by Anna Yen
Witnessing the dynamic duo of Scott and Jonathan in action was like experiencing the purest form of perfection. Point for point, Scott and Jonathan discussed, debated, then argued with Samba’s CEO and his posse of lawyers, and corporate development, marketing, and strategy personnel. As the end of the third day approached, the opposite end of the table looked as though they had been through the wringer; my guys had barely broken a sweat. The last topic to settle was the economics; Treehouse lobbied to retain the majority share of its box office and merchandise receipts as opposed to the low double digits the company received as part of the first agreement. Back and forth the two sides went, but none of Samba’s protests could stand up to the facts that Scott repeated over and over again: “Your last five animated films have had declining box office receipts and merchandise,” and “Treehouse’s two movies are going to produce more revenue in tickets sales and merchandise than your last four movies combined. The Amazings toys are already flying off the shelf and the movie isn’t even out yet!” When it was all settled, my guys showed Samba they were the new game in town. Even Samba’s CEO had fallen under the Scott Spell. He and his team bought into Scott’s vision for what would elevate both Samba’s and Treehouse’s success: Treehouse University, led by Dylan, would be accessible to both Samba and Treehouse employees and would foster great storytellers and turn traditional animators into technical ones. Samba’s CEO also drooled over Scott’s description for a future Treehouse Adventureland, a digitally driven mecca that would reside within Sambaland and offer new experiences that Sambaland couldn’t offer without the technical expertise of our team in Emeryville.
At five thirty the next morning, a joint Samba-Treehouse press release was distributed over all the world’s major wires. I sat in a Samba auditorium where on the stage, just behind the podium, a press conference backdrop filled with the Treehouse and Samba logos was set up. I shook my head at that backdrop, remembering how it had kept me up the entire night thanks to a rancorous argument with Samba’s PR team. It had been a ridiculous “whose logo looks bigger” debate, but equal exposure was a requirement of the new agreement, and both teams were there to ensure that equal it would be.
An hour later, my eyelids desperately fought to stay open as I spoke with the Goldman Sachs research analyst who reported on Treehouse.
“Well, investors certainly like the news,” Darren said excitedly. He was the first of the sixteen calls I had to make before the press conference at nine thirty, and I struggled to maintain enthusiasm in my voice.
To Darren I repeated the exact words used in the press release: “It’s an important milestone for us. It validates our leading position within the entertainment industry.” My mind wandered elsewhere—to life after Treehouse—and as our share price climbed higher and higher, I forced myself to fight my bittersweet feelings and to focus on the now.
At nine o’clock, members of the press began filing past me to find seats inside Samba’s auditorium. Their energy suggested excitement over our announcement—a moment few people thought would ever come. I overheard their conversations and how amazed they were that there was a serious challenger to the mighty Samba, and how Scott Kraft must have walked on water. Less than an hour later, Scott strutted onto the stage, his cheeks ruddy and his face glowing with pride. The Samba CEO followed, wearing a stoic expression, like a general who had lost the war but got out with all his men alive. Perhaps there was a hint of a smile, one that suggested he was pleased—as though he knew the new agreement would end up being a positive move. When he stopped at the podium and stood beside Scott, the click, click, click of cameras was almost deafening.
After the two leaders made their prepared statements, Samba staff roamed both sides of the auditorium’s aisles carrying microphones to the journalists whose hands shot up with questions. Most of them wanted to hear from Scott—how the deal impacted his long-term hopes for Treehouse, whether it meant he would be more actively involved in operations, and more. I stood up and took a seat next to Jonathan—it felt right to be next to him at this moment. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “This is going to dominate tomorrow’s headlines.” I grinned, knowing my family and Kate would be proud of our achievement; I wondered if Peter would feel the same. I had kept my distance as he requested, but I missed him and wished he were here. He would have made me feel better about Scott’s cancer news, and about my uncertain future. If I could only have a hug, I’d feel better—safe and secure again.
