The Bell redesign had come at the same time as the telco was
struggling back from the brink of bankruptcy, and the marketing firm
they'd hired to do the work had made its name on the strength of the
campaign. "Makes you feel like using a phone is a really futuristic,
cutting-edge activity," he said.
His contact at the semiprivatized corporation was a young kid who
shopped at one of his prot?©g?©s' designer furniture store. He was a young
turk who'd made a name for himself quickly in the company through a
couple of ISP acquisitions at fire-sale prices after the dot-bomb, which
he'd executed flawlessly, integrating the companies into Bell's network
with hardly a hiccup. He'd been very polite and guardedly enthusiastic
when Alan called him, and had invited him down to meet some of his
colleagues.
Though Alan had never met him, he recognized him the minute he walked in
as the person who had to go with the confident voice he'd heard on the
phone.
"Lyman," he said, standing up and holding out his hand. The guy was
slightly Asian-looking, tall, with a sharp suit that managed to look
casual and expensive at the same time.
He shook Alan's hand and said, "Thanks for coming down." Alan introduced
him to Kurt, and then Lyman introduced them both to his colleagues, a
gender-parity posse of young, smart-looking people, along with one
graybeard (literally -- he had a Unix beard of great rattiness and
gravitas) who had no fewer than seven devices on his belt, including a
line tester and a GPS.
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