TUNA LIFE (17 page)

A gasp rippled through the crowd as a beautiful woman rolled a massive 3D printer from Makerbot onto the stage. This was hard-core porn for the geeks, and they were fighting to come closer to the stage.

Andrew’s face erupted in a smile, as he thanked Richard Smith. He knew the employees of Tuna Life would be fully motivated for the next few weeks. He was about to bring home a new toy for them.

37

He lifted her long blonde hair over her ear so that it wouldn’t interfere with the camera’s view. She was still wearing the silver-coloured high heels, as she kneeled, sucking his dick. He looked down at her. Her big blue eyes, encircled by a thick layer of mascara, glanced back at him, attempting to make her as sexy as possible. Eyes halfway closed, as if to give off the impression that she loved the taste of his dick in her mouth.

She moaned, while her right hand massaged his balls.

Longing eyes. Longing for recognition. Longing for a moan or a shiver through his body that would confirm he enjoyed her treatment.

He moaned as if on command. Their bodies were coordinated now. She had been with enough partners to know how to turn a man on. He had seen enough movies to know what was expected of him.

He tilted his head backwards, and pushed his chest forward as he repositioned his right foot an inch or so. The move would make his dick appear more prominently on the video, make it look larger than it was. He put his left hand on his left butt cheek. With his free hand he grabbed her long blonde hair and pushed her forward. Her mouth made gurgling sounds as he gradually pushed farther into her mouth. Tiny drops of tears appeared in the corner of her eyes, as they transformed from sexy ‘take me now’ to ‘what the fuck are you doing, you are choking me’ eyes. She attempted to push him away, desperately wanting to get his dick out of her mouth. The dick that was threatening to shut off her oxygen supply and slowly choke her to death.

He pulled her even closer.

Like a pig on a spit.

Before he let go.

If he continued for too long there was always a danger she would have time to think. He had his dick in her mouth. All she needed to do was to bite down, to close her mouth.

But they never thought quickly enough.

They were all alike.

“You’re too big,” she said, wiping her mouth with her left hand. She didn’t want to admit she had been scared shitless, wouldn’t want him to think she was a prude and spoil her chances of getting the lifestyle of her dreams.

With his left hand he grabbed her throat and hoisted her up from the floor. He put his mouth close to her ear, as he stuck his right hand in between her legs. With two fingers he spread her sex lips and felt the warmth of her vagina. With practised movements he manoeuvred his dick inside her in one single push.

He remained standing, with his dick now completely consumed by her clean-shaved pussy.

“You like it rough? I’ll give you rough.”

It was a long time since he’d been this turned on. He could still remember when. The situation had been so different. Not like this, far from like this.

Was this how normal people had sex? Was this how normal people lived? Could he ever hope to change? Could he ever become normal? His thoughts were cut short by a hard blow from the girl’s elbow to his stomach.

The girl resisted.

He tightened his grip around her throat.

She wouldn’t last long. Max fifteen seconds.

He could already feel life leaving her body.

38

Richard Smith gently placed the paper on the table in front of them. Andrew Engels looked at him. He didn’t say a word though. Then he glanced over at Roman. Roman seemed unfazed where he sat, sipping his vodka. It wasn’t even noon, but it certainly didn’t look like it was his first drink of the day.

“You’ll have to handle it. This reporter could cause a lot of damage,” Richard Smith said.

“I was supposed to do an interview with him several weeks ago. He’s an asshole. I met him at a restaurant in Main Beach, all prepared to give him an hour of my time. Then he gets a phone call, and just decides to leave. I was left there, like a fucking moron. There’s no way I’m going to let him interview me again.”

“Well, something has to be done,” Richard said.

“Did you know about this?” Roman asked. He was facing Richard, but it was obvious the question was meant for both of them.

Andrew replied first. “No, I knew he was an eccentric asshole, but not this.” He stroked his hair.

“It’s been difficult to conduct a proper background check on Frank, as he has only lived in Australia for the last few years,” Richard Smith interjected.

Roman lifted his right hand, as if to signal he didn’t accept any excuses. “Fix the problem,” he said.

Richard Smith nodded.

