Taking On Lucinda

by Frank Martorana

  “It is necessary,” Stef said evenly. “And all of our testing is done humanely.”

  “Most cosmetics are not necessary, and no animal testing is humane. There are alternatives. We believe animals should not suffer for humans’ vanity.”

  “There are no reliable or legal alternatives.”

  “Computer models? Time-tested substances? Humans?”

  “Sorry,” Stef said without missing a beat. “Computers don’t have a sense of smell. They don’t have allergies. They can’t get cancer. Humans are out—our insurance premiums are outrageous already.”

  “Some companies do it. You can buy cosmetics from companies that don’t do animal testing. We can provide you with a list of the ethical ones.”

  Stef rolled her eyes and then let them drift over the growing crowd as employees came out of their workstations to watch the showdown. She’d heard the rhetoric a hundred times before—pure bullshit. She struggled to maintain the even temper that was control. “I’ve seen your lists, and I know the industry. They all use animal testing at some stage of production or have a subsidiary that does the testing under another name.”

  Aubrey jabbed a finger at Stef. “So you do admit to testing your products on animals. Right here in this building maybe.”

  Stef didn’t back down. “Damn right I do!”

  A shout came from the FOAM contingency that had encircled Aubrey and Stef. “Let’s go take a look! Right now!” They began cheering and jeering, waving their placards, milling like cattle in a lightning storm, each one waiting for the first one to stampede. There was a volley of sharp returns from the Copithorn troops. Police Chief Stephenson began to fidget.

  Suddenly, both factions were hushed by a loud voice behind them. All heads turned in unison. It was Kent, standing on the edge of the fountain.

  “Wait just a minute here, folks. I’m the Copithorn animal-care supervisor. I oversee the testing and husbandry of all animals owned by Copithorn Research, and I can attest that nowhere, now or ever, has a single animal been mistreated in any way at this facility.”

  He hopped down and pushed his way through the placard bearers until he was standing with Aubrey and Stef. “Sorry I interrupted,” he said to the CEO. “I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”

  Stef gave him the soul-mate look she used to give him in high school. “Not at all, Dr. Stephenson.” Turning to the FOAM leader, she said curtly, “Aubrey Fairbanks, I’d like to introduce Dr. Kent Stephenson, our animal-care supervisor.”

  Aubrey’s eyebrows shot up. “Doctor?”

  “Yes. I’m a veterinarian. I’m in private practice—”

  “A veterinarian?” Aubrey burst out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “As an animal-care supervisor? You must be kidding!”

  “Do you have a problem with that?” Stef asked.

  “Yeah, I do. It’s like letting the fox guard the henhouse!”

  Stef squared her shoulders, struggled for self-control. “Are you implying that a veterinarian would have a conflict of interest here?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m implying. Veterinarians make their living dealing with sick animals. Right? If there is no animal suffering, there are no veterinarians.”

  “I’d say that position is a little extreme. No person is better trained to recognize whether or not animals are healthy and being cared for properly.”

  “Cared for properly? You jest. Let me ask Dr. Stephenson a question or two.” Her tone was thick with disdain.

  Stef glanced at Kent questioningly. He shrugged.

  “Be my guest,” she said.

  Aubrey waited, letting the room settle into an uneasy courtroom silence. “Dr. Stephenson, do you work on big animals or pets?”

  “Both.”

  “Have you docked any puppies’ tails in the last few days?”

  Kent winced internally. At least he hoped it was internally. “Yes. At the request of the owner, of course.”

  “When they were only three days old? Away from their mother and without any anesthesia? Just chop, chop. Right?”

  “Actually, you make it sound worse than it is.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Too bad we can’t ask the pups. Do you ever perform services for your clients to help them get their dogs and cats pregnant? Vaginal smears. Artificial insemination. That sort of thing.”

  “If the owner requests my help.”

  Aubrey’s voice rose. “Who dictates morals in your practice, you or your clients?”

  “I do.”

  She turned back to Stef. “I rest my case.”

  For a split second, Stef’s jaw set hard and her eyes shot fire, but then she drew a long breath, exhaled, and countered, “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I disagree. I know I need animals in my business. And I am strongly committed to seeing that they are not allowed to suffer or be treated poorly. A veterinarian has the training to recognize problems and offer solutions.” Stef held up her hands before Aubrey could reply. “Having said that, I think it’s time to end this discussion until a more formal meeting can be arranged.”

  The animal rightists began to clamor again.

  Stef gestured toward Merrill. “May I remind you of what the police chief told you earlier? You are on private property. I’ll thank you to leave quietly.”

  For a moment, Aubrey held her ground. Glared at Stef. Then she wheeled, signaled to her lieutenants, and led their retreat.

  Kent watched them disappear. He felt disheartened. He had made his decision as a gut reaction to help Stef. He had stood by while the two women discussed him like neighbors arguing over a misbehaving dog. Now he was the Copithorn animal-care supervisor. He was entangled in the web. It was going to be a huge time commitment, in spite of what Merrill and Stef had promised. He had stuck his neck out, put his reputation on the line. And for what? He did not have an answer…if there was one at all. Both sides were so adamant, so polarized, so unyielding. Besides, he wanted to concentrate on finding out what had happened to Aaron Whitmore. This was a mistake.

