The Start-Up Read online

  Just keep pouring, and keep the drinks stiff. Fine to take tips, but put them away immediately—we don’t want anyone to feel pressured.” Guests started arriving at six o’clock, and by six-thirty Adam had sent Enrique away with three cases of empty Grey Goose bottles. For all the glamour of the setting, he was struck by the casual attire of the party’s attendees. There wasn’t a suit in the crowd; the men were dressed mostly in dark denim or khakis, and most weren’t even wearing sport coats. Far from the elaborate cocktail dresses he’d expected, the women donned sundresses or white denim and sandals. College-aged guys and girls mingled naturally with their parents, who didn’t seem to mind the cocktail glasses they all had in hand.

  “What type of Scotch have you got back there, bud?” asked a tanned gentleman with curly white hair and a sideways grin. He leaned his elbow on the bar and popped a handful of almonds into his mouth.

  “Macallan, sir.”

  “How old?”

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “How old is the Macallan?”

  “Um, I . . . ” Adam had no idea. He quickly reached for the bottle, hoping it would provide an answer. “It’s, um . . . ” The gentleman took the bottle from him and looked at the label. “Ten,” he said as he showed Adam where the label indicated the year. “Bristol’s a cheap son of a bitch. I bet he’s got a bottle of twenty-five in the kitchen for himself.” He winked at Adam. “I’ll take a glass anyway. Got to get through this party somehow.”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Adam nodded and reached for a tumbler.

  “Know your Scotch if you’re going to serve this crowd,” the gentleman advised. “And your white wine. Get those two right and you’ll have everyone eating out of your hand.” He lifted his glass to Adam as he walked away.

  Adam turned to face a tall slender girl with long blond curls twisted into a side ponytail. She was wearing a pink dress that hung delicately from her shoulders to her mid-thighs, revealing knockout legs accentuated by strappy gold heels. She was smiling warmly at him. “He always complains about these things, but deep down he loves them,” she said.

  Adam was speechless. A girl this pretty had never spoken to him before.

  He started to say something but couldn’t find his voice. The girl stuck out her hand.

  “I’m Lisa.”

  He shook her hand. “Adam. Nice to meet you. Can I get you anything to drink?” “That’d be great. How about a vodka lemonade?”

  “Sure thing. Coming right up.”

  “So, what do you think so far?”

  “I’m sorry?

  “About the party. What do you think?”

  “It’s incredible. I mean, the place is gorgeous. And you just know all these people must have done extraordinary things to be so . . . financially successful.”

  She paused and looked at him with her head tilted to the side, thinking about this comment.

  “Cherry?” he said.

  “Two, please.”

  He dropped two maraschino cherries into her drink and handed the glass to her. She nodded and turned to walk away, just as Patty walked up to the bar.

  “Hey, Adam! I didn’t know you were bartending this party!” Patty was clearly already drunk and grinned widely at Adam as she looped her arm around Lisa’s shoulder. “Adam, I’d like a . . . ” She paused, swaying a little on her heels and thinking hard before blurting out her order. “Vodka cranberry lemonade, please.”

  Lisa turned to Adam. “You know Patty?” Patty butted in. “Adam is the twin brother of Amelia, my roommate.”

  “You’re at Stanford?” Lisa turned to face Adam, a surprised expression on her face.

  “Yeah, I’m a freshman.”

  “Oh wow. I mean, that’s great. Congratulations. I didn’t realize . . . ” She stopped herself, afraid she might say something rude. “I’m starting there in the fall. I’ll be a freshman.”

  “You are?” Adam said this a bit too quickly, and scrambled to hide his enthusiasm. “That’s cool.” He shrugged.

  Lisa smiled. “We’ll have to be friends.” Patty laughed and shook her head. “I think you two will be in very different social circles. No offense, Adam, but the only time I see you at parties is when people pay you to wait on them.” Adam felt his jaw clench. Right when Lisa was starting to acknowledge him as an equal, Patty had put him back in his place.

