"Four, counting Snoots," Rob adds.
"Five now." Cory gives Julie a private, adoring glance.
They toast closing the deal, they toast each other, they toast Joe and Toby and Leonard Pillar.
The tapas arrive and are passed around.
Dawn looks at Cory. "So, do you still care about computer vision?"
"Oh yeah. There is some interesting work on reverse-engineering the human visual cortex using programmable GPUs and sparse matrices. Some guys around here are working on it."
"Hi Cory."
Cory looks up to see Trish. She's standing next to a tall, preppy-looking man in his early thirties. Trish herself looks as preppy and polished as ever.
"So, what's going on at VizAx these days?" he asks her.
"I'm not working there any more." She sees the surprise in his eyes and explains. "I think Richard misjudged his market, plus now he's got marital problems. Anyway, I'm working with a management consulting firm now. This is Tripp," she adds, flashing her eyes at her tall companion.
Cory and Tripp exchange polite nods.
Tripp is not bashful. "You're the Blind Tasting guy, aren't you?" he comments. "Pretty sweet deal you cut with Heubler."
"Tripp does financial analytics on the beverage industry," Trish explains.
"So, what's Richard going to do?" Cory asks.
She shrugs. "He's selling his boat, you know, to divide up the assets with his wife."
"That's a beautiful Beneteau," Tripp remarks. "Probably going for a song. I'd be tempted to buy it myself if I hadn't just put my spare change in a house in Tiburon."
Cory looks at Trish. "What's Pradip doing?"
"He's at CloudStax now. He got his green card."
"CloudStax is rumored to have a thirty-million-dollar valuation," Tripp adds, a little enviously. "They deliver speed and, on the Internet, you can never be too fast."
Rob, who had been staring into his wine glass, looks up, interested. "Do you know where that boat is now?"
"Still at the marina in Sausalito," Tripp tells him, smiling. "Believe me, I actually did take a look at her." Tripp gives a subtle glance at Trish and she takes the hint.
"Nice seeing you, Cory. I remember that Zinfidel shirt."
"What's a song?" Rob muses, after Trish and Tripp have departed. "Two hundred thousand?"
"What are you thinking?" Cory looks at his friend in curious amusement.
Rob looks at Cory. "That Beneteau is a serious blue water boat. The kind you could sail to Palau or Fiji. From here."
Cory is suddenly curious. "Wouldn't you need experienced sailors for that kind of a passage?"
"Yeah, you need some crew for a boat that size, you said fifty-four feet, right?"
"Good memory." Cory laughs.
Rob has a faraway look in his eyes. "I really miss sailing."
"So, what's involved in that kind of trip?" Cory asks, more seriously.
Rob begins describing basic principles of sailing and navigation to Cory, who becomes transfixed, focused, full of questions.
Dawn knows full well how Cory soaks up new knowledge, relentlessly seeking meaningful connections between what he knows and the new frontier he's exploring. And she understands and shares this passion for knowledge, it's the foundation of their friendship.
Watching him now though, she feels she is wandering around the landscape of her own life without a map.
Rob beams at Cory and Julie. "Are you guys really game? My friend Bruce is an excellent sailor. But, I doubt he could leave his day job."
"I know nothing about boats," Julie laughs. "But, if you want to go to French Polynesia, I do speak French." She's getting swept up in the fun of fantasizing about a sailing expedition.
"Maybe Tanya is a good sailor."
Dawn is shocked at her own statement and how she blurted it out.
Rob says nothing and Dawn knows she just created an embarrassing moment for everyone. She gets up abruptly to find the ladies' room.
Cory, seeing Rob's suddenly sullen face, pulls a pale blue business card out of his pocket and hands it to him.
Rob examines the card and reads it aloud: "Jeff Masters. Delivery Captain and Charters. U.S. Coast Guard Captain's License. 100 gross tonnage." He smiles, his enthusiasm returning. "This guy could definitely be useful."
"He's based in Sausalito where Richard's boat is."
Rob looks Cory in the eyes. "We can do this, you know. Do you want to take a look at her?"