  He turned 180 degrees and was taking the first step back in the direction of his truck when Stef’s arm slid around his and held tight. She might as well have snapped a leash on him.

  Chapter 5

  As Stef escorted Kent out of the atrium and toward her office, she gave a sigh of relief so deep her knees buckled.

  “Kent, I could kiss you.”

  He brushed off the offer. “Yeah, well, I didn’t like the way that mess was headed.”

  “Thank you for not letting the situation get out of hand.”

  Merrill caught up with them. “That’ll take care of them for a while.” He said it confidently, but Kent read his eyes differently.

  Stef’s office was a symphony of glass, jump-out-and-grab-you modern paintings, and tropical plants so lush they could hide an Amazon aboriginal. A massive desk of clear-and-pink glass stood in the middle like an iceberg.

  Kent crossed the room and stared out a huge window. “You managed to get them back outside?”

  Merrill fell onto a leather sofa. “No problem. But they’ll be back, you can bet on it.”

  Stef eased into her desk chair. “That’s what worries me.”

  Kent turned to face them. “When they do, we’ll just have to be ready for them.”

  “Weird bunch,” Merrill said.

  “Like a pack of dogs after a deer in deep snow.” Kent moved from the window to a chair across from Stef. “From what I’ve read, the animal welfare extremists put cosmetic manufacturers on the top of their list.”

  Merrill made a pistol with his fingers and held it to his temple. “Second only to the army’s gunshot-wound-to-the-head testing on cats and Detroit’s car-crashing monkeys.”

  “They’re after the cosmetic industry because they consider our products to be frivolous.” She dropped her chin and stare
d at Kent from under perfectly waxed eyebrows. “Not that I want to be compared to some helpless deer floundering in the snow.”

  Kent flashed her a quick smile.

  Stef went on. “Cosmetics are not just perfume and makeup. We’ve got to have soap. Deodorant? Shampoo? There’s only one way to make them safe: animal testing.”

  Neither man replied.

  Stef waved a hand toward the atrium. “I just want to satisfy those maniacs that we adhere to all the animal welfare codes and get them the hell out of here.”

  “Okay. A tour of the plant, right? That’s what you asked Merrill and me to come over for in the first place. So let’s have our tour. Show us firsthand that Copithorn has no animal welfare violations.”

  Stef pushed herself to her feet, accepting the challenge. “Okay, I can do that. Let’s go.”

  The first part of the tour went fast. Stef gave a cursory overview as they stepped lively through manufacturing, packaging, and shipping. But when they approached a heavy steel double door marked Research and Development, she slowed. Her tone sought understanding. She pushed open the door.

  “Here is where it all happens. At least as far as animal testing is concerned.”

  They entered a long hallway. Recessed ceiling lights sent fluorescence reflecting off shiny floor tiles. Doors, evenly spaced, flanked both walls. Men and women clad in technician white crisscrossed the hallway. They jotted on clipboards or pushed lab carts clinking with vials. It rendered a surrealistic strobe effect.

  Kent peered into several rooms as they passed— countertops laden with odd-colored liquids percolating through twisted glass tubing, centrifuges whirring, timers buzzing, computer monitors flickering. “Pretty high-tech, Stef.”

  “Got to be to compete. You can bet our competitors are high-tech too.

  “Now we’re coming to the testing area. Remember what I told Ms. Fairbanks out there? Some cosmetic companies claim their products are ‘nonanimal tested’ to appease the weirdos.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “Or to capture the market of consumers sympathetic to animals—but those claims are simply not true. Every company in the United States animal tests at some point.

  “Even if we were crazy enough to risk it, the FDA says ‘no way.’ They are on us like mud plaster on a fifty-year-old beauty queen. They require us to test, and they tell us just how they want us to do it. Sure we can use some computer models. And in the final stages, we can field test on people. But the brunt of the testing is conducted on live animals.”

  Kent lagged behind, studying Stef, admiring her self-assured body language. She was in control. Since high school, her confidence had grown as much as his had diminished.

  They passed through a door marked Ward 7, Live Testing, No Admittance.

  “In here are rabbits. That’s what we use, mostly. And, to be honest, they get the stuff rubbed in, brushed in, injected in, and fed to them. You name it. And, you know what else? Ninety-nine point nine percent never miss a beat. When one of those point zero one percent of samples does react, we are as surprised as anyone else.”

  They strolled past banks of stainless steel, alternately bending at the knees and standing on tiptoes to peer in cages containing white rabbits that looked like any backyard pet, except for an occasional area of clipped fur.

  “Here is a problem area,” Stef said. She paused so they could watch a young technician move down the row of rabbits. She lifted each furry creature from its cage, cradled it gently under one arm, and shone a penlight into each eye. She returned them carefully and then jotted on her clipboard. All the while, she spoke to them with a soothing line of chatter the way Sally talked to patients at Kent’s hospital.

  Stef explained, “She’s reading a Draize eye irritancy test. Solutions are dropped in the eyes of these bunnies for a given period of time to test for reactions.” She shrugged and flashed an apologetic look. “Eyes are sensitive.”

