Hot Chips and Sand 51-55 Second Draft Comparison

Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved

“Not now, Vickie,” Jerry said. Since he was the one who signed her paychecks, her mouth slowly closed. But she glared at Cliff. Clients who threw tantrums to get their own way were annoying. Clients who used guile and reason? They were why shotguns were invented.

So she was going to manage a huge project with a ginormous budget and a team of the best tech people, many of whom also happened to be friends. So what? It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.

Been there, done that.

Failed miserably.

Chapter 5Five

                        Out in the hallVickie’s first job out of college was heaven. She got paid, and paid well, to work with a wonderful, creative, tight-knit bunch of young people.

Her favorite work was as part of a team. Every team she was on bonded well and generated tons of energy and ideas. She loved the work, but more, she loved the people, the environment.

But she especially loved facilitating other people’s success. Her own work was good, but helping others shine made her glow with happiness.

In those days she made many friend, but two were special.

One was her BFF Elissa, a tall hip-haired brunette who favored cowboy boots, pipeleg jeans and hugs. She introduced Vickie to bar shots and line dancing. But when the job needed to get done, no one stayed later or worked harder than Elissa. And she loved Vickie.

The other was Ron, who was classic tall, dark and handsome. A decent analyst and a sharp dresser, Ron’s goal was to run his own company and retire at fifty. Vickie was flattered the first time he asked her out and thrilled when six months later, he presented her with the pearl and diamond engagement ring.

Then the first promotion came, to project manager. It went to Vickie.

Ron took an active interest in her success and at the time she thought he was being helpful, although later she would see it as living vicariously through her. Only months after it was over would she see the latent jealousy.

But she was ecstatic when he brought her books with titles such as Top Down Management—Being Hard But Fair and The Stick, Not the Carrot: Why Workers Don’t Want To Work.

She tried following the books’ instructions, following Ron’s daily and sometimes hourly advice. She really did. But she was never good enough for him. Never autocratic enough.

And things changed around her. When she had to reprimand Elissa—hard but fair—their relation was never the same. Workers who had been friends grumbled. She found herself using the Stick far more than the Carrot. Even teams she’d worked so smoothly with before disintegrated.

Ron went from disappointed to criticism to outright scolding. She never quite figured out how it happened but they argued more and more until he broke off their engagement.

Those were her memories of being a manager.

She hated it. She hated what it did to her, making her sharp and critical. She hated what it did to her relations, breaking friendships.

To top it all off, upper management was disappointed in her performance and froze her out. She received no more promotions, only the worst of projects, and was stuck in a position she hated and wasn't good at. She left.

Now Cliff wanted her to do it again.

No way in hell.[MH1] 

* * * * *

As she swept out of the meeting room[MH2] , Mel Pinlow waylaid her.  in the hall. “Nice going, Ms. Executive. You’ve certainly proven how easy you are to work with. You’re sure to get on Mr. Hawkesclyffe’s good side with your winning attitude—and Jerry Fitzwater’s, too.”

Vickie kept walking. “Cut it out, Mel. I’m not in the mood for it.”

“You’re sure in some kind of mood. What’s the matter, Vickie? That time of the month?”

She thought about yanking her screwdriver out of her purse and excavating him a new one. Decided she didn’t hit him, but not by much. want to dig in that morass. [MH3] “That has nothing to do with what kind of job I can do.”

He laughed, a kind of a wheezy, choked sound. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re so sheltered, Vickie. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.  And Sir Humphrey Hawkesclyffe could open doors for you that you’ve never dreamed of.  Too bad forAll you have to do is cooperate. But you’re too stubborn.”

            “I don’t believe it, Mel. She stopped. “Whether I’m stubborn or not, [MH4] Cliff didn’t get where he is today by indulging in bevies of yes‑men—or women.”

“It’s Cliff now, is it? Well, maybe you can get back in his good graces…and saying yes is not such a bad idea for a girl in your position.” He winked slyly at her. “Or rather a girl in the right position might get him to say yes.”

            Enough was enough.  [MH5] “Mel, don’t you have work to do?” sheShe smiled sweetly, but her teeth were clenched.

He gave her one final leer as he, and left.  Vickie’s

Vickie kicked back into motion, her heels clickedclicking sharply on the tile floor.  ‘I’ve got to get out of here ,’ she realized[MH6] , ‘before I killhurt[MH7]  someone. Preferably Mel, although I’dshe’d give that truck of a man in the conference room a try.’

            The way Cliff had cut offcutting her questions in the conference room,off. Mel’s triumphant smile afterward, and especially Mel’s very condescending attitude just now made her wonder, though. . Her blood pressure rose. Maybe Mel was right. Maybe Cliff did want yes‑men.  Maybe Cliff and Mel were more alike than she realized.

            That did not light favorably on Cliff.  Vickie sighed.  Her knight in shining armor was looking very rusty indeed.

Tess caught up to herVickie in the main lobby of Fitzwater Software. “Don’t let Mel bother you Vickie.  He . You know he does that to all the women.”

            “I think he“He has a special soft spot in his heart [MH8] for me, though. Rotted out with acid.”

            “It’s just tooTess laughed. “Too bad he gets away with it.”

“Yeah, I know. . But as long as I don’t lower my professional standards to his, I don’t really care what he tries to pull.”  ‘Or lower my standards to match Sir Humphrey’s bargain basement professional ethics[MH9] .’Or imply. A girl in the right position. I mean really.

Tess shrugged.  As if she were reading Vickie’s mind, she said, “And I don’t think you’ll“Well, hopefully you won’t have to apologize too much to Mr. Hawkesclyffe.”

