The Boyfriend Algorithm, page 5
“I’ve shut down the study. The user group is disbanded. I can’t—”
“Oooh. Oooh.” Meredith waved her hand in the air. “Pick me. Use me. Pleeease?”
“Not an option. Dr. Forrester dares to present herself as the perfect hire for our most prestigious client. If she knows enough about herself to make that claim, she should have no trouble making a match for herself using a program that’s been successful for so many others.”
“Me?” Charlie’s heart lodged in her throat. “I wasn’t in the field study.”
“You are now. Consider this the first screening for your job candidacy. A two-fold test. Prove you have the technical skills they require, plus the necessary social adeptness to succeed in their corporate environment.” Shana swung back and forth in her chair. “I’m not unreasonable. I don’t expect forever. One of those short-term relationships will do. The kind Meredith described.”
“But I’m not a Stage Two. I’m more a Stage Less-Than- Zero.”
“Then I suggest you learn to adapt. You have one month to prove yourself. If you can’t commit to a relationship lasting less than six months, how can I believe you’ll commit to AGS for the long-term?”
A match for herself? Charlie pressed a fist into her belly, suddenly gone tight. She’d never managed better than 17 percent probability with any man in the matrix, including the Stage Ones, and they weren’t picky. “I’ve never tried to artificially force someone into a specific stage before. I’m not sure circumventing the data this way will—”
“Look, either it works, or it’s garbage. So how about it? Is your program garbage?”
Nobody, nobody got away with questioning her code. Inner-Bertha roared and swung her two-handed axe. “Absolutely not.” She straightened her back. “If I do it, you’ll put my name back in the queue?”
“I’ll do better than that. We’re screening candidates for AGS over the next month. If you succeed, I’ll send you. Hype you as the greatest thing since the silicon chip.”
Inner-Bertha shifted uneasily, fingering her axe, waiting for the other stiletto to drop.
“However.” Shanna held up one scarlet-tipped nail. “Fail, and not only will I block you from AGS in perpetuity, but I’ll terminate our agreement with you and post the results of our little wager on our website.” She leaned back, eyes glinting like a Siamese cat with a mouse under its paw. “What a golden PR opportunity for the ITS West brand. A smackdown between impersonal data and the proven, hands-on approach we’ve based our reputation on.”
Charlie gulped. What choice did she have? If she failed, she’d lose AGS, but if she did nothing, she’d lose it anyway. “Well… okay.”
Shanna leaned her elbows on the desk, lacing her fingers together. “Then by all means, have at it.”
“Come on, Charlie. You can sit in my chair.” Meredith took Charlie’s unresisting hand and led her out of Shanna’s office. She tilted her head as if looking sideways at Charlie’s faded brown shirt could make it look anything other than drab. “You want a chocolate milk or something?”
“Just water, thanks.” Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll drown me.
She sat on the edge of the chair, her hands damp on the keyboard. As confident as she was in her code, she had serious doubts that hacking her data to make her a temporary Stage Two would yield any reasonable results. If she couldn’t get a hit, would Shanna claim victory by default?
Charlie set up her query, hit execute, and sent up a prayer to the data gods that “execute” wasn’t descriptive in more ways than one. The query churned for less than five seconds and returned a single name.
Daniel Shawn. Probability index: 76%
No. No, no, no. Impossible. Daniel wasn’t in the data pool. There was no way he could— Oh lord. He is. She’d added him to the matrix on Saturday night and never took him out again.
Never take a data shortcut. Ever. It’ll always come back to bite you on the butt.
Charlie whimpered, no louder than the hum of the CPU fan, but Shanna must have ears like a Ferengi under her perfect hair because she appeared at Charlie’s shoulder as if she’d teleported.
“Done already? Perhaps you’re as efficient as all your evaluations claim. Let’s see what your famous statistical model tells us.”
“No. I need to—” She tried to wipe the results, but Shanna nudged the chair aside and Charlie lost her grip on the mouse.
