Chapter 3

I thought about that encounter all the way home in the taxi, again in the elevator up to my place, some more while getting into bed, and for a long while after the lights were out.

I had convinced her -- really just suggested it to her, but she was prepared to believe it -- that she could trust me and tell me anything. And she did, with no hesitation. And the telling of her sex experiences seemed to have gotten her hot, because I hadn’t suggested it directly. and I hadn’t urged her to give me a blowjob, either, but she did it anyway. So it seemed that the storytelling had just moved her in a direction to which she was already inclined.

She had been prepared to like me, because I had been talked up by my friend, much as they had talked her up to me, so there was already a predisposition to a romantic liaison. What would happen, I wondered, if it were a person who I had just met, who was indifferent to me? Or if it were a person who actively disliked me? Could they be convinced to willingly hook up with me, and think it their own decision?

The more data I accumulated, the more complex the problem seemed. I didn’t know the limits of the process, and getting it wrong could have, at best, unpleasant results. I would have to tread slowly and carefully, extending the test conditions incrementally. And then, I think, I fell asleep.

In the morning on the way to work my mind was working overtime trying to understand what was happening, and the limits of the drug. I didn’t understand, for example, if these “suggestions” I planted were temporary, until the dose wore off, or if they remained in the subject, either wholly or in part.

Did the subject have to be friendly and open to me for it to work, or would it work on someone who was neutral or even antipathetic to me? How would I measure the effective duration of the suggestion? How far could I push these suggestions? There was a lot to figure out here.

What would happen if I increased the dosage, either by increasing the concentration of the liquid, or by perhaps giving multiple sprays? Was an aerosol the best delivery method?

I made mental notes about these thoughts, to be added to my effects log later today.

At work, Clark was in a foul mood because one of his experiments had not returned the results he was hoping for, so he was short with everyone, convinced that one of us had messed up either through malice or incompetence. We tried to stay out of his way.

I ate lunch in the cafeteria, which wasn’t very good but it was cheap. I chewed on my sandwich while staring vacantly out the windows and thinking about my testing problem. I hadn’t noticed any lasting effects with Ellen, but it was a relatively short testing period. I would stay in touch with her, and surreptitiously monitor her for anomalies.

My gaze wandered around the cafeteria and I noticed a couple of women sitting at a table by themselves. I kind of recognized the shorter one but couldn’t remember her name; she worked in Accounting, I think. The other one everyone knew, the way you’d know Jennifer Lopez or Angelina Jolie if you saw one of them walking down the street. Passing her by on the sidewalk would be the closest you’d ever get to her, and your jaw would be hanging open as she walked away.

That was the effect Elisabeth Conway had on the male employees at RBP. She was the executive assistant to the Vice-President of Commercial Products, Schwartz by name, and the rumor was that he (and all the other vice presidents) had tried their damnedest to get her to go to dinner, to lunch, have a doughnut in the break room, even just give them a smile, but she would have none of it. It was “Look, don’t touch.”

She was one of those women that make you scratch your head and say to yourself, “Why the hell isn’t she in Hollywood? She should be famous.” She was, to state the obvious, drop-dead gorgeous. Maybe five-eight, legs that seemed to go on forever, eyes that could melt hearts from twenty paces, an ass that begged to be groped, and a chest that looked like she had to make an effort to camouflage its prominence.

I had an even smaller chance of breaching that rampart than the VP’s, but then I thought, “Isn’t that the perfect test subject to prove or disprove my question about the drug’s efficacy on subjects who are indifferent or hostile?” If she could be convinced, say, just to go out for coffee, wouldn’t that be proof enough?

I thought about that as I collected my lunch trash and deposited it in the receptacle, heading back to the lab. If that worked, it would not only provide an answer to one of the open questions, but would also grant me bragging rights over every male employee at RBP. I went back to the lab to complete my current tasks while I batted the Conway idea around in the back of my mind.

The next day I went in to work and found Clark in a marginally better mood. He had apparently decided that the results he was hoping for weren’t all that important anyway. So we all got a reprieve until the next crisis.

I had thought about Liz Conway overnight and had decided that, since there were no obvious ill effects on Ellen, it was probably safe to use on someone else, at least in small doses. My goal was quite simple: I wanted to prove that the drug would work on someone who was not already predisposed to associate with me, someone who was completely indifferent to me. That didn’t do a lot for my morale, but scientists must persevere.

I had wondered how I would get close enough to her to apply it, since she had no idea who I was and I had no conceivable business with her boss, Mr. Vice President of Commercial Products. So I couldn’t just wander up to her desk in a friendly manner and mist her.

