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am momentarily positive that my mother is sitting on a sofa with 6 and taking her through volumes of photos of me when I was four years old and much less inhibited.
    “I could pass on a message,” the PA offers, and now she doesn’t sound so much like my mother after all. I get down to business.
    “I need to talk to her. It’s Scat.”
    This gives her pause. With a name like that, I may just be important.
    “I’ll check for you,” the PA says. She can’t resist adding, “But I must warn you, she’s very busy.”
    “I’m warned.”
    Suddenly I’m listening to KPWR, which informs me that they are California’s hippest music depot. As KPWR launches a techno version of What a Wonderful World, I wonder when radio stations became music depots and feel a brief sadness for KPWR’s obvious self-deception about its musical prowess. The PA breaks in on them. “Ms. 6 will speak to you now,” she tells me. There is deep disapproval in her voice, as if she has cautioned 6 again and again about speaking to me, but 6 is recklessly going ahead anyway.
    “Grats,” I say.
    The PA turns into a click, a short but terrifying revisit to What a Wonderful World, then 6.
    “Scat.” She sounds thrilled to hear from me, as if she’s been hoping all day that I would call. I wish this so much it is almost true.
    “Hi,” I say cheerfully. I’m about to say something more when I suddenly realize I can hear 6 breathing softly into my ear. It’s so erotic that I just stand there in the kitchen and close my eyes.
    Finally 6 says, “Yes?”
    “Oh,” I say, recovering. “I just wanted a status on Fukk. Are we green for Friday?”
    “Yes,” 6 says. She sounds as if she is trying to hide a slight irritation, but not very hard. “My team started work this morning and we’re not going home tonight until it’s done.”
    “Great!” I say. “Need any help?”
    “No,” she says. “Your role will come at the presentation. On Friday.”
    “Ah. Right.”
    6 waits.
    “Well, I guess that’s it then,” I say.
    “Fine.”
    “Bear my child, you great goddess of a woman,” I say, although by then she has hung up.

scat clicks
    There’s a late-night Elvis movie on KCOP, and since I’ve got nothing better to do, I stay up to catch it. Just as Elvis is about to give a few disrespecting rednecks what-for, Sneaky Pete arrives home, dressed in a sleek black suit and smelling vaguely of aftershave and cigarettes.
    “Hi,” I say. “Hey, I met 6.”
    Sneaky Pete opens the fridge and studies its contents.
    “She loved my idea. Pulled a team of people onto it straight-away. In fact” —I look at my watch—“they could still be working on it now. They weren’t going home until it was done.” I stretch, oh so casual. “We present to the board in a couple of days.”
    I risk a glance at Sneaky Pete to see if he’s impressed. He is staring at me.
    “What?” I say. “What’s the matter?” In the face of his blank shades, I suddenly get defensive. “You’re surprised 6 thought it was so good? Good enough to dedicate a team to working up a proposal the same day? Even though ...” I falter. “Even though the board meeting isn’t until ...”
    Sneaky Pete shakes his head slowly, almost sadly.
    “Oh, fuck,” I say.

scat gets serious
    “I’m sorry,” the receptionist says, “but Ms. 6 is unavailable.”
    “Where’s the boardroom?” I demand aggressively. I am so aggressive I scare myself a little and step back. It’s seven in the morning and I’m not really used to operating at this hour.
    “What?”
    “The boardroom,” I say impatiently. “I know she’s there. Where is it?”
    The receptionist’s mouth hangs open for a second. It’s not particularly attractive, and I would gently tell her this if I wasn’t being so overbearing. “You can’t interrupt a board meeting,” she whispers, horrified.
    “Damn it,” I shout, because it seems appropriate. “This is mission-critical!”
    This is enough for her.