Even Odds

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For Herman, always

Isabel Suarez leaned back
in her chair and pushed her yellow-tinted gaming glasses up into her black curly hair, rubbing tired eyes. If she had to stare at this level any longer, she was going to seriously contemplate jumping off the roof. After four straight days of design, the normally cheerful cartoon landscape of her game had morphed into a garish cacophony of shapes, the plucky protagonist starting to show up in her nightmares.

“How's it coming in here?” Matthew peered over the gray fabric wall of her cubicle, resting his arms on the thin separator that divided their work spaces. He looked as disheveled as she felt, his dark brown skin looking a little gray in the harsh fluorescent light, eyes red-rimmed. He was clearly leaning on the flimsy wall to hold himself up.

“It's all right, I guess. Just reviewing the last bonus levels. I think everything's ready to go.” She hid a yawn behind her hand. “How about you? You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Matthew yawned in an echo of her own. “I haven't been sleeping much lately. Guild wars.”

Isabel tried unsuccessfully not to smile. Leave it to Matthew to stay awake because of online gaming right before DiceCon, which was going to keep them all up way too late anyway. At least he was in the right profession. At a game design company like PI Games, it was possible to stay up all night playing on the computer and garner sympathy from coworkers rather than mean-spirited comments. She was a little surprised, though, that he wasn't still plugging away at their project. “I thought you'd be nose deep in code before DiceCon.”

“Nah, that's all on you now.” Matthew pointed at the screen. “The programming's golden. You're the one who has to approve everything. That's what you get for wanting to be design manager instead of slacking off with the rest of us.” He ran a hand over his newly shaved head. “I can't get used to this. I keep expecting to feel hair up here.”

She reached up toward his head. “Let me feel. Unless that's creepy. Is that creepy?”

“It's a little creepy.” He bent down anyway, and she rubbed his bald head. “You're lucky we're friends. I don't let just anybody rub my head.”

“You would if he was cute.” Isabel made kissy faces up at Matthew, who rose back up to his full height and laughed.

“Honey, if he's cute he's not going to be rubbing
this
head.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Isabel giggled, but the conversation made her stomach shift uncomfortably. The vague sexual jokes, the ones not directed at anyone in particular, those didn't bother her. But she'd learned the hard way that if she was going to be a woman in a mostly male workplace, she had to be the model of decorum, so she tended to shy away and clam up when the inevitable joking and ribbing that occurred among her colleagues got too provocative. It was easier just to let them think of her as asexual.

“Whatever. Just make sure to bring a hat, because I hear Boston's cold this time of year.” Only Matthew would think it was a good idea to get rid of a full head of thick, curly hair before traveling to Massachusetts in March, a total one-eighty from their sultry Tampa climate.

“It's sexy, though, right?” He ran his hand over his head again. “You think I can snag all the hot gays in Beantown?”

Isabel blinked. Growing up bilingual, she had a few language gaps in both Spanish and English. Was this one of those words that everyone knew but her? “What's Beantown?”

Matthew looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “I swear to God, we are going to have to teach you some Boston slang or you're going to make us all look ridiculous. There's a Wikipedia page out there. Do some reading.”

So it was Boston-specific slang. Good. Despite growing up with Cuban parents, she considered herself fairly Americanized, but the anxiety of being seen as an “outsider” never seemed fully to go away. She gave Matthew an eye roll appropriate to his snark. “Not my fault I'm the only one who hasn't gone to DiceCon before.” Isabel removed her glasses from the top of her head and slipped them back on her face. “I've got to finish this level or I'll be here all night.”

“Not now. Will wants to see the whole team in the conference room.” Matthew held up his work phone. “He just texted me.”

Isabel dug her own phone out of its resting place, nestled in her purse on the floor, and pressed the screen. “Why didn't he text me?”

“You don't check your phone when you're working. Will knows that.” Matthew put the phone in his pocket. “Come on. The game will keep for a little while. Grab your iPad. He's probably going to want to go over logistics.”

When they walked into the conference room, their boss, Will Garnett, looked up and waved them in with one hand while typing furiously on his tablet screen with the other. He was older than the rest of his staff, a product of the late 1970s gaming revolution who had settled into the industry and stayed, aging into an overweight, friendly man with long graying hair that he liked to pull back in a ponytail. Despite the fact that he was balding, he made the look seem retro and fun rather than sad and frightening. He'd single-handedly built PI Games from a garage to . . . well, about two garages now.

Isabel glanced over at the other half of their four-person DiceCon team. She was super excited to travel with them—except for Lloyd, who was too slimy for her taste. Too bad he was such a successful marketing and PR guy. He was deep in conversation with Dan, level editor, with the comically shaggy red hair and the pale skin that never seemed to tan no matter how long he lived in Tampa. Next to him, neatly groomed Lloyd with his mud-brown hair full of product might as well be part of another company altogether.

“Isabel, Matthew, come on in. I was just going over the schedule.” Will gestured to the open seats at the table.

Isabel sat and opened her iPad, finding the shared document where they'd been tracking all their plans. They spent the next few minutes determining shifts at the booth, dividing up responsibilities and reviewing their various tasks while at the convention. It was difficult not to feel overwhelmed: everyone else had been to DiceCon before, and even though they were promoting her project, she felt at a distinct disadvantage. There was no way to plan for something like this; even having been to conventions before, Isabel knew each event was different. She didn't like going into a new situation without knowing all the contingencies. While her partners could probably wing everything, she was a woman who liked an itinerary, a source of Matthew's frequent good-natured teasing.