  Lisa blushed as she turned to Adam. “Sorry, she’s too drunk. Come on, Patty, let’s go sit down.” With a flick of her hand, Patty downed the rest of her cocktail.

  Adam swallowed hard and attempted a smile. “Don’t worry about it.

  Have a great summer!”

  “Thanks, Adam. I’m going to take her back before she does something to embarrass herself.”

  Adam watched Lisa guide Patty to the center table as the DJ got on the microphone to announce dinner. The first course was served, then the second. Waiters served wine at the tables, giving Adam a break, save the occasional request for a cocktail.

  After the dinner plates were cleared, a man in his fifties approached the DJ booth and took the microphone. He was tall and handsome and would have been imposing were it not for his charismatic smile, which Adam could sense even from the bar in the back. The man, who was apparently Mr. Bristol, asked for the crowd’s attention.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you all here tonight to celebrate the extraordinary accomplishments of my son, T.

  J. T. J., will you please stand up?”

  From the center table where Patty and Lisa were seated, T. J., a thirty-years-younger image of his father, stood with a proud smile.

  “When T. J. was a little boy, he was absolutely determined to be a professional soccer player. He followed the European teams religiously and spent hours and hours in the backyard practicing his pass. Though he didn’t make it on that track, he’s always applied that same rigorous determination to everything he does. So I didn’t have the slightest doubt about his continuing our family’s legacy at Stanford when he applied four years ago. Since then—”

  A phone ring stopped him short and his face went white as he reached into his pocket and looked at the screen of his phone. “I’m so sorry,” he said into the microphone as he gestured to his wife. “I’ve got to take this. Lori?” Lori, his striking blonde wife, hurried from her chair, martini in hand, as Mr. Bristol hurried off stage, speaking into his phone. “Well, always something exciting around here!” she giggled into the microphone as she glanced around at all the guests. “Why don’t we have another song? DJ?

  Something special for our graduate!”

  The guests started chatting again, all of them giddily wondering what Mr. Bristol’s call was about. As one of Silicon Valley’s most prominent investors, it must have been important, if he was getting a call at nine o’clock on a Friday night. But Adam’s eyes fell on T. J., who still stood in the middle of the floor looking blankly at the space where his father had just been. His jaw was slack and his face pale, his striking blue eyes crisp, with what, at first, Adam thought were tears, until he noticed T.

  J.’s jaw tighten and his eyes re-engage with their surroundings in calm determination and contempt. He turned back to his table, full of good-looking peers, clapped his hands and shouted, “Shots, guys?” There was applause from his comrades. “Waiter, twelve tequila shots, pronto!” The waiters hustled to get dessert to the tables and the DJ turned up the music, encouraging people to start moving away from their crème brûlée onto the dance floor. The inebriated crowd was in full swing when the DJ

  cut off the music and Mr. Bristol got back on the microphone, grinning from ear to ear. “Friends, can I beg you for your attention one more time.

  We’re bringing around bubbly.” Sure enough, the waiters were all passing out flutes of freshly poured champagne on silver platters. “I’d like to share some exciting news. Everyone have a glass? Ready? The London papers just made the announcement that Lloyd’s has officially announced their acquisition of Gibly . . .
for $3.8 billion!” The entire room roared. A man near the bar grabbed an unopened bottle of champagne, shook it, popped the cork and sprayed it all over the people in the crowd, who laughed delightedly.

  Mr. Bristol went on. “It’s the largest acquisition of its kind in history and one that will take us to new international prominence. Not to mention, between us, we’ve got about two of the 3.8 billion reasons to celebrate. I couldn’t be happier that you’re all here for this monumental occasion. To Gibly!”

  “To Gibly!” the crowd responded.

  Adam couldn’t believe it. People at this party— people he was serving—

  had just made hundreds of millions of dollars. The waiters were rushing around the dance floor, filling up champagne glasses as the partygoers toasted over and over, cheering their accomplishment. Adam searched for Patty but couldn’t find her— she’d probably passed out somewhere. He scanned the crowd for Lisa and noticed her standing off to the side of the patio with T. J. The two were deep in conversation, and she was holding his hand.

