by Jeremy Bates
“Excellent,” he told them. “The second exercise is a little more involved. I have a blindfold with me, along with a bag of random objects—”
“Kinky, doc,” Sharon said, giggling.
“I’m going to bring them to the door now. Chad, I’d like you to meet me there. You can look in the bag, but Sharon, you cannot. Understood?”
“Too easy,” Chad said, already heading toward the door.
From his messenger bag, Wallis gathered a silk shoe bag with a drawstring closure that had come with a pair of loafers he’d purchased recently. He also removed a red cotton bandana with a paisley design. At the door to the sleep laboratory, he handed both items to Chad and returned to his spot at the desk.
Although the stimulant gas was odorless and tasteless, he nevertheless thought he could detect a metallic scent.
My imagination, he told himself dismissively.
He pressed the Talk button. “Chad, I’d like you to tie the bandana around Sharon’s eyes.”
Chad did as instructed.
“Can you see anything, Sharon?”
“Nothing.”
“Good. I’d like you to stick your hand in the bag Chad is holding and withdraw a single item.”
“Better be no sheep brains or anything yucky in there, doc.”
“Nothing of the sort,” he assured her. “They’re everyday items from around my house.”
“What’s all this about, mate?” Chad asked.
“I’d like to know whether Sharon is experiencing any initial signs of astereognosis due to sleep deprivation—that is, whether she has any difficulty identifying objects by touch alone without any other sensory input.”
“You’re the life of the party, mate. But whatever floats your boat. Shaz, you ready?”
“What if I fail?” she asked.
“The good doc pushes a button and you get incinerated,” Chad said.
“You can’t fail,” Dr. Wallis told her. “Whenever you’re ready…”
Sharon stuck a hand in the shoe bag and withdrew a Rubik’s Cube. She identified it right away.
“Very good,” Wallis said. Globes, pyramids, and cubes usually posed no problems. “Try again.”
She set the Rubik’s Cube aside and this time produced from the bag a porcelain teapot lid. She turned it over in her hand. “It’s a lid of some kind.”
“Can you be more specific?” Wallis asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe for a teapot?”
“Excellent,” he said.
“Two for two, Shaz,” Chad said. “You’re setting records.”
“Try again,” Wallis said.
This time she withdrew a novelty octopus flash drive.
She frowned. “God, what’s this!”
“Try to identify it using your other hand.”
She switched the flash drive to her left hand. “No idea…”
“Try using both hands.”
“It’s a bit squishy with some…things…at one end and something sharp at the other end…but…sorry, no idea, doc.”
They continued the exercise until no items remained in the shoe bag. In total, Sharon correctly identified seven out of twelve objects. She removed the blindfold.
“So does she have that astro-disease?” Chad asked.
“It’s not a disease,” Dr. Wallis said. “And no, her tactile recognition exhibited no observable behavioral deficit. We’ll see how well you do tomorrow.”
“Can’t hardly wait, mate,” Chad said, and went back to lifting weights.
◆◆◆
Dr. Roy Wallis resumed his role as silent observer, and over the next several hours the only sound in the small anteroom was the clicking of the laptop keys as he filled several pages with detailed notes chronicling the Australians’ behavior and emerging symptoms related to sleep loss.
Guru Rampal arrived at nine forty-five p.m., holding his phone to his ear.
Wallis blinked in surprise at the young Indian.
His head was shaved smooth.
Guru held up a finger, to indicate he wouldn’t be long on the phone. Dr. Wallis lit a cigarette. Guru hadn’t yet spoken a word, and Wallis would have thought he was on hold had he not been able to hear a barely audible voice on the other end of the line. When he finished his cigarette and butted it out in the ashtray he’d brought from home, and Guru had still not spoken a word, he went to the bathroom. He returned five minutes later to find Guru still listening to someone jabbering away. He was about to say something when Guru abruptly spoke a few words in Hindi, waited, spoke a few more, then hung up.
“What the hell was that all about, Guru?”