But then I remembered, Schwartz had a rep as a Luddite, unusual for someone who worked in a technical field. He was something of a running joke around RBP, always good for a chuckle: He would not read his emails on a terminal; he wanted hard copies, on paper that he could hold in his hand and mark up. In fact, he wouldn’t write his own, either; he would dictate his email text to his assistant, who would type it in as he spoke and then hit Send. Apparently, email was only for the working class. Executives had people to do that menial stuff for them.

So each morning at the same time, his assistant, the lovely Liz, would send all of VP Schwartz’s unread emails from his inbox to the color printer down the hall, then carry them back and place them on his desk for his consideration. I found some old charts and graphs from a previous project, bundled them together, and just before the time when she would normally start printing the emails, I sent my batch to that same color printer.

I wandered aimlessly up the hallway, hands in pockets, whistling tunelessly, and parked myself in front of the printer. I bounced on my heels as the printer started churning out pretty-looking graphs. I sensed, rather than heard, her walk into the room.

I glanced around and saw her looking a little surprised, since the room was typically used only by the executives and was normally empty.

I said, “Are you waiting for a print job? Sorry, I probably still have a couple of minutes to go on my job. The lab printer is acting up and we needed these.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she answered. “Will you be long?”

“No, not at all, it’s probably close to done, then I’ll be out of your way.”

“Okay, I’ll wait.”

The printer spit out what I thought was the last page, and I said, “I think that’s it. Yours is probably next up. I just have to collate mine.”

I took my stack of paper to the table on the opposite wall so my back was to her, and made as if I were sorting my stack of printouts. She stared at the printer as if she could urge it to greater efficiency, and while her back was turned I took out the atomizer from my pocket and gave her a pulse of mist over her shoulder. I held my breath while I continued to sort my stack of paper.

When I turned back toward her a minute later, her hands had dropped to her side, she was breathing shallowly, and was staring at a spot on the wall above the printer. Her print job ended but she continued to stand there.

Now or never. “Liz, are you all right? You’re looking a little lightheaded.”

“I think I’m fine, thank you, just a little lethargic.”

“How do you feel? Should I get you some water?”

“Thanks for offering, but I think I’m all right. I’m just feeling, I don’t know, like this is a pleasant place to be right now.”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes I can go off into a cheerful daydream and forget about everyone and everything at work. Sort of like that, you mean?”

“Yes, like that.”

“It’d be nice if we could turn off work worries whenever we wanted, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, that would be perfect. But I know my boss would be after me for some trivial task that he could probably do faster himself.”

“Oh, don’t talk to me about bosses! I could tell you stories that would make you glad you have the one you do. Anyway, it’s nice to chat with someone who understands the problems we have to deal with at work. It’s like a weight on your shoulder gets lighter when you talk to a friend about it. Do you feel that way?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Me, too. I wish we ran into each other more often. It would help for me to talk about boss craziness. Perhaps we could talk about it over coffee in the cafeteria sometime when you have a scheduled break. Would that be something you’d like to try?”

“I think so. That would be nice.”

“That’s great. When do you have a break?”

“I usually take a break around 2:15. I’d normally get coffee up here, but I could go to the cafeteria instead.”

“That time sounds perfect. I’ll look forward to that. Are you feeling okay now? Do you need help collecting your print job?”

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine. I’ll head back. Wait, what did you say your name was? I’m sorry, I should know it, but I’m forgetful today.”

“That’s fine. I’m Sam. Sam Halloran. 2:15 in the cafeteria. Till then.”

I picked up my print job and walked down the hall. Around the corner I deposited them into a secure recycling bin, and went back to the lab with a smile on my face.

In the lab I collated results from one of Clark’s experiments. I didn’t see how the experiment got him any closer to his goal, but he was the lab director, we just did his bidding. I grabbed a sandwich and a small salad in the cafeteria around noon, then spent a couple of hours in the lab working out the methodology for Clark’s next experiment.

At 2:10 I stretched and said to no one in particular that I was headed down to the cafeteria for a snack. Nobody raised their head, which showed how much they cared.

In the cafeteria, which was sparsely populated at this hour, I didn’t see Liz so I got coffee and a piece of cake and sat at a table off to the side. As I put down my coffee cup, Liz rushed in the door, looking a little breathless.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Mr. Schwartz wanted to send out an email right now, so I had to type it for him.”

“Not a problem, Liz, I just got here. Can I get you a coffee?”

“Thanks, I’ll do it since I’m already up. Be right back.”

She hurried off to the counter and I had to admire the view. That really was an exceptional butt. Hold on, Sam, this is science, keep your focus. I reluctantly agreed with myself.

She was back in short order with her coffee and a very small cookie.

“That’s not much of a snack,” I observed.