            Vickie gritted her teeth again. “Me, apologize to him? What did I do wrong?” Vickie stopped abruptly. First Phil, then Mel, and now Tess of all people were throwing that man up at her as if he were perfectly wonderful. Oh sure, he was rich and successful and blazingly handsome. So? Did that make him better than herperfect?

            Vickie’s heels starting ringing onPurr-fect, maybe. She grimaced mentally. Stupid attraction.

Tess shrugged. “Well, Mr. Hawkesclyffe is the floor again.  client. And our boss, now.”

“Oh, sure, Tess, that’s different.  He’sSir Humphrey is the boss. Yes, indeed, Sir Humphrey. . I’ll see to it that I do lower my professional standards for him.”

            Tess stopped She whirled and stalked away.

Tess stared after her friend as Vickie stomped out the door.  “Lower her professional standards for Sir Humphrey Hawkesclyffe?” she muttered.  “Hmphf.  “More like lower her your personal guard.”,” she yelled after her.

            VickieVickie slammed into her car and tore out of the parking lot. She was halfway home before she realized she hadn’t canceled the dinner date. What time had he said he would pick her up?  About, about six? She grimaced. Well, after that argument, Cliff would never come to get her.  Vickie was sure of thatbe the one to cancel. Guys didn’t like women who argued with them; big alpha guys who were used to running the show wouldn’t stand for it.

She left the freeway, unconsciously taking the route she usually did when she wanted to work out a particularly knotty problem. But there was no problem here. Oh, no, Cliff was not a problem.Sure he wasn’t.

Sure he wasn’t.            As for

She consciously switched her thoughts away from Cliff, to Mel, the. Ah yes, Mel. The best thing for him would be assassination.  ‘No, best not.  It’s bound to Not really. [MH10] It would get you talked about,her bad press and he’she was cruising for an early grave, anyway.  His, his last few performances were performance reviews pretty pitiful, and he’s getting. Not to mention a bad reputationrep for throwing tantrums whenever his plans arewere foiled by reality.’ …which didn’t apply to her, right? She hadn’t thrown a tantrum. She had voiced reasonable doubt.

Cliff, on the other hand, would probably be completely in control of reality, and would be unmoved by aany tantrum, let alone throw one.

Maybe Mel and Cliff weren’t so much alike after all.[MH11] 

---

 [MH1]So Eliza Knight's comment was--why doesn't Vickie want this position besides Cliff? It's great money, prestige. I thought about that and realized she was right (naturally :) and that Vickie, a strong, woman, would suck up her libido and just get the job done.

So I needed more of a reason for her not to want the management position. I already had a partial motive--she'd had a fiance at her first job and when their relationship fell apart so did her job--but the more I thought about it, the more that wasn't satisfying. It was backstory that could have happened to anybody and indeed did happen to Liese in Biting Me Softly (and to my mind was much stronger there).

I wanted a motive that arose out of Vickie's character, her particular strengths and weaknesses. And then I got it.

***Spoiler here***

Vickie is a people person. She loves being on a team and is the person who smooths things over. She doesn't seem to be special in and of herself but she makes everyone else on the team shine. She's the synergy. She's the Dua in the three-way aliens from Isaac Asimov's The Gods Themselves.

It fell into place. The worst thing I could do to her was push her into a situation where she's the sole lead. The hard-nosed commander rather than the Earth Mother healer. And I added this snippet of backstory.

 [MH2]With the inserted scene there's a delay between her leaving and Mel waylaying her. This bridges the gap.

 [MH3]"Hit" is a bit bald and cliche

 [MH4]One of the things I've had to battle is a mushy progression of thought--that is, "A, so C!" Clearer and better is "A, then B, then C."

 [MH5]Tells. I deleted this and put Vickie kicked back into motion, her heels clicking sharply to SHOW that's enough.

 [MH6]Filter words. Not necessary.

 [MH7]Violent and a bit cliche

 [MH8]Extra words make sentences bloated and cumbersome.

 [MH9]Sometimes it amazes me how much I write based on character dynamics I've imagined but haven't really shown. This seemed perfectly reasonable when I wrote it but editing hit me as totally unfounded, coming out of nowhere. So I cut it.

 [MH10]This section starts with a single quote. In the old days, that was the way internal dialog was noted. Now italics is the norm.

 [MH11]I've been editing this in chunks, working back and forth only as necessary. I think I took out the section that introduces this concept (Mel and Cliff are cut from the same rotten cloth) but don't remember.

When preparing a manuscript for final submission, I follow a three-step process, of which the first is a readthrough for timeline, character inconsistencies, and plot inconsistencies.

If I took out the introducing, that would be something I'd catch in the readthrough.

Hot Chips and Sand 46-50 Second Draft Comparison

Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved

He reached her and the blue of his eyes blazed. She squirmed in her chair. He smiled slightly and went on. “You are all familiar with digital technology, where the smallest piece of information can be, like a light switch, either on or off. You are also familiar with analog technology, where there is a smooth range of values, like a light dimmer or volume control. The HCC300 Digital‑Analog Logic Encoding chip combines both of these technologies in a single chip;. Thus it thus has the capabilities of both, and also the added capabilities of the combination of the two.”

This was all hardware, and Vickie’s company was a software consulting house. Time to nip this in the bud if she could. She cleared her throat. “Could you please explain how we at Fitzwater Software fit in?”

Cliff nodded. “The computers that we build on the DALE chip need programming smart enough to bring out the chip’s capabilities. I’m here to select an innovative software team to design and implement the code which will make this chip run rings around the competition.”  He spread his fine hands out, encompassing to the group at the table. “I need a driving, creative force, people who aren’t afraid to take chances, make changes or strike out into completely uncharted territory.”

Heads nodded, there were murmurs of agreement around the table, and even a few shining faces. Pretty soon and they’d be eating out of his hand. Vickie cleared her throat again.

