© 2020 Stephen Spignesi. All rights reserved.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this work are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.


                                 The Family Reunion
                             One man’s last chance to make things right ...
                                              By Stephen Spignesi

                                                      For my family
                                                                •••
​                                             Weekly Earnings Report
                                      Orchid Blooms Thanks to Zephyr

NewsWorld Wire, October 15, 2010: Orchid Software today reported record earnings for the past two quarters, due mainly to the stunning success of its signature item, the Zephyr interface. The futuristic program/allows computer users to work with virtual files and folders in the air next to or above their monitors by grabbing them and moving them by hand. Orchid Software CEO Stephen Santamaria, now the third wealthiest man in America, attributed the idea for Zephyr to, of all things, a Tom Cruise movie. In 2002’s sci-fi thriller Minority Report, Cruise moves digital data around by hand in the air. After seeing it, Santamaria decided to charge his engineers and programmers with the task of duplicating that experience for ordinary computer users, mandating them to come up with a reasonably-priced, user-friendly product. The technology and software already existed to create a virtual, user-responsive interface, but costs for consumer use were prohibitive before Santamaria set as his goal making the price affordable. Research and development took two years, and the $99 Zephyr app was the result. Zephyr’s first year’s sales broke records for any computer product ever made, and the company’s stock rose ten times in value literally overnight.

In a statement, Santamaria said, “The enthusiastic response to the Zephyr app illustrates perfectly that old business adage we’ve all heard countless times: build a better mousetrap and people will beat a path to your door. We at Orchid set our sights on a better mouse, so to speak, instead of a better mousetrap, and we are delighted that computer users are finding pleasure, value, and efficiency with Zephyr. We pledge to continue to develop better and better products and software, and ceaselessly work to improve the computer user’s work and play experience.”

Orchid Software is based in Portland, Oregon and has plants in California, Texas, Indiana, England, Germany, South Korea, India, and Italy. In addition to the Zephyr software, Orchid also manufactures gaming equipment, high-definition monitors, keyboards, and has announced plans to develop a new line of ergonomic computer furniture, to be built in Sweden and Denmark.