The problem was that Frank Geitner had opened a Twitter account, and in the space of twenty-four hours he had managed to insult homosexuals, Indians and the prime minister.

“We’ve closed his account and released a public apology to the parties he insulted,” Richard said.

“Let’s not forget he is a fantastic programmer. He’s the one who developed the Tuna Life app from scratch,” Andrew said.

“He tweeted that Tuna Life has a bunch of monkeys working in India, that the prime minister has Down syndrome, and that homosexuality is a fad. It doesn’t matter if he is a fucking genius. He has to go,” Roman said.

“He’s special. I’ll admit that. But I don’t think he needs to go,” Andrew begged.

“Correct me if I’m wrong. But didn’t you burst in here a couple of weeks back, telling us how Frank was a liability for the company? How he didn’t take anything serious?” Richard Smith said.

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think he is a liability anymore.”

“We’re in the middle of putting a price tag on the company,” Roman Bezhrev interjected. “We can’t afford any distractions. Get rid of Frank, or you’re both out. Do I make myself clear?”

“A price on the company? We’ve just raised five million,” Andrew said.

“This is a continuous process, Andrew. You’re responsible for the day-to-day operation of Tuna Life. Richard and I handle the financial bit.”

“I understand,” Andrew said. He reached for the paper on the table in front of them. Scott Davis, the arrogant journalist who had cancelled his interview. Scott Davis, the journalist who almost singlehandedly had discovered and made the rest of the gold Coast aware of all the hidden technology gems in their backyard. Now he had written a scandalous article about how a Tuna Life employee had managed to insult almost every single minority in Australia on Twitter.

Thank God Frank hadn’t insulted the Muslims - that would have been the icing on the cake.

Andrew felt sorry for Frank though. He had probably been high when he went on his tweeting binge. He’d probably not meant a word he wrote. But in a society where political correctness had become the rule, there really wasn’t any alternative: He had to go. A famous soccer player or an actor could probably have gotten away with a public apology. But for an eccentric programmer as Frank Geitner there was no way out. He had to be sacrificed for the sake of the company. Andrew’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing the last few hours. Every news outlet wanted a statement. Everybody wanted to know who was behind the Twitter account @TunaFrank. And claiming the account had been hacked wasn’t an option. Not when you were a technology company.

Luckily no one had yet figured out who owned the account, and the company’s official response was that the person in question no longer worked for Tuna Life. The media craze could however cause irreparable damage to the company’s reputation. This was Andrew Engels’ first real test as CEO. This was his opportunity to show the board, and the world, that he was the right man for the role.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, and rose from his chair.

“Find out more about this journalist, Scott Davis,” Roman said after Andrew had left them. “He’s shown up at Crazy Kangaroo twice this month, asking staff questions. Find out what he is planning.” Roman emptied his drink.

Richard nodded. “Ok. But you need to get rid of the clubs, Roman. They’re just not worth it.”

Roman stared angrily at Richard. He knew Richard was right, of course. Neither the strip club nor the night clubs fit into the image he wanted to create of himself. If he wanted to become a respected businessman, something had to give. But he didn’t appreciate being lectured by Richard.

No one told Roman what to do.

39

Vesna Connor sat waiting at the bar at the Q1. The high-rise had been the world’s tallest residential tower when it was completed back in 2008. It was now of course surpassed by a half a dozen skyscrapers in Dubai. But for a brief moment it had done wonders for the coast’s collective self-esteem. It didn’t matter how ugly the building was, at one time it had been the world’s tallest residential building.

Vesna Connor had chosen to conduct the interview of Andrew Engels, the CEO of Tuna Life, herself. It was actually Scott Davis’ job, but the public relations person at Tuna Life had politely requested that someone other than Scott Davis did the interview, and at the moment Vesna had no other journalists she trusted for the task.

Scott Davis was a good journalist, but he was hardly a diplomat. Somehow he had managed to offend Andrew Engels. The CEO of Tuna Life was the new rising star on the Australian tech scene. A tech scene Vesna considered herself partly responsible for creating. The least she could do was to adhere to Tuna Life’s request.