“But I thought the Hawkesclyffe Computer Company already employed the best machine and assembly language people in the world.”

“Don’t be stupid, Vickie.” Mel smiled snidely.

Probably scenting a corporate kill. Rule Number One,: never tell a client he doesn’t need you.

Mel went on, “Of course Sir Humphrey employs the best. Which is why he wants us.”

Vickie felt herself growing hot between the intensity of Cliff’s scrutiny and the sly grin on Mel’s face.

“Ms. Johnston,” Cliff said. “While my own people will handle the interface between the brain and the heart of the machine, I want you to write the interface between the machine and the brain and heart of the people who will use it.”

“Just relax, Vickie. Sir Humphrey has everything under control.” Mel’s voice always grated on Vickie, but today it was like a buzz saw. Under his breath he said, “You should stop causing trouble, sweetheart. You’re way out of your league.”

Damn it, Cliff was not out of her league and she was not just causing trouble. She simply never said “yessir” when something didn’t make sense. Out loud, she said, “I still don’t understand. We’re to do the applications programs? Why can’t Hawkesclyffe Computer people do those, too?”

Mel jumped in gleefully. “Because Sir Humphrey has chosen our company, Vickie. The rest of us are honored that Sir Humphrey placed his confidence in us.”  He smiled sickeningly at Cliff. “We will do our very best to deserve that confidence, sir.”

Gag me with a thumb drive. Mel was such a corporate weenie. “But—”

“We will discuss this later, Ms. Johnston.” Cliff’s eyes were blue agates.

Vickie drew herself up in outrage. Next to her, Mel shot her a triumphant smile. That burned worse.

Cliff took tight rein on the meeting and completely overrode any further comments. He discussed the advantages of the new chip, then pivoted the topic back toward the software. “Since the people who will use this computer will be the best in their fields, the software itself must be the best. The end user is the end reason for our existence.” He paused for emphasis.

He paused for emphasis.[MH1] Vickie saw the opportunity and went for it. Did he think she could be shut up like a child? “Well, Sir Humphrey, if you want the best, you will obviously be going with Tess, our top designer, and Phil, our senior project leader, and the alpha programming team.”

“Obviously.” His reply threw her off.

Had he suddenly be comebecome agreeable?

“And you, Victoria Lynn Johnston, will be in charge of the entire project, both my people and yours.”

Vickie stared at him. She’d heard the words but they made no sense. Her, in total charge? Sure, she’d managed projects in her time, but nothing close to the million dollar program this one must be.

He must be insulting her to get even with her interrupting. She answered in kind. “Oh, yeah? I’m doing all the work? And what will you be doing?”

“I’ll be managing you. I think that’s work enough.”

She stood. “This joke has gone on just a little too far—”

“Yes, Mr. Hawkesclyffe.” Fitzwater, with a flourish, brought out pages of a contract. “Exactly the personnel you ordered—er, ah—requested. Two project leaders, three designers, five senior programmers, ten application programmers, and one top level management—ah, that’s you, Vickie.” He smiled a little weakly at her, which she acidly attributed to the doubled salary he was shelling out.

And then it sank in; her. Her knees folded and she sat abruptly. She stared open mouthed at Cliff. He really meant it. But it made no sense.

Around her people were talking and shaking hands. Mel took the opportunity to smirk triumphantly at her.[MH2]  No one saw the total illogic of what Cliff was doing.

As the meeting broke up, she tried talking to her boss Phil about it. “You do realize this means you’ll be working for me, instead of the other way around.”

“Yep,” Phil said calmly. “Hawkesclyffe wants it that way, and he’s been right too many times for me to complain. Look at how the HCC200 chip made tablets a grocery store item. Double the speed and half the price of anything out there.”

Vickie grimaced as Phil turned to speak with a developer. Could he not see how weird this was?

“Congratulations, Vickie.” Her friend Tess stopped on the way out. “It’s about time you got a good assignment.”

“I don’t know how ‘good’ it is. I’ll be responsible for twenty of our people and an unknown number of Hawkesclyffe’s. Please tell me that at least you’ll be there.”

“Yes. But you’ll be working with Mr. Magnificent, not poor little me.” Her eyes lingered on Cliff, who was arguing over several pages of contract with a slightly green Fitzwater.

Not her, too. “Stop drooling justfor one second and see this objectively please? He controlled every aspect of that meeting with either honey or a big stick. And look at him haggle with Fitzwater. I don’t think Hawkesclyffe is the easiest man to work with.”

“No, he looks pretty hard to me.” Tess’s eyebrows rose suggestively.

“Arrgh. Stop that.” Vickie said it both to Tess and her rapidly rising pulse. “Tess, this doesn’t make sense. I’ve never managed a team of more than six people. The biggest budget I’ve had to work with is a hundred K. You can’t tell me that this is the same, just bigger. Complexity explodes with the size. A small system, a small problem, a midsize system, a big problem, a big system, fecking impossible. Forget it. I can’t do this, and I’m going to tell Mr. Know‑it‑all over there, just see if I don’t!” She stomped her way to Cliff’s side.

Tess looked mildly at Phil. “Well, she’s talked herself into her own mediocrity again.”

She shot Tess a glare. Mouthed I can hear you.

Tess just gave her a big grin and a thumbs up.

Phil smiled. “I don’t think Sir Humphrey’s going to let her get away with it, though.”

“You think he can get it through her thick skull that she can’t ignore her own talents?”

Can. Hear. You. Even the hairy eyeball didn’t have an effect. Friends were such a pain.

“If anyone can.”  Phil chuckled. “If anyone can.”

Vickie turned pointedly back to where Cliff and Jerry were still hashing out minutia of the contract. It seemed to her Cliff was deliberately ignoring her, his attention completely on Fitzwater, speaking reasonably but firmly, as if to a recalcitrant child.

