‘From what you’ve told me, it’s too small for you.’
‘It’s easy to manage. It was … Killer eats twenty pounds a day.’ He stared down. ‘I feel lost, Dr Stein. Outside of Grace … I don’t have extra people in my life. My family, what’s left of them, is for shit. I loved my grandparents, but they’re gone. I know you’re here to help me figure stuff on my own, but this time I need advice. Can you do that?’
‘Of course,’ he said without hesitation.
‘What should I do?’
Stein paused. He smiled.
‘What’s funny?’
‘I was going to flip it around on you.’ He mimicked himself, ‘What do you think you should do? It’s a reflex. But you asked for advice. So here it is, Jackson’s death, and I am sorry for your loss, Frank, but it’s created a hole filled with opportunity. You don’t see that yet, but it’s true. You’ve worked hard to get yourself where you are today, and I’m not talking about your papers and your prowess as a researcher or how good you are with your patients.’
‘I’m not as big a head case. And no meds.’
‘Correct … and no meds, though—’
‘Don’t. Not happening. Out with the advice. What kind of opportunity?’
‘No crystal ball here, but I’m sitting with an articulate, brilliant, and quirky thirty-two-year-old man, who has achieved great things and overcome a brutal childhood. I know how hard you work to hold it all together. The voices, the flashbacks, the nightmares, all of it. But what I’m going to suggest goes opposite to your instincts. But you’re strong enough. So here goes, rather than walling off and shutting out, allow stuff to happen.’
‘Like how?’
‘Easy. You’ve learned how to figure out your emotions. When we first met those were a foreign county. Here’s the deal, when you catch yourself avoiding something, ask one question, “is this a real threat?” If the answer is yes, then step away, but if the answer is no, or even neutral, do it. You get what I’m saying?’
‘Like, pick up the phone when my mother calls from the nut house? Even though I have a restraining order and she’s not supposed to have my number?’
Stein chuckled, ‘Start easier, but that’s the idea. If fear tells you to go left, go right.’
‘Ignore fear? Isn’t it there for a reason?’
‘Absolutely, but in your case, it takes over when it’s not needed. It’s what causes your panic attacks, and the anxiety that makes you afraid to leave the house some days. Fear and anxiety want to keep you in a tiny prison cell, which is now filled with a giant tortoise. But you hold the key. Turn the lock, Frank. Push back. Do it consistently. Over and over and over. Maybe you won’t slay the dragon, but you’ll kick it out of your way. And then you’ll be able to move on with your life.’
THIRTEEN
Stein’s words echoed as Frank left the health center where he’d come since he was a seventeen-year-old undergrad. He headed towards the subway, not wanting to arrive at the hospital in a soaking sweat. His mind raced. He pictured Sean’s hazel eyes – probably not gay, probably not interested. He seemed sincere about me not being a suspect … and the Dean sounded sincere about Jackson. People lie. You didn’t kill Jackson. And that matters, how? Well, if he’s gay he’s got a boyfriend … or a husband. And why do I feel guilty about Jackson. Did I have something to do with it? It was a robbery. What if it wasn’t? And Sean’s smile, the way he looked at me. And I’m what, twelve? It’s a crush, it’s hormones, get over it. Or … He thought of Stein’s suggestion, Start easier. He pulled out his cell and looked through the history of calls, almost all unanswered.
Then a prickle at the back of his neck. Don’t turn back. There’s no real danger … other than they’re going to kick me out of here when I can’t land enough grant money, and Jen will be dead; they’ll all be dead, when I could have done something and didn’t. I can’t let that happen. Yeah? How you going to stop it?
Again, the sense of being watched. Don’t look back. Don’t – he stopped and turned around. His gaze landed on a black BMW as it pulled into a parking space. The driver’s door opened.
I should run. But if you do, they’ll just run after you. Face the fear. Maybe it’s not so bad. A young, dark-haired man in an immaculate suit and shades emerged. Not a cop. Unless he’s FBI … no, that suit is too good. FBI with family money, maybe secret service. Great hair. How do people get it to stay like that?