“Guys have it easy, their metabolism converts chocolate, sugar, beer, and potato chips into what? Photons or something. They never seem to put on weight. Me, if I look at something like what you’re eating for too long, I gain half a pound.” She smiled.

“I’d hate to see you waste away to nothing from dessert deprivation.”

“Thanks, but I know what I can and can’t eat.”

And it continued like that for another ten minutes, just two people having a nice conversation, with a few smiles and even a laugh or two. We spent a short time talking about bosses and work aggravations, but mostly about other things.

And before I knew it, she glanced at her watch and started gathering up her things. “Sorry,” she said, “but it’s time to get back.”

“This was a nice break. I’m glad we had a chance to talk a little. Maybe I’ll run into you again in the cafeteria.”

She smiled and arched an eyebrow, and said, “You never know. See you around, Sam Halloran.”

I sat and thought for a couple of minutes. I’d consider that a success. She didn’t know me from Adam, but had agreed to meet me and have coffee after she had turned down practically every executive in the place. So as far as I was concerned, I had proved this hypothesis.

Back in the lab, I headed to my work station and saw eyes flicking in my direction from everywhere. Uh, oh, had I screwed something up, forgotten something I was supposed to have done? Why was everyone looking at me and trying not to be noticed doing it?

I got settled, and a few moments later Art Birnbaum cleared his throat and said, “So, Sam, someone said they saw you chatting with Liz Conway. I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

Holy crap! Has anyone ever measured the speed of gossip? Someone needs to do that. News of the event got here before I did!

I cleared my throat to gain a moment, then said, “Well, we don’t, really, I just ran into her at the printer and we got to talking, then saw her again in the cafeteria. No big deal.”

Art looked over at Frank Wisowicz and they shared a look which plainly said ‘Very big deal’. But they didn’t ask me any more about it, they’d just gossip about it amongst themselves.

So I had proved the hypothesis about the neutral or indifferent person being susceptible. What about the person who is hostile or antipathetic? How do I find one of those to test? Ah, well, small steps, I’ll figure it out.

We toiled through the afternoon, with my brain becoming duller and duller as the minutes passed. Finally, at 5:00, people started cleaning up their work areas before they left for the day. Wisowicz called from across the lab, “Hey, Sam, a couple of us are going out for burgers and beer. You want in?”

In fact, I had nothing worth cooking in the fridge, so it would probably be pizza or Chinese takeout tonight, until I could get to the market. “Okay, Frank, sounds good to me.”

At the outside door we agreed on where we’d meet, and headed off to our individual cars. It was only about seven minutes drive to The Burger Barn, which was in fact a better place than the name would imply. It was actually a local watering hole, popular among the young techies who worked in the area.

It was a little crowded when we finally got in, with the after-work crowd looking for food, drink, and possibly a hook-up. We found a table for the three of us which was mostly clean, so we sat and ordered beers while we looked at the menu. I opted for the burger with bleu cheese and onion rings on the side and a small salad.

We shouted at one another over the restaurant’s dull crowd roar, chatting about work and advances in our respective fields. Frank was listening to what Ted Markey was saying when he did a double-take and lit up with a big smile, waving to someone across the room.

A few moments later, two women walked up to the table and the taller said, “Wisowicz, you Polish fraud, what are you doing here?”

He said, “Who you calling a fraud, Mallory? You wouldn’t know which end of the test tube to spit into to test your own DNA. How have you been?”

“Keepin’ busy. Who’re these guys, your parole officers?”

“Mallory, I see you haven’t lost that sense of humor that worked so well for you in grad school. You’re on your way to becoming a real wit. In fact, you’re almost halfway there. Eden Mallory, this is Sam Halloran and Ted Markey.” To us he added, “Eden and I were in grad school together. I got her through by the skin of her teeth.”

“What? You’ve got that all turned around, Wisowicz. You only have your degree because I saved your butt more than once. This here,” she said waving a slightly tipsy hand to her companion, “is Sara Keane, who is much smarter than any two of you. Be nice to her.”

I introduced myself to Sara, while Eden and Frank sparred verbally in a friendly manner. I asked, “Are you taking odds on this bout? I was inclined to put my money on Frank, but I kinda like Mallory’s style.”

“Yeah, that’d be a safe bet. Don’t get on her wrong side, she’ll run you over. What’s your deal, Sam? You a scientist, too?”

“Yeah, molecular biology, working on drug treatments. You?”

“Biochemistry, looking at how particular enzymes influence certain diseases.”

We traded biographical tidbits back and forth while I looked her over. She was a little shorter than I, and very fit, perhaps a runner’s body, with brunette hair, a nice smile, and a better than adequate chest. She had a kind of ironic look about her, where she would slightly raise an eyebrow after making a comment, to see how you’d respond to it.

