by Carolyn Nash
“Peg, this is Melanie Brenner. She’ll be with us for the next six weeks. Melanie, Peg Ryan.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Peg keeps us all in line, plus having the wonderful job of cleaning up after us.”
“Nice to meet you Melanie.”
“You too.”
“Come on, I’ll show you your bench and give you a tour,” Chuck said and headed across the room.
I sighed and turned to follow him.
“Relax.”
I turned back.
Peg was smiling at me. “In a week it’ll seem like you’ve been here forever.”
I sighed. “God, I hope so.”
She laughed. “It’s always the same. Chuck was the same way when he came in. Just a little more of a smart ass about it is all.”
“Chuck, a smart ass? I don’t believe it.”
“Are you coming, Ms. Brenner?”
I turned. Chuck stood in the doorway to a small room on the other side of a lab counter, arms folded, fingers of his right hand drumming on his left upper arm.
Peg grinned. “Believe it.”
I laughed then hurried over to where Chuck stood.
He sniffed. “The first thing you have to remember is your level in the pecking order around here. Bottom. Got it? Bottom.”
“And you sir?” I asked timidly.
“One rung below God.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He took me into the room and showed me a four-foot length of black lab top and pronounced it mine. He then gave me my first tour of a real, research biology lab. The layout was fairly simple, and the lab rooms large, but with the myriad of equipment, supplies, journals, and reference books, I found myself walking sideways, keeping my elbows tightly tucked to keep from knocking against something that would start an avalanche that would bury us all.
The lab had four rooms. The large one I’d first walked into had black lab benches around three sides. The sink where Peg worked lay just to the right of the main door. At the end of the room opposite the main door, three glass-enclosed work benches filled the space completely. Glass panes on steel runners slid down to close off the work area when necessary. Chuck explained that they were fume hoods with ventilation fans that ran when someone worked there. The fans would draw air in so that the fumes from anything nasty would be drawn out through filters and then vented to the outside of the building. The fans could also push clean air gently into the hood to keep dirty air from coming in from the room when someone required sterile conditions.
Lance sat at the center hood as we went by, taking covered petri dishes one by one from a stack and using one hand to carefully open them a crack. Each dish had a letter and number written on the bottom and top with black wax pencil. With his other hand he took a length of wire with a small loop on the end, dipped the wand in a flask containing a yellowish fluid, then streaked the bubble of liquid caught in the loop across the brownish gelatin in the bottom of each dish. He’d close the dish, put it on a new stack, and then repeat the process after sterilizing the wand in the flame from a Bunsen burner.
“Lance and I are working on different agars trying to find the best one to grow this strain of E. coli.”
I nodded, remembering then that the brownish gelatin in the dishes was agar, a medium for bacteria to grow and feed on. A little bit of the microbiology segment in my general biology course was coming back. Bacteria had not been my favorite subject, but I was regretting now that I’d avoided microbiology courses during my last two years of undergrad work.
Lance never turned or in any way acknowledged our presence.
Mr. Personality, Chuck mouthed. The other three rooms were smaller in size, but may have had as much or more equipment in them. One had the international radiation warning sign in yellow and red on the door. I eyed it nervously as Chuck opened the door, expecting to see people in radiation suits, red lights flashing, all the equipment glowing with an eerie blue light. Instead it was a room which looked remarkably similar to the other rooms. Black-topped lab benches and equipment lined the walls. A young woman was just placing the lid on a water bath. She looked up and smiled. “Chucky.”
“Brenda. Brenda this is Melanie Brenner. New grad student. She’ll be here for the next six weeks. She’ll be in Jack’s old spot.”
“Hi, Melanie. Forgive me if I don’t shake hands right now. Just finished using some P32.”
“No, problem,” I said quickly.
She reached around a Plexiglas shield and began straightening up a small work area.
“What is she working on?”
He looked at me. “How much do you know?”
“Well, I guess as much as you did when you first came here.”
“God help us. Put simply, she’s using radioactively-labeled phosphorus to mark DNA fragments.”
“Oh,” I said and nodded, “of course.”
“When you finish Heinzinger’s Cell Biology, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“Oh, sure.”
I followed him into the other two rooms, even more subdued and nervous than when I’d first come into the lab. He introduced me to three other grad students, all who had been there at least two years and seemed comfortably familiar with the routine and each other.
As we walked back out into the main lab, Chuck stopped and looked at me intently.
“Stop it,” he said.
“Stop what?”
“You’re thinking about your Uncle’s donut shop again, aren’t you?”
“No,” I said. “I gave up on that idea a long time ago.”
“Good.”
“No, I was thinking about the opening at the bank for a Teller II. Lousy pay, hard work, but, you must remember, there’s no future.”
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “Everybody feels this way at first. You’ll get used to it.”
I smiled, grateful that amid all the wisecracks he could take the time to try to put me at ease. I looked up into his light blue eyes.
A nice guy. With the shaggy hair not exactly perfect, but a nice guy.
“Thank you,” I said. “You know, I guess I’d better start getting used to things around here. Are there some articles or reports or something I can read up on?”