                              A Day (Almost) in the Life of Stephen Santamaria
                                                   by Rachel Ellen Zachariah
                                               Special to Mirrorball Magazine
​
     Stephen Santamaria was not what I expected.
    Our meeting took place at 11:00 a.m. in the Media Room of his 40,000-square foot Oregon mansion, a post-modern architectural leviathan perched proudly on top of a mountain and accessible by road and by air. Santamaria has his own helicopter pad. And his own helicopter, of course.
​    Soft piano music played and it sounded like it was coming out of the very air itself. I later learned that the music was Shostakovich’s 24 Preludes and Fugues played by Keith Jarrett, and that the speakers were the walls themselves. It was quite an unusual experience, giving one the sense that you were inside the music.
    The third richest man in America bounds into the room and the first words out of his mouth are, “That long piece you did on Woody Allen’s new novel was extraordinary.”
     “You read that?” I asked, at the same time both flattered and surprised.
     “Indeed I did,” he replied as he sat down on the sofa across from me. He wore black slacks, a black shirt, and black sneakers. “Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea? Red Bull?”
     “I wouldn’t mind a Red Bull,” I said.
     Santamaria nodded and said, “Marie?” A voice immediately responded “Yes, Mr. Santamaria?”
      I smiled and said, “She sounds just like Scarlet Johansson.”
     Santamaria laughed and said, “I know. That’s because it’s Scarlet’s voice.” He then held up one finger to me and said, “Marie, would you please ask the kitchen to bring up a can of Red Bull for Ms. Zachariah?”
     “Of course, sir. Should that be a chilled can, or a room temperature can?”
Santamaria looked at me with eyebrows raised and I said, “Room temp, please.”
Marie immediately responded, “Thank you, Ms. Zachariah. I’ll take care of it immediately.”
     “Thanks, Marie,” Santamaria said, to which Marie/Scarlet replied, “You’re welcome, as always, Mr. Santamaria.”
     “That’s a bot?” I asked. Santamaria nodded and said, “It’s a special model. This generation is years away from consumer use. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a person.”
     I nodded. I knew what he meant. I removed my spiral notebook and purple Flair from my bag and said, “Shall we talk here?”
     “Sure. I’m at your command ...” he glanced at his watch, “... for another 53 minutes, if that’s all right with you.”
     I nodded and said, “Of course. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. Why don’t we start with you telling Mirrorball’s readers what a typical day is like for you?”
     I ask almost everyone I interview for the magazine that question, and the answer is invariably the same: “There is no typical day.” I have yet to decide if that is mostly true, or an attempt to impress me with the manic pace of his or her life. Stephen Santamaria did not give me that answer.
     Instead, he said, “I have a very structured schedule within which there are many things that I do, but the overarching schedule is unbreakable.”
     “And what is that schedule like?”
     “I rise every morning at eight. I take my vitamins and medications and then take a shower. I have a small breakfast alone watching The Today Show. I check my e-mail while having my coffee. I then tend to ... nature. By this time, it’s around ten. The moment I feel am ready, I tell Marie, and my first briefing of the day begins. Right here, in the Media Room.”
     “What medications are you on, if you don’t mind my asking?”
     “I have two herniated disks in my neck. An old car accident. I need a couple of hundred milligrams a day of a mild pain med to help me function comfortably. Surgery isn’t an option and I have a strong aversion to headaches, which is what the disks in my neck cause if I’m not careful. So part of my early morning ritual is waiting for the medication to kick in.”
     “I understand. I can relate,” I said, completely unprofessionally inserting myself into the story.
     “You have pain?”
     I nodded. “Knees. I was on my college volleyball team and tore them both up pretty good. But we’re not here to talk about me, and I apologize.”
