by Lisa Tucker
He was on time, dressed in an outrageously expensive, tailor-made suit, and charming to the hostess, the busboy, the waitress. He told Amelia, “You’re looking well,” which was innocent enough. She’d already decided to walk out if he even alluded to the last time they’d seen each other, that February night in Aspen, Colorado, three years earlier, when they’d hotly debated direct-to-consumer ads in front of hundreds of physicians, and afterward he’d somehow managed—against all her instincts, against every ounce of her better judgment—to get her into the hotel bar and, a few hours later, into his bed. The morning after was unbelievably awkward: he claimed it meant they should get back together; she thought it was a one-night stand, which was, after all, his specialty. She said some cruel things and he fought back, but in that clever, smart-ass way that reminded her of everything she detested about him. Eventually, he shouted that he hated her, too. So they hated each other, but they’d had great sex. A night in every way worth forgetting.
After she ordered shrimp gumbo, Matthew ordered a Diet Coke, apologizing to her and the waitress, claiming his stomach was a little off. Amelia suspected he was watching his weight, which was funny but also annoying; he was still in great shape, as thin as he’d been in college, and why suggest having lunch if he wasn’t going to eat? While she was munching on corn bread, he did divulge a secret, but it wasn’t anything she needed to put on tape. It was decades old; he hadn’t lied to her about that. Unless he was lying about the whole thing, which was possible, though what he said made a surprising amount of sense.
“Remember in Baltimore, when I kept inviting you to our apartment? I know it sounds strange, but I was doing that for Ben.” Matthew paused. “He had this huge crush on you. It started way back, freshman year in college, when he sat next to you in bio. It was his idea to tell you about our apartment. He hoped that if you moved to that building, eventually you might agree to go out with him.”
Before she could stop herself, she said, “So you didn’t want me to move there?”
“Of course I did, but at the time, I really couldn’t think about you as anything other than Ben’s future girlfriend. Because Ben was my best friend; I couldn’t get in his way.”
She kept her mouth shut, but she was wondering when this changed, if she herself had changed it that day in her apartment when she’d kissed him. What if she hadn’t done that? Would her whole life have been different?
When the waitress brought her bowl of steaming gumbo, Matthew discreetly swallowed two pills, which made Amelia wonder if he really was feeling sick or, more likely, nervous. He never drank, but he used all kinds of prescription drugs, including one for anxiety. She’d seen the pill bottles on his nightstand in Aspen; he’d laughed and said it just proved he believed in the safety of his products.
She took a few bites of the delicious gumbo. “Why are you telling me this now? Are you trying to give me something else to regret, that I picked a man who turned out to be a corporate sleazebag over a good man who will probably win the Nobel?”
“Thank you, but no, I’m telling you because it’s still true. Ben has been in love with you all these years. He’s followed your career; he reads your blog every day; he reads your articles. He tells me all about it, even if by some miracle AD isn’t your target.”
She was flattered, but she said, “What’s wrong with him?”
“Jesus, Amelia, that’s cold. It’s hard to meet the right person, and Ben is so shy—”
“No, I mean, why is he still friends with you?”
“You can hardly hold that against him. You of all people.” Matthew grinned. “Why not think of it as something you have in common? The way you both had an odd affection for Damien in Omen II .”
“It’s not something we have in common anymore.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He was still grinning. “We’ll always have Aspen.”
She pushed her chair back, but before she could stand up he said, “All right, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Look, Ben doesn’t have your experience with me. We met when we were eighteen. He’s like my brother. I’ve helped him move. I’ve given him money, and he—”
“Are you saying you’ve been funding Ben? Because I will make that public.”
“Not Astor-Denning money. You know how Ben is; he wouldn’t take a chance on tainting his research. I mean from me personally, mainly when we were in college. And he’s an innocent guy in a lot of ways, but look at what he’s accomplished. And he really does have this thing for you. That’s the point here.”
“Where did you get the money to give Ben?”
“Who cares? It’s not like I ran a prostitution ring outside the dean’s office. And even if I did, Ben didn’t know about it, so what—”
“Tell me or I’m leaving.”
“Sit still. You already know this. I told you a long time ago. I had that job downtown, number crunching for a financial software company, Tuesday through Saturday from four to midnight. That’s why you never saw me on campus except at the premed meetings. Your theory, if I remember correctly, was that I was off doing shallow things like watching football.”
“Does he take money from you now?”
“Haven’t you seen him on CNN?”
She hadn’t, though she’d seen pictures of Ben, most recently on the cover of Newsweek :CURING THE INCURABLE: A RENEGADE DOCTOR, HIS VACCINE, AND THE END OF MALARIA . She barely watched TV anymore. She got all the news she could handle online.
“You must have noticed that, in addition to blinking and freaking out like the camera just woke him up, he’s always dressed in some cheap department store crap.”
“Has he taken any money from you in the last ten years? A simple yes or no.”
“What is this, a DOJ hearing?”
