Chapter 6

I lay down and napped when I got in. Apparently I really needed a couple more hours of sleep, but I felt better when I awoke. I collected my dirty laundry and went down to the laundry room and started a load of wash and dry. I read a journal while it finished.

While the dryer was running, I started thinking about how Annie had responded last night. I had taken a chance, and found that she hadn’t remembered being sprayed, nor the instructions I had given her while she was “tranced”, but that those instructions remained in place for several hours. By my estimation, she had also lost about two or three minutes of memories just before she was sprayed.

I also found that I had been able to implant -- I hated to use these hypnosis terms, because this really wasn’t hypnosis, but I had no adequate replacements -- to implant a post-hypnotic state triggered by a code word, here ‘dendrite’, and that I was able to activate that for some time afterward. That would prove useful, I thought.

I also thought that the suppression of inhibitions, such as the embarrassment of telling someone your true feelings, served as a kind of crude “truth serum”, such as when I had asked her why she had invited me and how she felt about me. Truth is good, and also useful to know. I would jot these down in my lab journal a little later.

There wasn’t much more to my day. I had no place I needed to be, there were no movies I wanted to see, and I don’t do much television. So I read, made my weekly phone call to my mother, and then it was bedtime. That’s what most of my weekends are like. This one had been a pleasant exception.

The next day, wonder of wonders, I got an email from Dr. Clark thanking me for my report on the last experiment and congratulating me on its successful execution. Thus heartened, I reviewed my lab notes for Clark’s next experiment and spent the morning setting it up. I would get it started in the afternoon.

Some of the others wanted to go out for lunch, but I wasn’t in the mood so I took a journal with me to the cafeteria for company while I ate my sandwich. After lunch I seeded the experimental apparatus, took the initial readings, and started it on its run. Around 2:15 I took a walk to the cafeteria again, but did not see Liz today.

Back in the lab I found Frank, who had been off-site all morning at a meeting. “Hey, Sam, how was your weekend?”

“Turned out very nice, thanks. Yours?”

“Better than I expected. I went out to dinner with Eden again, kind of a last-minute thing but we had a good time. She was telling me about her divorce for most of the meal. Tell the truth, I didn’t even remember that she’d gotten married. We’d kind of gone to different parts of the country after graduation and lost touch.

“Oh, by the way, she wanted me to pass on Sara’s phone number. I guess Sara wanted to get in touch again.” Here he gave me the “we-all-know-what-that-means” look, but he did dig out a sheet from a notepad with her name and number.

“Thanks, Frank. So, what’s the deal with you and Eden? We were all speculating about the spark we saw between you at the Burger Barn. Are there little Wisowicz’s in the future?”

“What are you talking about? We’re just friends and colleagues,” he said while turning bright pink.

“Oh, okay. Apparently we were misinformed.” I glanced at Ted Markey, who looked as if it was taking all his willpower to keep from bursting into laughter at Frank’s indignant denial of the obvious.

The lab settled down as we returned to our assignments. I went back to review the notes about my current experiment for Clark and make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

The weird and sometimes wonderful thing about science is how something completely unrelated will provide the clue to an insight in your work.

Einstein traveling on a train and speculating about how a falling object will behave in a moving train carriage gave him the clues about how light behaves in a vacuum, and from there to the concept of the speed of light as a constant and the Special Theory of Relativity.

So I don’t remember the details of what kicked my brain onto this new path, but it was while reviewing the experiment parameters that it came to me.

And that got me to thinking again about Clark’s management style, which was reminiscent of a stiff Austrian schoolmaster. I wondered how we might move him along the path to a more collegial approach to research methods and goals.

The problem was that he was so invested in his own ideas about the scientific goal that he didn’t trust any of us to follow it. And it’s true, none of us thought much about his particular theory of how to interrupt the mechanism of addiction at the chemical level. But there might be something of value there.