     Santamaria laughed and said, “No need. I don’t have much respect for artificial role-playing, so let’s just talk, okay?”
     I nodded and, at that moment, the door opened and a tall Rastafarian walked in carrying a tray with an unopened can of Red Bull and a glass on it. The guy’s dreadlocks reached to his waist and he wore a red, yellow, and green shawl that was stunningly beautiful.
     “Ah, Spiro. This is Ms. Zachariah.”
     Spiro placed the tray on the table in front of me, then stood upright, bowed at the waist, and said in a gorgeous Jamaican accent, “It is for sure a pleasure to meet ya, ma’am.”
     I extended my hand and we shook. Spiro then looked at Santamaria who said, “Thanks, Spiro. We’re good for now.” He smiled and left the room.
     “His parents were Agnew fans, if you can believe it.”
     “So what happens at the first briefing?”
     “Oh, this and that. That and this. We mostly go over progress reports on new plants we’re building, Zephyr sales, any problems, interview requests, media appearance requests ... I make some decisions, and my team takes whatever steps are necessary to get things done.”
      “I see,” I said. “Then what?”
     “Oftentimes, an interview. Like this one.” Santamaria smiled, and I nodded and said, “Mornings are for interviews?”
     “Yes.”
     “And what’s the rest of the day like?”
     “I have lunch and then play poker with the guys in Steely Dan.”
     My eyes widened, but from the expression on Santamaria’s face, I knew immediately he was teasing me.
      “Very funny,” I said.
     Santamaria chuckled and said, “Sorry. I couldn’t resist what my English assistant calls ‘winding you up.’ The truth is, Ms. Zachariah, I lead a very boring life. I have meetings, and work on the computer, and visit my manufacturing plants, and sometimes go to schools to talk to kids about entrepreneurship.”
     “How about your personal life?”
     Santamaria wiggled his finger at me and said, “Now, now ...”
     “Is it true you’re dating Kirsten Daggett?”
     Santamaria smiled and said, “Who?”
     “Okay,” I replied. “Point taken. How about your family, then? I know you’re single, and that your family is on the east coast, right?”
     Santamaria’s face changed and his ebullience faded a little. He nodded and said, “Yes. Connecticut.”
     “Brothers? Sisters?”
     “Two of each. But I don’t want to talk about my family, Ms. Zachariah.”
     I had done my homework. I knew the entire Santamaria family—Stephen’s immediate family plus a slew of relatives and extended family—all lived in Connecticut, in the East Haven area, where Santamaria was born. No one in his family would speak to me about their mega-famous relative, and I could find no evidence that Stephen Santamaria had been back home in at least five years.
     “When was the last time you were in Connecticut, Mr. Santamaria?”
     Santamaria ignored the question. Instead, he said, “Watch this.” He then leaned forward, touched the black glass surface of the table on which my Red Bull sat, and suddenly the entire room was transformed into a computer desktop. It was a virtual desktop, and I felt like I was sitting inside it. “This is the corporate version. It’s coming out in a few months.” On the desktop were folders, and files, including a picture of the cover of the most recent issue of Mirrorball. When he saw me staring at it he said, “Go ahead. Bring it closer.” I reached up, “grabbed” the magazine, and pulled it in front of me. I could now read the titles of the articles and see every detail of the cover. “Pretty cool, huh? It’s the basic Zephyr interface, only room-size. We think it’ll do well for large-scale presentations and meetings.”
     “This is incredible, Mr. Santamaria,” I said, and then pointed at the little X in the corner of the desktop by my elbow and poked the air where it hovered. The desktop disappeared and I said, “When was the last time you were in Connecticut, Mr. Santamaria?”
     Santamaria smiled, stood up, and said, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Zachariah, and I wish you the best of success with your writing. I’ll look forward to the issue. And now, if you’ll excuse me.”
     And then Stephen Santamaria left the room.

