by Bernie Su
“In fact, Charlotte graciously offered up Collins & Collins to be the first new media company I shadow. . . . Yes, that is remarkably convenient. But I don’t think it’s—
“No, it’s not just a ploy to stay with Charlotte. Although I would be staying with Charlotte . . . Dr. Gardiner . . . Dr. Gardiner, listen. I think it would be really good for me. On-the-ground experience before I actually get on the ground, as well as providing an in-depth study of the business side of new media theory. If you think that I am better served coming back to campus and taking those last four lecture classes, then that’s what I’ll do, but I think you know I’m right. This could be a great opportunity. . . .
“You will? I can? Thank you, Dr. Gardiner! Thank you so much! I promise, I won’t let you down.”
* * *
Since everything’s squared away at school, looks like I get to have a new adventure! Now, to the other phone call.
“Hi, Mom, it’s Lizzie. . . . No, everything’s fine. Charlotte sends her love. . . . No, she’s not married yet. . . . Because she’s working very hard and doesn’t need a man to define her? . . . Mom, could you please drop it with the Option C stuff? I actually wanted to talk to you about something. About maybe visiting with Charlotte a little longer than planned . . .”
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 5TH
I’m enjoying it here at Collins & Collins a lot more than I thought I would. Charlotte is the power behind the throne and Ricky Collins is proving to be a bit more tolerable when on his home turf. So much more tolerable, in fact, that when he suggested I stay longer than my allotted week, and when Charlotte pitched an idea that took me out of the classroom for my last year of grad school, I actually did it.
Honestly, I thought that Charlotte’s idea would be nixed on all sides, but Dr. Gardiner actually went for it. And my mom—once Dad took the phone away and I presume talked her down—was fine with it, too. So now, it’s actually happening. My last year at school will not be spent safely on campus; instead, I’m going to be shadowing four different companies and writing up a prospectus (prospecti?) for each—the first of which is Charlotte’s. And I have no idea what the other three will be. But I am researching like crazy, using those contacts I gained at VidCon, and Dr. Gardiner said she would pull a few strings if needed. Not to mention, I am yet again thankful for the fact that I’ve been keeping this journal. No doubt it will come in handy for my independent studies as well as my thesis, as well as helping me to stay sane.
Four independent studies. And a thesis. All on my own.
Oh, Lord.
And the truth is, looking back through these pages, I can now see that I wasn’t really looking forward to going back to school this year. Part of it is because it’s the last year—oh, dear, I’m going to have to grow up soon, let’s delay that as long as possible—but the bigger part is that it wouldn’t be the same. Not with the videos becoming such a big thing and everyone at school knowing about them. (Recording your life and putting it on the Internet invites scrutiny from people, you know, whodathunk?) And certainly it wasn’t going to be the same without Jane at home, and without Charlotte at my side in school. Either I’m changing very quickly, and everything is standing still, or I’m the one standing still and everything is changing around me. Either way, I’m out of joint with the world.
So apparently, to get myself back in joint with the world, I’m going to have to take part in it—at least on a temporary basis. Out of the nest. Wild and free.
No, it’s not scary at all.
But I have to say, seeing my bestie handle herself in the corporate climate of Collins & Collins has been inspiring. And from what I’ve seen of the division of labor between her and Ricky, Charlotte pretty much runs the place.
Ricky considers himself more of an “ideas” man. However, I haven’t heard him say one idea yet that didn’t come from his primary investor, Catherine De Bourgh, who got it from a corporate culture platitude book. I haven’t met the infamous Catherine De Bourgh yet, but Ricky keeps threatening—er, I mean promising—to take me along on one of his and Charlotte’s business dinners at the De Bourgh estate. I don’t think she actually lives around here—this far-out corner of the tech valley is not very swanky yet. (Hence why Ricky can afford office space and Char can afford a two-bedroom.) But she sure keeps a close eye on her investment. Considering that I’m shadowing this company, I doubt I can say no. Besides, it will make for a good paragraph in my Collins & Collins prospectus: How One Secures Funding, and What Asses They Must Kiss to Keep It.