Matthew must have seen the anxiety in her eyes and seemed to know not to pick on her for it, well-meaning or not. “It'll be fine, Isabel. Once we get there, you'll figure it all out,” he said encouragingly.

“I've been to conventions before, just not
this
one,” Isabel shot back, sounding more defensive than she would have liked. Matthew really was a good guy, and she was grateful for the vote of confidence, especially in front of the others. But she didn't want the guys thinking she was some sort of convention rube. All conventions were mostly the same—discussion panels and sweaty bodies and overpriced mediocre food—but going to a new place unsettled her more than she'd have liked to admit. Not to mention that she'd never even
been
up north.

“You find us a new art guy yet?” Dan brushed his overlong hair back behind his ears.

“Not yet, but I'm looking.” Will took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Isabel didn't envy him; it was hard on all of them losing their creative manager just before they started work on
Frost Prince
, their newest game, but it must have been especially difficult for Will, being the head honcho and all. “I just did a Skype interview with someone who seems promising. He's long distance but willing to relocate immediately. I'm going to talk to his references while you're all away. I plan to make a decision by Friday night.”

“Good luck,” Isabel said sincerely. Whoever Will hired would be her partner in design for
Frost Prince
, handling all the art design while she oversaw the gameplay.

“Thanks.” Will looked at the clock. “Okay, team. You'd all better head home. You've got an early morning tomorrow. The airport shuttle will pick everyone up here at five for your flight. Take care of yourselves up there.” His smirk landed directly on Matthew and his cue ball head.

“And dress warm.”

———

Caleb Portland was hammering
on a piece of metal so hard that he didn't hear the phone at first, his ears ringing with the resonance of hammer on steel and drowning out the Gogol Bordello music coming from the other end of the workbench. He managed to catch the call right before it went to voice mail, already knowing who it was from the personalized ringtone.

“Hey.” He sat down on the one metal stool in his otherwise cluttered workshop, a storage container he'd turned into an art studio. He hoped he didn't get any grease on the phone. Somehow, he always got grease on himself, even when he wasn't even working with grease. It was one of the mysteries of metal sculpting.

“Hey, man. I'm glad I caught you.” Henry's voice had an echo. No surprise; his former business partner traveled for work, now, and frequently called him using Bluetooth. “You haven't left for DiceCon yet?”

“I'm heading out in about an hour or so.” Caleb glanced at the cheap clock he'd hung on the wall. Shit, it was later than he'd expected, and he still had to shower. He did some mental math. The drive was an hour and a half from Yarmouth to Boston, and there shouldn't be much traffic this time of day. “Maybe two hours. I'm still working. Hotel check-in isn't until four, though, so I've got time. I'm trying to get the tail right on this stupid sculpture. What's up?”

“Don't call your art stupid. It's sick stuff, bro. And I just got called for a reference for you at PI Games.”

The phone slipped an inch out of Caleb's hand. If they were calling for his references, that was a good sign. At his Skype interview, the owner, Will, had told him they would call references for the final candidates and planned to make the decision by Friday. “Yeah? Did they sound interested?”

“They must be. The guy asked me all about you. I made sure to tell him what a shit partner you were, that if it weren't for you, the business never would have gone under.”

Caleb could hear the smile in Henry's voice. “Very funny.” Even knowing there were no hard feelings between them, he was still sensitive about their small game company that had folded close to a year ago. One more thing in his life that he'd put his heart into, one more failure in a long line of failures. Honestly, if all those stupid inspirational posters were true, he should have been a successful multimillionaire by now for all the character-building failures he'd overcome. At least he'd gotten to keep his friendship with Henry.

“No, I told them the truth. I told them you're the best 3-D art guy I've had the pleasure of working with, that you're the reason we were successful at all, that you've got an amazing vision for games, you're a team player, all that stuff. I even mentioned ‘leadership skills,' since I know it's a team leader position.”

Caleb could practically hear Henry making air quotes. He felt a wash of gratitude. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

“Nah, it's the truth. But really, are you sure you want to move to Tampa?”

In Henry's disbelieving tone, Caleb could hear echoes of how his parents would likely take the news, only with more accusation. “If they'll have me.”

On the other end of the phone, he heard nothing but the quiet noise of other cars.

“Henry, I've got to get out of here. I need a job and a fresh start.” He didn't need to specify exactly what he needed to escape from. You didn't stay friends with a guy for almost ten years and still have to spell it all out.

“This isn't about Katie, is it?”

Caleb grimaced at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. “No, it's not about Katie. That was years ago, Henry. You know that.”

Henry paused, and Caleb could hear Henry thinking, could picture the concerned frown on his friend's face. He rehearsed his retorts. Yes, he was really over her, which he was. No, he wasn't backing down on his resolution to never date again, and no, he wasn't being overdramatic about it. Everyone was good at something. Not everyone had to be good at relationships.

Henry didn't bring up any of those things, though, and Caleb couldn't help being grateful. “Okay. At least it'll be an excuse for me to come visit you down south.”

“If I get the job. That's a big ‘if' right now.” Caleb didn't want to think of the ramifications if he
didn't
get the job, if he was still looking for work in another three months. His savings could only handle another six weeks without a paycheck. The thought of resorting to being a legal assistant for his parents' firm again was enough to make him dry heave.