1
The Invitation

This one made it past the screeners. Someone on the Firewall Team obviously felt it was important for me to see. I’ll bet it was because the return address was a Santamaria.

     As though outside himself, Stephen watched his hands open the envelope, already having an idea of what it held. And he was right.
 
                                            MARK THE DATE!!
                The Santamaria Family Reunion Is Only Weeks Away!!!

​                                   Sunday, December 14, 2010
                         The Washington Tavern & Restaurant
                         1953 Colonial Lane • Old Saybrook, CT
                                         1:00 p.m.—7:00 p.m.

                             Award-Winning Buffet • Cash Bar

               $60 per couple—$35 per person—$20 per child
                                  RSVP by November 22, 2010

                     Please come! Let’s get the whole family together ...
​                              no matter what the consequences!! 

They included an RSVP card and stamped envelope. Like it was a wedding, or Bat Mitzvah, for heaven’s sake. Two weeks before Christmas. That had to be Amelia’s doing. She and her Jehovah’s Witness kids don’t have anything to do ten days before Christmas, but everyone else certainly does. So what do I do? Should I go?
 
     Stephen Santamaria was the Founder and CEO of Orchid Software, the company responsible for Zephyr—a computer interface that worked like the computer systems in the futuristic Tom Cruise movie, Minority Report. Once it was up and running, a virtual representation of the user’s computer screen appeared in the air and the user could actually “pick up” files and folders and move things around in the air in real-time. The Zephyr app essentially turned the air itself into a 3-dimensional trackpad and computer desktop, and the first two years’ sales had made Stephen Santamaria the third richest man in America. Now, four years later, he lived in a 40,000 square foot mansion on top of a mountain in Oregon. The house was fully computerized and essentially acted as its own computer server, since Stephen had his own satellite solely for his personal and professional Internet needs.
     Stephen had not been back to Connecticut in more than five years. After Fortune magazine had put him on its cover, he had severed all ties with his family. At the time, this had been no great sacrifice for Stephen.
     The severing of ties had not been done with a scalpel, however. He had not suddenly decided “I’m alone” and then announced his decision to his family. He had simply distanced himself, more and more with each family member’s attempt to contact him, making it increasingly difficult and, then, essentially impossible for anyone in his family to directly contact him. His personal “firewall”—they were known as the “Firewall Team”—was very effective, and they opened and screened Stephen’s mail and, in most cases, either ignored communications from his family on Stephen’s orders, or took care of sending an innocuous response along the lines of “Mr. Santamaria asked me to respond on his behalf. He’s very busy but appreciates your blah blah blah ...” Sometimes, as in the case of the invitation, they passed things along, simply because no one wanted to take the responsibility of turning down family invitations for Stephen. Sometimes family members called. But even if someone from the family did manage to find a number that connected to someone who was in touch with Stephen, it was still Stephen’s call whether or not to respond. He hardly ever did.
And eventually, the contacts ceased.
     Stephen had built a new, exceedingly wealthy life completely on his own, and he had somehow arrived at the wholehearted belief that he didn’t need his family. With the same abstract coldness, he also came to believe with certainty that he did not care to share his life with them.
     Stephen had psychologically redefined himself as someone who wanted nothing to do with his past. And he did not second-guess his decision. There was something deep and dark in him that made him resistant to (fearful of?) maintaining familial connections, and he did not spend time trying to understand this impulse.
     Late at night, though, he sometimes admitted to himself that he did not understand why he was so averse to keeping in touch—even with his own mother. Don’t I love these people? he would ask himself, unable to summon an answer that rendered truth, that bespoke his heart’s deepest feelings. He knew that something had changed in him and, for unfathomable reasons, he simply wanted to forget where he came from. He never succeeded in actually forgetting his past, but he was able to intellectually and emotionally lock it away and live as though his life had begun when he became Stephen Santamaria, CEO of Orchid Software.
     His two brothers, Andy, and Tommy, both older than Stephen, had at first ceaselessly harangued him about neglecting their mother and blowing off their cousins and other family members. His two sisters, Danielle and Jane, also older than him, eventually simply ignored him. And after a time, his siblings, too, gave up.
     As for his cousins, Stephen had a lot of them, yet he was in touch with precisely one. Ashley. If you could call Stephen’s willingness to read notes from her—notes to which he would not respond—as being “in touch.” Ashley Morgan Santamaria was twelve years younger than Stephen and, over the years, she had somehow come to think of him as more of an uncle than a cousin. She looked up to him, and Stephen had always enjoyed her company. They had long had a genuine bond, but even she had never been to Oregon to visit Stephen.
     Over the past few years, Ashley had regularly sent Stephen clippings from the local paper about him or Zephyr, and she would always attach a Smiley Face Post-It on which she would write something like, “I’m so proud of you!!” Stephen did love Ashley and nowadays considered her more a friend than a cousin. But he still kept his distance and he could count on one hand the times he recalled responding to her notes. And even though he never gave her his personal e-mail address or cellphone number, his Firewall Team knew that he wanted to see anything that came in the mail from Ashley.
     Now he needed to decide. Everyone he had so scrupulously avoided for five years would be in one place. Mom’ll be there. And Dad. And all the uncles. All my old-school Italian uncles. And all the aunts. And all my cousins. Should I go? Will they hound me about the past five years?
     Stephen looked at the invitation one more time and then slipped it back into its envelope. He sat silently for a moment and then said, “Marie.” Immediately a voice responded, “Yes, Mr. Santamaria?. How can I help you?”
     Stephen smiled. The bot’s voice always amused him. When he was designing the automated response network for his house, he had chosen the voice of Scarlet Johansson for the interface. And he had paid her a handsome sum for the rights to use her voice.
     “Marie, please scan the invitation that arrived today, call the RSVP phone number on it, and tell my cousin Connie that I will be attending the family reunion.”
     “When shall I take care of this, Mr. Santamaria?”
     Stephen glanced at his watch, a one-of-a-kind Vacheron-Constantine, and saw that it was around dinner time on the east coast.
     “You can do it now, Marie.”
     “Thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately.”
     Stephen shrugged. Ah, well. Done is done. Now I’m a pussy if I cancel, since the moment Marie hangs up, Connie will be on the phone to her mother and all my brothers telling them I’m coming. Then the parentals will know. And then the cousins. Yep. Done is done. Hey, maybe I’ll have good time.
     “Marie?”
     “Yes, Mr. Santamaria?”
     “I’m ready to begin the morning briefing.”
     “Yes, sir. I’ll summon the attendees immediately.”
     “Thanks, Marie.”
     “You’re very welcome, Mr. Santamaria.”