If we could reinvent Clark, how would he behave? I speculated idly about spraying him and having a long conversation that would show him his new path. Then I wondered what would happen if you ordered someone to behave in new ways that were almost diametrically opposite to what that person had practiced all their life.

How would the mind react if it is suddenly required to do a behavioral about-face? If a person was raised as a devout Christian, say, all their life, Church on Sundays, read the Bible each evening, what would happen if a hypnotist suddenly told them there is no God, that they are now an atheist? I think the mind would be confused and rebel in some way.

Note I said the mind, not the brain. The brain can be manipulated, rewired, hacked. The mind, however, is a delicate mechanism, normally in balance, but easily affected by behavioral and cultural influences which can cause it to behave in unexpected ways. Psychiatrists, psychologists, and even hypnotists, are aware of this and are normally careful about introducing strongly different behaviors in their subjects.

So while it might be a relief to all of us in the lab to have Clark become more egalitarian in his approach to research goals and directions, it would take some further thought on how to introduce it.

I love how research always brings up more questions than answers. Not really, no, I don’t love that at all.

After work I had to detour to the market because I was out of almost everything. I had several plastic bags weighing my arms down when I finally got home. I put all the stuff that would spoil away, and put the pre-made lasagna I got at the store in the oven to heat. Okay, I’m lazy, sue me.

While it was warming I remembered Sara’s number in my pocket and pulled it out. No time like the present, so I sat down on the couch and called her number. It was still a little early, and she might not have gotten home from work yet.

“Hello?”

“Sara? It’s Sam Halloran. Frank Wisowicz got your number from Eden and passed it on to me. As I was driving away the other night, I realized I had never gotten it and it was too late to drive back.”

“I figured, that’s why I asked her to pass it on. And thanks for calling. I just wanted to say I had a nice time, and sorry we were a little rushed. You know what they say about going out on a school night.”

“Yeah, my mother never let me forget it.”

“So, here’s the thing, Sam. I kinda like you, you’re smart and have some insight, and you’re fun to be around. Would you like to get together again? Maybe go out for something to eat, hear some music, like that?”

“I think I’d like that a lot. It’s a little early in the week to plan something definite, but how about getting together Saturday? Food, definitely. I don’t know you well enough to suggest something musical, but let’s talk again later in the week and brainstorm, okay?”

“Okay, deal. Looking forward to it. ‘bye”

Nice lady. Smart. Great butt. Definitely looking forward to it.

Dinner was ready, and I was hungry. I finished, then read till bedtime.

I’ll skip over most of the rest of the week, with a few pauses.

Tuesday, the old Clark was back, this time chewing out Ted Markey over something, I didn’t quite understand what and neither did Ted, and in the end Clark stormed off to his office again. I started revisiting my thoughts about introducing him to my compound. We all commiserated with Ted.

We went out to lunch together in a show of solidarity, and Ted seemed to be recovered somewhat by the time we got back. I collected the readings from the latest experiment and jotted them down in the log.

Around two I started thinking about Liz Conway again and said, what the hell, it’s worth a trip to the cafeteria. At worst, I’d get to eat cake or pie.

So off I went, and got coffee and squash pie, while reading a riveting memo from HR on changes to the medical plan.

Movement out of the corner of my eye made me look up, and there she was.

“Hi, you surprised me again. Did you know that the medical plan no longer covers malarial infections resulting from travel to the Philippines? I’m outraged.”

“I’m as shocked as you are. May I sit?”

I nodded, and she glanced disapprovingly at my plate. Who doesn’t like pie? She carried a cup of tea and a small cup of fruit salad.

She was wearing a two-piece business suit, navy blue, with a tight sheath skirt that made me swallow and look away so I wouldn’t stare.

I asked, “Are you judging me? I can almost hear you say it in your head.”

“We must each make our own choices, Sam, so no judgment. Well, not much, anyway. How was your weekend?”

“Nice. Relaxing. I did laundry, and dusted my collection of Victorian thimbles. It’s world famous, you know.”

“Of course it is, I’d expect nothing less.”