“I was speaking with my mother in India.”
“She’s quite the chatterbox.”
“No, she hardly speaks at all.”
“But you only got in a handful of words in a ten-minute conversation.”
“It was a group Facebook call with my mother and four brothers. My siblings and I must speak in order, from eldest to youngest. Because I am the youngest, I always speak last. Anyway.” He pointed to his bald dome. “What do you think, professor?”
“Looking good, Iceman.”
Guru grinned. “Andre had a last-minute cancellation this morning, and so I visited his barber shop. He told me he could help me style my hair with mousse and other products, but it would take a lot of upkeep on my part, and my hair would only continue to thin in the future. His recommendation was to shave it all off. I was hesitant at first, but Andre is bald too, and he looks very good, which gave me greater confidence to take the plunge myself.”
“I’m happy you’re happy, Guru,” Wallis said. “It’ll certainly be easier to manage now. Maybe pick up some sunscreen the next time you’re at the drugstore?”
“Good point, professor. I will get some when I go shopping for my new clothes. Yes, I am ready for a complete transformation.” He sat down in the free chair and set his backpack on the floor. “May I say, professor, you are a very good dresser, you have very good taste. Would you be willing to dispense some fashion advice?”
Beguiled, Wallis studied Guru’s outfit. He wore an orange tee-shirt emblazoned with an anime character from Dragon Ball Z, a pair of plaid shorts, and the same brilliant white sneakers he’d worn the day before. He looked like a poster boy for Old Navy. “My best advice?” Dr. Wallis said, wanting to tread as tactfully as possible. “The shaved head makes you appear older. Nothing wrong with that. But the graphic tees you wear are a rather youthful style. To compliment your more mature shaved head, I would recommend you dress up a bit more. Think less casual, more…urbane.”
“Excellent observation, professor!” Guru said, nodding enthusiastically. “More urbane. So no more tee-shirts? Not even nice ones? I do not want to look too mature.”
“I’m not saying wear a jacket and tie, Guru, but simply spruce things up. I’d stick with button-down shirts from now on, well-fitted, neutral colors.”
“And my shorts?”
“I’d probably avoid shorts altogether, to be honest.”
“Only pants. Yes, I can do that. Jeans?”
“Jeans are okay. They work for almost any age. But they shouldn’t have any holes, and they should be a darker rather than lighter color.”
“And my shoes?”
“Eh…you probably need to let go of all of your sneakers too.”
Guru seemed distressed. “All of my sneakers…?”
“If you really need to wear sneakers, I’d go for a minimalist canvas variety. Personally, however, I’d stick with leather.”
“Leather only?” Guru shook his head. “Jeez, professor. Maybe I am not ready for this new life quite yet. I feel like Tom Hanks in Big.”
Wallis smiled. “It’s heavy stuff, buddy. I feel for you. But remember, this is my advice only. You’re perfectly free to continue wearing whatever you choose.”
“No, professor, your advice has been very helpful.”
Dr. Wallis sniffed. He glanced at Guru’s backpack on the floor. �
��Did you bring McDonald’s again?”
“I did indeed.”
“Two days in a row. You might want to consider adding a healthier diet to this new lifestyle of yours too.”
“I know McDonald’s is not good for me. But it is the only food I can eat.”
Wallis frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“My mother’s cooking was the only food I ate growing up. I miss it tremendously. Since coming to America, McDonald’s is the only food I have tried that I like.”
“You’ve been here for two years!”
“Yes, I know. My diet is not enviable.” He patted what Wallis had previously thought to be a beer belly but was clearly a McDonald’s belly.
“You can’t cook for yourself?”
“Yes, I cook at home. But when I am out, I eat McDonald’s.”
“There are so many great restaurants around, Guru. There’s even an authentic Indian place not far from here that I’m sure—”
“On Solano Avenue? Yes, I have gone there. But the food tastes nothing like my mother’s cooking—”
“Good grief!” Dr. Wallis blurted, shaking his head with incredulity. “Someday, Guru, you’re going to be a very wealthy and successful man—but, brother, you’re one strange duck!”