“I’m sorry, Jerry, but I really must have two Q.A. people for this project.”

George Woo, out of Customer Service, wandered over just then. “Q.A.?” he asked Vickie.

“Quality Assurance,” she snapped back.

George, who was unaccustomed to anything but cheerful politeness from Vickie stepped back to where Mel, scenting corporate blood, came up.

“That’s a good point, though,” said Vickie, seeing her opportunity to get Cliff’s attention. “You should have at least two Q.A. You can substitute my position.”

“Ms. Johnston.” Cliff spoke mildly but his eyes were gleaming in a way that unnerved her. “I said we would discuss this later. We will discuss this later.”

In spite of those searing blue eyes she opened her mouth to argue.

“Not now, Vickie,” Jerry said. Since he was the one who signed her paychecks, her mouth slowly closed. Stupid clients.

---

 [MH1]Oops. Everything belonging to the speaker goes in one paragraph. He paused goes with Cliff's paragraph, not Vickie's.

 [MH2]Eliza asked what Mel was doing, and she was absolutely right. There are places where certain characters, based on their individual motivation, will intrude on the scene. I have recently learned to try to imagine a scene from all the POVs of all the characters in it, not just the main character. Then you know if you should add something like this.

Hot Chips and Sand 41-45 Second Draft Comparison

Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved

Two days later she paused outside the heavy oak door of the conference room. Time to meet Sir Silverhair. She pushed through, closed it and turned.

And had an attack of déjà vu the size of Mount McKinley. Or the size of the man opposite, the her. The man listening to Phil but whose blue eyes were cutting through the length of the entire room to stare at her. His eyes burned with the same fire as if she were wearing that same bit of lace as the last time they had met. When they’d kissed... Her cheeks heated.

He smiled slightly, and she knew he had seen her remember it, and her whole face went up in flames. Stupid redhead’s complexion.

She turned to the conference table, blindly putting her materials down on the glossy cherry surface, trying to collect herself. She thought she heard Phil move toward her, glanced up, grateful for the distraction, and stopped cold.

He certainly was not half-naked this time. Just about where Phil’s eyes would be, she met a subdued gray silk, a perfect foil for his pristine white shirt. His dark suit was obviously tailored, fitting his large frame perfectly. No padding; she remembered the breadth of those shoulders and power of that chest.

Steady down, girl. Vickie took a deep breath—and stopped mid‑inhale with a rattle. Naked, he smelled of skin and sweat and a hint of spice. Civilization did nothing to tame that, only adding a faint layer of expensive cologne and the rich smell of good cloth. Bottle it up and sell it as instant aphrodisiac.

He pulled out the chair next to hers. The sight of his well‑manicured nails and artistic fingers, slender but strong, startled her. Why hadn’t she noticed those hands before?

Dimly, she was aware of Phil introducing them.

 “Vickie Johnston, may I present the founder and CEO of the Hawkesclyffe Computer Company and inventor of the HCC300 chip, Sir Humphrey Hawkesclyffe.”

Her hand flew to her throat. This was Humphrey Hawkesclyffe? How could a Humphrey be a Cliff—? Hawkesclyffe…oh, no. Not Cliff., as in Clyffe.

Insanely, what passed through her mind at that moment was why didn’t Sir Hmphrey have a British accent?[MH1] 

“We’ve met,” he said dryly. “Ms. Johnston.” He held out his hand, the one she’d been staring at.

Automatically, she took it. Somewhere along the way she’d dismissed the impact of his body, his touch, as an overactive imagination, a tired woman, and a warm man. Now, fully rested, in the very unromantic setting of the conference room, his handshake sent tingles up her spine, warm, wonderful shivers down to her belly, and started her heart racing.

Which was totally unprofessional.

Shaking herself, she forced a reply. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Hawkesclyffe, under improved circumstances.”

“It depends on your perspective, Ms. Johnston. I found our last encounter rather—stimulating.” His lips twitched.

“Stimulating?” Phil’s eyes gleamed. “How so?”

Why, the little hustler, she thought. He thinks he’s got a lever to make me take the account. “I’m sure Mr. Hawkesclyffe is exaggerating.” She smiled sweetly at the big man. “I was under the impression you found our meeting rather routine.”

“Please, Ms. Johnston. I told you last time we met—call me Cliff.”

Sweet circuits on a stick. Phil looked like a dog in a proctologist’s office. This would never do. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hawkesclyffe. You would have to call me Vickie before I could possibly—”

“Of course, Vickie. Does that stand for Victoria?”

How did this infuriating man stay one step ahead of her? She sat quickly. “Phil, don’t you want to take Mr. Hawkesclyffe—er, Cliff—to meet Jerry?”? He’s over there, near the podium and you can just catch him before the meeting.”[MH2] 

“YourYou mean your president?” Cliff slid smoothly into the chair next to hers. “We’ve met.”

“They’ve met.” Phil nodded, smiled, nodded and walked away.

Vickie fumed. SomeoneThat did it. If she ever broke into the payroll system, someone was so getting a decimal point moved on his paycheck.

“Jerry Fitzwater is already aware of how I feel about you.”

Vickie’s attention swung back to Cliff. Even though he had delivered that searing kiss, he had otherwise treated her like a sack of potatoes. Could he feel anything like she felt? “Which is?”

“You are the person for the job. I will have no other.”

Naturally, the job. Vickie tried not to look disappointed. “What a fine compliment Mr.—ah—Cliff.” Well, what did she expect? Kulinahr had told her flatly that Cliff was a businessman.

Kulinahr. How sad and tired he’d looked at their last meeting. She had a sudden urge to take Cliff by the shoulders and give him a good shaking. If she could reach his shoulders. If she could shake a truck.

