Phoenix Heart (4 page)

“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 little 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.

I turned to Chuck. He was watching the way her body shifted
under the thin black silk. “Oh, no,” I whispered, “You’re not one of them, are
you?”

“One of who?”

I eyed him. “The quivering males who faint at the sight of
Caren Granzella.”

“Oh, shut up,” he hissed.