This made Laura snap to attention.
“Neil,” she said. “You have to stop with this. Jenny is not an evil person.”
“Mm,” Neil said, nodding his head without changing his expression.
“Neil…” Laura sat forward. “I know it must be so hard—I thought it was crazy from the start—” She cut herself off and hesitated for a moment.
Neil raised his eyebrows.
“But the thing is, it is what it is now. Right? You can have other children. I mean, you can have children. Period. You can raise them exactly how you want. You can ban television and home-school them.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh.” A wave of tiredness washed over her. “What is, then?”
Neil looked up at the corner of the ceiling and with his face profiled like this Laura could see the muscles of his jaw working. “The point is this boy. This child,” he said finally. He turned his eyes to her. “He’s mine. He’s half of me and I don’t know why I ever let Jenny just…have him.”
Laura looked back at Neil for a long moment and around them there was the clink of glasses and the pop as the bartender uncorked a bottle of wine.
“Nobody has him, Neil. Not really. I mean, Jenny will raise him and love him and everything, but he’s his own person. Not just half of you and half of her—the parts don’t make the whole.” She thought of her girls—of Miranda’s wild shriek of laughter and bouncing, swaggering walk, of Genevieve’s dark eyes and thin shoulders and unerring attraction to all that was sad and fragile and impermanent and her odd, passionate love of horses, and she thought of the way they both smelled when she buried her face in their hair and nuzzled their necks. “What the whole is…,” she said. “It’s something else. It’s not anyone’s.”
Neil kept his eyes on her face as if assessing this idea, taking it in. “But it’s influenced—I mean, like, where you live, where you go to school, what your parents talk about—Colin is going to grow up in the Back Bay—I fucking hate the Back Bay—it’s my least favorite place in Boston. Seriously—”
At that moment there was the tinkling bell of the door opening and the handsome, solid form of Mavis Haywood, social doyenne of the neighborhood and old family friend of the Trillians, entered.
Laura’s face must have registered this intrusion and Neil turned to follow her gaze, at which moment Mrs. Haywood’s own eyes alighted on Laura and brightened with interest.
“Laura Trillian!” she sang out, sailing down the long narrow bar to her and planting a kiss on the now-standing Laura’s cheek.
“That’s how I always think of her.” She beamed at Neil. “It’s just too fun a name to give up saying.” She extended her hand to Neil, who took it without rising.
“Neil Banks,” Laura said by way of introduction. “This is Mavis Haywood—one of my neighbors.”
“And oldest friends,” Mavis chided, as if the word “friends” at all described their relationship, separated by twenty years and an ocean-wide gap in understanding.
“Neil and I went to college together,” Laura said hastily, feeling her face color.
“A Harvard man,” Mavis said, running her eyes over him. “And do you live here too?”
“In a way,” Neil said. He was making no effort to rise to the level of charm an encounter with Mavis demanded.
“He’s visiting,” Laura added, “for a year. Working.”
“Ahhh.” Mavis looked disdainful. “Well, your garden is looking lovely, as always. Those lilacs—mmm.” She breathed with demonstrative vigor. “I’ll leave you to your drinks. Nice to meet you—”
“Neil,” Laura prompted too quickly.
“Neil.” Mavis bobbed her head. It was difficult to tell what sort of look she gave Laura. Curiosity? Disapproval? Or was this just Laura’s own paranoia?
It was nearly six-fifteen.
“I have to go,” Laura said once Mavis had settled herself by the window with another sixty-something Cambridge lady. Mavis had known Laura’s mother from the very beginning of her marriage to Adam, and yet she never spoke of her. She was a frustratingly inert repository of information.
“Right.” Neil looked haggard to her. “Right.”
Laura pulled out her wallet.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and then leaned in urgently. “Just tell me—is she a Republican yet?”