She scowled at him. “I don’t think our president is aware of how I feel about you.”

Cliff eyed the man they were discussing. “I’m afraid he is.”

Then he turned to her, and she received the full impact of his penetrating gaze and her blood heated faster than sugar in a microwave. She had to resist an urge to fan herself. Damn it, Sir Humphrey is after your brain, not your body. “Oh really?”

“Yes. Jerry said he’ll double your salary as a bonus if you take the job.”

She blinked at him. How had he managed that? Fitzwater had been known to cut his own kid’s allowance for not trimming the grass around the garden after mowing two acres of lawn, yet Cliff talked him into doubling her…double?

“I’ll add a hefty bonus upon completion of the project, if that’s not enough. And I’m a bit more generous than your president.” He smiled slightly.

Good Gates, what that smile did to her innards should have been illegal. It certainly was incendiary. She shifted in her chair to get her blouse to loosen up, swallowed a couple times, and said, “Why? I’m good, but for that kind of money, so are a lot of other people.”

“It takes some time to explain, and I’m afraid the meeting is about to begin. I would prefer to discuss this later—perhaps over dinner?”

“D…dinner?” An intimate dinner with the big hero might have been one of her fantasies in the last couple weeks. But no, she had to remember Kulinahr. That Cliff was a businessman, not a hero. “Thank you, but I—”

“Great. I’ll pick you up about six. We’ll go to Rusterman’s.”

“But—”

“Okay, let’s get started.” Jerry rapped on the podium at the end of the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, can everyone sit down so we can begin this meeting?”

A whump announced the chair on her other side being filled. A waft of cheap tobacco and sweat soured by a shirt on its second day announced who was filling it. Mel Pinlow. Naturally.

Mel thought he was brilliant. In reality his domain name [MH3] was Mel dot huh? Sitting between Mel and Cliff was like being between the sun and Neptune. Or the downgraded [MH4] Pluto.

Jerry Fitzwater rapped for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen. Today begins ana historic occasion, and an historic collaboration…”

Vickie tuned out Fitzwater’s droning. She could not, however, tune out the warm scent of the man next to her. How had he done it? How had he, against her wishes, cornered her into going out with him? She sighed. All right. Truthfully, it wasn’t against her wishes. But it was against her best interests. Getting involved with a man like Cliff, who could leave an impression on her after an instant that blotted out years of other men, but who would never consider her anything but good business…no, that was trouble she didn’t need.

A brilliant thought occurred to her. She’d just say no. Now, while he couldn’t argue without disrupting the meeting. She nerved herself to say no. Going to say no, going. Going to do it now…she. She turned toward him, to whisper her regrets.

And nearly fell into his empty chair as he rose to take the podium. Three strides accompanied by enthusiastic applause (—most enthusiastic from Tess and Joy, Vickie noticed) —[MH5] brought him to the head of the table, a position which seemed to be made just for him. He removed the podium and stood comfortably surveying the group. Then he spoke.

“AnA historic occasion? Perhaps. With the speed that new information and knowledge is coming to us, I’ll settle for being on the cutting edge of technology. Or, as some prefer, the bleeding edge.”

He stopped and, one by one, met the eyes of each person around the table. His penetrating gaze seemed to assess everything: their reactions, their mood, even their expectations.

He reached her and the blue of his eyes blazed. She squirmed in her chair. He smiled slightly and went on.

---

 [MH1]It's implied that since Vickie didn't notice his accent when she first met him as Cliff, that he doesn't have a different one than hers. This states that assumption explicitly and raises the question of, if he's a Sir, he doesn't. It's not answered until later but at least it's on the table and doesn't look like an oversight or mistake.

 [MH2]To meet Jerry implies he's not there in the room with them.

 [MH3]To differentiate from a king's domain.

 [MH4]Eek. This is what can happen after a few decades go by.

 [MH5]As a trained programmer I use parens to group ideas. Editors do not like this. They are apparently jarring to non-programmer readers :)

Hot Chips and Sand 36-40 Second Draft Comparison

Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved

“Exile? Surely you’re going back eventually? Can’t you raise an army, or convince Congress or the U.N. to help, or…?” She wasn’t quite sure what aid a deposed ruler had at his disposal, but there had to be someone who would help.

“Normally I could. But the world at large has more on its mind than a tiny country in the Middle East. By the time I could get any viable forces gathered, the protection grid will be in place and Fahrrad will be immune to attack.”

Vickie stared at him, at first not comprehending. “Cliff is going through with the deal?”

Kulinahr shrugged. “He is a businessman. Since he cannot do business with me, he will do business with Fahrrad. And probably turn a better profit. The man does not know how to bargain.”

Vickie leaped to her feet. “There are more important things than the bottom line!”

“I doubt if Cliff thinks so. Please don’t be upset on my account, Vickie. I owe Cliff my life. And I will avenge my people eventually.”

Vickie felt strangely sick, her head and heart disagreeing violently. Though she understood the business sense she couldn’t shake how wrong it felt. Assisting a cruel dictator in locking up an entire country? Unthinkable.

Power could be used, abused, or wasted. Villains abused, idiots wasted.

Heroes used their power for the greater good. She’d thought Cliff was her hero.

Where was her hero’s basic human compassion?

And admit it, Vickie. You thought you found the perfect man. Well, they only exist in fairy tales.

“Vickie? Are you all right?”

She looked up. Kulinahr’s eyes rested on her with warm concern. She coughed, covered her momentary lapse in concentration [MH1] by picking up and sipping her coffee. “Oh, sure. Just a little worried about you. What will you do now?”

“Writing letters.” He gestured at the desk. “I am not without influence. Perhaps there is still something I can do before the project is complete.”

“Which is how long?”