◆◆◆
Instead of returning home, Dr. Roy Wallis drove the eight miles to the neighboring city of Oakland, and then to a commercial street in Dogtown—coined so by police officers due to the unusual number of stray dogs in the area. He tooled slowly past Café Emporium where Brook worked, peering through the large street windows. He couldn’t see her among the over-twenty-one crowd. He parked down the block, then returned to the dive bar. The place had a lot of personality, reminiscent of a wealthy eccentric’s basement den, or perhaps an old hipster’s antique shop. It was busy as usual, the bar staff pumping out Greyhounds, their marquee drink, to the thirsty throng. Wallis had tried a Greyhound once. The pour was heavy and the drink was strong, but all he could taste was the fresh grapefruit. Brook told him the bar used different grapefruit suppliers each order depending on who could provide the sweetest fruit at the time. He believed her.
Dr. Wallis squeezed in at the bar and ordered a pint of a bitter IPA. He still didn’t see Brook, though there were two other bars on the premises she could be tending. He took his beer outside and chain smoked two cigarettes.
“What are you doing here?”
Wallis had been gazing across the dark, foggy bay to San Francisco’s eloquent skyline on the far bank. He turned to find Brook standing behind him. Her knitted brow and crossed arms did not portend an easy reconciliation.
“Is this how you greet all your customers?” he said lightly.
“I’m serious, Roy. I don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Is a blonde bombshell going to pop out from behind a bush or tree?”
“That was rather awkward, I admit.”
“Somewhat of an understatement, Roy.” She glanced over her shoulder into the bar. “I have to get back to work.”
“What time do you get off?”
“I’m just a simple girl, Roy. I liked you. I thought you liked me—”
“I do, Brook.”
“Call me old-fashioned, but when a man and a woman like each other, and when they become intimate, they shouldn’t be sleeping around with other people. Who was she anyway?” Brook shook her head. “No, I don’t care. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know how many women you’re currently sleeping with—”
“Only her, Brook,” Dr. Wallis interrupted sincerely. “We used to date, but we broke up two years ago. We just see each other casually now and then. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Brook repeated sardonically. “The fact you’re having casual sex with your ex is actually a pretty big deal to me.”
“I know, I understand,” he said. “Bad choice of words. What I meant was, she’s not important to me anymore. You are. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
Something shifted in Brook’s eyes. Hopeful calculation? “Are you going to see her anymore?”
“No,” he said.
Brook’s stiff body language relaxed. Her arms remained crossed, but she no longer seemed as though she wanted to throw the nearest drink on him. She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know, Roy…”
“What time do you get off?”
“Not until last call tonight.”
“Could you get someone to cover for you?”
“I don’t know…probably…”
“Great! I’ll just wait out here until you do.”
“Jesus, Roy.” She shook her head.
“What?” he said, grinning.
“Just—Jesus.”
She returned inside.
◆◆◆
For the last year or so, Dr. Wallis had been coming to Café Emporium most Saturday or Sunday mornings to read the newspaper and sip a vanilla latte and occasionally nibble on a gluttonous pastry. Roughly two months ago, Brook had adopted the habit of serving his latte with a token chocolate cookie that he didn’t order. He didn’t give this much thought. He didn’t give her much thought either. Until five weeks ago, when he glanced up from the sports section of the Chronicle and his eyes settled on her. She was dressed in her simple uniform of black tights and a black shirt, and she hadn’t been doing anything more interesting than clearing a nearby table of dirty dishes. However, something triggered inside him. He stole several more glances in her direction before paying his bill. The next Saturday he engaged her in conversation whenever she approached his table, and before he left, he asked her to dinner. She seemed flummoxed and turned down his invitation. He persisted with a mix of stubbornness and friendly humor, and she relented. They met at a lively downtown restaurant, then watched a live show across the street at the Fox Theater. The evening couldn’t have gone any better, and after a few nightcaps, Brook ended up spending the night at his place. Since then, they’d been seeing each other at least once or twice a week.