“Tons,” he said, “but after lunch, ok? And speaking of lunch, my stomach says it’s time. You want to go over to that little cafe behind the dorms and get a bite?”
“Uh.”
He does wear glasses. Probably nearsighted.
Cheryl’s voice came back to me: And even if he was interested, then you’d convince yourself you’re not worthy, too unattractive, whatever.
“Sure, great, food,” I said. Then I groaned. “Oh, wait, I’m sorry. I’m meeting a friend.”
He smiled. “Oh, okay. Some other time, then. See you after lunch.”
He started for the front door.
Courage, Melanie.
“Uh, Chuck? If you’d like, you could have lunch with us,” I said.
He turned back and grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”
We headed out the front door and I heard the ding of the elevator arriving. The doors swept open and Andrew Richards’ deep voice could be heard talking to someone. My heart stuttered, then started again, drumming against my breastbone hard enough that I looked down to make sure my blouse wasn’t vibrating there.
“Annie, my darling,” he was saying as he stepped through the doors, “that paper has to be typed before Federal Express leaves today.” He was wearing a white Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of worn blue jeans. On his shoulder perched a white rat. A rat. This I hadn’t seen in People.
“Dr. Richards, you gave us no warning. It’s thirty-five pages long. There are seven tables and four graphs. We’re all working on Dr. Massara’s funding proposal. It also has to go out in Fed Ex tonight.” Annie was no more than five-feet tall, buxom, and wore the most god-awful purple floral dress. She held out a sheaf of papers to Dr. Richards that he studiously
avoided looking at or reaching for.
“Annie, we don’t have a choice about this. It has to go.”
“Dr. Richards, we can’t do it.”
“Damn it, Annie! Are you listening? It goes today!”
The rat flinched, Annie’s eyes widened, and I even heard a small murmur of protest from Chuck. We’d both stopped just outside the door, not able to retreat, and not willing to walk forward into the middle of the disagreement.
Even as his angry words echoed down the hall, Dr. Richards seemed to realize how sharp they were. His face softened and he reached out to touch the woman’s arm. “I’m sorry, Annie. That was uncalled for.”
Her lips were set in a tight white line. Her shoulders shifted in the slightest shrug.
“Annie, love, it really has to go today. I apologize for not giving you any notice, but I know you of all people can come through for me.” He smiled and I felt the thumping of my heart quicken. Andrew Richards’ smile could melt case-hardened steel.
“Dr. Richards,” Annie began, but I could see the tight line of her lips begin to relax. He lifted up one strong, brown hand and tilted her chin up until her eyes met his. Her smile softened. “All right,” she said, “we’ll get it done, somehow.”
“You are wonderful,” he said.
The buxom, fortyish woman sighed. “And you are the devil incarnate,” she said.
He shrugged. “Probably.”
She reached up, stroked the rat once, and then turned back to the elevator as Dr. Richards turned toward the lab and saw the two of us standing at the door. “Chuck, where are you off to?”
“Lunch.”
“What else?” he said. “The stomach that walks as a man,” he said to me and smiled, but the smile was strained.
I grinned at his joke praying that the burning I felt in my cheeks wasn’t visible.
Dr. Richards cocked his head at me and looked a little puzzled. The rat looked at me like he’d known me for years and didn’t much approve.
“You remember Melanie Brenner, don’t you?” Chuck asked.
“Of course I do,” Andrew says in his deep voice. He steps toward her, close, closer, so close that she feels his hot breath on her porcelain skin. Dizzy, she starts to sway, but his strong hands come out and take hers and the power in his touch steadies her. “How could I forget the moment we met at the interview?” he says. “I knew then that we were meant to be together, that I longed for my arms to possess you.”
“Uh,” Dr. Richards said. “Oh, yes, your name was on the list of lab assignments.”
“Yes.”
“Great. Welcome. Did Chuck show you around?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Fine. Listen, Chuck. After lunch, swing by the office and see how Annie’s coming along with that paper, will you?”
“Sure, Andrew.”
He headed for the door, and then belatedly seemed to remember my existence. “Good to have you with us, Melinda.”
“Thanks, Dr. Richards,” I said as his back disappeared through the door. The rat didn’t even twitch his tale to acknowledge me.
Chuck grinned. “Well, come on then, ‘Melinda.’ Let’s get some lunch.”
“Sure thing ‘Buck.’”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s just been distracted lately.” He looked toward the door, toward the sound of Dr. Richards’ voice saying something to Peg, and then her reply. “Something’s wrong. I’ve never heard him snap at anyone like that, let alone Annie.” He looked worried, but then he shrugged and turned back to me and his infectious grin dispelled the momentary gloom. He cocked his head and cupped a hand on his belly. “Hear that? ‘Feeeed meee!’” he said.
I laughed and we headed toward the stairs down at the end of the hall.
“Since I’m officially in the lab now what’s with the rat?”
“Oh, Bullseye?”
“The rat’s name is Bullseye?”
“Yep. Andrew’s had him since last year, which in rat terms is a pretty long time. He came over from the psych department after they were through with some behavior experiments. We were going to sacrifice him so we could extract some proteins from his liver. Instead, Andrew showed up with Bullseye perched on his shoulder and he’s been there pretty much every day since. Never said a word about it, either. And we never did do the rat liver experiment.”