“Cliff estimated the project could be done in under six months, with some new machine at his disposal. Not long, but still some time.” He shook his head and sighed.

“You’re getting tired. I’d better go.” Immediately she cursed herself. She had never been one for social niceties. She stood awkwardly. “I mean, um, thanks for the coffee.”

He lifted his face to her and smiled. “Thank you, Vickie Johnston. Just talking has helped me. I will see you again.”

Back at her hotel, Vickie was left feeling unusually helpless. She’d offered Kulinahr any assistance he might need, but how much could she reasonably give? She was a project manager and software developer, not a government or even a hero. That was Cliff’s job.

She flung herself onto her bed. When she’d needed rescuing he leaped into the breach, strong, dynamic, heroic. More than that, his intelligence in coping with the situation, his gentle attitude when she had nearly broken down had impressed her to her core.

She shook herself angrily. She’d allowed herself to get carried away with daydreams, and now she was paying for it. Reality sucked.

She got up off the bed, unaware of the wet pillow she had left behind. She phoned the airline and paid an exorbitant fee to shift her departure time, returning immediately. A stiff smile on her face, she headed home.

* * * * * * *[MH2] 

The phone rang loudly in the empty room, clanging five times before the young blond man ran, cursing, through the doorway. He caught it on the sixth ring.

“I didn’t expect you to call.” He was still panting a little.

The voice at the other end was wry. “I didn’t expect to call. Something’s come up.”

“Not more bad news, I hope.”

There was a silence. The blond man waited patiently until the other voice said, “Good news, rather. I’ve solved that problem we had in staffing.”

The blond threw himself into the chair, grunting as he hit. “That was quick.”

Another pause. “I know. But it’s right.”

“If you say so. One less thing to worry about, at least. Do you want me to make arrangements?”

The line chuckled to itself for a few seconds before the answer came. “No. I’ll take care of it myself.”

After he had hung up, the blond grinned to himself. From the interest in his boss’s voice, it actually looked like two less things to worry about.

Chapter 4

Vickie had been back at work for two weeks when the meeting notice came. She read it once, quickly, then to keep her anger from making her do something stupid, she printed it out and read it again.

Nope. Still pissed. She stormed into Phil’s office. “What in the name of all the gods of logic do you think you’re doing?”

Phil Westerby, slightly balding but otherwise showing little of his rapidly‑approaching middle age, turned from the credenza where he was brewing tea. “Shut the door if you’re going to yell at me.”

She slammed the door shut behind her. “I don’t have time for a new account. I just got a handle on the Geocom database, and you know the Delmar conversion is behind because of that little escapade I had—”

“And you are my top analyst and I need you on this assignment.” Phil took his tea and seated himself calmly behind his desk. It was a signal, so, agitated though she was, Vickie sat too.

Her brain started working again. While it was true that the president of Fitzwater Software and Consulting, Jerry Fitzwater, would try to make them work twenty-six/ten if he thought he could suspend the laws of time and space—bless his money‑grubbing soul, he’d be more than happy if she took on another client—Phil usually did a better job of running interference.

Something was up.

Phil set down his tea, removed his high refraction glasses, and started polishing them, slowly and deliberately. “Have you heard of the Hawkesclyffe Computer Company?”

“Before seeing them on my already overfull client list?” She waved the printout of the meeting notice. “I know a little. Hawkesclyffe is a genius and the HCC is his hardware firm.”

“A high‑powered hardware firm. They’re growing at Moore’s law’s rate—Fortune 500 now, and if their latest chip is even close to what the engineers say it is”—Phil leaned forward and tapped his glasses pointedly on his desk blotter—“they will take over the industry.”

“Okay, so they’re important. Give them to someone who has time for them.”

He made a small noise and perched his glasses on his nose. “You don’t understand how important this is. If we become HCC’s software firm, the new HCC300 series will be bundled with our software. It will make our company one of the biggest players in the market.”

“Good, it’s important. Give it to Mel. He’s always belly aching that he can do everything better than me.”

“Can’t.” Phil smiled gently. “He asked specifically for you.”

 “Mel?”

 “No, Vickie. Sir Humphrey Hawkesclyffe. He’s got a reputation. Brilliant, egocentric, hard to please. And we want to please him, don’t we?”

Vickie groaned. She supposed geniuses only had to be nice to their loan officers, not their vendors. “Why me? I’m too young to deal with an old fart named Sir Humphrey.”

“First, he may be old but he’s known for his radical ideas. Second, even though he’s a British knight, his company is based in the United States.”

She still pictured him like Alec Guiness, slender, white haired, and carrying a walking stick. “Why did he ask for me? Why not you, or Alice, or any of a dozen higher level management?”

Phil shrugged. “Dunno. But he wants you. So you’ll be at that meeting. And your temper won’t. Got it?”

“Got it.”

---

 [MH1]Eliza asked "covered what?"

 [MH2]Eliza noted most books use 3-5 stars

Hot Chips and Sand 31-35 Second Draft Comparison

Hot Chips and Sand
Copyright © 2012 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved

She hadn’t even ordered a drink when two men arrived. According to their name tags, they were with the Music Educators convention but their twin MIB suits shouted secret service. They walked with that alert power too, and when they greeted her it was with the pass phrase Kulinahr had written: “The ship is in the harbor, but the dogs only smell pepper.”

“They sneeze and run away.” She stifled a smile.

One nodded. “Ms. Johnston? Please come with us.”

She followed the twins outside to a black Mercedes saloon with smoked windows. It was almost a parody but she couldn’t quite suppress a shiver as she slid into the plush air-conditioned backseat. She half‑expected a blindfold and was grateful when the two men got in front and ignored her through the entire drive. She did not recognize any of the streets they traveled anyway, having been to Montreal only in her childhood.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript house in a quiet residential neighborhood. One man, possibly the one who had spoken before but she couldn’t be sure, turned to her.