They eventually found a free chair and pulled it up to the table, snug but enough room between us not to be uncomfortable. Sara pulled in next to me, and Eden sat next to Frank so they could try to get each other’s goat. Markey was married, so he didn’t mind being the odd man out.

Frank and Eden were now recounting humorous anecdotes from grad school days to each other, while Sara and I tried to stay on safe topics, since we didn’t know each other. The waitress interrupted us with our meal orders, depositing them on the table. Eden said to her, “We were over there, now we’re over here.” The waitress nodded knowingly. Not her first shift with the rowdy after-work crowd.

“Did you two order yet?” I asked Sara.

“Yeah, we did. I expect they’ll figure out where we are sooner or later. Start on your burger before it gets cold. Ooo, are those onion rings?”

“Help yourself,” I offered too late, since she already had one in her hand on the way to her mouth.

Another waitress carried a loaded tray to the empty table and looked puzzled for a moment, then spied her quarry and delivered Sara and Eden’s meals to their new table.

We all dug in until there were empty plates around the table and we all sat a little lower in our seats.

“Who’s up for a three-mile run?” I joked. “Anybody?”

“I’d join you,” said Ted as he got up from his seat and dropped some bills on the table, “but I’ve got to get home to the family. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am at not being able to jog with you. Tell me how it went tomorrow. Nice to meet you two. G’night, all.”

That left the four of us. Eden spied a shuffleboard table in the corner and challenged Frank to a game, apparently a popular time-waster in grad school and thus nostalgic. They went off, fishing for coins on the way.

I said, “I guess my grad school education was incomplete, since I never learned to play that one.”

“That might have been preferable to our games. Our thing was Seinfeld. It was on in syndication, so we’d all get together in a bar and we’d have to take a drink every time Jerry said ‘Hello, Newman’, or Newman said, ‘Hello, Jerry’. I honestly don’t know how we managed to get through exams, considering how often we were drunk or hung over.”

“We all have our own methods for dealing with grad school pressures. Yours seemed to have worked for you.”

She started talking about the highs and lows of grad school as she sipped her wine, and as she talked I started noticing how attractive she was. I’ve always been drawn to smart women, but it didn’t hurt that she was good looking, too.

As she chatted, I was having an internal debate with myself, partly driven by scientific curiosity, wanting to get more data about my compound, and partly by plain, old-fashioned horniness. The usual way to do this was to ply your target with lots of alcohol and sweet talk, and hope she’d invite you up to her place for a ‘nightcap’.

I had a better way, and I rationalized it by saying I could kill two birds with one stone. I could get laid and in the process gain some insight into how this drug worked. I bounced this back and forth as she talked, trying to look interested in her thoughts, while I debated. I still had the atomizer in my jacket pocket.

In the end, I gave in to the horniness, while trying to frame it as research. As she paused to take a sip of her wine, I excused myself to use the men’s room. I took my cloth napkin in my right hand as I got up so it covered the atomizer I held there. I sprayed once toward her as I let the napkin slide onto the table, wafting the mist in her direction.

I had a quick pee and washed my hands, then returned to the table. Frank and Eden were still playing shuffleboard, while goading each other to make them miss a point. They were having fun.

I sat down and put my napkin back in my lap. “That’s better,” I said.

She was staring a little vacantly across the room. “Sara, how do you feel?” I asked. “You look just a bit distracted.”

She sounded a little distant. “I’m fine, thanks. I was just feeling very comfortable, all of a sudden, pleasant, glad to be here.”

“Yes, it’s nice to get away from work sometimes, with friends, talking about other things. I’m enjoying this, and I like listening to you talk about your work. It’s stimulating.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that, but yes, it is. Exciting, in a way.”

“Sometimes, Sara, when I’m thinking about a scientific problem, and I have an insight, I find my skin tingling, almost like I’m aroused. It makes me breathe a little faster.”

“Yes, tingling, like the hairs on your arms are standing up, and you can’t catch your breath.”

“Is that a little like you feel now, a little turned-on? Like you’re reacting sexually to the person you’re with, wondering where this is going?”

I was taking a chance, now, because this was the first time I’d tried to be quite so direct with a subject. I still wasn’t sure how active their memory and free will were when they were under the influence. Perhaps they would forget the words I had spoken, perhaps not, I wasn’t sure.

Her eyes weren’t quite so distant now, they occasionally flicked over to me, but still seemed slightly out of focus.

“I wasn’t sure what it was, Sam, what I was feeling, but maybe you’re right, maybe it’s just attraction, getting turned on by the person next to me.”