Laura looked at him blankly. “Oh. Jenny?” She recoiled, realizing what he was asking. His curiosity was awful. It was as if she were sitting across from a frenzied crack addict. And he was addicted to, what? To Jenny? To information about Jenny? Was it because of the baby or because of Jenny herself? Had he been secretly, all along, somehow in love with her? The idea filled her with a sudden dismay and loneliness. “No,” she said. She mustered up her most withering voice. “And by the way, she’s moving out of your least favorite place in Boston.”
“Of…? Oh, the Back Bay?” Neil said. And he did look a little chagrined.
“Where to?” he started to ask, but Laura was already standing.
“Bye,” she said, feeling the whole depressing mess of the afternoon hit her—Neil had come, not in the heat of passion, but in the heat of his insane obsession with Jenny.
“I’m sorry, Lo,” he said lamely. “I’m just—”
“That’s all right,” she said tightly.
“You’re a good person.”
It had an ominous sound—like something said to someone you would never see again.
And outside, walking through the golden light of evening back to her house, along the trafficked but oddly pedestrian-free avenue, Laura felt tears swell in her throat and burn in her eyes. She was faced with the humiliating idea that maybe, possibly, her whole affair with Neil was part of some age-old desire he had to get back at Jenny, to even out some score that predated even Colin. Was it possible she had just been horribly, naïvely foolish? But she could not cry. She had made enough of a mess already. She had to go home, welcome her husband, bathe her children, and give some semblance of order to her household. She had to push all these contradictory feelings away and replace them with an even manner, a smooth and comfortable motherliness whose whole purpose was to make everything all right.
14
IT HAD BEEN A MISTAKE, of course, going to see Laura all addled after his visit to New Bedford. Like writing a response to an angry email the moment you got it. Or calling an old girlfriend as soon as her number popped up on your Google search. He had freaked her out. Clearly. And she had every right to be freaked by him, sitting there outside her house like some kind of maniac.
Neil blamed it on his mother. It had left him with this weird sense of urgency regarding Colin. For what, though? What exactly was he after? The urgency had faded, but the desire—deep, shadowy, and inescapable as a bruise—was still there. He wanted something.
Now, in the saner light of Elise’s kitchen, his involvement of Laura in this seemed ridiculous and understandably alarming. There was something eminently rational about Elise that was reflected in her household, and under the cool clear light of the pendant lamp hanging over her kitchen table Neil could see that it had been unfair to lay this want at Laura’s doorstep. He had taken advantage of something soft and forgiving in her, something that was itself needy. He would never, for instance, have thrown those questions at Elise.
At the moment, 37 Cottage Street was empty. Elise and Chrissy and the boys had gone to walk along the river. What a civilized and enlightened family thing to do! They had it good, James and Nigel. Hopefully someday they would grow into the kind of men who could recognize this.
Neil checked his messages. Three new ones from Galena. Christ! He was practically afraid of her. He would have to call her back today. The thought occurred to him first as a simple matter of obligation. He was not such a cad that he would sleep with a girl and not call her back. But then, as he girded himself for the conversation, a second thought occurred to him. A devious, unhappy thought that at another, better time in his
life he might have dismissed. But here and now, it took hold. He could find out where Jenny was moving to from her. He could find out where his little son would live. Hadn’t this been what he was after with Laura? But then, of course, it had been impossible to ask. Even Laura, with all her kindness and understanding, would have thought it suspicious. And Elise—forget it. He could already see the look on her face. But with Galena—what did she know of his relationship with Jenny? Why not ask for the address of an old friend in order to write a note?
Elise and Chrissy and the boys came home just as Neil was about to leave. Galena had suggested another trendy bar in her neighborhood. Which was fine. Thank God she didn’t want some long arduous dinner with all the awkwardness of eating and sitting opposite one another and talking about the kind of real and serious things food seemed to require.
Chrissy and Elise and the boys entered, licking the dregs of ice-cream cones.
“Howdy,” Neil said foolishly.
“Where are you off to?” Elise asked.
“Oh, just meeting a friend…” Neil shifted uncomfortably.
“Ahhh.” Elise raised her eyebrows. She had always been able to see through him.