But who knows, maybe I’m wrong—I’ve been wrong about a lot of people recently. Maybe Catherine De Bourgh is a pleasant yet shrewd businesswoman who will take me under her wing and teach me about this business.
See? I’m learning to be less judgmental already.
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9TH
I have dined with De Bourgh. I have been blessed by the Holy Venture Capitalist on High by being permitted into her presence while she masticates and imbibes. I was warned in advance not to think too lowly of myself, since she would not expect me as a poor grad student to have anything stamped in designer labels to my name, but that as long as I put together a neat appearance and was duly humble, I would be fine.
I was so warned by one Mr. Ricky Collins during the entire hour’s car ride to her house.
I was not warned, however, that Catherine De Bourgh would have other guests as well.
But let me back up. Let me indulge in reliving the entire night, from tempestuous beginning to bizarre middle to the relief of it having ended.
It was an hour drive to Catherine De Bourgh’s place, as she lives in the more established side of Silicon Valley. Not that where Collins & Collins is isn’t nice, but the area is what Ms. De Bourgh would term “developing”—which apparently involves a lot of chain restaurants and reasonably priced office space.
Apparently, Ms. De Bourgh’s neighborhood is the ritziest of the ritziest and boasts some notable neighbors. Ricky said that when Mark Zuckerberg moved in down the street from her, he tried to buy up all the other houses on the block. But—again, according to Ricky—the request was “quickly withdrawn, when he realized the estate in question belonged to the venerable Catherine De Bourgh!”
I’m not going to lie: When we turned onto her street, I kept my eyes peeled for a curly-haired guy in a hoodie.
And when Ricky called her home an “estate,” he wasn’t kidding. You know how Netherfield was the biggest house in the nicest housing development in our small town? The De Bourgh residence is twice as large, with fences three times as high. She has a guard at the gate. His whole job is to sit there and let people in. And honestly, who’s going to try and break into the house? It’s half a mile away from the road! I doubt Mark Zuckerberg is going to make that trek.
But anyway, we arrived, we were admitted (we were told, however, to park in the visitors’ lot, a hundred yards from the house), and Ricky, practically bowing, pulled me forward to be introduced to Catherine De Bourgh.
“Do you go by Lizzie or Liz?” she asked.
“Well, usually it’s—”
“Of course it’s Liz. No grown woman would ever go by such a juvenile name as Lizzie. Liz, I’ve heard so much about you. Mostly because you were Collins’s first choice for a partner but you decided against accepting a rather generous offer to come work for me, I understand. Must be nice to have such freedom of choice in your future prospects. Or are you one of those that simply don’t want to work?”
I heard a sound. It was the sound of any hope I had for finding a welcoming-yet-powerful businesswoman to learn from dying. Also, it was the sound of the thing Ms. De Bourgh was holding in her arms gasping for breath.
“Oh, poochie, you want your din-din, don’t you? Don’t you, my little Annie-kins?”
The thing—a decrepit, one-eyed rat-sized dog of some indeterminate but probably overly pure-blood breed—growled and shivered in response.
“Anakin?” I asked Charlotte in a whisper. “Like Darth Vad
er?”
“No, like Annie-kins,” she clarified. “Like she’s Daddy Warbucks and that’s her orphan.”
“It’s so heartening to see you rejoicing in the love only a canine companion can bring,” Ricky piped up, mostly to cover my unfortunately timed snort.
“Annie-kins is not a pet, Collins. She’s practically my business partner. Just like Miss Lu here is yours.”
“Uh, of course!” Ricky said hastily, ignoring the look of alarm from Charlotte.
While Ms. De Bourgh was busy air-kissing her dog, Ricky was busy rhapsodizing about the virtues of pet ownership, and I was wondering if she was being hyperbolic or if Annie-kins was on the CDB Venture Capitalist board, a door opened behind us.