2
The Washington Tavern & Restaurant

     The limo pulled up in front of the Washington Tavern & Restaurant and stopped. The driver immediately climbed out of the front seat and rushed to open the door for Stephen.
     When Stephen stepped out, he looked around and saw that the restaurant’s adjacent parking lot was full. It was near two and he knew that the reunion had been going full-swing for at least a couple of hours. Even though the invitation said one o’clock, Stephen knew that most of his family had been there from around noon. They always show up early. I’ve always wondered why people hosting Santamaria family events didn’t just change the hour on the invitation. If they wanted the affair to start at 1:00 p.m., they could put 2:00 p.m. on the invite and know that everyone would be there at one. The concept of fashionably late is anathema to the Santamarias.
     “Thanks, Phil. I’ll text you when I’m ready to go.”
     “Yes, sir. Are we staying in Connecticut tonight?”
     Stephen shook his head. “No. Tell John he’ll have a forty-minute warning to take-off.”
     Phil nodded. “Yes, sir. And the limo?”
     “We’ll take it back on the plane. It’s a pain in the ass to have it shipped.”
     “Yes, sir. I’ll wait for your call. Have a good time.”
     Stephen smiled and said, “You’ve been with me for a long time, haven’t you, Phil?”
       “Yes, sir. More than eight years.”
     “So, many years ago, you had the opportunity to meet some of the people inside that building, right?”
       Phil smiled. “Yes, sir.”
     Stephen smiled and said, “And yet you still wish me a good time. You are a perfect gentlemen, my friend. And I do appreciate the thought. I truly do.”
      Phil chuckled and said, “I always try to be polite, sir.”
     Stephen placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “Indeed you do, Phil. And you always succeed. Quick. Want to trade places? I’ll go get the limo washed and you can go to the reunion.”
     Phil laughed and said, “Not on your life, sir. All due respect, of course.”
     Stephen laughed in response and said, “You are a very smart man, Philip. Well, here I go. Once more into the breach, dear friend.”
     “Once more, or fill the wall up with our English dead,” Phil replied.
     Stephen smiled warmly at Phil ... he’s still a Shakespeare fan ... took a deep breath, straightened his tie, made the Sign of the Cross, and started walking toward the front door of the Washington Tavern & Restaurant.