“Come on, boys, inside,” Chrissy said, shuttling them past Neil. There was a marked coldness to her manner ever since the pot-smoking incident. He never should have offered the joint to Elise. He had gotten her into trouble.
Elise rolled her eyes in apology, but Neil could see that she was stressed.
“Going?” Nigel asked.
“Just for a little while,” Neil said, and made a goodbye salute.
“Could you shut the gate?” he heard Chrissy snap in her new, crisp tone, as he jogged down the front steps, and he wished he could uncoil the tentacles of his bad influence from around the house.
Galena was waiting already when he walked into the bar—a narrow one with small booths and a long bar. She was standing at the far end, drinking a glass of red wine. There was nowhere to sit, Neil registered with an overwhelming surge of fatigue.
“Hi!” Galena said brightly, grabbing his wrists and standing up on tiptoe to plant a startling kiss on his lips. “It’s too crowded,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.” And despite the implications of this—they were a mere two blocks from her apartment, so it was not hard to guess where she was headed—Neil felt relieved. She put her wine glass on the bar and pulled him out.
There was no awkward charade about what to do next. “I have beer in my apartment,” Galena said in her straightforward way. Neil appreciated this. No head games here. Not very Albanian, apparently.
In the sterile cube of her apartment, Neil looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows while Galena opened beers for them and microwaved bowls of fragrant-smelling mushroom soup she had cooked the night before.
“Here.” She handed him his and sat down on the plush carpeting. “I don’t like to sit at the table.” Neil sat down opposite her and tasted the soup, which was delicious.
“Thanks,” he said, and he meant it. It was actually exactly what he wanted to do. Sit on the floor and eat soup and drink beer.
“So how is Prometheus II coming?” Galena asked. “Have you given them guns that shoot Setlan yet?” she said, smirking.
“Just bombs. Setlan-loaded warheads labeled ‘Make Love Not War.’”
“Kaboom!” Galena cheered delightedly.
Outside, a fire engine blared.
“No, seriously, you know I’ll probably get promoted if you do,” Galena said.
“Yeah?” Neil raised his eyebrows. “In that case, let’s put it everywhere.”
“Hey!” Galena kicked him in the foot in his least favorite type of flirting gesture. “I’m serious!”
“Oh,” Neil said.
“Seriously, are you going to do it? I don’t understand why you wouldn’t—I mean, it’s just a computer game, its not like we’re talking about putting ads for Coca-Cola in Notre Dame.”
“Right.” Neil was getting annoyed with this line of conversation. Was she for real, sitting here and grilling him about the fucking product placement?
Galena put her soup bowl down and crawled across the floor to him. She took his bowl from his hand and put it to the side. Then she began to undo his fly.
“Are you kidding?” Neil asked.
Galena took her shirt off.
“You’re seducing me to get Setlan put in the game?”
“What do you think?” She giggled.
“Man.” Neil let his head drop backward to the seat of the couch. He could feel Galena’s hands running up his chest. She attacked his neck, kissing it violently as her left hand slid down to his hip bone.
“Whoa!” Neil said, pushing her back.
“What?” she said. “Come on. I’m seducing you because I think you’re cute.”
“Do you always like to lead with work talk?”
“No,” she said, giggling. “Just with you.”
“Oh,” Neil said, and, feeling as dirty and as compromised as he was—he submitted himself to her agenda.
It was afterward, getting out of her mod glass shower cabin and wrapping a towel around his waist, that he brought up his own agenda.
“So do you have Jenny Callahan’s address? I thought I might get in touch with her now that I’m back East.”
“Jenny?” Galena, who was still lounging on the bed, pulled herself up on her elbows, the surprisingly dark nipples of her small breasts pointing straight at him. “Do you have a thing for her or something?”
“God, no!” Neil stepped into his boxers. “Just old friends. You know.”
“Jenny-dot-Callahan at—”
“I mean her regular address. Mailing address. I thought I’d write a card.”
“A card?” Galena looked doubtful.
