“Berman seemed to think it was a good idea, but he’s not a scientist. His job is to get the funding, which he seems very capable of doing. I really don’t know how he does it. He hinted that he has found almost unlimited funding. It’s extraordinary.”
“You seemed to be getting on well with him.”
Pia glanced over at George, whose comment implied he was jealous.
“And you seemed to be getting on well with Ms. Jones. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she.”
“I guess so.”
“‘I guess so.’ George, she’s stunning! And you had her all to yourself.”
“I think Berman wanted her to sound me out,” said George, half to himself.
“What about?”
“About you and me. It would be unseemly for Berman to ask me directly. He strikes me as a guy who’s concerned about appearances, so he had his assistant ask me some questions.”
“It didn’t look like you minded being interrogated by her.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” A thought passed through George’s mind. Was Pia even a tiny bit jealous?
“Did she ask you?”
“Not in so many words.”
“I hope you didn’t say very much, particularly anything personal.”
“Oh, no,” George lied. He was trying to remember what he did say, but it wasn’t easy. Whatever it was, he wished he hadn’t.
“He did apologize for that incident that I mentioned to you.”
“That’s nice. What did he say, exactly?”
“He said he was sorry. He said he’d been under a lot of pressure concluding the funding deal and had had way too much to drink. He said he wanted our relationship to start anew, since he appreciates my contribution to Nano.”
“Did you believe him?”
“So-so,” Pia said. “Not enough to see him socially without you around. But then he went on to say something I found really interesting, something I’d suspected.”
“Oh?” George questioned. He sat up straighter and struggled to clear his mind.
“He admitted that there’s a very specific personal reason he’s interested in medical nanotechnology in general, and microbivores in particular, and what’s driving him to raise the kind of money he has. He thinks that microbivores can possibly control or prevent or cure Alzheimer’s. His mother is struggling with the disease in a nearby assisted-living facility.”
“Very noble of him.”
Pia’s eyes left the road for a moment and darted over at George. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I had too much to drink.”
“At least it was good wine,” Pia said.
A few minutes later Pia pulled into her apartment complex’s parking area. She hopped out of the car and headed in, leaving George in her wake. The cool evening air was refreshing for George, so he made it last. Once back inside, he drank three full glasses of water and took a couple of ibuprofen tablets to preempt the headache that was sure to get worse.
When he walked back into the living room, Pia’s door was already closed. George could see the light was still on in her room. He sighed and started to undress, another uncomfortable night stretching out before him.
The door to Pia’s bedroom opened, and she stood in the doorway looking at George. “Thank you for being here so that I could see Berman’s house. I enjoyed it.”
“My pleasure.” George tried to make eye contact, but she looked away.
“Do you really have to leave tomorrow?”
“I do. I was only able to wrangle two days.”
After a pregnant pause, Pia’s eyes zeroed in and locked onto George’s for a fleeting moment.
“Why don’t you come in. I don’t think it’s fair to make you sleep on the couch again.” A second later she disappeared. George fumbled with his clothes half-on, half-off, trying to get to the doorway. He didn’t want her to change her mind. Now he truly wished he hadn’t drunk as much as he had.
CHAPTER 12
It had not been the best morning for Pia. First she had to get up earlier than usual to take George down to the bus station to catch a bus to Denver Airport. She hated saying good-bye in general, especially with the potential for a scene since George had ended up wanting to drag it out, sitting in her car. She’d come to appreciate his visit, especially as it had allowed her to see Berman’s house and make sure he knew she had a boyfriend. But the previous night after they had gotten back from the dinner party and she had warmed up to him and wanted to have sex, he’d proved to be incapable with all the alcohol he had foolishly drunk. So she was glad he was leaving, but then couldn’t get him to get out of the car. She had been eager to get to work, looking forward to asking some of the programmers at Nano about the feasibility of her mechanical solution to the flagellum problem. When George finally did climb out of the VW, Pia had made sure to leave quickly, lest he return to ask her to promise yet again to be better about answering his communications and pressure her into making a commitment to come out to L.A.
As if saying good-bye to George wasn’t enough, Pia’s morning at work had been a disappointment. First she found out that none of the programmers associated with the microbivores project was available, at least until the following day and maybe not even for the rest of the week. Next, Mariel had the same chip on her shoulder that had epitomized her behavior on Monday. Pia had to work closely with her, and that was difficult when Mariel was in one of her passive-aggressive moods.
But the worst event of the morning was the sudden appearance of Berman in an uncharacteristically jovial and expansive mood. To Pia’s chagrin it seemed that the previous evening’s festivities had not dampened his interests in pursuing a social relationship. Pia had hoped to convey the proper message by showing up with a boyfriend, but it was apparently not to be. If anything, Berman had seemed emboldened, even in Mariel’s presence, making Pia wonder exactly what George had said to Whitney Jones during their conversations.
Berman had invited Pia to a festive dinner for the visiting Chinese delegation and maybe even a movie over the following weekend. On both accounts, Pia had begged off, saying she was going to be busy entertaining her houseguest, which, as it turned out, was not the right thing to say. Berman had responded with: “Didn’t he take an early flight to L.A. this morning?”
Pia had tried to cover her tracks as best she could. Berman had actually helped by finding enough humor in the situation to laugh. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that. And factor this into your thinking: I promise no repeat of my boorish behavior before my China trip. Scout’s honor.” He’d held up his three middle fingers in the form of a scout salute as convincing proof of his sincerity. “You don’t have to respond immediately,” he had added. “Think it over. I’d just like to show some appreciation for your contribution here at Nano. No strings attached.”
Pia had sheepishly agreed to think about the invitations but felt foolish not to have guessed that George couldn’t be trusted not to blab when he had too much to drink.
When noon had rolled around and Pia was able to clear her lab bench, she was relieved to leave and go out for a run. This was part of the new Pia, the Pia who had begun to embrace exercise and outdoor pursuits, as advocated by the company’s healthy-lifestyle policy. If employees exercised and didn’t smoke there was a significantly lower premium on health insurance.
As often as Pia was able, and weather permitting, she would change into her company running gear, most of it emblazoned with the Nano logo, and head out for an hour or so in the middle of the day. As a creature of habit, she always took the same unpaved public road up the mountain and away from the Nano complex.