The man approached and from thirty feet away called, ‘Dr Garfield?’ He didn’t wait for Frank’s reply. ‘I’m Dalton Lang with UNICO. I was hoping—’
Despite Stein’s advice, Frank turned away. Another fucking recruiter. I shouldn’t have answered that call. Stein was wrong. Pimps and whores. And they send hot male recruiters because they know I’m gay. Pimps and whores.
‘Dr Garfield,’ the man shouted after him. ‘Seriously? Some basic civility would be appreciated here. I’ve driven two hundred miles to see you.’
What’s the harm in talking? Like a Greek chorus inside his head, ‘pimps and whores’. I’m not a whore. He wanted to run. If someone chases you, you should run. He swallowed and felt the need to be somewhere else, anywhere else. To lock himself in the lab or be with the kids on the ward. Adrenalin surged. His pulse quickened. You can control this. He slowed his breath and focused on the feel of his feet against his shoes and how his weight passed into the earth below.
He stayed like that, and used what he’d learned in two decades of therapy about how to abort a panic attack. Running wouldn’t help, it would leave him winded and gasping for air. But worse were the flashbacks, and a dread that something horrible was about to happen. With his back turned, he listened to the hand-stitched-leather-shoed approach of Dalton Lang from UNICO.
‘I told that recruiter I wasn’t interested.’ Lang … UNICO. Their CEO is Leona Lang. She has a PhD … from MIT. Fuck me. How did I not see this? He replayed his final argument with Jackson. The student his mentor had slept with who’d gone to the dark side. Not that she just worked for the pharma industry and that she’d used research she’d stolen. Leona Lang was THE industry. Not possible.
‘Are you related to Leona Krawsinska?’ Frank asked.
‘She’s my mother. That’s her maiden name.’
What the fuck? This is no coincidence. Stein’s advice now seemed too simple. How can you know if there’s a tiger in the room, when you don’t know what a tiger looks like? He turned and faced Lang.
But that made it worse. The guy removed his dark glasses and Frank got the impact of the most beautiful man he’d ever seen face to face. The planes of his face appeared sculpted, from the high cheekbones to his strong jaw, but it was his eyes, a vivid sapphire, ringed in black lashes. They stared at him. He smiled, and Frank remembered what Jackson had said about Leona, ‘the most beautiful girl I’d ever met.’ Like mother like son. As his panic eased, Frank felt a different wave of emotion. He felt trapped in Dalton’s gaze. ‘I told your recruiter I’m not interested.’
‘I know.’ Dalton moved closer, barely five feet between them. ‘Let me take you to lunch. Your work is far too important for a recruiter. At least talk with me.’
Frank felt frozen. He and Jackson had joked about how the more they rejected the advances of the drug companies, the better-looking the recruiters got. Dalton Lang, like a model out of a magazine, brought this to a new level. ‘I like Indian,’ Frank blurted.
‘Me too. You have a favorite place?’
A simple question, but his gut was on high alert. Too handsome Dalton Lang, son of too-beautiful Leona, was here to sell something … something Frank wanted no part of. Jackson had warned him, and he’d seen colleagues, the best of the best, get sucked in. Pimps and whores.
‘Dr Garfield?’
Frank cracked his neck and tried to clear his head. ‘On second thoughts, skip the restaurant. You’re here to make a pitch, right? You’ve got five minutes and then I need to be places.’ He pulled out his cell and set the timer.
; Dalton grinned and dimples popped. ‘A man after my own heart.’ He stepped in closer and lowered his voice. ‘So here goes. Vice President of Research and Development for UNICO. You know who we are. My mother, Leona Lang, is CEO. We’re offering a five-year, million a year, contract with structured bonuses at signing and every six months. Vesting after three months.’
Frank smelled the spice of Lang’s cologne. The deep timber of his voice seemed to give his words layers of meaning and spoke more of a bedroom and less of a lab. His brilliant gaze and dazzling smile were a genetic anomaly where God had decided to see how far he could push masculine beauty.
‘You have the wrong guy.’ Frank stepped back and nearly tripped on the heel of his sneaker.