“You guys call him Andrew or Dr. Richards?”
“Andrew. Never Andy. Don’t know why.”
We waited out front on the curb no more than five minutes before I saw Cheryl’s little yellow Toyota. She waved and headed towards us.
“Well,” said Chuck to me, while his eyes followed Cheryl’s blonde curls and her upturned nose. “I can see you’re going to be an asset to the lab.”
I looked up at him as his eyes never left my beautiful friend…
I’m pretty. Right, Cheryl, right.
…and I smiled with practiced ease. “My rapid fire intelligence, hmm?” I said as we stepped to the car.
“Yeah,” he said. He stumbled slightly coming off the curb. “That’s it.”
Cheryl pulled up and I bent down and looked in. “Find a parking place. We’re going to eat across the street.”
Chuck’s elbow thumped my side and I reached up and grabbed his arm and pulled him down. “Cheryl, this is Chuck. He works in the same lab I do.”
Cheryl smiled her slow, sexy smile and Chuck might as well have been a candle sitting on a smelting furnace.
“Hi, Chuck,” Cheryl said in her throaty voice.
“Hi... uh, Cheryl,” Chuck said.
Cheryl looked over at me. I guess she saw something in my face. “I’ll park,” she said, and pulled back out on the street, looking for a curb not painted red or white. She found a place about a half-block up, in front of the Chemistry Building, and we walked up to meet her.
“She’s married, right?” asked Chuck.
“No.”
“Engaged.”
“Huh-uh.”
“Going with someone. Hates men. Has two weeks to live.”
“None of the above.”
I saw a look of tentative hope, confirmed by his next question asked in a carefully nonchalant tone. “So, what kind of guy does she like?”
“Short, dumpy guys who aren’t too bright.”
His head whipped around. “What?”
“Oh, relax, Chuckles. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Will you?”
“Sure,” I said. “Glad to.”
“You’re a pal.”
I smiled. Oh, yeah. I’m a pal. I’m a bud. One of the guys.
We reached Cheryl, crossed the street, and had a very nice lunch.
* * * *
I saw Caren Granzella for the first time about a week later. When she came into the lab, I realized that next to her, maybe I was one of the guys. She probably weighed about the same as I did, but her weight stretched over three or four more inches than my five-foot seven, and was concentrated in breasts that defied both gravity and credulity. It didn’t help that she wore a black, strapless silk dress that was cut down to her navel and up to mid-thigh. How the hell they’d engineered it, I’ll never know. Her six-foot long legs ended in black, high-heeled sandals. Her famous, waist-length hair was twisted and draped in a mass of flaxen tresses that looked like one pin pulled out would release a shower of gold. Her eyes were violet: that unreal Elizabeth Taylor shade. She was as beautiful as Taylor, too, not in the same delicate, peaches and cream way, but more California golden girl. No doubt about it: the woman was stunning.
I smoothed back my hair toward the rubber band holding it and brushed down the front of my sweatshirt as she turned in my direction.
“Hello,” she said and smiled, and I heard a book drop with a crash in the room behind me.
“Hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Caren Granzella. I’m looking for Dr. Richards. You must be new here.”
Oh, good. A flaw. Her voice was a lit
tle off, too precise, her diction too forced as if she’d worked long and hard to rid herself of some obnoxious accent.
“Yes. I’m Melanie Brenner.”
She moved toward me and we shook hands and I heard movement behind me.
She smiled over my head. “Hello, Lance, Chuck.”
“Hi,” Chuck said. No sound came from Lance.
“Dr. Richards was here a minute ago,” I said. “He may be in his office.”
“I’ll get him,” Chuck said quickly. I heard Lance mutter, Shit, as Chuck edged past me, skirted Ms. Granzella, and headed out the door. She smiled her thanks to him and I saw his face go pink.
“So, Lance. How is the work coming?”
“Uh... Uh... Fine... Just fine.”
“That’s good.”
I backed up a step so that I wasn’t cutting off Lance, and looked back at him. His face was even paler than usual and small beads of sweat were forming at his hairline. His lips opened and closed until I couldn’t stand to see him suffer any longer.
“That’s a lovely dress,” I said.
“Don’t speak to me, peasant,” she says imperiously just as Andrew walks in the door.
“Caren, you will leave instantly,” he says, his voice thick with simmering rage. “How dare you speak to the woman I love in that manner? Be gone foul wench!”
Caren smiled with delight. “Thank you!” she said, as if I were the first person to ever say those particular words to her.
Oh well great. She has to be nice, too?
We heard the sound of footsteps coming up the hall. Chuck came back in, glanced at Ms. Granzella, then quickly side-stepped as Dr. Richards followed him into the room. Chuck came over and stood with Lance and me, and the three of us formed a gallery of dumb-struck idiots as the two of them bussed each other’s cheeks. Dr. Richards had left Bullseye in his office and changed into a black tuxedo that did not do his looks the least bit of harm. Ms. Granzella reached up and worked to straighten his tie.