Scott Davis’ articles about the new economy had started to receive both national and international attention. Several small tech companies in Sydney and Melbourne were in serious discussions about moving to the Gold Coast to be closer to where it all happened. Even the mayor had jumped on the wagon, and declared Southport and Varsity Lakes the new tech hubs of the coast. He had promised to roll out high-speed fibre-optic broadband, and provide free WiFi zones around the universities to attract new start-ups. Vesna’s position within the paper had strengthened as some of the new tech companies had started to heavily advertise in the Gold Coast Times’ internet edition. Talk of further cost cuts had therefore been placed on hold for the moment. They had in fact hardly been mentioned at the last management meeting.

Andrew came strolling into the restaurant, clad in a black T-shirt, dark blue Calvin Klein jeans, and screaming red Converse shoes. It was his new standard outfit. He had apparently said in an interview with TechCrunch that he was inspired by the late Steve Jobs. To avoid spending too much time choosing what outfit to wear for the day, Steve Jobs had bought himself half a dozen black turtlenecks. Andrew Engels had said that the job as CEO of Tuna Life was so demanding that it required his full attention, 24/7. The fact that he didn’t have to consider what to wear in the morning saved him a few minutes each day. Minutes he could use more efficiently solving problems for Tuna Life.

He sat down at Vesna’s table and ordered a Bloody Mary from the waitress. Vesna Connor ordered water.

“How did you come up with the idea of making an application that transforms your mobile phone into a virtual clothes shop?” she asked.

“I worked a lot back then. I had my regular job, but I was always tinkering with my own projects. I simply had no time to go to the shop to try on clothes. So, in a way, you can say that the product arose from a need I had. I built Tuna Life to meet that need.”

“And the name? How did you come up with Tuna Life? It is, after all, a strange name for a shopping application.”

Andrew let out a controlled laugh, brushing some strands of hair away from his forehead. “As all entrepreneurs, we lived on a shoestring budget when we started up. For a long time we only ate tuna cans and two-minute noodles. The name came from that. We lived on tuna, we breathed tuna, we stank tuna. When we had to decide on a name, it came natural.”

Vesna smiled. Andrew Engels was a very pleasant man to talk to. He radiated self-confidence. She could easily understand how he had managed to woo one of the sexiest women on the planet, the MYER model Mira Johnson. It was almost as if he attracted all the energy in the room.

“Have you always been an entrepreneur, Andrew?” she asked.

“I don’t think you can be taught to become an entrepreneur. It’s something that has to be in your blood. It’s an extension of you. You need to be a risk taker, someone who likes to be in constant movement.”

“So are you a risk taker, Andrew? Is Tuna Life a safe investment or is it a bubble? Industry sources talk about a valuation in the region of a quarter of a billion, plus. That’s a lot of money for a company that has yet to make any profits.”

“First of all: we are a private company, and one of the benefits of being a private company is that we don’t have to disclose how much profits we make. That being said, we can monetize our service whenever we want to. It’s not an issue – we just don’t focus on it at the moment. We focus on making the best product possible, a product our users love and spend hours on every single day. If we improve our product every single day then I’m happy. Then we have done something valuable. It doesn’t really matter to me whether we’re worth a quarter of a billion, or ten billion. That’s just numbers. What we’re making is the real stuff.”

The photographer from Gold Coast Times leaned in to take a picture. Andrew Engels raised his right hand to cover his face. His left hand remained on the armrest, with his index finger and thumb unnoticeably crossed. “No pictures, thanks. We have some official pictures you can use if necessary. Everything from action shots in a parachute to portrait pictures. Just call the office.”

“The agreement was that we could take a couple of photos for the interview,” Vesna interjected.

Andrew considered her request for a moment. He would still be in control if he directed how the photography was to be taken. “We can take one with Surfers Paradise in the background.” He got up from his chair. Envious looks followed him as he wandered across the floor of the Q1 bar, all the way over to the large glass wall separating them from the abyss down to Surfers Paradise. A commercial jet passed outside the north facing window and left a streak of white smoke hanging in the air. The last time he had felt so good, so on top of the world, had been the day he had handed in his resignation at Avensis Accounting.