With cobra like speed, Dalton shot a hand forward to steady him. ‘I don’t have the wrong guy.’ His hand lingered on Frank’s shoulder as he rattled off the titles of Frank’s recent articles, ‘Multi-Generational Implications of Protracted Stress on Longevity, Correlates of Adverse Childhood Experiences and Telomere Length, Implications of Elevated Telomerase in Hepatocellular Carcinoma. And my favorite, A Theoretical Argument for Extension of the Hayflick Limit. Seriously, why not just title that one, How to Live Forever? Is it just theory, Dr Garfield?’
Frank shrugged off Dalton’s hand and stepped back. He swallowed, shook his head and thought of Sean … Detective Sean, who might still arrest me.
Dalton ran a hand through his hair and squinted into the sun. ‘Our recruiter said you were a flat-out no, and … your work is too important to be buried here, Dr Garfield. You’ve got to know that.’
‘I’m a researcher, and a pediatrician, not an executive, Mr Lang. I have no interest in anything outside the lab and the wards.’
‘Understood. That’s where we want you. Where you need to be. I get that. But the right labs with the right equipment, working on the right projects, with actual patients, children and families who need your help. The VP title we’d give you, head of R&D is unimportant, the day-to-day business hassle will go to someone else … unless you want it. It’s what you’re destined for and what we need to support.’
‘Which you’d own.’
‘Yes. True. We’re a Fortune Five Hundred Corporation, and I didn’t even get a chance to tell you about the stock options, though I suspect you don’t care about those.’ He paused. ‘Look, I’m throwing a lot at you out of the blue. So rather than come up with an answer now, can I offer you a dinner meeting with myself and my mother?’
Jackson’s Leona. ‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
Everything inside of him screamed no. But didn’t something have to change? He took Stein’s advice and went opposite to his churning gut. ‘OK.’ He broke from Dalton’s gaze. And before the beautiful Mr Lang could say more, he walked away. His head filled with the intensity of those rare eyes.
‘Don’t you want to know when and where?’
Frank stopped, but didn’t turn back. ‘You know who I am, what I do, and where to find me at two o’clock on a Tuesday, getting me to dinner shouldn’t be hard.’
‘Right.’
Frank resisted the urge to get another helping of Dalton’s smile. Instead, he glanced down at his cell. Two minutes left on the timer. Pimps and whores … And with a nod to Stein’s advice, No harm in hearing what they have to say. He rejected his earlier decision to take the subway and started to jog and then to run.
Dalton watched Frank flee. Good, but no slam dunk. He thought of his fishing metaphor, and as Garfield ran, probably all the way to the hospital to do rounds on his dying children, Dalton visualized his line being let out. The fish, thinking it was free would exhaust itself prior to being reeled in, and then: scaled, gutted, filleted, and served.
He glanced around at the students and faculty and their hive-like activity. He’d loved his years at NYU’s school of the arts. But in hindsight, a cruel joke that Leona had consented to let him go, thinking his artistic passions would run their course. Which only made things more painful. Still, what he’d learned was not wasted. He thought of what separated good artists from great. He’d learned it had to do with holding nothing back, of throwing your whole self into the work, no matter the cost. It’s what he did with his prose and his lyrics, and when he sang and posted videos, he wanted the viewer to be able to stare deep inside and taste his desolation. Though what they saw, and what Garfield saw, rarely went below the surface. He hated that. Yes, Frank is the fish, but what does that make me? Am I fisherman or just bait? It wouldn’t be the first time his mother had traded on his looks. While he should have been disgusted at the prospect of being pimped out, there was something about Frank, from his awkward stance, to the way his hair flopped into his eyes, to his devotion to his work and more importantly, to the children he treated. He’s a solid guy. And we’re going to fuck him over.
Disgusted, he returned to his car, pulled out his notepad and angrily jotted lines of acid prose. He stuffed it back into his briefcase and called Leona.
‘Yes? What is it?’
Her tone was brusque. And nice to hear from you too, Mother. ‘He agreed to dinner.’
‘Good, when and where?’
‘Tonight. I’ve reserved suites at the Taj. I’ll order a private dining room. He likes Indian.’
‘What made him change his mind?’
As if you don’t know. ‘I was persuasive. But the real hook is those kids.’
‘Whatever it takes, Dalton.’
‘Yes Mother.’ And he hung up.