  Adam felt his heart race with jealousy.

  How could he have been so stupid to think a girl like that would ever be interested in a guy like him? Patty was right; the only reason he’d talked to Lisa was because she needed a drink. That they would be peers at Stanford didn’t mean anything. She was in a different league, a league that included rich, attractive, older guys like T. J. He quickly looked away, but not before Lisa glanced up and caught him looking at her.

  To Adam’s horror, Lisa walked toward him, pulling T. J. by the hand to the bar.

  “Adam, can you please make T. J. a very strong Manhattan? I’m going to go find Patty and make sure she’s still alive.”

  “Sure thing,” Adam said as he reached for the whiskey. Lisa smiled at him in gratitude, but he refused to smile back as she walked off to find Patty, leaving him with his new nemesis.

  “What a fucking night, huh?” T. J. said to no one in particular, his elbow perched on the bar as he looked out across the room.

  “There seems to be a lot to celebrate,” Adam responded coolly.

  “For sure. Gibly was a huge acquisition. One of the biggest Silicon Valley’s ever seen.”

  Despite his instinctive dislike of T. J., Adam couldn’t hide his interest.

  “What is it?”

  “What is Gibly? Have you been living under a rock? It’s the most important software platform of the century. You know how you can speak into your iPhone and it’ll translate it into a text message? That’s Gibly software. Or how you can use the chip on the back of your phone to pay for things now, instead of using a credit card? Gibly. Or how your phone will send you an automated update any time your favorite store is having a sale? All Gibly.”

  “Wow. I guess I never really thought about the software behind all those things. Your dad developed that?” T. J. laughed. “No, fucking smart-ass software engineers developed it.

  Dad invested in it. He gave them a few million two years ago in exchange for half of the company so they could afford to eat while they spent twenty-four hours a day coding.”

  “So, he just made two billion dollars off of three million?”

  “Yep. Welcome to venture capital.”

  “But he didn’t actually do anything other than give them money?”

  “Well . . . ” T. J. said, straightening up, clearly offended. “He advised them. And shit, he saw their potential. If he hadn’t stepped in these guys would never have gotten off the ground. They would have closed shop and gone to work as linemen in some computer programming factory and the world would never have had this software. VC’s make a lot of money, sure, but they make it all possible.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing,” Adam said quickly. “It’s amazing. Must be really cool to be a venture capitalist.”

  “Of course it’s cool,” T. J. said, turning to face him. “It’s the best fucking gig on the planet.”

  Adam handed T. J. his Manhattan. T. J. took it with a nod. “No one knows what you need better than your sister, huh?” he said.

  “Sorry?”

  “My sister, Lisa. She can always tell when I need a drink.” Adam couldn’t hide his surprise or delight. “Lisa’s your sister?”

  “Yes. Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

  “Oh, I—”

  “Whatever. She’s hot. I get it.” T. J. gestured toward his drink. “Don’t you want one, too?”

  “I‘m pretty sure I’m not allowed,” Adam said, grinning. His whole night had changed. Maybe he had a chance with Lisa after all.

  “And I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s paying you, and, therefore, I get to say what’s allowed. Pour yourself something.” Adam hesitated. He glanced around to see if Margaret was nearby.

  “Come on,” T. J. said. “Surely they don’t expect you to make it through these parties sober. Besides, how will you know how good a job you’re doing if you never taste your inventions? This Manhattan is terrible.”

  “You have a point,” Adam said. He reached for the shaker to pour himself a Manhattan and refill T. J.’s half-empty glass.

  “So, what do you think of Stanford? Lisa said you’re a freshman.” Adam nodded. “It’s great. I mean, the classes are a little boring, but I like California a lot.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Indiana.”

  “Yeah, California’s a little different I imagine.” T. J. paused. “So, do you know what you want to major in?”

  “No idea. My sister is this big computer science geek, has it all figured out. But me, no clue.”