Cory looks at Julie questioningly.
Julie shrugs, looking amusedly into Cory’s eyes. "I've sort of joined your pack."
On her way back to the table, Dawn walks past the bar and overhears snatches of conversation between two men. They are both in their late twenties, clean-shaven, short hair, with the sort of physical fitness that comes from playing tennis or racquetball.
The darker-haired one is saying, "They couldn't use a GDC on the aneurysm. He performed a non-occlusive anastomosis at UCLA last week."
Dawn stops in her tracks and turns to the guy. "You might be interested in an article coming out next month in the Journal of Brain Science. It describes a radically new technique for cerebral re-vascularization by David Hawking."
The two men, a bit stunned, turn toward her. Who is this pretty brunette with gorgeous legs in the short dress talking to them about craniotomies.
The blonde guy smiles at her. "You're a neurosurgeon?"
She shakes her head. "Molecular biologist. Oncogenic pathways mostly."
They look at her with deepening interest. The blonde one asks, "Do you follow Hawking's work for some particular reason?"
"Well, yes. He's my father. We chat and I try to keep up with his research on some level."
The dark-haired one speaks, in awe. "David Hawking is your father? The David Hawking?"
Dawn nods. She's been here before.
There is now unspoken, but fiercely competitive jockeying underway between the two men for who will prevail with Dawn. All the seats at the bar are currently filled, so neither can offer her a seat next to him.
They ply their credentials in witty banter; they're both residents at Stanford Medical School in the Department of Neurosurgery. The blonde one took a course from Greg Markov when Greg was still adjunct faculty at Stanford, before he left to start Genetica. These guys know they are hotshots, and they are cocky as hell. They're on the fast-track for becoming world-class neurosurgeons.
They invite her to sample their bottle of expensive Barolo, and the bartender pours her a glass of it. They keep the banter up, and they're both funny.
It feels good to share some laughs. She tells them her favorite genetics joke.
From across the room, Julie watches Dawn's interaction with the two men and wishes she would come back to the table.
"Assuming we get a boat, how long would it take us to get ready for an ocean voyage?" Cory asks Rob.
"It depends. For one thing, I have to give Jonas enough time to find a good engine mechanic. Guys with two-hundred-thousand-dollar machines don't give you repeat business unless there is seamless continuity of service. And, there's times of year you don't want to be crossing the Pacific."
"Do you think Dawn would be interested in going?" Julie asks, looking at Rob, who glances down at the table to avoid eye contact.
"We should ask her," Cory suggests, realizing he has no idea what Dawn really wants. He can hear her laughing with the two guys at the bar.
Rob sighs, and with sudden resolution, looks at his watch and pushes back from the table. He looks at Cory and Julie. "I'm gonna head out. Core, you should call that captain."
Cory nods. "I'll call him tomorrow. I'll let you know what I learn."
"Sounds good."
Rob leaves the table and walks over to Dawn.
Neither Julie nor Cory can bear to watch.
"Do you play racquetball?" the dark-haired guy is asking her.
"I used to. Over at Stanford."
"So Dawn, you need a ride
?"
Dawn turns to see Rob standing there, gazing at her with his open, no-games expression. But there is something else there, too. It's the look of a guy who has decided to charge the hill, whatever the outcome.
The two surgeons hadn't figured on a third competitor. They say nothing.
"I do, actually."
She turns to the residents, who are smarting from the defeat they've just taken in front of each other. "It was nice chatting." She sets her wine glass down on the bar. "And thanks for the Barolo."
She turns to Rob, who slips his arm around her waist. As they walk out of the bar, she slips her arm around his waist, too.
Julie watches them leave, and gives Cory a hopeful, questioning glance.
He smiles at her. "Wanna place bets?"
Rob's car is parked several blocks from the restaurant and they walk there slowly, enjoying the warm weight of their arms around each other. Dawn doesn't know how to start a conversation, and Rob hasn't said anything. The red Mazda is just ahead, parked under a tall oak. They reach the car and stop.