“Knock on the door three times. Tell the person answering the door your name and your mother’s maiden name.”

Great, she thought as she got out. They’re not Middle Yemeni secret service. They’re from my bank. But as she knocked she couldn’t dampen a thrill of anticipation. A housekeeper admitted her and led her upstairs to a small room on the second floor.

The deposed ruler was alone, seated at a writing table. When he saw Vickie, he rose with a smile. “Vickie Johnston. How good of you to come.” He met her with a warm handshake.

“Prince Kulinahr. It was kind of you to see me.” She followed him to a small grouping with a settee, coffee table set with silver service, and chairs.

In some ways he looked better than the last time they had met. He was neatly barbered and his clothes were impeccable. But there was more gray at the templehis temples and when she got closer she saw the lines in his face, deep grooves that only come from fatigue and worry.

He gestured at the settee, took a chair across from her and poured them some coffee.

Vickie sat and took her tasse gratefully; it had been a long day and difficult flight. She sipped.

Her eyes snapped opened like abruptly retracting window shades. The liquid was thick and grainy, just short of chewed coffee beans in water, hot enough to scald her tongue.

“The coffee does not agree with you? Would you care for something else?”

Blinking fast, Vickie carefully swallowed. “No,” she began hoarsely. She cleared her throat. “No, this is fine. It just takes some getting used to.”

Kulinahr smiled slightly. “My English university friends also found the taste somewhat unusual. I would understand if you did not want to finish.”

Vickie grimaced and tried another sip. It was not much better, but now she was determined. “No, it’s good.” She sipped again. “You went to a Western university?”

“Yes. Education is prized in my country, and all members of the royal family attended Oxford University in England. Each of us was assigned their course of study. My brothers were set to work at engineering, finance and education. My cousin studied medicine, and is now director of the main hospital in Misr.” His pride shone in his smile.

“And you ran a country. Impressive family.”

Kulinahr’s smile faded and he put his cup down. “Yes. Ran. I no longer govern my people.” His jaw clenched. “They are in the hands of that madman, Fahrrad. And I trusted him. I believed him. I made him my guest!”

Vickie set her own cup aside. “What happened?”

“It began less than a year ago. As a small country trapped between many larger ones, we always have our share of external problems. But suddenly we began to have internal issues as well—bombings, kidnappings, and acts of horrible violence right on the streets of Misr.”

“That’s terrible. Did you find out who they were?”

“They said they were freedom fighters, trying to liberate the oppressed in my country. I was furious. Who had I oppressed? They were an affront to my pride.” Kulinahr sighed, and looked into the small cup in his hand. “I now think their purpose was to distract me from my true enemy.”

“Who was…?”

“Fahrrad.” Kulinahr’s jaw worked. “Hafez Fahrrad was well known for eliminating terrorist threats in his own country of Kalifad. As that is just across my border, I was particularly aware of his reputation. I sent an emissary to him, to ask for his assistance. I should have known… I should have seen…the man was a dinosaur in his own country. Decades past the age of perestroika, Fahrrad is a staunch Stalinist.”

Vickie grunted. “Did you know that then?”

“Yes. I did not worry, however. I thought our country was far too progressive to give him a handhold. But I did not take his desperation into account.” Kulinahr fell silent, his eyes fixed on some point deep within.

Odd, she thought. He’s a modern day ruler, yet put him in a galabiyya and keffiyeh and he looks like somecould have come straight out of a book on the ancient patriarchs must have looked. The more things change…

When the job had first come up, and Vickie had researched Middle Yemen. Driven by, she’d discovered it was Kulinahr’s ambition to eradicate poverty and ignorance among his people, that raised the nation had risen from a poor, squabbling country to one of peace and prosperity in just a few decades. She considered it Which, from Fahrrad’s point of view. The rising prosperity of his neighboring country at the time, probably looked like a cash cow just over thehis backyard fence. “How did it happen, then?”

Kulinahr sighed again. “I’m not saying he completely took me in, but he painted a very pretty scene of a repentant Communist. And though my citizen’s militia is very good, they cannot be on watch all the time.” Kulinahr shook his head, as though he still could not understand it. “All he had to do was help us keep guard while we waited for the security system to be designed and built.”

“Security system?” Vickie’s ears pricked. That sounded like the project that had started all this. Fahrrad had also been looking for a security system.

Vickie had known the new account would be trouble from the moment she was assigned to it. Never in her wildest dreams, however, did she imagine how much trouble.[MH1] 

Col. Hafez Fahrrad was the name on the cover letter. She had done her usual thorough research and had discovered he was presently the dictator of a Middle East dot on the map, Middle Yemen by name, recently coming to power in a particularly bloody coup.

In person he was a slight man in an overdesigned uniform and a too-big hat, with small dark eyes and a tidy mustache.

At their first meeting, in her company’s conference room, Fahrrad had stood as if transfixed, eyes flat and glassy. “What an unusual color for hair. It is like a sunset.” He reached out to touch a curl.

She automatically slapped his hand away. She still could see his expression, his eyes sparking with anger.

But he controlled himself, and actually smiled, with a toothy, gold capped grin. He gave a slight bow in apology.

Vickie knew weaseling when she saw it. Trying to get back in her good graces to get a better price for his system. “So what is it you’re looking for, Colonel?”

“I wish to implement a security system. Shall we sit?” He took a chair, then patted the one next to him coaxingly.

She stayed on her feet. “I’m not sure we can help you. Here at Fitzwater Software and Consulting, we generally work in database design and implementation.”

“Yes, so my advisor said. He also said that what I want is not so different, is it, my dear?”