Five days after my return from Los Angeles, Scott appeared just outside my office doorway and said, “You know I don’t write recommendations, but I’m sure if you drop my name at Stanford they would let you sit in on classes next quarter.” He looked healthier than he had on the airplane—there was color back in his face and he seemed less frail than before.
“I’m going to Ion,” I said without enthusiasm. “I accepted a job there.”
“What?” he asked, looking disappointed and surprised.
“I’m going to work for Andre Stark.”
“Goddammit, Sophia! That is not what I told you to do,” he shouted. I had read his face wrong—he was neither disappointed nor surprised. He was simply disgusted. “I told you to create a new challenge for yourself, not to take another fucking IR job. And certainly not for that man.”
I felt my cheeks flush.
How dare he tell me what to do? He’s the one forcing me out! So dammit, I’m going to be fucking rich!
“This isn’t about you anymore!” I argued, loudly at first, but only whispering the last syllable of the last word because it was just then that I understood why Scott didn’t like Andre—he foresaw the changing of the guard and it frightened him.
“I just don’t understand why you would take another IR job unless you’re trying to chase the money,” my mentor said, interrupting my thoughts. “And if you are, then we really haven’t taught you anything at all.”
More calmly now, I tried to explain, “This is all very easy for you to say. You already have more money than you could ever spend and you’ve had your life’s great successes.” Then I added with more emphasis, “At this point you could fail all you want, but the fact is that you’ll always be known as the man who changed the world—the man who revolutionized the personal computing and animated film industries.”
Scott softened slightly and took two steps into my office. He looked as sentimental as I had ever seen him. “And you can too, but not with an IR job.”
My temper flared again, “You and Jonathan made me who I am—an IR person! You can’t just suddenly say that that’s not good enough and act as if, with the snap of your fingers, I’ll have some brilliant idea that will solve world hunger!”
Scott’s pursed lips and fiery eyes suggested that was exactly what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to be an extension of his legacy; not just an evangelizer of someone else’s vision, but an executor of my own. He wanted me to change the world, too.
“I know you’ve watched me closely, but watching from the sidelines is no way to live. You’ve got to get out there, study, and observe, Sophia. Try everything and anything that you find interesting because that journey, as rocky as it may be, will lead you to what you love.” Scott touched his lips with his left hand for a brief moment, then continued. “Go after that thing that gives you passion. You may fail at it, but that’s just an opportunity to try it again, only better this time.” He looked in my eyes for some sign that he’d gotten through, but I was too overwhelmed to show any reaction at all. One of the first things this man had ever said to me was that he didn’t explain things, so I’d spent three years at Treehouse trying to decipher Scott. But finally, he was explaining himself. Explaining it all loud and clear. He assumed my silence was a sign of resistance, so he shouted before storming out of my office. “If you take this job, you are not to speak to me for one year. I mean it!”
I wrinkled my brows and wondered if Scott knew how ridiculous he sounded. But his words weighed heavily on me. I asked myself
what gave me passion and I began to question what I wanted to do or be. How am I supposed to know? I’m only twenty-seven! I placed my hand on my stomach. Through my black ribbed V-neck sweater, the skin around my large abdominal scar felt numb. A sense of urgency filled me. I want to have it all—passion for my work, money, and love. At that moment, I had to focus on Ion. Who knew? Maybe the passion and money would be found there, and maybe, hopefully, Peter would come around, too.
Three weeks after the new Samba agreement was signed, it was time for me to leave Treehouse. I waited until almost everyone was gone before I left; it was Friday evening, so the office emptied out early. I can’t stand saying goodbye. Jonathan had gone home several hours ago, but not before he gave me one of his trademark bear hugs and handed me a stainless steel telescope inscribed with the words Fortune Favors the Bold. This carefully chosen phrase fueled me with the strength I needed to grab my purse and a small box of my personal belongings. I looked around my office one last time and gently closed the door.