She feels compelled to say something. "You know I drove here. My car is two blocks that way."
Rob looks at her, nodding. He takes her face between his hands and kisses her, his thumbs just touching the sides of her throat. He can feel her pulse, beating like a little bird's.
No one has ever kissed her quite like that. It's almost more than she can bear. She can't look at him just yet. Instead, she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him as tightly as her strength will allow and presses her face into his shoulder, feeling his strong arms envelop her.
Rob bends his head toward hers, his lips brush against her ear. "Dawn," he whispers.
Chapter Sixty-One
Dawn's half-awakened consciousness is immersed in happiness. It's still not well-formed or clear, but it's profound.
She opens her eyes, fully awake now, remembering everything. She turns her head and another wave of ecstasy washes over her.
Rob is lying next to her, facing downward, asleep. His head is turned toward her, eyes closed, his breathing even and quiet. He has thrown the covers off in sleep, the length of his body exposed to the morning light.
Dawn admires the broad shoulders above his beautifully muscled back, the lean hips and strong legs. His hand is resting near her face and she can feel the warmth from it. She knows exactly how that hand feels against her skin, her hair, her lips. She'd like to touch his face, run her hand across his shoulders, but she doesn't want to wake him.
She leaves the bed quietly and wraps a short blue kimono around herself. She walks into her kitchen in bare feet. She'll make coffee. There are fresh Italian-roast beans in the freezer. What else?
She opens the refrigerator for a look and realizes there is a little milk, and not much else. She notices a pint of strawberries, nice ones from Draeger's. She rinses the berries and sets them on her kitchen table.
Then she gets busy making the coffee, peering a little closely at the grinder without her glasses. She doesn't notice that Rob has come into the kitchen, barefoot, wearing only jeans.
He walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She stops the coffee grinder and turns to face him, looking into his eyes with unabashed wonder. He bends toward her, pulling her to him in a long, affirming kiss, an unspoken declaration that last night remains deeply relevant this morning.
When they finally break their kiss, Dawn tells him. "We have strawberries."
He smiles at her and takes one from the dish, tries it. She finishes making the coffee and they sit together on one chair at the kitchen table, Dawn in Rob's lap. They drink the espresso black and feed each other strawberries, exchanging nearly as many kisses as they take bites of the fruit. It feels silly and fun and deeply connected. A cellphone brings back the outside world.
"That's not mine," Dawn tells him, getting up from his lap.
Rob heads into the bedroom, returning with his phone. It's Cory.
He sits down again, drawing Dawn back to his lap. He's listening to Cory, while he strokes her hair, her head leaning against his bare shoulder. "That sounds good. What time?"
A tiny cloud of apprehension forms in Dawn’s mind. Are they discussing the boat again? A voyage somewhere far away. She presses her head more firmly against his shoulder and he responds with deepening caresses of her hair, her cheek, as he talks to Cory.
"Yeah, I know Sausalito pretty well. What's the name of it? Cool. What? No, I'm not home right now." Rob pauses, listening. He gives a little smile. "Yeah." More listening. "Yeah." Rob puts the phone down and looks at Dawn.
“Are you going to see that boat?" she asks him.
He nods, smiling at her.
"So, am I invited?"
Rob laughs, hugging her hard against him. "I wouldn't go without you."
Genetica. Helen is engrossed in an online search of a chemical database when Pete walks into her office. He's come from a clean room and is dressed accordingly.
She looks up from her work. "What's going on? Dawn and Greg were behind closed doors for over an hour. Has something changed about that patent filing?"
He shakes his head. He knows the answer. He directs his intense gaze out the window of Helen's office a moment, back to her whiteboard which he quickly scans, then back at her. "You have any spare cycles these days?"
"Not many. Why?"
"I'm looking at the over-expression of Neu and it's relation to the mitochondrial proton gradient."
"Aren't you working on that with Dawn?"
"I was."
"Okay, Pete, what is going on? I knew she was mad at Greg."
He shifts his weight to his other hip, "She sees herself taking a sabbatical. I'm not sure Greg sees it that way."
