Chapter Eighteen: The Celebration Party

With the White Office Suite selling like hotcakes, a celebration was naturally in order. This too was part of Silicon Valley culture. After all, here gathered a group of young people brimming with dreams. Success or failure, emotions needed an outlet.

Americans were born party animals; if you never attended a party, you weren’t just out of touch—you were disconnected from society itself.

Some might wonder why so many handsome men and beautiful women showed up at American parties. Wasn’t that just Hollywood fantasy? In truth, the real parties were even wilder than the movies. The reason was simple: it was a business.

In this world, there were plenty of fun-loving girls. Ordinary folks just didn’t know where to find them, but party organizers did. For them, it might be a game, but for the hosts, it was business.

You liked swimwear? No problem! Prefer formal dresses? That could be arranged too—they could invite socialites. As for whether there were other sorts of transactions, usually there weren’t. In a country where money ruled all, almost everything had a price. If nothing was discussed in advance, then nothing would happen. Of course, some pleasant encounters did occur—those were a matter of mutual consent, unrelated to money. Everyone was there to have fun; if you couldn’t make something happen under such circumstances, then tough luck.

With a lingering chill in the air, a pool party was clearly inappropriate. Imagine a crowd of shivering beauties—that image was almost too much. To highlight his company’s class, William White chose a cocktail party.

It wasn’t just his company in attendance; Apple had been invited as well, all in the name of fostering interaction and cooperation. Apple certainly wouldn’t refuse—it could count as a company perk, and their team had been working hard lately.

William White’s staff were overjoyed when, at closing time, the finance team handed out cash. Everyone—no matter if it was their first day—received a red envelope: two thousand dollars each, no exceptions. For many, that was no small sum; in those days, plenty of people didn’t make that much in a month. And this wasn’t a bonus or salary; it was just a treat from a happy boss, a bit of candy money. The staff now saw their boss in a new light—as a real big spender.

As night fell, elegantly dressed guests streamed in. San Francisco was at its best this season—just like the party: neither too hot nor too cold, just right. Seeing the lavish spread, several Apple executives couldn’t help but smile wryly. At most cocktail parties, you were lucky if there was enough cold food to fill your stomach. Not here—this was nearly a full French banquet. There was even a chef grilling steaks on the spot.

The world of the rich was clearly not one they understood.

“Hey, Steve, let’s head upstairs.”

Seeing William White beckoning, the great Steve Jobs could only smile wryly. This guy was so forward. When did I become ‘Old Steve’? I’m still ‘Young Steve,’ thank you very much. But he didn’t mind. Steve’s pride was legendary, but this was clearly a friendly gesture. It would be petty to put on a sour face.

“Everyone, everyone, make yourselves at home. Don’t be shy—I’ve paid for all this. If you don’t eat enough, I’ll be at a loss!”

“William, this is seriously extravagant.”

“Steve, you should visit my ranch sometime. This is how we do it in Texas—our guests must be satisfied, that’s our motto.”

“Alright, alright, you do seem very Texan.”

“Haha, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The big shots sipped drinks and chatted upstairs. Meanwhile, downstairs had erupted into a wild revel. Don’t be fooled by these IT guys’ usual reserved demeanor—each harbored a little devil inside. Give them the opportunity, and out came the pitchforks.

Steve quickly realized his understanding of William White was sorely lacking. White was an excellent conversationalist, equally at ease discussing astronomy, geography, or historical anecdotes. Most endearing of all, he wasn’t just a talker but a great listener, always able to ask just the right questions to tickle someone’s interest. That was truly impressive.

One moment he could discuss Shakespeare with Mike Markkula, the next he could crack an off-color joke without missing a beat. Jobs came to a conclusion: this guy was a real enigma.

So far, the partnership between Apple and White Software had been a win-win. Apple optimistically projected next month’s shipments would approach or even exceed twenty thousand units. At that rate, White Software’s sales would top two million dollars—a staggering figure. If more platforms joined in the second half of the year, annual sales could near fifty million.

White Software’s packaging was exquisite, and the manuals were well-made—clearly not a bargain product. Consumers intuitively believed this was a well-established company, strong in technology. Why had they never heard of it? Perhaps they were just out of the loop. They’d never guess this company had only been around a few days, and its supposed technical prowess was mostly smoke and mirrors.

Everything in this world suffered by comparison. Companies selling enterprise database software had plain, even shoddy packaging and sky-high prices—they looked more like fly-by-night outfits. Apple, above all, was inspired to quickly improve its own documentation. While still imperfect, it was a huge step up from before.

Sales were all about presentation. If you didn’t make your product look high-end, how could you command a premium price? At the time, product manuals were almost nonexistent in IT, or at best contained little substance. This was the power of example—even IBM and HP didn’t bother with manuals. Selling mainframes required technical services, which were even more profitable than the hardware. If everything was spelled out, that revenue would be lost.

These companies truly had a monopoly; marketing hardly mattered. Even their salespeople didn’t really understand the products. It was baffling how they managed to sell anything at all.

Happy times were always short-lived. As the bigwigs departed, the party reached its peak. Young men and women let their hormones run wild. Of course, there were those left disappointed—nothing in this world was perfect. Perhaps that was the price of growing up; sometimes, it was the flaws that made things beautiful. Perfection was always destined to be destroyed.

William White drank a little too much that night. Though not quite drunk, he felt a bit unmoored. Memories of the past flickered before his eyes—some painful, some joyful. But when he awoke, the past seemed to have drifted away on the wind. Only a lonely heart persisted, beating stubbornly on.