  T. J. perked up. “What area of computer science is she in?”

  “I’m not sure what you’d call it. She’s just always tinkering, coming up with little programs and iPhone apps. She’s obsessed. Spends twenty-four hours in the lab without stopping, forgets to eat and everything. She’s a machine.”

  “And she’s a freshman at Stanford too?”

  “Yep. She’s Patty Hawkins’s roommate, actually.”

  “Oh, Jesus. No wonder she hides out in the computer lab.” Adam laughed. The whiskey was settling in. He was feeling more relaxed.

  “What’s your major?” he asked.

  “I’m MS&E. Management science and engineering. It’s half engineering and half business classes. Great major. Super tough, but solid. And I did minors in econ and French.”

  “Wow!” Adam was impressed. Now that T. J. wasn’t dating Lisa, he had nothing but admiration for this intelligent, charming guy in front of him.

  “You must have declared early to get all that in.”

  “Yeah, I always knew it’s what I wanted to do. I think it’s important to have a plan and to stay diverse. MS&E gave me a good set-up for business school, econ a more academic study, and French some diversity that throws people. No one ever expects a guy like me to know anything about Balzac.” He smiled. “You really ought to figure out a plan for yourself. Figure out what you really want to be.”

  Adam thought back to what Professor Marsh had said this morning and sighed. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” T. J. paused, then said, “I could help, you know. Sometimes it’s helpful to have someone who’s been through it to bounce ideas off of.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Absolutely. Why not? Cheers.” T. J. clinked his glass against Adam’s.

  “How about a refill?”

  Adam’s spirits were high with this affirmation from T. J. and the whiskey as he cheerfully mixed another Manhattan.

  “So, do you still play soccer?”

  “What?”

  “Your dad said—during his toast he said you used to be really into soccer.”

  TJ’s jaw clenched a little but he responded coolly. “No, soccer ended up not being the right sport for me. It was a little too . . . co-operative. I’ve found I prefer individual competition.”

  “Oh.” Adam was worried he’d said something wrong.

  T. J. chuckled. “Dad’s been pretty wrapped up in t
his Gibly stuff. Guess he’s missed the past, oh, ten years.” Then with a big forced smile he added,

  “What do you say we get out of here, Adam? Go have some real fun?” Adam looked at his watch. He’d made a deal with Margaret that he could leave at eleven-thirty at night so he could work on his homework problem set, and it was now past midnight. He briefly wondered when he would get to that problem set, then brushed the thought aside. “Sounds good. Where to?”

  Chapter 4

  The Nerd Lab Bender

  Back on campus, Amelia was on a roll. It was approaching one o’clock in the morning and she’d been in the Gates Computer Science building since before noon. She’d gone through three shifts of teaching assistants, graduate students who hung out in the computer lab in case undergrads had any glitches and made sure people from outside the University didn’t sneak in to try to poach ideas. While most of the campus was dead at this hour, the real action in the Gates building had only just started; around eight o’clock, programmers had filed in with Chinese take-out and set up shop for the evening, and right now the energy was palpable, with twenty-odd engineers typing away at their computer screens.

  The Gates building had been donated to Stanford by Bill Gates himself, and, for someone like Amelia, it was heaven. The warm, blue glow of large-screen PCs lit up the long rooms, and eager computer scientists perched on ergonomic chairs coding away around the clock. Gates had designed the building with engineers in mind. Vending machines were stocked with ramen noodles and Hot Pockets, in addition to the standard candy bars and potato chips, and the fridge was filled with an open supply of Red Bull.

  Bathrooms were equipped with showers, in case students didn’t want to go back to their dorm rooms to freshen up, and the lounges were equipped with Xboxes and Wii sets for taking a break. But the real energy was in the computer rooms. The mixture of adrenaline, creativity, and anticipation was hard to describe. Everyone in the room was on the cusp of something groundbreaking. The guy next to you might be creating the next Google or Groupon, or maybe even Facebook. People came in and out, but most of them stayed for long stretches—fifteen and twenty hours at a time—the excitement of a new idea outweighing physical exhaustion.