It was all very exciting. So much so it had affected him in his sleeping hours. Last night he had had a shadowy, romantic dream, that he was as a gemologist transporting precious jewels for Sotheby's of London…then it shifted, and the gems had changed to secret documents for the CIA…then it turned out that he was working not for the CIA, but for them…the other side. When he left the hotel this morning for his meeting, he felt as if he were holding in his hands his fate, his life. Many lives. And then a macabre thought entered his mind, left over from his exotic dream: Where was the cyanide pill? He had no cyanide pill if he was caught. It was a preposterous notion of course, his imagination getting the better of him. Nevertheless, still a little intrigued by the role his dream had cast him in, he strode into William's office with his life in his hands and a feeling of pure elation, and just a little fear. Good fear.
"Hello, Matthew," William said heartily, rounding his wide desk with his hand extended. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal business suit, a crisp white shirt, and a burgundy tie. The man's entire appearance exuded sharpness, Big Business. In other words, ICP.
Matthew set his briefcase on the thickly carpeted floor, clutching the binder in his left hand. He noticed William's impeccable manicure as they shook hands. Matthew's own fingernails were chewed and dry, and he could not remember the last time he had had a manicure himself. He was beginning to feel as if he were underdressed, as if he had underestimated the importance of this date. Gripping the binder with both hands, he grasped all at once that it was not his costume that should match William's incomparability; it was the binder's contents: Wallaby. This was not just his life in his hands, it was his love. And it was perfect.
William's secretary returned with a tray of coffee, tea, and pastries. She placed the tray on the table, and Matthew asked her for a glass water.
"What's the matter? No more city fuel?" William said as he poured himself a cup of steaming coffee.
"Haven't touched the stuff in over two years."
"Next thing you'll tell me is that you're into flotation tanks and sushi."
"The sushi part, yes," Matthew said with a light laugh.
"How's Greta?" William asked, sipping his coffee.
"Oh, she's fine, thank you." Matthew accepted the glass of water and finished half of it in one drink.