“Aunt Catherine, the chef says dinner is ready. Oh.”
I turned. And saw one Mr. William Darcy.
Seriously. Talk about being blindsided.
If it was any consolation, he seemed to be as surprised as I was. I’m taking it as a given that his displeasure was equal to mine.
“What are you doing here?” I couldn’t help but blurt out.
“I . . . I’m having dinner with my aunt,” he replied. Then he coughed and cleared his throat. “I’m passing through, on my way back to San Francisco. . . . And you?”
“I’m . . . visiting Charlotte.”
“Mr. Darcy!” Ricky Collins cried and rushed forward to pump the unsuspecting man’s hand. “I am Mr. Collins, of Collins & Collins, your aunt’s latest investment! I have heard so much about you, especially from Miss Elizabeth’s many wonderful—”
“Mr. Collins!” Charlotte stepped forward, rushing to my aid. God help me—God help us all—if Ricky accidentally told Darcy about my videos. “Um, you have to give Darcy here a chance to, um . . . greet us first?”
“As always in matters of proper corporate decorum, you are correct,” Ricky said, deferring to Charlotte.
Darcy seemed to take this as his cue and nodded to Charlotte. “Good to see you again, Charlotte. And you, Lizzie.”
“Gracious, does everyone here already know each other?” Ms. De Bourgh piped up. “How disturbing. And how very fortuitous for you, Liz. Knowing important people like my nephew. One would not expect it of someone whom I’m assuming went to public school.”
Darcy took his eyes off mine for long enough to spare his aunt a glance. “We met this past summer, while I was staying with my friends the Lees.”
“Oh, the Lees! You must tell me how Bing is doing back at medical school in Los Angeles—and that darling Caroline, have you snapped that one up yet? She’s almost too good for you, what with her accomplishments and beauty—and she knows absolutely everyone worth knowing . . .”
It might have been a hunger-induced hallucination, but I think I saw Darcy blush.
“Aunt Catherine,” he said, a little warning in his voice. “The food must be getting cold.”
“All right, all right—we’ll go in now.” Ms. De Bourgh sighed. “Come on, Annie-kins, my sweetie pie. Let’s see if chef made our favorite nibbles.”
I’m going to assume that the food was delicious. I barely got to eat. I was so busy answering Ms. De Bourgh’s questions that by the time the meal was over, Annie-kins had eaten more than I had.
Sometimes Charlotte sent me sympathetic looks, but she’d already been through an invasive questioning like this before. She knew the only way for me to get through it was to lie back and think of England.
“Liz, do you play polo?”
“No.”
“Dressage?”
“No.”
“Anything horse-based at all?”
“No.”
“Goodness, what are they teaching young women these days?”
“I . . . used to play tennis.”
“And then gave up on it, one assumes—so typical.” She sighed.
“I preferred to focus on my education.”
“So, Liz, what are you studying?”
“Mass communications, ma’am.”
“What about mass communications is so important that you decided against becoming Collins’s second-in-command?”
“Um . . .” I began nervously, “considering the speed at which the world is changing in terms of how we talk and relate to each other, I consider mass communications to be vitally important.”
“Hmm . . .” Ms. De Bourgh’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Well, I suppose I can admire your desire to finish your education. But isn’t your family quite poor?”
“I . . . um . . .”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Just the two.”
“And you all still live at home?”
“Well, Lydia’s only twenty, and Jane actually just took a job in Los Angeles and moved out.”
“You say ‘only twenty,’ I say ‘already twenty.’ It seems rather stunted to me to have full-grown daughters still living at home with their parents. What a tragic commentary on the declining work ethic of today’s younger generation. I have always felt the middle class has been too coddled. I do hope you’re not one of those who are jealous of people with money. But we do work so much harder than you.”
“Of course you do,” I said. I think she missed the sarcasm, because Ms. De Bourgh just kept talking, blissfully unaware.