“Are you testifying with them? Which complaint?” Amelia knew the Department of Justice was investigating AD not only for their marketing of the bipolar drug, but also for making false claims about their epilepsy medicine and for overcharging the federal government by setting higher prices for Medicaid. Maybe there was even something new she hadn’t heard about.
“No, I’m not. And no to the other question, too. Now, can we please get back to the topic?” Matthew took a drink of his Diet Coke. “You know, you and Ben really do have a lot in common. It’s true now, and it was true in Baltimore. Recall, I was the only one strangling the kitten.”
The What If game. Matthew had strangled the kitten; she and Ben had said they couldn’t do it, not even to save ten thousand acres of the rain forest. Come to think of it, she and Ben had always been on the same side of those questions. It struck her now that Matthew had probably invented that game to help Ben win her over. Too bad it hadn’t worked.
She’d eaten only half her lunch, but she let the waitress take her bowl and said she didn’t want coffee. “I don’t know what you think you’re getting out of this, but I’m not—”
“I’m just trying to help a friend.”
“And involve me in something that looks like a conflict of interest.” She opened her purse and took out a twenty, more than enough for her share of the meal. “You know I won’t take your company’s ‘grants,’ so instead you try this stunt.”
“It’s not a stunt, and I knew you wouldn’t want me involved. I gave Ben your number and told him to call you himself, but he just can’t do it. He’s afraid you still have feelings for someone else. Understandably.”
She snorted and placed the twenty on the table.
“Look, he’s going to be here next Tuesday. He’s giving a speech. You could go and just say hello afterward. That’s all the encouragement he needs.”
Amelia knew about the speech. She’d read about it that very morning in The New York Times . She’d even thought of going to listen to her former friend who’d become such an amazing scientist, but she was afraid Matthew might be there and that had been enough to make her table the idea.
“I have to get back to work,” she said. “I have a lot to do.”
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“One thing—if you do see him, please don’t tell him I told you all this. He made me promise I wouldn’t way back in Baltimore.”
“It’s not going to happen.” She stood up. “But I want you to know this: even if by some crazy chance I did end up dating some friend of yours, even if I fell in love with him, it wouldn’t change anything about my positions on Astor-Denning. If you think you’re pulling something over on me, think again.”
He stood up, too, and held his hands out, palms up. All innocence, except that grin. “Why do you always think the worst of me, Amelia?”
She spent the next week wondering what he was up to. He hadn’t taken a train from Philly to New York, in the middle of a workday, just to be nice to a friend. And why do it now? Even as she took a cab to listen to Ben’s speech, she was hoping to discover why Matthew wanted her to go. She planned to talk to Ben and try to uncover what he knew about Matthew’s current situation—maybe he was dealing with the DOJ; maybe he was even facing criminal charges. Somehow having Amelia distracted would help his case? There had to be an ulterior motive.
True, she was without a boyfriend again, after she’d broken up over the summer with a history professor who didn’t want children because he had already had two poorly behaved teenagers. But the unfortunate reality was she’d never been attracted to Ben, no matter how perfect he was for her in an abstract sense or how flattered she was that Ben had feelings for her. Even the way Matthew talked about Ben turned her off, like Ben was incapable of having a conversation or even dressing himself before an interview.
That the real Ben turned out to be nothing like she remembered wouldn’t have been such a surprise—after all, it had been almost fifteen years—but that Ben was also nothing like Matthew had described, well, that stupidly confused her. The auditorium was a mob scene: every seat taken, people standing in the aisles and the doorway, and at least two hundred more who couldn’t be accommodated and were forced to watch the speech on a monitor in another lecture hall. Amelia was in the latter group, since it had never occurred to her that a speech about “parasitic diseases and the future of vaccinology” could generate this kind of crowd. She was in the back of the room, and she didn’t have her glasses, so she couldn’t see the monitor that well. She also didn’t understand most of what Ben was saying, though she couldn’t miss the standing ovation at the end, complete with cheers and whistles, confirming again that Ben was a rock star of science. Afterward, hundreds of people waited in line to meet the famous man, and Amelia took her place in the line, even though she was unaccountably nervous. When it was finally her turn, her voice shook a little as she said, “Ben, hi. It’s me, Amelia.” She felt stupid after the second sentence, but what if he hadn’t recognized her?
He reached out and took her hand in both of his. “Amelia.” His voice was warm and kind, and so was his expression. “What a surprise.”
Back in Baltimore, he’d been cute enough, in a nerdy way—a sweet face, big brown eyes, lots of curly black hair that tended to sprout horns whenever he leaned his head back—but the years had transformed him into an undeniably attractive man. And it wasn’t just his presence and authority. He had a two-or three-day stubble that made him look ruggedly handsome, the same curly hair but neatly trimmed, and soft lines around his eyes that seemed to emphasize his intelligence and compassion. Even his clothes were perfect: not department store crap at all, but thick corduroy pants, a blue button-down shirt, and a plaid jacket that was a little grunge, but that was fine by Amelia, who’d loved the Seattle sound in the early nineties and still loved the slightly sloppy grunge style on men. Perfect grooming was an obvious sign that a man wasn’t her type. Ben was so exactly her type, right down to his Doc Martens, that she wondered how she was still standing, since her knees were gone.