3
Stephen’s Uncle Ray

     Uncle Ray saw Stephen the moment he stepped into the restaurant’s lobby.
     “Here he is! Mr. Millionaire Computer Bigshot!”
     He’s not going to hug me with a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other. This is a $6,000 Brioni suit.
     Uncle Ray, his arms spread wide, rushed to where Stephen was standing, laughing the whole time. “Come here, you son of a so-and-so!” he shouted. Stephen stood stock-still as Uncle Ray reached him and embraced him with a cigar in one hand and a drink in the other. Stephen smelled both Scotch and Macanudo, and returned the hug by placing his hands on his uncle’s back.
      Uncle Ray broke first and then stepped back, holding onto Stephen by pressing his wrists against Stephen’s upper arms. Stephen could hear the Scotch sloshing and could see smoke in front of his eyes.
     “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the carpenter, too, Stevie boy! I never thought I’d see you again!”
       Stephen smiled and said, “Well, here I am, Unk.”
     “Goddamn, boy! You look good!”
     “Thanks, Uncle Ray.” Stephen peered over his uncle’s shoulder, trying to look inside the dining room. “Who else is here?”
     Ray slugged some of his drink and jammed his cigar between his teeth. He then placed his now-free left hand around Stephen’s shoulder and said, “Everybody’s here, Stevie. Come on. They’re all dying to see you. Believe it or not, the place had a power failure just before you arrived, but the lights are back on now and everything’s fine.”
     Stephen and Uncle Ray walked into the dining room and Stephen looked around. Uncle Ray was right. It looked like every single member of the Santamaria family had come to the reunion. They paused a couple of feet inside the room and Uncle Ray then shouted, “Hey, everybody! Look who’s here!”
     All heads turned toward Ray and, within seconds, a roar went up from the crowd and at least half of the people in the room started rushing toward Stephen.
     But Uncle Ray immediately held up his hand, palm out, and said loudly, “Hey! Hold it right there.” And to Stephen’s amazement, everyone stopped in their tracks.
     “Don’t even think of swarming our Stevie and making him want to turn around and run the hell out of here for another five years. Everybody sit down. Stevie will come to each table.” He turned to Stephen. “Won’t you, Stevie?”
     Stephen nodded and said, “Hi, everyone. I promise. I’ll come to every table and say hello to all of you.”
     Everyone returned to their tables and Uncle Ray leaned over and whispered, “You can skip that bitch Winifred if you want. Won’t bother me in the least.”
     Stephen chuckled and whispered back, “Uncle Ray. Aunt Winnie is your sister.”
     Ray took another drink of his Scotch and said, “Don’t I know it.” He gestured with his head toward an empty table and said, “Let’s sit a minute, nephew.”
     Stephen nodded. “Sure, Unk.” They sat down facing each other and, for a minute or so, Uncle Ray didn’t say anything, but just stared at Stephen with a big grin on his face. I can tell he’s definitely happy to see me. Or drunk. Or both. Whatever the case, it’s a nice welcome, I suppose.
     “So how’ve you been, Unk?”
     “Good, good, Stevie. But I don’t have to ask you that question, eh? That’s for sure.”
     Am I blushing? That’s impossible.
     “Yeah, things have been good.”
     Uncle Ray sipped his drink. “I always knew you’d be a great success, Stevie. Always.”
     Stephen smiled politely. “Thanks, Unk. That means a lot to me.”
     Uncle Ray leaned back in his chair, smirked, and said, “That sounds pre-programmed. People probably tell you that all the time, right?”
     “I’m sorry. It wasn’t pre-programmed. I meant it. It does mean a lot to me.”
     “Well, I meant it, too, Stevie. I could always tell. Do you remember when I had the cleaners?”
     Stephen nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I do! Ray’s Quality Dry Cleaners. On Lewis Avenue.”
     Uncle Ray let out a guffaw, and then reached over and slapped Stephen on the back. “That’s right! Ray’s Quality! ‘We’ll keep your clothes looking like you just bought ‘em!’ You do remember!”
     Stephen chuckled and said, “How could I not, Unk? I worked two summers for you. You taught me how to press and spot. Don’t you remember?”
     Uncle Ray puffed his cigar until the tip glowed red. “Yeah, I remember, kid. I just wasn’t sure if you did. I thought maybe you didn’t want to remember.”
     Stephen frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want to remember?”
     “Well, seeing as how you’re kind of out there by yourself now, I just figured maybe you wouldn’t want to be reminded of ... days gone by. Y’know ... the old days.”
     Stephen shook his head. “Of course not. I would never think that.”
     Uncle Ray looked steadily at Stephen as though he were trying to suss out his sincerity. “Okay, I believe you. And I sure as hell remember. One of those summers was when I left you alone to run the cleaners for a week when I went to Vegas with my brother Fred. That week I knew you’d make something of yourself.”
     Stephen laughed and said, “Uncle Ray, that was the week I accidentally drained out all the fresh perc from the cleaning machine.”
     Uncle Ray’s eyes twinkled. “I know. I remember. But you fixed it, didn’t you?”
