

Now that I’m on a roll, there’s another question I just have to ask.

“So, Daisy… why me? Why do you think somebody with an off-the-charts IQ is reading my books? Why would he pick me for this project instead of some wonk with a Nobel Prize? I don’t get it. You’re looking at a guy who flunked high school biology.”

She takes a slow sip of her beer. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

True enough.

Daisy and I clink bottles and just sit there side by side, staring at the sky. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her brush a loose strand of hair back from her face and tuck it under her cap.

I have to say, the moonlight looks good on her.





Chapter 17


Two nights later


Knock, knock!

The second he opens the door, Bron feels underdressed. Luke and Timo are waiting on the deck in snug-fit Diesel jeans and matching linen shirts. Timo’s buttons are open to expose more of the angel tat than usual. Luke has buffed his bald dome to a high-gloss shine.

“Ready to party?” asks Timo.

“Ready and willing,” says Bron. And he means it. Whatever Luke and Timo have in mind is better than another night in his room flipping between channels 9, 11, and 13. Bron pulls the door shut behind him and steps out into the warm night air.

The three of them head off down the street, nodding and waving to people along the way, calling everybody by name. Another novelty for Bron. At his office, he’s always running into people he feels he should know, but doesn’t. Awkward. Especially because everybody recognizes him. Usually, “Hey, there!” is the best he can do. His workers seem generic, interchangeable. They come and go. But here… he doesn’t know how to explain it… everybody stands out in clear focus. Memorable characters.

It’s just a three-minute walk to the bar. Bron has passed this place a dozen times, but it always seemed like a place for hardcore locals only. By noon every day there were already a few regulars at their usual spots. At five, they were still there.

But tonight the vibe is totally different. The front of the place is just about empty. Bron, Timo, and Luke head down a narrow pathway between the bar and the tables. There’s music coming from the back, and with each step, it gets louder and louder. Somebody in this town knows how to set up a sound system.

They push through a doorway covered by what looks like a flowered living room curtain. Beyond it—the room is packed with people and jumping with energy.

And whoever decked out the town in Christmas lights took it up a notch in here.

The place is glowing.

There’s no real bar back here—just a long folding table for the booze and a few industrial-size plastic coolers for beer. But, for this crowd, it’s the undisputed center of the universe. And the mood is contagious.

Timo and Luke greet everybody with big smiles, hugs, and backslaps. They may be new in town, but they own the room. Timo pulls out his iPhone and tosses it to the bartender. The bartender patches it into the audio system and flips a switch. Suddenly, the generic club music is replaced by Timo’s smartly paced playlist—Pitbull, Bruno Mars, Madonna—and the energy level shoots up even higher.