Dr. Wallis finished his beer and was thinking about going inside to order a second when Brook appeared.
“That was quick,” he said.
“We’re not that busy tonight,” she said, though he found this hard to believe given the crowd inside. “Did you have anywhere in mind you’d like to go?”
“There’s a good Spanish place over on Grace Avenue. I’ve been in the mood for tapas all day.”
“Fine by me. But do you mind stopping by my place first so I can freshen up?”
“Sure,” he said, surprised. He had never been to her place before.
It turned out Brook didn’t live very far away—nor did she live in a landlocked house. She lived in a houseboat moored on the still waters of San Francisco Bay.
“Whoa!” Wallis said, taking in the squat, quaint structure on floats. “I didn’t know you lived like Popeye!”
“Don’t knock it, Roy. It’s two-thirds the price of a single-bedroom apartment.”
“I’m not knocking it. I love it.”
The interior resembled that of a rustic mountain cabin: wood floors, wood walls, wood ceiling, wood cabinetry. A variety of wall hangings and throw rugs added splashes of color, while miscellaneous items—stacks of vinyl records, flowering plants, a battered guitar case leaning against a shiny black piano—lent the shoebox space a cozy, creative air.
“It’s not much,” Brook said, a bit self-consciously. “But it’s comfortable.”
“It’s fantastic,” Wallis said. “I feel like I’m suddenly on vacation.”
“There’s beer in the fridge. Help yourself. I’ll have a quick shower.”
“Why not just jump in the bay?”
“Funny, mister. Won’t be long.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
Rolling her eyes, Brook disappeared into the houseboat’s only other room, closing the door behind her.
Dr. Wallis retrieved a Belgium beer from the compact fridge, twisted o
ff the cap, and took a long sip. He was craving a cigarette but decided it wouldn’t be prudent to smoke inside a house constructed entirely of hickory and oak.
Instead he studied the wall over the kitchen table. It was studded with photographs, most in simple frames, a few pinned to the wood with thumbtacks. Some were portrait shots of a man and woman Wallis suspected were Brook’s parents. Others were of Brook herself: as a big-eyed, pony-tailed child; as a pretty, awkward teen; wearing a mortarboard at her college graduation; partying with girlfriends indoors, outdoors, on a lake somewhere. And in five photos she was with the same man. He was Brook’s age, handsome, and fit.
Dr. Wallis frowned. He didn’t often experience jealousy, but right then a greasy fire warmed his belly.
The water clunked off and stopped running through the old pipes. A minute later Brook emerged from the adjacent room wrapped in a white towel. “Not much closet space in the bedroom,” she said. “The dress I want is in here.” She opened a door he hadn’t noticed and removed a blue dress from a rack jam-packed with hanging garments.
“Who’s this?” Wallis asked, pointing at the man in the pictures.
Brook joined him in the kitchen. “Oh him,” she said cavalierly. “Just an ex I sleep with every now and then.”
Wallis stared at her.
She laughed. “You should see your face!”
“Who is he?” he demanded.
“My brother, Roy! Sheesh.”
Wallis’ cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I didn’t notice the resemblance.” He finished his beer and set the bottle on the counter. “Now that you’ve mentioned your ex…I don’t think you’ve ever told me anything about him?”
“You never asked.” Brook shrugged her bare, slender shoulders. “He was a wild animal keeper at the San Francisco Zoo. He was headhunted for a senior position at the San Diego Zoo.” She shrugged again. “He accepted the job, I didn’t want to uproot and move, so we broke up. But is he really who you want to talk about right now?”
“No,” Wallis said, sliding his arms around Brook’s svelte waist and kissing her on her soft lips. He became immediately aroused. He slid his hands down over her buttocks, down her firm thighs, then up them again, beneath the towel. Her breasts pressed against his chest.