Bracing her fingers on the desk, Shanna peered at the monitor. “Daniel Shawn. The Daniel Shawn?” She barked out a laugh. “This isn’t a serious predictive model. It’s no better than fantasy football for the lovelorn.” She pushed off the desk and glared down at Charlie. “If you can’t do any better than this, I should terminate you now. Daniel Shawn is way out of your league, Dr. Forrester. No offense.”
Charlie bared her teeth in inner-Bertha’s melee grimace. “None taken.” This was AGS, damn it, her dream job. She’d do whatever it took. Somehow. “But I’m not conceding.”
“In that case, I suggest you get to work.” She strode to her office door, not looking back. “You have exactly thirty days to fall in love.”
Geekronym: RTFM
Translation: Read the fucking manual
Definition: Response to a question that could easily have been answered by referring to readily available instructions.
After he uploaded yet another dry-as-dust story for the latest issue of HTW, Daniel opened his notes on Argonne. He’d gotten enough hits against his list of target search terms to convince him something was brewing in the cyberdating space.
Philip’s do-I-or-don’t-I-have-a-date club, for instance. Something was definitely hinky there. Daniel had dug around online, but could find no website, no advertising, no way for anyone to sign up. That alone was enough to send up a dozen red flags. Argonne hadn’t used a website, either. His had been an invitation-only sting, targeting people who had something he wanted. Money. Property. Influence. Or, in Daniel’s case, power over the press.
He pulled up his old list of informants. Most of them had bailed on him after Argonne and Trisha had made him look like a hack who couldn’t tell fact from fantasy, but it couldn’t hurt to reach out to a couple of the most reliable.
Before he could craft a suitable email, the telltale aroma of stale Red Vines warned him of Nelson’s presence. He activated his screen saver as his boss hove into sight, the pink skin under his comb-over gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
“You filed your story already, Shawn?”
“Half hour ago. It wasn’t that tough.”
Nelson grunted, chomping on his candy crack.
Leaning his elbows on his desk, Daniel regarded his boss over interlaced fingers. “Have you ever considered that if we published stories aimed at readers who are interested in technology, but aren’t actual cyborgs, we might increase our circulation?”
“I ask for your advice?”
“No.”
“Damn straight. My journal, Shawn. Not yours. You got a story to pitch to me that won’t frost the backers’ balls?”
Since the backers opposed anything that smacked of opinion, even the most benign… “No.”
“Then write your assigned stories and keep your ass out of my business. But in the meantime, you’re on archive duty. Here’s the instructions.” Nelson tossed a packet of stained, dog-eared papers onto Daniel’s desk. “Update the readership statistics. Shift everything but the last two months’ worth of articles onto the secondary server.”
Daniel flipped through the document, noting all the scribbled marginal notes. Damn. And I thought my reporting assignments were mind-numbing. “Right. What’s the deadline?”
Nelson shrugged. “ASAP. Should have no trouble with that since your story’s done.” He ambled out the door.
Daniel glared at Nelson’s retreating back. Archive duty. Christ. At least he’d have plenty of time around the edges to chase down Argonne, and once he found the bastard, he could shake this shit job off his shoes and get on with his life.
When Gideon flung open the apartment door for his usual grand entrance, Charlie was still curled up on the sofa with Lindsay hovering nearby, plying her with iced tea and Milano cookies.
He stalked over to the sofa, sat on the arm opposite Charlie, and fell backward onto the cushions, flinging one arm to the side and the other one over his eyes. “God. Deliver me from an org chart full of Luddites.”
Lindsay patted his shin. “Did you have a bad meeting?”
“The worst.”
“I made some iced tea. Can I get some for you?”
“No. Scotch. Lots of it. Now.” He peered out from under his arm. “How can they have so many layers of bureaucracy in a company with only fifty employees? Is everyone a stinking VP? Who does the freaking work?”
“Guess that's why they're hiring you.” Lindsay handed him two fingers of scotch in his favorite cow tumbler. “They are hiring you, right?”
