The black and white file created in Illustrator program by artist Andy Gikling and exported to the machine, which interprets the grayscale with power changes.
It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal. I'm not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Fortunately, Kate's lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. It's early, and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. She's articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful - and she's my dearest, dearest friend. But then Kate can talk anyone into anything. I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this. Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. And thanks Ana - as usual, you're my lifesaver."
I made you some soup to heat up later." I stare at her fondly. "I know nothing about him," I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. How does she do itEven ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. Please," Kate begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. It will take another six to reschedule, and we'll both have graduated by then. It took me nine months to get this interview. Kate is huddled on the couch in the living room. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious - much more precious than mine - but he has granted Kate an interview. I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon, but no - today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do, with some mega-industri-alist tycoon I've never heard of, for the student newspaper. Kate is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. Damn my hair - it just won't behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal.
I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror.
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