  Kent recalled the question Aubrey Fairbanks had shouted into his truck window yesterday. Would you burn out your eyes for a rabbit’s vanity?

  “I can see why someone would be put off by that.”

  Merrill blinked hard. “It makes my eyes water just watching.”

  “In reality, it looks worse than it is, and unfortunately, it is one of the most reliable of our tests. It’s also a test required by the FDA.”

  “I assume these guys get euthanized at some point,” Kent stated, but it was more of a question.

  Stef nodded. “Eventually. Humanely and before any suffering. It has to happen so our histologists can study the effects of the test materials on tissues at the microscopic level.”

  “Uh-huh,” Kent said. “I can see FOAM having a field day with that. What other types of animals do you use?”

  “We use a lot of white rats and mice, especially if we need to see if a chemical will affect a fetus. They reproduce quickly, so we can get our data in a reasonable time frame. We use ferrets. And we use quite a few dogs. Let me take you into the next ward. I’ll show you.”

  The trio moved down the corridor to another room. Opening the door triggered a din that squelched their conversation.

  “They are glad to see us,” Stef shouted to the brothers and smiled as they made painful faces and covered their ears against the barking.

  As in the rabbit ward, stainless steel cages lined the walls of the room, two high. Inside each, one or a few tricolored beagles stood on hind legs pressing against the cage door. Bright-eyed, jiggling with energy, they bugled at the top of their lungs, hot on the trail of some imaginary rabbit.

  Stef pointed her guests through an exit. When the door closed behind them, they were once more in relative silence.

  “Sorry. Those are the young adult dogs. They get noisy when someone first enters. You know, any excuse to blow off steam. They quiet down after you’re in there a few minutes. Where we are now is for mothers with young pups. It’s much quieter.”

  Kent scanned the ward. “All I see are beagles in either room. Do you use other breeds or mutts?”

  “No,” Stef said. “Just beagles. We buy them from a large producer of beagle research dogs near Rochester. We have to have very healthy, defect-free dogs. If our test dogs were to break with some disease in the middle of a trial, it would cause all kinds of problems. What we would like those FOAM people and the rest of the world to know is that we do not use house pets, dogs off the street, or from the pound—period. Ever.”

  “And that they are given the best care and they never suffer. Don’t forget those points,” Kent said.

  The tour completed a circle, ending back at Stef’s office. “So that’s the cosmetic industry in a nutshell.”

  “Interesting,” Merrill said.

  Kent had gone back to staring out at the panorama through the office window.

  “No offense, Merrill, but I was more interested in Kent’s opinion. He’s the one we need in our corner right now.” She directed her voice toward Kent’s back. “I take it by the way you went to bat for me in the lobby that the chief already talked to you about what we have in mind.”

  Kent turned enough to look over his shoulder at the statuesque entrepreneur. “Yeah. I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Officially, Copithorn’s animal-care supervisor. And as far as I’m concerned, you can take the position to any level you want. Truthfully, right now I’m interested in a figurehead. Someone to hold out to these animal rights weirdos. Let them know that we are sensitive to animals. In spite of what Aubrey Fairbanks says, I believe a veterinarian is perfect for the role. But, beyond that, I am always open to advice—yours included—on how to improve my company.”

  Kent turned back, leaned both hands against the plate glass, and scanned the vast tract of land behind Copithorn Research. “Remember when this was a little airport? Before the research park, I mean.”

  He recalled when he and Stef had experienc
ed adolescent love one muggy summer night. Sipping beer they had a friend buy. Feeling grown-up. The insecurities. He remembered being intoxicated with cheap booze and pubescent hormones. Holding Stef, wondering desperately how far she would go…and then having the moment demolished by her revelation of her sexuality. She had needed someone to talk to. Someone brotherly. They had talked to near dawn.

  “Like it was yesterday.” Stef gestured to one end. “We used to park beyond the fence at the end of the runway.”

  “And watch the stars in my dad’s old convertible.”

  “Seemed like the planes went over low enough to touch.”

  “God. That was a long time ago.”

  “Great memories.”

  He let the nostalgia hang for a moment.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Stef. I’ll do what I can.” His voice trailed off.

  “But—” Stef filled the void.

  “But I’ve got no, and I mean zero, experience with this kind of stuff.” He hesitated, then added, “Plus, I’ve got something else going on now. You heard about Aaron Whitmore.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I know how close you were.”

  “He was like a second father to me. And,” Kent cast an accusatory look toward his brother, “Merrill and his guys don’t have the time or money to figure out what really happened.”

  Stef considered a moment, and then in her nonjudgmental tone that Kent loved, she asked, “Do you have reason to suspect otherwise?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I know Aaron would not kill himself.”

  “Like I said, just a figurehead.”

  “Figurehead or not, these things get crazy. I’m no good at arguing with people.” He nodded toward his brother. “You need someone more like the chief.”

  “People trust veterinarians.” Stef gave Merrill a sidelong glance. “I’m not sure the same can be said for policemen. Kent, you’re perfect for the job.”

  “They didn’t look ready to give up out there today.”