“It’s great to see you,” he said, dropping her hand. “Are you living in New York?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been here for more than ten years.” The person behind her was inching closer, rattling her. She swallowed, knowing she had only a few more seconds to get out her question.
“I was wondering if you’d like to go out for coffee? When you’re finished here, I mean. I don’t mind waiting. It would be fun to catch up.”
“I’d love to, but unfortunately I’ve already committed to a late dinner with my hosts and some of their postdocs. My schedule for the next three days is jam-packed. I won’t be able to breathe until Saturday, when I fly to Brazil.”
“Oh.” She could feel her face burning. Why had she believed that Ben had any interest in her? “Well, congratulations. On the speech, everything.” She stood up straighter and forced a smile. “I can always say I knew him when.”
Ben was nodding to somebody back in the line who’d just yelled his name. As Amelia was about to walk away, he said, “I might be able to find some time on Thursday.”
“Great. Just let me know.”
“Can I call you tomorrow about it?”
She nodded and turned around to leave, when Ben said, “Amelia?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t have your phone number.”
Naturally, Matthew had lied about giving him the number, too.
After she handed Ben her card, he said, “Yes, I’d heard you were writing about bioethics. Who told me that?” He squinted, clearly thinking. “Of course, Matthew. Our mutual friend. Very important field. Glad to hear good people like you are in it.”
She managed to say “Thanks” before she gratefully made her escape. When she was outside in the night air, her cheeks still on fire, her phone started ringing. She was horrified that she hadn’t turned it off before the speech and quickly answered without looking to see who it was.
As soon as she heard his voice, she hissed, “How did you get my cell number?”
“I had AD security obtain your Verizon bill.” Her gasp was, unfortunately, audible, because he laughed. “You gave it to me, silly. Last week, in case I couldn’t find the restaurant.” He paused, still chuckling. “He looks a lot better in person, doesn’t he? His girlfriends have cleaned him up, especially Karen, the woman he lived with until a few months ago. I bet you’re meeting up with him while he’s in New York, aren’t you? Probably already thinking about what you’ll wear on your very first date. How sweet.”
She was so angry she forgot to look and stepped into the street as a cab was coming around the corner. The driver slammed on the brakes and screamed curses at her.
“It’s all right,” Matthew said, “you don’t have to thank me yet. Let’s see how it goes. One small piece of advice, though. Don’t spend all your time listening to him talk about what it’s like to be the top story in every science journal in the world. Be sure to tell him all about your own famous work, especially the latest blog post.”
He hung up before she could hang up on him. She threw her phone in her purse, yelling curses at the sky.
By the time she got home, she felt better enough to remember that this was all part of some strategy. Of course he wanted her to feel insignificant; then her criticisms of his company were insignificant, too. He obviously didn’t believe it, or he wouldn’t be trying to do whatever he was trying to do here. If only she knew what that was.
She wasn’t sure if Ben would call, but he did, the next day. It turned out that he had all evening free on Thursday; would she like to have dinner? She spent hours getting ready and, yes, thinking about what to wear. She finally decided on her suede skirt and a beige sweater, with low-heeled boots. In case Ben wanted to take a walk—and also because he wasn’t that tall: 5'8" or so. She was 5'4"; low heels would be perfect.
They met at a little Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, near her apartment, where she knew it would be quiet. When she got there, Ben was already sitting in the waiting area. He was hunched forward, trying to read, despite how dark it was in the restaurant, which was lit only by candles. She said “Now there’s a hard worker” before she noticed what it was he was trying to read: a printout of the
main page of her blog.
He stood up and smiled, but she was distracted. After the hostess seated them, before he could open his menu, she said, “Where did you find out about my blog?”
He put his menu down. His eyes were confused, but she said, “Just tell me.”
“I googled you.” His voice was clearly embarrassed. “This morning, in my hotel.”
When the waitress asked if they wanted to order drinks, Ben said to Amelia, “What would you like?”
She leaned forward. “Are you saying you haven’t talked to Matthew recently?”
“I didn’t say that.” He seemed surprised. “I talked to him yesterday.”
“Before or after you called me?”
“Before.” He turned to the waitress. “Better give us a minute.”
Amelia didn’t look away from Ben’s face. “What did you talk to him about?”
She was suddenly sure that Matthew was orchestrating all of this. He’d told Ben to call her, and he’d told Ben to read her blog—just so he could laugh when she was pleased about it. Maybe he’d even claimed that Amelia had a crush on Ben after hearing his speech, or even back in college. Who knows what he said, but he wasn’t going to get away with it. She would not let Matthew treat them like they were puppets in some sick game.
“What did you talk to him about?” she repeated.
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to know.”
Ben sat back in his chair, but Amelia persisted. “Look, I knew he would call you. I just don’t know what he said, though I can imagine.”
“I called him.”
“Why?”
“To ask how he felt.”