      Stephen nodded. “Yes, I guess I did.”
     “What were you? A little shy of sixteen? Seventeen? You ran my shop for me and made money for me while I was away. And you did one hell of a job, I have to say. Uncle Ray leaned in closer to Stephen. “There wasn’t anyone who worked for me who I would have trusted with the key but you, Stevie,” he said softly.
     Stephen nodded and said, “Thanks, Uncle Ray. And I’ll say it again. That means a lot to me. But that was some week.”
     I haven’t seen or spoken to this guy in over five years and he remembers something that happened almost twenty years ago. And is still proud of me for running his shop while he was away.
     “But tell me, Stevie. And I ain’t asking for me, believe me. What a man chooses to do is his own business. But your Aunt Phyllis is kind of upset you never invited us out to your house. She keeps wondering if you’re mad at us. She goes on and on. ‘What did we do, Ray? Why doesn’t he ever call us? He was like our own son when he was growing up. How many times did we take care of him? How many nights did he sleep at our house with his cousins? Birthday parties ... cookouts ... our families were always together. And now he wants nothing to do with us. What did we do, Ray?’ I always try to calm her down and I tell her that you’re just really, really busy, and that you’ve got a huge company to run, and that you’re a very important person now, but it still bothers her. You do get our birthday and Christmas cards, didn’t you?”
     Stephen was horrified to think that he had upset his Aunt Phyllis. She had always doted on him when he was a kid, and the thought that he had caused her pain troubled him deeply. Aunt Phyllis with her delicious anginette cookies, and her crazy love of all things Kenny Rogers. What have I done to her?
     Uncle Ray puffed his cigar, inhaled a huge draught of smoke, and then plumed it out of his mouth in a thin, white tube. “You ran that dry cleaners like it was your own, Stevie. So I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I started hearing about your incredible success, and then I started seeing things about you in the paper. I talk about you all the time, nephew.” Uncle Ray chuckled and said, “All my friends are sick of hearing about you. But they all have Zephyr. They all have it. Every last sumbitch one of them. So when they start bitching about my bragging on you, I thank them for adding to my nephew’s bank account. They laugh, though. They know I’m just breaking balls.”
     Uncle Ray turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Listen, I’m going to go talk to my brother Fred, so why don’t you grab a drink, and then start making the rounds when you feel up to it. And we’ll talk again later.”
     Stephen nodded and said, “Thanks, Uncle Ray. Thanks for your help.”
     Uncle Ray punched Stephen gently in the arm and said, “Ah, don’t mention it. You’re my favorite brother’s kid.” He looked around conspiratorially and then said under his voice, “And seriously, Stephen, that frigging Zephyr is amazing, kid. Anybody who can come up with something like that is okay in my book. I think you cured my carpal tunnel.”
     Stephen’s eyes widened in surprise and he replied, “Really, Uncle Ray? You like the Zephyr program? And it helped your wrists?”
     “Like it? I frigging love it. And I even went down to CompUSA and paid regular price for one. Your mother wanted to try and get through to you and ask for a free one for me, but I wouldn’t let her. Business is business and I don’t take nothing for nothing.”
     Stephen reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to his uncle. “Call this number when you get a chance, Unk. Tell whoever answers the phone ‘Sedna is our newest planet’.”
     Uncle Ray looked at the card with a puzzled expression on his face. “Senda is our newest planet?”
     “Sedna. Well, they’re not really sure it’s a planet, frankly, but that’s not important. We’re using it as the pass-phrase this quarter for ‘special access’ people. Y’know ... people I want to be able to get through to me—or to someone who can take care of them.”
     “You want me to call this number?”
     “Yes. We’ve got a new version of Zephyr coming out and I want to send you one. It won’t hit the stores for at least six months but I want you to have one now.”
     Uncle Ray looked at his nephew and Stephen saw tears welling up in his eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
     “Hey, come on, Unk. It’s only a computer program.”
     “No. No. It’s not only a program. It’s the thought. It’s you taking care of your uncle.”
     Uncle Ray then put down his drink and embraced Stephen in a bear hug. This time, Stephen hugged back.
     “Okay. Okay. Go get a drink and I’ll go talk to Fred and I’ll see you later, okay?”
     Stephen nodded and watched as Uncle Ray walked away, heading for his brother Fred’s table. Stephen saw him wiping his eyes with his fingers.
​​     Jesus. It’s only a piece of software. I didn’t even think he’d want to talk to me after I blew off him and his family for five years. I always loved Uncle Ray. I should have kept in touch with him. And I really should find Aunt Phyllis.

                                                          In the next installment...
Stephen’s Cousin Miranda • Stephen’s Cousin Gregory • Stephen’s Aunt Louise • Stephen’s Brother Tommy