Page 43 of Engineering a Love Story

Perhaps sensing my hesitation, Simon mentions that Alice Tuthill, the RD who manages all of Gilroy’s research on application development and programming technologies, used to be colleagues with one of the men we’ll be seeing at Citibank. And she works in this office. “Alice knows him,” Simon says. “Dinesh Heddam. Let’s go have a chat.”

I trail Simon a short distance to the open door of an office, where the woman I recognize to be Alice sits behind what appears to be an enormous desk, though it must only look large because Alice has such a petite frame. Another woman, Tracy Acheson, is leaning just inside the office door, already speaking to Alice. I don’t know Tracy, though she’s Gilroy-famous, having led the firm’s Y2K practice, which was no small feat. She’s not much older than I am, but she seems so accomplished and sophisticated, with cat-eye glasses and red hair spiraling from what was probably a tight bun at the start of her day. Tracy is also rumored to be romantically involved with Simon, a status she appears to confirm when she places a hand gently on his arm as he passes.

Alice gives Simon a wave, but she and Tracy are in a debate, and they don’t immediately stop speaking. “You’re being too optimistic,” Alice says. “Form C is outdated. Microsoft won’t be able to update it. I don’t care what they’re telling us.”

“It’s a huge installed base,” Tracy says. “And they’re bullish.”

Even without context, I know Tracy and Alice are speaking of the code compiler Form C, which is made by a company Microsoft recently acquired. Form C is an antiquated, inefficient product, so of course those crusty guys at BayBank loved it; we used it at the DMV as well.

Part of me wants to chime in, to share my experience with Form C, but instead I hover in the doorway, wondering if I can slink away unrecognized. When Simon said he wanted to speak with Alice, I hadn’t fully thought about who he meant. Now, seeing her, a memory has rushed back.

It was on The Symp’s final night, and I’d been at a table full of Gilroy people, whispering with Walter, rapt and gleeful. Halfway through the meal, Alice appeared behind us. Even in my heightened, distracted state, I was aware that Alice’s eyes drifted to me before she spoke.

“Walter. Sorry to interrupt your good time,” she said, her voice holding the same Long Island twang I heard a moment ago. “But a gentleman from Saint Gobain wants to speak with you. Can you please go to table fourteen?”

Walter immediately rose and left our table. And me—though it was only a matter of time until I prowled the ballroom and found him again. A little later, Walter and I were standing together at the bar, fooling around and ordering cocktails we didn’t need, when Alice passed us, and I again saw her clock my presence at Walter’s side.

Now, I can only hope she doesn’t remember me.

When Alice and Tracy turn their attention to us, Simon explains his query. “Any tips for us, Alice? I know you used to work with Dinesh.”

A grin breaks across Alice’s face. “Ah, Dinesh! You’re in for a treat. He’s a charmer, that one. The real deal, too. Knows what he’s talking about and feels no great need to prove it to you.”

Simon looks upbeat and I relax a little too, hearing these good things about the prospect we’ll be meeting. Simon and Alice chat a little more, but she keeps glancing at me in the doorway.

Finally, Simon asks, “Alice, do you not know Chelsea?”

Alice doesn’t immediately move. As she takes me in, I sense she’s trying to place me. When her face settles with recognition, I wilt. Alice stands and puts a hand out. I take two steps forward to shake it.

“Remind me,” she says. “What do you do for us?”

I explain that I’m on Howard’s team, and then, possibly because I want to move Alice away from her memory of me with Walter, I say, all in a rush, “And, in my experience, Form C is a terrible product. Or at least it was. It’s been a couple of years since I used it, but I don’t see how you could modernize Form C.”

“Why do you know about code compilers?” Alice asks, looking at me skeptically. “If you work for Howard.”

“I’m a programmer by training,” I say, heat in my cheeks.

“Shouldn’t you be on my team?” Alice looks at Simon. “If she’s a software engineer?”

“No poaching.” Simon says as Tracy laughs. “At least not until Chelsea helps me close Citi.”

At Citibank in the morning, Dinesh Heddam is as pleasant and collaborative as Alice had predicted. We have a productive session. Dinesh and his colleague Marty want Gilroy’s take on how start-ups like Aurelian and Sofra Technology, another rising star in online banking, compare to industry stalwarts like IBM. My brain skitters a little, making buying recommendations about Aurelian, knowing Seth will be at my apartment in a few days, but I force it to calm. I give these guys a preview of the findings Evan and I will publish soon in our Market Spotlight, and they welcome these details.

Simon is expansive when we leave the meeting, certain we’ve scored a victory in his battle to bring Citibank on board. He offers to walk me to Penn Station. As we stroll, he’s chatty in a way he wasn’t before. “Tell me about yourself, Chelsea. Are you single, married? Other?”

I look at him, mid-stride. “Other. I guess?”

“Ah.” Simon lets go of a light laugh. “Most interesting answer then. Will you elaborate?”

After I explain my situation, Simon tells me Tracy was married when they first met, something I hadn’t known. “We didn’t do things all in the right order, exactly.” He pops an eyebrow. “But you’ve got to go for it, don’t you? And it all worked out.” They’re getting married in October, he says, another thing I hadn’t known. I congratulate him.

When we reach the station, Simon holds the grimy glass door open for me. “Out your way, actually,” he says. “There’s an inn north of Boston where we stayed together early on.” I expect him to say goodbye at the top of the escalator, but Simon descends behind me. “You should come to the wedding.”

I turn to look up at him. “Really? That’s kind of you,” I say, thinking he’s just overly fired up from our meeting. Still, it would be nice to have a wedding to look forward to. There were so many weddings when I was with Ash, his prep school buddies and cousins, friends of the Kelseys—people I wasn’t sure Ash even knew. I haven’t been to a single wedding this year.

I tell Simon I’d love to attend.

“And a plus-one?” he asks as we step off the escalator.