"A sabbatical? You can do that in this business?"
He laughs. "I guess we'll find out."
She stares at him. "What are you saying? We have two drugs in the pipeline and we're understaffed. In fact, I'd really like a few of your cycles." Helen gestures to a nutrient signaling pathway model for Type 2 diabetes sketched in multiple colors on her whiteboard.
She looks more pensively at him. "She wouldn't just leave. Dawn loves her work."
Pete nods. "She does. But, she's going. Says she'll be back in a few months maybe. If Greg still wants her, if she still wants to."
Helen shakes her head. "Greg must have some options here. I assume he's not okay with this."
"I don't know whether he's okay or not. But Dawn was part of that wine blog, Blind Tasting? You knew they sold it for a chunk of change to some investment firm on Sand Hill Road, right?"
A look of understanding gradually replaces her expression of disbelief.
Pete cocks his head sideways, one eyebrow raised. "Greg would not appear to have options here. Come on, she didn't call in sick, she called in rich."
Chapter Sixty-Two
Sausalito. Time to cast off. Rob tosses the bow line to Cory, then steps onto Prana as she slowly pulls away from the dock. Sam, the first mate, throws the stern line to Julie and Dawn, then jumps lightly aboard.
They untie the fenders hanging off the boat's port side, while Captain Jeff at the starboard wheel steers carefully past other vessels in the marina, his diesel engine throttled back. Julie and Dawn wave to people on nearby vessels as their own graceful sloop makes her way out into the bay.
Rob and Sam rapidly remove the mainsail's protective cover, folding it neatly as they work it off. Rob releases the ties around the mainsail and loops them around Dawns shoulders for safekeeping. She watches him pulling the halyard as the mainsail goes up, undulating in the sunlight, catching the wind, straightening, tightening, capturing more energy. With several quick glances at the sail and its flying tell-tales, Rob adjusts the lines, shaping the sail beautifully for full performance on the current heading.
The big genoa unfurls next as Sam loosens the furling line and Rob pulls in the leeward jib sheet. When the sail is full and trimmed, Captain Jeff shuts off the engine.
There is only the wind moving across the lines and the sails now. They're sailing!
Snoots, strapped into his yellow life jacket, settles in out of the wind under the boat's spacious dodger. He looks beyond the cockpit at the surrounding sea, sniffing the air. He's got a happy, wolfy grin; his whole pack is on the move.
Prana's bow surges through the waves as she approaches the Golden Gate Bridge. They perform a tack to line up for their passing under the bridge. Rob and Sam work the jib sheets and wait for Captain Jeff's command to come about. Cory observes the maneuver and trims the main sheet after the tack. They're sailing under the bridge at eight knots.
Sparkling under the deep blue sky, Prana is now the uncaged white bird she was meant to be, a wave dancer heading out across a planet of blue water.
29° 16.79'N, 123° 23.46'W They've been at sea for days. There is always the water visible in every direction, and the sound of the wind. They are all learning about the sea and the boat, and about each other, and how to be alert and how to sleep in rhythmic cycles of two, three, then four-hour watches.
The men are letting their beards grow and Snoots performs his daily pees and poops on a piece of green astroturf that someone dips into the sea, secured with a length of line.
The newbies on board learn there are no ropes on boats, each one is a line. Every line has a name and a purpose, as does every knot and every standing and running piece of boat rigging, as does every edge and trim of every sail. These are technologies that go back to the ancient mariners and remain relevant, even in the digital age.
22° 21.37'N, 124° 22.58'W Prana is crossing the Tropic of Cancer amid burnished sunsets and dinners in the cockpit with intense conversations and good wine, Cory is an able chef in the galley and his fresh-baked bread is devoured eagerly, a real luxury for sailors making a blue water passage.
There are many hours to read and think, and ample time to practice the endless diversity of skills useful to a sailor.
They are learning new constellations in the night sky, whose radiance is breathtaking so far from the light pollution of cities. The Milky Way is a celestial highway stretching overhead each night, filling ever more of the sky as they sail southward.
Blind Tasting Page 32