FOURTEEN
Leona lay back on the Taj’s sumptuous sheets as waves of pleasure mounted. This one was good, talented. Through hooded eyes, she watched the top of his curly blond head between her legs. I can’t remember his name … Jerod, Jacob, not Jesus, but a J, aren’t they all?… Jeffrey. ‘That feels wonderful, Jeffrey,’ she gasped and bit her bottom lip, using the pain to hold back the inevitable release. She rode the surges as his nimble tongue pushed her higher. So good. Her thoughts drifted and for a bit she imagined herself young, free, and beautiful, and that this Jeffrey wasn’t just another eager-to-please underling, one interchangeable with the next.
He looked up at her, his lips plump and swollen from their efforts. She suppressed a giggle. Like a puppy dog, lick lick lick.
‘Good?’ he asked.
Give the dog a bone. ‘Very.’ And not wanting this to become a conversation, which would invariably center on how to get ahead … she drifted and closed her eyes. So good.
An orgasm rolled through her body, her toes curled. Even her hair follicles spasmed with something like joy. So good.
Jeffrey, twenty-seven and without an ounce of fat on his swimmer’s body, flopped beside her on the pillows. ‘You are so lovely.’
For a few seconds, she languished in content, his words, and the voluptuous joy of being in bed with a handsome young man.
‘You have plans for tonight?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Please don’t talk. Give me a little longer. Don’t ruin it.
‘And they don’t include me.’
‘Business.’
‘I know,’ he said with the hint of a sulk. He rolled on his side and stared at her. ‘It’s always business, isn’t it?’
And now the tit for tat. With a sigh, she pulled the sheets up and covered herself. She tried not to think of how he saw her, judged her. She thought of Dr Ramon who had plans for more than her face, her breasts, her butt, her thighs.
‘It’s always work,’ she said, then schooled her expression into a pleasant smile. She wanted to have another go or two with this talented Jeffrey, but sensed the tipping point had come, where the cost and expectation exceeded his service. She tried to recall his stats, Boston based, part of UNICO’s army of thousands of drug detailers. She’d noticed him at an auditorium style orientation session. California surfer looks in a navy suit. Yummy, both dressed and un.
‘You ever think about a week off? Maybe an island …’ His voice trailed off.
She searched hi
s words for irony. Could he find me beautiful? ‘Tempting.’
Disappointment crossed his face. ‘But unlikely.’
‘It is.’ Give the dog a bone. ‘I will think about it.’
‘Good … and now I should go, right?’
‘Yes, I have meetings.’ Glad he seemed appeased, so perhaps this particular good time could be had again.
‘Right.’
She felt relief, desire, and something else, as young Jeffrey slid from bed and retrieved his clothes. ‘OK if I grab a quick shower?’
‘Of course.’ She followed him with her eyes, tracing the taper from broad shoulders to his narrow waist, firm ass and long legs. And once she heard the water, she pushed back the sheet and belted on a plush white Terri robe, heading to the living room that overlooked the Boston Gardens and the Commons beyond. Through the glass she could both look out on the city and see the reflection of steam and Jeffrey’s silhouette in the shower. How nice. He left the door open. He’s not stupid. He’ll go far … if he doesn’t push. She made a mental note to goose his career. A simple phone call … not from her, but Dalton, to the Boston head of marketing. Give young Jeffrey a larger territory, make him a manager. She gazed on the split show, Boston at night, and hunky Jeffrey soaping up. But there were many Jeffries and Jennifers, Jerods and Ashleys, her army of young and beautiful sales reps. Their targets: physicians, advanced practice nurses, and physician assistants, anyone who could write a prescription for a UNICO product. Battalions of millennials with degrees in poly-sci, psychology, literature, English, all a hundred thousand or more in debt with degrees barely worth their faux parchment.
She drank in the afterglow, and followed Jeffrey’s naked progress from the shower, to the reverse striptease of his yellow bikini briefs to his blue button-down shirt, suit and tie. It reignited a tingle in her belly, and for the briefest of moments she considered a second round. No, that would make him impossible.
He crossed to her spot in front of the window, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Call me,’ he said, but did not push.
Elixir Page 8