The only visible light in the hallway came from Ashley’s office. Of course she’s still here. Carrying my things, I stopped at her door to give her an armless hug.
“We will miss you,” she said.
“Call me if you need anything.”
Ashley smiled. “He’s going to be fine, Sophia. Don’t worry.”
“Please take good care of him.”
“You know I will,” she said. Then she turned to the console behind her, picked up a box, and said, “He left this for you. He said you would understand.”
I set my things down and chuckled at the sight of the box, which was dark blue with Patek Philippe embossed on the top. Inside was a rose-gold watch with a plain cream-colored dial, gold Roman numerals, and a matching pearly beige alligator band. It’s beautiful.
“Did you pick this out?” I asked, looking at Ashley.
“Of course I did. You know Scott doesn’t believe in watches. But he’s always felt bad for taking yours so he said to buy you a new one.”
“Thank you, Ashley. It’s gorgeous. I wonder what he did with mine?”
“He threw it away,” Ashley said with raised eyebrows. We looked at each other and laughed. “He’s a gem that way, isn’t he? Anyway, I thought you’d like this one. There’s also something that’s been delivered to your new apartment. That one Scott picked out himself.”
When I arrived home from Treehouse, Audrey’s car was parked in front of my apartment. As soon as I opened the front door, I heard Ava’s voice singing inside. “Hello?” I called out as I climbed the stairs leading to my flat.
“Hi,” Ava shrilled, then Audrey added, “I hope you don’t mind I let myself in with the key you gave me.”
“No, no problem. What’s up? We didn’t have plans, did we?”
“No. I just had to open the door for this delivery. Ashley called me a few days ago.”
I stepped onto the landing, then proceeded through the wide, arched open doorway into the living room. Against the wall was a huge glass fish tank, and the sight of it sent a shiver up my spine. I heard Ava’s feet rush toward me and turned to pick her up; we both peered into the carefully lit aquarium. My niece squealed with delight at the brightly colored fish inside, but I saw beyond the fish. My bottom lip quivered and tears streamed down my face, but I laughed all the same.
Inside swam a small octopus.
Chapter 21
“Ai-ya, put on some lipstick, Mei-Mei. Ladies should always wear lipstick. And please get your car washed! You must take care of these things,” Mom shouted from her front doorway as she examined me walking to my car. Just when I thought she was finished, she threw in one more zinger: “I have no idea why you rented your own apartment when we live just ten minutes away from your new office!” Without turning around I waved my hand to acknowledge my mom while kicking myself for deciding to come “home” last night. In doing so I’d traded traffic for my dear, wonderful mother, who’d spent the morning sharing her opinions about my mistakes with Peter and reminding me that I was “no spring chicken.” In some ways it was reassuring to see that Mom was up to her old antics, but I would have appreciated a more relaxing morning before my first day at my new job.
Ion’s new office was located in a rustic section of Palo Alto ten miles south of my parents’ home. It was not an obvious setting for any type of company. Slopes covered in tall grass, oak trees, and wild mulberry bushes filled the landscape, yet hidden within was a technology mecca—a place where Silicon Valley stalwarts had set up shop three-quarters of a century ago. A deer casually grazing by the side of the road raised her head as I drove by; feral jackrabbits hopped along to complete the idyllic fall setting.
“I think I’m close, Kate, so I should hang up soon. But when are you finally going to go on your honeymoon? Your wedding was five months ago!”
“I know! But Mark’s slammed at work and I don’t have a break from school, so we’re just doing a quick getaway to Cabo San Lucas for now. You should come with!”
“Ha! Yeah, I’m sure Mark would love that!”
Kate’s invitation was genuine, and I felt touched by her kindness. I knew she was worried about me because of what had happened with Peter, and she expected that any moment I’d fall into depression. “Let’s not forget how you reacted to the Daniel breakup,” she said.
