He wanted to tell her that she had never once seen him as a sexual being when he was big and fat, but that he had no trouble seeing her as one now that she was getting old and a little saggy, and so where did she get off criticizing his emotional maturity? He wanted to say all of this, and he wanted to take back his 64-bit register and nurse it back to health. He'd been in a luminous creative fog when he'd built that can, and who knew if he'd be able to reconstruct it? He wanted to cry, to blubber at her for the monumental unfairness of it all. He stood stiffly up from his workbench and turned on his heel and walked out. He expected Suzanne to call out to him, but she didn't. He didn't care, or at least he didn't want to. # Sammy skipped three consecutive Theme-Leaders' meetings, despite increasingly desperate requests for his presence. The legal team was eating every spare moment he had, and he hadn't been able to get audience research to get busy on his fatkins project. Now he was behind schedule -- not surprising, given that he'd pulled his schedule out of his ass to shut up Wiener and co -- and dealing with lawyers was making him crazy. And to top it all off, the goddamned rides were back up and running. So the last thing he wanted was a visit from Wiener. "They're suing us, you know. They raised *venture capital* to sue us, because we have such deep pockets. You know that, Sammy?" "I know it, Wiener. People sue us all the time. Venture capitalists have deep pockets, too, you know -- when we win, we'll take them to the cleaners. Christ, why am I having this conversation with you? Don't you have something productive to do? Is Tomorrowland so fucking *perfect* that you've come around to help me with my little projects?" "Someone's a little touchy today," Wiener said, wagging a finger. "I just wanted to see if you wanted some help coming up with a strategy for getting out of this catastrophe, but since you mention it, I *do* have work I could be doing. I'll see you at the next Theme-Leaders' meeting, Sam. Missing three is grounds for disciplinary action, you know." Sammy sat back in his chair and looked coolly at Wiener. Threats now. Disciplinary action. He kept on his best poker face, looking past Wiener's shoulder (a favorite trick for staring down adversaries -- just don't meet their eyes). In his peripheral vision, he saw Wiener wilt, look away and then turn and leave the room.