She took a sip of her tea, and cleared her throat, then took a small bite of her fruit salad.

“So, Sam, you asked me something last week, about my writing. And I was surprised to find how nervous I was about it, about showing it to someone. I actually spent a good part of the weekend, off and on, thinking about why I was nervous.

“I’ve always had this kind of fear or embarrassment of having people read my stuff, and I originally think it was because somewhere down deep I thought I wasn’t good enough to be a writer. But I know, when I compare it to others, that it’s just as good.

“So I finally decided that now it’s a fear of people I know judging me. Like I did about your pie.”

I had to smile at that.

She went on, “I don’t know why I worry about that, but we’ve all got one kind of fear or another. So that’s why I was hesitant to show you my writing. Because I was afraid, on some level, of being judged by someone I respect.”

She took a sip of tea so she wouldn’t have to talk anymore, looking like she wanted to escape.

“Liz, we’re all good at some things, not so good at others. It’s just the way people are built. Most of us admire the people who can do the things we can’t, because it seems really difficult to us. I can’t really write, not fiction, anyway. I can whip up a mean report, though.”

I got a smile out of her.

“What I mean is, if you were writing fairy tales or fan fiction, whatever, it would be so much better than I could do that I would have to respect what you were doing, and admire it. I asked because I suspect that, based on the little I know about you, what you do is way above that. I don’t think I’d be judgmental. I’d be too busy being awed.”

She looked at me for a short while. It was like the principal staring at you from behind his desk, and I felt like I wanted to shrink down into the chair.

But it wasn’t disapproval, it was her thinking and then making a decision.

She reached down for her bag, hanging from the chair rail, and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers.

“This is a short story, and also the first chapter of a longer work that isn’t done yet. I’ve never done this, Sam, except in a writing class, where I share something I’ve written, so I’m nervous. But I’d like to know what you think about them.”

She passed them over, and I took them. “I’m grateful that you’d trust me enough to share them. Thank you. Give me a few days to read them over and think about them, then I’ll return them.”

“Okay. And, Sam? Please don’t show them to anyone else.”

“You have my word.”

She picked up her empty bowl and cup, nodded to me and left. I was doing my damnedest not to be sexist, but I couldn’t help admiring her legs and butt under that skirt as she walked away.

Over the next couple of days, after work, I read the two samples she gave me. I thought the short story was clever, and was quite surprised at how much she had been able to develop the personality of her protagonist in only a few pages, while still working in a full plot with a surprise twist at the end.

The chapter of the novel, novella, whatever it was, was slower to build, and she was able to construct a more nuanced character in her heroine, and design the web of her interactions with the other supporting characters. For both of them, I jotted down some notes and some questions that I wanted to ask her about.

I was really impressed. She had a way of laying out her written landscape much like an artist lays out an oil painting. The artist needs to have their vision of the finished work in their head in order to build up the details that the reader/viewer will finally see when it’s done. It’s a skill not everyone can acquire.

On Thursday, after work, I called Sara again. I had found nothing that I was interested in musically, and she said much the same, so in the end we decided to have dinner somewhere and try a comedy club downtown. I’d pick her up around seven on Saturday.

Friday, Clark was again in a foul mood, and this time I think it was nothing to do with us. At least he didn’t take off after one of us. Maybe his boss was bugging him. That’d be good for comic relief.

At Liz’s break time, I went to the cafeteria -- the lab crew was now giving each other knowing looks when I left -- and got coffee and a bowl of fruit salad. She wouldn’t be able to judge me now. If she showed up.

I had the sheaf of papers on the table when she came up from behind me and sat. I was going to have to start sitting with my back against the wall, like I was expecting an attack, so I wouldn’t be surprised.

Her eyes dropped to the sheaf of papers, then fell on the fruit salad.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, Halloran. Eating something that’s good for you? Careful that people in the lab don’t find out.”

“I’ll smear some chocolate cake on my tie, and most everyone will be taken in by the ruse.