“Well, first of all, we haven’t officially broken up. He’s just busy right now.” But it had been nearly two months since I’d heard from my boyfriend, and although I didn’t miss him any less than before, I wanted to give him the space that we deserved. It was important for Peter to have the time to evaluate whether he could accept all of me—work, health, my batshit crazy family—and to know he could still walk away if any part of me didn’t suit him. I also needed to think seriously about the commitment Peter had asked for—I didn’t want our relationship to be just another “thing” that I jumped into like I had my jobs. Nothing is forever couldn’t apply here, and the permanence of it all frightened me.
“So what’s going to happen? What are you and Peter doing?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know yet, but don’t worry about that. Let’s call it a holding pattern for now. You two lovebirds go ahead and enjoy. Besides, I should work at least a week or two before I take off,” I joked.
“Work is for suckers,” she said.
“AMEN!”
Ion’s huge parking lot was only half full when I arrived, but something told me that Andre would make sure it was completely full within no time. Ion was in a hiring frenzy—it takes people to save the world—and I felt lucky to be part of what I believed would be an amazing company.
A wide cement path ahead led to a plain, unmarked door, which served as the entrance into a two-story square building (circa 1960s) with dark-tinted windows. Although I’d just been kicked out of my last job, I felt surprisingly confident as I strutted up the path wearing a light gray cashmere dress and black heels. My hair was neatly pressed by one of my most valued possessions—my flat iron.
Ion’s plain, dark gray lobby was unfurnished except for a long reception desk that looked like it belonged inside the service department of my BMW dealer. A glass display case ran the width of the entire lobby; inside the case, Ion T-shirts, sweatshirts, and other branded items were on display. I considered buying one for Peter before realizing I was an Ion employee now and that there would be plenty of time for company swag.
“Good morning,” said a serious young woman who looked as though she had been hand-selected from a modeling agency catalog.
I considered announcing myself as the new vice president of IR, but it sounded too presumptuous. “Hi. I’m Sophia Young. I was told to ask for Jacob.”
“Human resources,” she declared, seeming to say this more for herself than for me. “I can’t tell you to take a seat because we don’t have any chairs yet, but I will let him know you’re here.”
I nodded and took a few steps to the right, then pretended to peruse the items in the glass case
. What I was really thinking about, though, was how my first day would be. A few minutes later, a handsome, fair-skinned man in his forties with curly hair and oval wire-framed glasses sped toward me from the hallway behind reception.
“Jacob?” I asked.
“Hi, Sophia. So nice to meet you in person,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
He looked exactly as a VP of human resources should: friendly, warm, approachable.
“Sorry for the wait,” he continued. “I’ll give you a quick tour and show you your desk. Then we’ll go and find Rajesh.”
Oh boy. Rajesh.
I followed Jacob upstairs, which landed us on the hill-facing corner of Ion’s office. I was surprised at the scene that unfolded in front of me: more than one hundred people sat behind matching gray workstations. Some stared into their computer screens, while others talked quietly on their phones. Everyone looked busy, but in a robotic and sterile way, unlike Treehouse’s lively, creative world. The rigid and formal atmosphere felt foreign compared to the casual and comfortable culture I was accustomed to. The confidence I’d felt walking in just a short while ago faded.
It’s okay, Sophia. You just need to get used to it here.
From where we stood on the wide-open second floor, it looked as though Ion was devoid of any individual offices. Cold steel beams and tin-colored exposed HVAC ducts ran across the high ceilings, making statements on their own and adding to the chilly temperature of the office. Most of the desks were lined up in a mazelike configuration in the center of the floor; smaller pods of desks were placed in the far corners. I turned my head slowly from left to right so I could get a complete view of my surroundings. My eyes scanned the open space, looking, hoping for someone wearing a smile—someone I might befriend. There were only a few women visible, and they sat inside the maze; they wore preppy clothing and seemed to be my age.