“Seems more…” Neil shrugged. “Appropriate.”
“Romantic.”
“No.” In his jeans now, Neil sat down on the side of the bed. “Not romantic.”
“No?” Galena shrugged. “Well, she just moved yesterday.”
“Yeah?” Neil tried to sound surprised. “Where?”
“Wellesley.” Galena stuck her tongue out. “I don’t know why.”
“The kid, I guess, right? Schools and all that.”
“How do you know she has a kid?”
Neil stood up and busied himself with his shirt. “I heard that.”
He could feel Galena’s eyes on his back from her position on the bed. It was silent for a moment.
“I’ll get it for you,” she said, and then giggled. “Lover boy.”
Galena was nothing if not consistent, and as promised, she sent an email the next morning with Jenny’s new address: 27 Belleview Road. I didn’t tell her I was giving it to you so your love letters can come as a surprise to her (:, she wrote.
Neil was at ZGames, in the middle of a trying problem with the third level of Promo II, as it was referred to in development headquarters, and did not take much notice at the moment. Joe was sitting beside him, smelling of sweat and barbecue sauce and patiently guiding him through the intricate and exasperating workings of MotionBuilder. It was pissing Neil off that he was even wrestling with this thing: the job as detailed when he was hired had been more high-level than this. All concept, not execution. But as with most things in life, it had been falsely advertised.
Despite the smash success of Prometheus Syndrome, ZGames was cutting back on its programming staff and if he wanted to get this mock-up of II done right he was going to have to put together a rudimentary software sketch himself. Or rather, Steven Closter was supposed to put the rudimentary sketch together, but Neil didn’t trust him. Their enmity was deepening rather than diminishing over time. The guy had apparently been calling Galena, who thought he looked, What’s the word for it? It means “like a penis.” Neil couldn’t think of it. In any case, Closter had somehow discerned that she was sleeping with Neil. This threw strains of wounded manhood into his already rivalous relationship with Neil and resulted i
n an endless stream of sarcastic barbs that fell just short of open insult. Neil could tune them out, no problem. But the two had begun attracting a kind of bated-breath audience among their coworkers, which was distracting. And stupid as his work was (it was a fucking game, Neil constantly reminded himself), Neil couldn’t stand the thought of Steven’s clumsy, angry brain sabotaging it.
The truth was, his growing enmity with Closter coincided with—was possibly even, if he was really honest with himself, connected to—his deepening investment in the game’s story. He had solved the riddle of the creature, née “digital tablet.” It would be a chimera. A creature defined genetically as a single organism with two distinct sets of DNA from two different zygotes. Or defined mythologically as a monster made up of different animal parts. And the chimera would be made up of more than two genetic frameworks: it would be made up of hundreds and thousands. It would contain a little piece—an infintesimal strand of DNA—from every living creature on the gentle utopian planet it came from. That was the secret. Right there in its flesh and blood.
It would look like a Sphinx, part woman, part lion. The Sphinx was a mythological creature that had always fascinated Neil. In ancient Greece it had represented a force of evil that strangled all those who could not answer its riddle. But in other cultures—ancient India, for example—it was a benevolent creature, capable of absolving man’s sins. This was the kind of mixed bag Neil wanted for the secret. And he spent a good deal of time with the art crew, making his Sphinx both frightening and alluring. For one thing, she was going to be see-through, her glassy innards threaded brightly with strands of DNA like phosphorescence in night water. Promo II took place in the year 2300, after all, and was to launch in the year 2009. The Age of Biology was upon them. And this Sphinx—this Sphinx needed to represent it. The beauty, the intricacy, the potential, and the menace. The time when all progress and all salvation, all retreat and all destruction would come from mastering the forces of nature. Neil had conceived of the perfect title too—one he had not run by anyone yet. Perfect Life. Prometheus Syndrome II: Perfect Life. It actually made his heart race. Which was embarrassing, considering it was a stupid computer game, not his fucking magnum opus.
Perfect Life Page 17
