But this would come later.
Two months after its launch, more than a quarter of a million people had set up accounts at Mapleworld, and the servers routinely overloaded. When the site crashed, a screen with the Samatar would come up: Looks like the weather’s bad in Mapletown. Grab your umbrellas, and we’ll be back real soon. It wasn’t long before fan-generated “When Mayor Mazer tells you the weather’s bad in Mapletown…” graphics spread across the internet as a meme for expressing tedium and frustration.
Sam, Sadie, and Marx had debated whether it was the right time for a game as “soft” as Mapleworld. As it turned out, in the late fall of 2001, Mapleworld was exactly what people craved. A virtual world that was better governed, kinder, and more understandable than their own.
On or about the tenth anniversary of Mapleworld’s launch, Sam gave a TED Talk titled “The Possibility of Utopia in Virtual Worlds.”
“Despite everything that transpired at Unfair Games on December 4th, 2005, and despite evidence to the contrary, it is not an inevitability that we should be our worst selves behind the mask of an avatar. What I believe to my very core,” he concluded, “is that virtual worlds can be better than the actual world. They can be more moral, more just, more progressive, more empathetic, and more accommodating of difference. And if they can be, shouldn’t they be?”
2
Not long after New Year’s 2002, Dov called Sadie with two pieces of news: （1） he was, at long last, getting divorced, and （2） he was getting married in Tiburon to a former student, a young woman a few classes behind Sadie at MIT.
“I don’t know if you’ll want to come, but I’m inviting you, Sammy, and Marx to the wedding,” Dov said. “I didn’t want you to get the invitation without us having spoken. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.”
On the approximately nine-hour road trip to Tiburon, Sam, Sadie, and Marx took turns driving. The mood was celebratory, relaxed: Mapleworld was a success, and Sadie and Marx were in love, though they were still keeping this a secret from Sam.
“Were you mad when he told you he was getting divorced?” Sam asked.
“Mad?” Sadie said. “I was terrified he was going to ask me to get back with him.”
“He’s such an asshole,” Marx said. From the back seat, he reached over the front seat to squeeze Sadie’s hand.
“Hey,” Sam said. “You guys are seeing each other, right?” This was said casually, as if Sam was barely interested in the answer: Hey, should we stop for food? Or Hey, you mind if I turn on the radio? He was the one driving the car at the time, and they were about halfway to Tiburon, on the high elevation of the Pacific Coast Highway, five miles south of San Simeon.
Marx and Sadie had been discreet at the office, and they had had no reason to believe that Sam knew. For several months, Sadie had wanted to tell Sam, but it had been Marx who had resisted. “He’ll take it harder than you think,” Marx had said.
“I don’t think he’ll take it that badly. Sam and I have never dated or been lovers or any of that. And these days, I would describe us as colleagues, more than friends. You’re better friends with him than I am,” Sadie said. “Trust me, the lying is worse.”
“We’re not lying. We just haven’t told him yet,” Marx said.
“So, let’s tell him.”
“Maybe we should pull a Dov. Let’s send him an invitation to the wedding,” Marx said.
“Dov did actually tell me first,” Sadie said, smiling. “And you and I aren’t getting married.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe I don’t believe in marriage,” Sadie said.
“There’s no believe, Sadie. It’s not like God, Santa Claus, or whether Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. It’s a civic ceremony, with a piece of paper. It’s a party, with your friends—”
“Our friends who you refuse to tell.”
“Only Sam.”
“And everyone who knows Sam. And that’s almost everyone we know. You’d rather marry me than have to tell Sam? Am I understanding you correctly?”
“I don’t see the issues as entirely related,” Marx said.
The conversation was a roundelay of inaction that they dutifully repeated every couple of months. Sadie found the whole thing out of character for Marx—as a person, he was remarkably transparent. He was honest. He loved the things he loved, and he made no secret of what those things were. And in the end, she attributed Marx’s inertia to a touching, if naive, devotion to Sam. She, too, used to feel such devotion, before she’d seen Sam for who he really was.
By the time of Dov’s wedding, they had been together almost an entire year. Marx still had the bungalow he’d shared with Zoe, but he had effectively moved into Clownerina. Sadie and Marx were even thinking of buying a house together.
“It’s fine, if you’re seeing each other,” Sam said. “I’m not going to lose my mind if that’s what you both are worried about. I’m not going to drive this car off the highway into the Pacific.” He swerved the car a little, as a joke. “But I would like to know. I mean, it’s obvious. I know you both, so it’s obvious. And it’s honestly rather insulting that you haven’t told me.”
“We are seeing each other,” Sadie said.
“I love her,” Marx added. “I love you,” he said to Sadie.
“I love you, too,” Sadie said.
Sam nodded. “Good. That’s what I thought. Mazel. Do you guys want to go see the Hearst Castle? We’re about to pass it and I’ve never been.”
Sam was quiet on the tour of La Cuesta Encantada, the most quixotic, stately pleasure dome in California, land of the quixotic, stately pleasure domes. Sadie had trained herself not to cater to Sam’s moods, not to feel too much for him, but nonetheless, she could sense his agitation.
When the tour was over, Sadie told Marx that she wanted to speak to Sam alone, so they went out to a half-moon-shaped patio that faced the Pacific. It was two o’clock and the sun, reflecting against the water, was blinding. Even with sunglasses on, it was difficult for Sadie to see Sam.
“I thought this place was so beautiful when I was nine, but now it seems ridiculous,” Sadie said, mainly to fill the silence.
“Why? Hearst had the money, so he built himself exactly the world he wanted. There were zebras and swimming pools and bougainvillea and picnics, and no one ever died. How is it different than what we do?”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam said.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I might have loved you once,” Sam said. “And I’ll always care for you in my way, but we wouldn’t work together. I’ve known that for years.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“If you and I were going to be a couple, one of us would have done something about it by now, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“It’s strange when your two closest colleagues keep a secret like that, though,” Sam said. “It’s arrogant of you both to assume I would care so much.”