“If I'm stupid enough to propose on the job.” He propped the glass on his chest and grabbed Lindsay's hand, planting a kiss in her palm and batting his eyelashes at her. “Am I that stupid?”
“No. But you're that broke.”
“Oh God. I am. Charles—” He tilted his chin and looked at Charlie upside down. “—how long do I—” He sat up, the scotch sloshing over the rim of the glass and onto his hand. “What happened? Why do you look like Joss Whedon just quit show biz for the pro bowler’s tour?”
She heaved a sigh and struggled upright. “I have to get a date.”
“This is news?” He sucked the spilled scotch off his fingers. “I’ve been telling you that forever.”
“No. You don’t understand. I have to get a date. I’m required to get a date. I must get a date—” Charlie covered her face with Lindsay’s pillow. “—or die.”
“Charles, as much as I appreciate hyperbole—”
“With Daniel Shawn,” she said, her voice muffled by needlepoint hydrangeas.
She heard the clink of Gideon’s glass on the coffee table. “No. Fucking. Way.”
“Way. Stage Two commitment within thirty days.”
He pulled the pillow off her face, and she blinked in the sudden light. “You ran yourself through the program? For pity’s sake, Charles, why subject yourself to a process guaranteed to make you miserable?”
“I couldn’t help it. Bertha made me do it.”
“Bertha? Your Cluster Realms avatar?”
She nodded. “She may be strong, but her intelligence stat sucks.”
“Charles.” Gideon’s voice swooped in warning and Charlie toppled over sideways, resuming the fetal position.
“It was code hubris, G. The downfall of developers everywhere. Shanna dissed my kung fu, and I fell for it like a fool. I’m such a… a geektastrophe,” she wailed.
“Stop that. The role of resident drama queen in this apartment is permanently occupied by moi.” Gideon tilted his head and tapped his lower lip, eyes narrowed behind his glasses—electric blue frames tonight. “You realize what this means?”
She nodded. “I’m doomed.”
“Maybe he’s your match. Ever think of that?”
“Are you nuts?” She sat up and snatched the pillow back, tucking it under her chin. “Me and Daniel? It has to be a bug, or an artifact of faking my profile.”
“I don’t know, Charlie.” Lindsay perched on the edge of the coffee table. “I think you should give Daniel a chance.” She patted Charlie’s knee. “If you believe you’ll fail before you even start, you’ll… what do you call it?”
“Invalidate the data?” she mumbled into the pillow. “Unduly influence the outcome?”
“Piss in her own pool?” Gideon said around a mouthful of Milano and both women groaned. “Lin has a point. You need to go into this in good faith. For pity’s sake, Charles, you’re the girl who got an extra master’s degree to increase her chances with an employer she tagged as an eight-year-old. Suck it up and find a solution.”
“Easy for you to say,” Charlie said, sounding sulky even to herself. “You like dating.”
“I don’t like dating. I like sex. If dating is the means to the end, I’ll man up.”
She shivered, hugging the pillow tighter. “I don’t know the first thing about dating or talking to men in social settings.”
“You talk to me. I’m a man, according to my vast roster of satisfied one-night stands.”
“Yes, but you’re no threat. Your rejection isn’t personal. It’s, I don’t know,” Charlie threw her arms wide, dropping the pillow on her lap, “global. I may not have what you want, but neither does any other woman. I’m not like Toshiko—”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “Thank God.”
“I can’t ignore it as irrelevant the way she does. I mean, I know I can’t win, but it still hurts. And when I lose? Even if Shanna the Annihilator doesn’t pull my name from consideration for the job, once she trumpets her win to the world, AGS will find out I’m the Fail Whale of digital matchmaking. They won’t let me empty their trash, let alone head their analytics department.”
“Then you’ll simply have to win.” He dusted cookie crumbs off his fingers. “All you need is the correct preparation and a stellar street team. I, king of the bar hookup, will turn you into a flirting machine. And Lindsay, who could make a dishrag and a tarpaulin look like haute couture, will handle your wardrobe.”