“Life must be pretty good if you’re willing to turn down a job with career growth potential. Of course, I prefer getting out there and getting my hands dirty, but that wouldn’t concern someone like you, who is content to sit at home and play with a camera and a computer and call it education.”
“But I don’t,” I said, unable to hold it back anymore. Charlotte’s hand squeezed my arm under the table. “I don’t ‘play’—I take it very seriously. And considering that you have invested in a new media company like Collins & Collins, you seem to take it seriously, too.”
I managed to do something amazing. Ms. De Bourgh stopped talking and actually looked at me. As did everyone else in the room. Darcy stopped with his fork in midair, his eyes keenly on mine.
“I mean . . .” I continued, suddenly nervous. “Surely, for someone who appreciates hard work, you can see that creating content and cultivating an audience are hugely difficult endeavors that are worthy of the time and effort it takes.”
“The advertising revenue is what makes it worthwhile—and quite honestly it’s the only thing the Internet is good for. Don’t you agree, William?”
Darcy, whose eyebrow had gone up while he stared freakishly at me, put his fork down. “The advertising is only as valuable as the audience watching—which responds to content quality.”
Wow. Did Darcy just back me up in my argument?
But before I could so much as blink, Ms. De Bourgh blew out a breath of frustration. “Of course you’re right, William. You always make the best sense. Just like my darling Annie-kins here. And of course like Caroline. When is that girl coming to visit again? You should bring her with you next time. Luckily, her work schedule is so flexible, such a complement to your rigid one.”
As Ms. De Bourgh kept extolling the virtues of Caroline and matching her and Darcy’s accomplishments (I believe something was mentioned about how Darcy playing the trumpet in middle school equaled Caroline having once sung for the Commander of NATO), Charlotte leaned over to me.
“Well done,” she whispered.
“What?” I replied, equally low.
“Keeping your cool with Catherine—I half expected you to hulk out.”
“I’m not going to hulk out in front of your boss, Char.”
“Really? Your fork says otherwise.”
I looked down. My fork was gripped in my hand pretty tight. And now bent slightly. Oops.
“Liz? Oh, Liz!” Ms. De Bourgh called out. “I was just saying to William here that I hope your sisters are better prepared for life than you are.”
“I believe we are all as prepared as we can be,” I spoke with assurance. Hey, I can balance my checkbook, which according to Bing is important. And Jane is manag
ing fine. And Lydia . . . well, two out of three ain’t bad.
“Really?” Her eyebrow went up—very like her nephew’s. “I certainly hope you can cook. Meals of culinary excellence like this one will be few and far between for those pursuing starving artist status.”
“I can heat a can of soup as well as the next person.” Mom never got very far with me in the kitchen.
“Hmmm . . . Do you paint?”
“No.”
“Fence?”
“No.”
“Tell me, what is your opinion of the Monroe Doctrine?”
Believe it or not, it only got more farcical from there. I have no idea why Ms. De Bourgh was so keen on needling into my life and pointing out everything wrong with it. However, on those occasions when she was not feeding her dog caviar or gushing to Darcy about his self-importance, I noticed that she kept glancing toward Charlotte. I can only assume that she was trying to ascertain that her newest hire in a position of extreme responsibility did not consort with rabble? That she wanted to make sure Charlotte’s friends were worthy of her? Or maybe she was comparing and contrasting Char and me in her own head and coming to the conclusion that Ricky had made the correct decision in hiring her—a conclusion I myself had come to a while ago.
It was just so bizarre that by the time we were on the ride home, I had to restrain myself from laughing—something I couldn’t do in front of Ricky Collins, of course. He just kept going on and on about how fortunate it was to finally meet the revered Mr. Darcy, and how he hoped to entice him into a visit to the offices. Charlotte hummed nicely and made notes in her calendar, while also gently reminding Ricky to not tell Darcy about my videos.
“He would certainly be embarrassed. And we don’t want to embarrass anyone as important as Ms. De Bourgh’s nephew, would we?”