Chapter 11

Wrapping both of her hands around the handle of the grocery cart, Lauren gave a firm rearward pull, dislodging it from the train of carts directly in front of it. Her dietary preferences caused her to do quite a bit of her food shopping outside of supermarkets, but on this occasion, she was stocking up on more traditional foodstuffs.

It was early evening. After finishing her workday, she'd gone home to change. She had just dropped by the supermarket to take care of the first in a series of errands. She'd changed into a blue pastel top and white capri pants, and still had on the open-toed high heels she'd worn to work. A pair of designer sunglasses nestled on top of her golden mass of hair.

She wheeled the cart through the automatic door, and immediately made a beeline for the produce section. She made her way among the fruits and vegetables, scrupulously examining every potential purchase before either discarding it back into the pile from which it came, or reluctantly bagging it up and dropping it into the cart.

Lauren was admittedly neurotic about food, and it went beyond her diet. Chicken, for example, as long as it wasn't fried, was not something she considered off-limits. But every piece of chicken that was placed in front of her was chopped into small pieces with a knife, and closely examined. And any sign of irregularity or even the slightest visual imperfection caused her to refuse to eat it.

She looked disapprovingly into the empty produce basket that was supposed to contain asparagus. She glanced around in search of the produce manager, to see if he had any in the back of the store, but he was nowhere to be found. She decided to settle for the canned stuff, this time, and headed for the appropriate aisle.

The canned asparagus was on the top shelf, and the first few cans in the row had been removed. This made the retrieval of a can difficult, even considering Lauren's average-to-just-above-average height. She started to stand on the lower shelf in an attempt to reach one of the cans, but her high heels caused her to wobble and nearly fall over. A stockboy walked past and noticed her predicament. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes," Lauren said gratefully. "Could you get a can of asparagus for me from the top shelf?"

The boy, age about eighteen or nineteen, and quite a bit taller than Lauren, easily reached the row of cans, handing one to Lauren. "Here you go, ma'am."

"Thanks so much." Lauren inspected the can, and found a small dent in the rim. "Umm, if you don't mind," she said to the boy, who was beginning to walk away, "could you get me a different can? This one's got a dent in it."

"For you, ma'am ... of course," smiled the boy. Lauren caught the inflection in his voice, obviously induced by teenage hormones.

He handed Lauren another can, rolling it over first to ensure this one was not dented. He smiled at her and then walked off, presumably to get back to whatever he was doing. Lauren stood there for a minute or two, reading the label on the can. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the boy passing by the head of the aisle, and lingering for a brief moment, along with another young man. He'd evidently invited one of his buddies to come and check out the hot blonde in Aisle 3.

In spite of herself, Lauren was flattered. Even though she was nearly old enough to be their mother, it was nice to still be able to turn the heads of teenagers.

Her cell phone started ringing; it was buried deep within her handbag. Who could that be, she wondered. She put her bag down into the cart and fished out the noisy electronic device. "Hello?" she said hurriedly.

It was her exercise class instructor. "Lauren, I need a big favor from you. Are you busy tomorrow night? I've had something come up and I need someone to fill in for me and run the class. I know you usually don't come to class on Thursdays, but I can't find anyone else."

This request caught Lauren off guard; she'd never been asked to lead a class before. And on top of that, she was supposed to meet up with Mark tomorrow evening. "Are you sure you want me to do it? I've never done anything like that before," she responded haltingly.

"You'll do fine, Lauren," the instructor spoke reassuringly. "You know the routine as well as anyone. Just do the best you can. There's a couple of new girls who are supposed to be starting tomorrow night, so just kind of give them a little extra attention."

"I had plans ... but they can easily be changed." Lauren masked the disappointment in her voice, but it was her nature to try to help someone in need, even if personal sacrifice was involved. "Don't worry about it. I'll do it."

The instructor thanked her profusely before hanging up. Lauren just shook her head as she punched out Mark's number on her phone. There was no answer, so she left a message, telling him what had happened, and that she would talk to him tomorrow.

"Serves him right, I guess," she said under her breath. "He's canceled out on me twice in the past two weeks."

A week had flown by since Mark had firmed up his San Diego plans. One more week of discreet amorous meetings, lunch dates and lying to all concerned. He'd managed to squeeze work into his schedule, as well. At least a little. Right now, he was sitting in his office, the door was closed and locked, and he was staring at his computer screen. And for the first time in a while, his mind was focused where it should be ... on work.

He'd just had a brainstorm. Or, to be more correct, he'd had a brainstorm a couple of months ago, and was only now getting around to checking on the feasibility of its implementation.

Mark's field of expertise was synthetic organic chemistry. He'd first encountered organic chemistry as an undergraduate, during his sophomore year. He'd hated the class, and had struggled mightily with it. It required an abstract way of thinking that was foreign to him. During his senior year, he'd been required to take an advanced organic class, and suddenly, he "got it". He learned to look at organic synthesis in terms of building a jigsaw puzzle; the challenge was merely to make sure each piece fit properly. Once he realized that, he'd adopted the necessary mindset, and he had found his chosen profession.

Working in a pharmaceutical research organization, his job was to design and build organic molecules to be tested as potential drugs. It was an unusual line of work in that the chances were slim that any one scientist would ever experience the ultimate achievement, that is, the invention of a viable and commercially profitable drug. Even over the course of an entire career. Though one's goals often shifted from time to time, they were uniformly long-range. And with the chance of failure being very high, one had to derive job satisfaction simply from the nature of the job itself; that is, you had to truly love chemistry. And the perseverance required in such an endeavor dictated that a disciplined, consistent approach was crucial. Distractions took away from that. And hence, Mark's recent problems.