Lindsay cradled her iced tea glass against her chest. “But Gideon, you’re way more fashion-forward than I am. Don’t you think it would be better for you to pick out her clothes?”
“Please. A gay best friend doing a makeover? Too cliche, darlings. Besides, interactive presentation is my specialty. That’s why I get the big bucks, when I get any at all.” He rolled up his shirt sleeves and took command of Charlie’s laptop. “Thirty days, eh? A tight project timeline, but not undoable.” His fingers flew over the keyboard in a rapid rat-a-tat. “I’ve bookmarked a dozen websites. Study. Commit to memory. And then, my dearie-dear,” Gideon’s grin sent a spike of alarm down Charlie’s back, “we practice.”
Geekronym: RPG
Translation: Role-playing game
Definition: A computer game, either graphic or text-based, online or offline, in which players assume the roles of characters in a fictional setting, subject to a formal system of rules and guidelines. The game frequently centers around an adventure or quest.
“Let's try this again.” Two days later, Gideon faced Charlie in the middle of their living room, his fists propped on his hips and his hair rumpled from the number of times he'd clutched it in the last hour and a half. “God, Charles, you faced down your doctoral committee and talked for hours. Why can't you come up with a comment or two for a guy in a club? Trust me, they don't need much encouragement.” He plopped onto the barstool and leaned one elbow on the breakfast bar. “Pretend we’re cozied up in some tragically hip Pearl District bistro. Now. Pay me a compliment.”
She shuffled her feet, her mind inconveniently blank. “Um…”
“Oh, please. It shouldn't be that hard. I mean, we're talking about me. There are vast quantities of complimentary things just begging for air time. Go on. Try it.”
“Well…”
He rolled his eyes. “Honestly. How about ‘Gideon, where did you get that gorgeous shirt? You must have to beat the men off with a stick. I have no idea why you're still single.’”
She retreated until her thighs hit the sofa arm. “I can't say something like that. I can't look someone in the eye and… and…”
He speared her with his don't-even-go-there look. “And lie? Is that what you're thinking, Charles? Are you saying you do have an idea why I'm still single? That you don't think this shirt is gorgeous?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean…” She toppled backward onto the sofa cushions. “Oh, lord.”
He sauntered over and peered down at her over the metallic orange rims of tonight’s glasses. “It's not rocket science, Charles.”
“Rocket science was easier. I got an A in that.” She reached for Lindsay's comfort pillow but he snatched it out of the way before she could grab it.
“Then why not insulate yourself? Overcome your avoidance to social media and communicate on the geek spectrum.” He nudged her hip with his knee and she swung around, sitting up so he could plop next to her. “Do you even have a Twitter handle? A Facebook page? A blog, for pity's sake?”
God, no. If anyone knew the dangers of an ill-thought-out personal online presence, she did, and she needed to arrive on AGS's doorstep with a pristine digital reputation.
“Social media doesn't result in any concrete deliverable.”
“What, you're saying it's the equivalent of online masturbating?”
“No, you jerk. But it's process, not product.” She slumped on the sofa. “I've always had a problem with process.”
He tossed Lindsay's pillow at her. “You do not. Your process simply follows a different flowchart. All its yes paths involve a subquery checking for other players in the same space. You're like the anti-hacker. You don't try to get in. You try to run away.”
“It's safer that way.”
He huffed an exasperated breath. “I don't understand you. If you're so skittish about interpersonal contact, why in the known universe did you decide to study mating behavior? Why not something less alarming, like murder statistics or Republican presidential candidates?”
Even if Gideon was right—and he usually was, darn it—she couldn't justify any project unless she learned something from it too. “Because I didn't understand it. Obviously I still don't.”
He pivoted and leaned against the armrest, tucking one foot under his butt. “That's because you can't code for chemistry. You can estimate probability in ones and zeroes, but you can't predict the effect of that fabulous zing. And, darling, once you've experienced it? You'll crawl through broken glass on your hands and knees to feel it again.”