Terms of endearment in the business environment grated on her. If Fahrrad hadn’t been a client, she’d have made an issue out of it. As it was, she asked politely, “And what do you wish to make secure?”

His slow, sensual grin had not endeared him to her at all. It really looked more like a leer, ruler of a country or not.

“Your government’s headquarters?” she prompted. She remembered from her reading that Fahrrad had infiltrated the palace and slaughtered all the people loyal to the Prince Kulinahr in the coup. The world thought he’d killed the Prince himself and she supposed at the time that he’d want security to make sure no one pulled the same trick on him.

“Not my headquarters, my dear. For the entire country.”

Her legs wobbled under her and she found herself sitting next to him. The tech for building security was  commonplace. But a whole country…? “Wouldn’t you be better asking your military about this sort of thing?”

He brushed at his mustaches. “Ah, no. We are a small country with little in terms of development resources. But you and your company have just the combination of initiative and experience that I am looking for.” He took her hands and held them tightly. “I’m sure we will work well together.”

She managed to squirm her fingers out of his hands and had to steel herself against shaking the ick off them. “I’ll have to check with the vice president of development on this, Col. Fahrrad. Unless you’d like to speak with her yourself?”

“No, sweetheart, I’d rather with you.” Again that oily grin. “Such beautiful, unusual hair.”

She shuddered even now, remembering it.

Two days later, as she left work, men had kidnapped her. They hadn’t said a word, but they didn’t have to. Their guns spoke for them quite clearly. She knew better than to get into their car but with four of them grabbing her and carting her off she didn’t have much choice. She tried to not be a complete victim; as they dragged her past the clipped hedges she struggled briefly, chucking her briefcase surreptitiously into the nearest bush. She hoped it would alert someone, anyone that something serious had happened to her.

She only started suspecting the Middle Yemen connection when her kidnappers broke their silence. Only one spoke English. She didn’t recognize their native language but she overheard a conversation punctuated quite frequently by Col. Fahrrad’s name.

And then they had arrived in that place of sand and sweltering heat and dank buildings, and produced that skimpy teddy, which they had requested, quite nicely if you didn’t consider the rude manner in which they had pointed at her and  the guns they had used to point with, that she put on. Then they had burned her own clothes.

“Hey, I might need those,” she protested.

“Not with the Colonel, Madam,” the bilingual one answered.

They went into the city to celebrate, leaving one guard behind. Maybe they thought she wouldn’t attempt escape since she was nearly nude. Well, she was modest, but she valued her life more highly than modesty.

The remaining kidnapper was relieving himself in the next room, and she simply let herself out. She snuck down the stairs.

And saw the other three men, just entering the lobby, carrying food and drink. Apparently they’d only gone out to get it.

She dove behind a large sculpture that looked like a curled up triangle. For a moment it seemed as if the men hadn’t seen her, but an old woman coming down the stairs stopped and pointed at her, eyes bugging from under her veil. Desperately Vickie put finger to lips, hoping the sign for shh translated. It must not have because the woman started yelling at her.

The three kidnappers came running. Vickie had then begun the flight which had brought her to that truck of a man. To Cliff.

“We are a small country,” Kulinahr  was saying. “Surrounded“We are a small country surrounded by three much larger countries. I think the best way to protect our interests is through technology rather than manpower. A defense net may not have worked for a nation so large as your United States, but for us, it is more feasible.” He sighed a third time, and sat in the chair opposite herback, shaking his head. “Ah, to explore our land for oil without fear of invasion. To release my people for peaceful pursuits… Well, you can of course see the advantages.”

Vickie nodded and picked up her coffee again. It was a little easier to drink now that it had cooled.

Kulinahr rose and started pacing. “That is how I met Cliff.”

She frowned. “In connection with Fahrrad?”

“No, in connection with our defense. He came to me and proposed a system unlike any I’d seen, a marvel of advanced technology. Moreover, he wanted to build the component manufacturing plant in Middle Yemen. In one stroke, we’d double our protection and our revenue.”

“Cliff is a businessman?” Vickie’s mouth fell open. “But…but I thought he was an international spy or something.”

Kulinahr’s cheeks folded in a smile. “He has some rather, ah, unexpected skill sets. He knows things no mere businessman would. He warned me that Fahrrad intended to overthrow me. Alas, I did not believe him.”

“If he knew Fahrrad was plotting against you, why didn’t he do something?”

“He did. He saved my life.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t he have done something about Fahrrad?” Vickie shifted uncomfortably on the couch. The dictator’s chilling smile, his constant reaching for her hair, still plagued her.

“I don’t believe you understand how much he did just saving my life. Fahrrad brought his own guard with him. They are, like the Colonel himself, ruthless. The entire palace staff…friends and allies…was murdered.”

“I’m so sorry.” Impulsively Vickie put down her cup and took Kulinahr’s hands. Though she’d read the coup was bloody, she hadn’t understood the personal cost. Now she could see the cost through the sheen of unshed tears in Kulinahr’ eyes and the slight tremble in his voice. Her heart went out to him and she pulled him into a brief hug.

“Thank you.” His eyes were bright with unshed tearsHe blinked, and one tear trickled down his cheek. He dashed it away.[MH2]  “If not for the bravery of my personal servant and, of course, Cliff, I would not have made it out of the palace alive. As it was, I had to remain constantly on the move in the desert highland to avoid capture. It was only later that I could return to the city long enough to stow away on board that ship.” He slid hispatted her hands out of hers and patted hers briefly before rubbing his eyessitting back. “Now I am in exile.”

---

 [MH1]For reasons of grounding the reader, I moved this earlier.

 [MH2]I showed her sympathy here by taking his hands, but the small fillip of showing got lost in the dialog. Important emotions Important emotions should be given enough words to equal their importance.