“Liz, let’s cut to the chase,” I said. “This wasn’t just okay, this was great stuff. I kept being amazed by how much ... detail and nuance you were able to fit in those few pages. Sometime I’d like to ask you how you do that. You must have edited it down until only the important things were left.

“Look, I made some notes that I wanted your thoughts on, and a couple of questions -- mostly plot or character-related -- that I had.”

I jumped in, and started down my list, and, honestly, she looked a little shell-shocked. I think she wasn’t prepared for the number of questions and comments. She thought I was just going to say, “Nice job, very good.” She addressed each of the items I brought up, and on one point where I asked about a plot detail I thought hadn’t been fully explained, she nodded and made a note to herself on a scrap of paper.

She glanced at her watch, then collected the sheaf of papers. She held them in her hands while she looked at me.

“You’re never what I expect, Sam. This was more than I thought I’d get. This was like ... someone who was wrapped up in the story, whose imagination was stimulated and engaged. That’s a real compliment. Thank you. And thanks for noticing that plot flub. I’m glad you caught it.

“I’ve got to go. Maybe you could read a little more of my stuff, give me your opinion?”

“I’d like that a lot.” And she walked off, looking, I thought, a little bouncier than normal. Might have just been my imagination.

Absolutely nothing of consequence happened between then and late Saturday afternoon. I ate, I slept, I got up.

I called and made a reservation at a restaurant I thought she might like, then showered and shaved, found some decent night-on-the-town clothes, not too fancy. A little before seven I drove to her place and rang her buzzer. She shouted through the intercom, “Don’t bother coming up, I’ll meet you at the lobby door.”

She was downstairs in a couple of minutes, and looking she had paid much more attention to her appearance than the first time we met. She was sexy then, but way more so now. She had a coat on, so I couldn’t see details, but I expected I was in for a surprise.

At the restaurant, there was a short wait at the bar, and I took our coats to the checkroom. I hadn’t been wrong; she had on one of those infamous ‘little black dresses’ that made me and every other guy in the bar check out her chest and her ass. It made my heart pound a bit faster. To take my mind off it, I ordered drinks and we traded shop talk.

I told her about Frank’s reaction to my questions about him and Eden, and she smothered a laugh. “Yeah, I got much of the same when I asked Eden about Frank. I give it two months and they move in together.”

They called my name then, and showed us to our table. It was a better restaurant than I had anticipated, and pricier, too. But the food made it worth it. We spent the meal sharing details about growing up, school, prior romances, scientific interests and so on. I found out that she was a swimmer -- four times a week in the pool for an hour -- which explained the muscle tone and the firm ass.

Afterwards, we went to the comedy club, where it was an evening of up-and-coming comics -- meaning amateurs trying to break into the business -- some of whom were quite funny. We’d had a couple of drinks and the pump was primed, so to speak, and there were a few minutes where we were laughing so hard, tears were falling.

I had some coffee before we left the club so I’d be sober enough to drive safely. She said she liked when she could laugh hard like that, it made work and life problems disappear for awhile.

I told her, “When people say to me, ‘Oh, your work is so hard, I could never do that’, I always think, ‘No, this isn’t hard. Getting up on a stage and trying to make an audience laugh, that’s hard.’ That’s a job I could never do.”

She wrapped her arm in mine as we made our way back to the lot where I’d parked. It took me a minute to remember where I’d put the claim check, but I found it eventually.

We both knew what was on the other end of this trip, but neither of us brought it up directly. I’d had half an erection beginning partway through dinner. She chose that dress precisely for the effect it had. My palms were already a little damp.

I found an almost legal spot just a few doors from her building. As we reached the entrance she said, “You’ll come up for a while, won’t you, Sam?” Try and keep me away, I was thinking, but I nodded instead.

As we stepped into her apartment, she hung up her coat and said, “Why don’t I make some coffee?” I said I thought that was a good idea. Unsaid, I was thinking it would give me more of an opportunity to stare at the little black dress.