“Does this record?” Pia asked.
“It does,” Berman said proudly. “It records for forty-eight hours, then erases itself and starts again. It’s a continuous feed.”
“Let’s turn it off,” Pia said.
“Excuse me?”
“I want it off. I don’t want to feel inhibited, knowing that a recorder is operating.”
A slight smile appeared on Berman’s face. He loved it. She had miraculously transformed herself into a woman of his dreams. He reached up to the same piece of equipment he’d touched to bring up the interior images and turned it off. The appropriate monitor went blank until he switched it back to the exterior images.
“Sometimes,” Berman said with a wry smile, “it’s fun reliving an evening’s events, if you know what I mean.” He raised his dark, bushy eyebrows provocatively, or so he thought.
Pia felt a flash of anger at the realization that her previous visit had probably been taped. She had enough experience of her uncle taking pornographic pictures of her when she was a kid to be disgusted by Berman’s remark, but she had to keep her cool.
“There’s no Miss Jones tonight?”
“There’s no Miss Jones. And I let the cook and the housekeeper leave a short time ago. Our dinner is on low heat in the oven; the Champagne is on ice. We have the place to ourselves. Would you like to sit outside? It’s a lovely night again. You could put a fur throw around your shoulders if you’d like.”
“Sounds good,” said Pia. So the coast was clear, she thought. But that worked both ways — there was nothing to stop Berman from trying to get what he wanted, either. At least initially it was to be a kind of Mexican standoff.
Pia took her seat outside while Berman went to the bar to fix their drinks. He returned with two Champagne flutes and proposed a toast.
“To Nano, and all who sail in her,” he said, and laughed at his own little joke.
“To Nano,” said Pia, “and its continued success.”
“Our continued success. We’re in this together. And we’ll all share in the good times when everything we are working for comes to fruition. Mariel continues to tell me your experiments are going well.”
“Yes, they are,” said Pia, happy to be talking about work. She relayed that there had been no signs of any immunological reaction up until almost five o’clock that afternoon with the microbivores containing the polyethylene glycol molecules incorporated into their surfaces. “If this continues, we could be looking at starting mammalian experiments in the near future.”
“Fabulous!” he said, standing. “Let me top you up.” He indicated Pia’s glass.
“I am driving, Mr. Berman, but don’t let me inhibit you.”
“Call me Zach, please! When we’re out of the office, particularly here in my castle, I prefer you call me by my given name. And don’t worry about driving. I’ll have someone come up from the motor pool if necessary.” He smiled that same unctuous smile that Pia found so nauseating. She stood up.
“Perhaps we should go ahead and eat. If the food’s in the oven, we should not let it wait. I’d hate for it to dry up, whatever it is. The food was lovely on Monday night, and I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
“Do you cook in your apartment?”
“Never. I’m too busy with what Mariel and I are doing in the lab.”
“Then it sounds like you don’t like the food at the cafeteria?”
“It’s fine. I just prefer yours.”
“Well, that’s good. I do, too. Come through to the dining room. I won’t be a second.” Berman walked toward the kitchen and kept talking, his voice echoing throughout the cavernous spaces of his house.
“I enjoy serving dinner to my guests,” he shouted from the kitchen. “It reminds me of a time when I didn’t have staff to help. They make me nervous sometimes, fussing around me. This is much more relaxed.”
That’s right, thought Pia, you’re just a regular guy at heart.
“Anything I can do to help?” Pia shouted.
“Stay right there,” Berman yelled back. He emerged from the kitchen with a tray. He gave Pia a bowl of steaming soup and offered freshly milled black pepper from an oversize grinder.
“Smells heavenly,” said Pia.
“Vegetarian pea soup, with a lot of mint from my herb garden. And a dollop of crème fraîche. You can’t beat it. Bon appétit!”
Pia had to admit the soup was lovely: fresh and delicate, highlighted nicely by the fragrant pepper. She would have enjoyed it more if she weren’t so nervous.
Berman had set down a fresh glass of Champagne and a glass of white wine that he claimed was a simple French white Burgundy but which Pia was sure was a pricey wine. As she sipped it, she reminded herself to be careful with the alcohol. As Berman drank his Champagne in a couple of chugs and started in on his wine, Pia took a few small sips of hers. She had to be particularly careful with the Champagne as it had a tendency to go to her head. Her obligation was to stay sharp.
As they continued with their meal, Pia had to admit that Berman was good company. He was solicitous, making sure her food was properly seasoned and that her glass of sparkling ice water was refilled. She finished a glass of the white wine, and took some of the extremely robust red Berman produced to complement the delicious buffalo steaks he served with local vegetables and some herbed orzo.
“The meat was so tender,” Pia said as Berman cleared away her plate.
“It’s good for you, too. Great protein, not so much fat. So let’s take some dessert in the den.”
Pia didn’t think she had seen the den on Monday, and indeed it was a new room for her, off the living room, with yet another fireplace at the center of the back wall. There was a huge TV on the wall at right angles to the fireplace, and a deep burgundy-colored leather couch in front. There was no other furniture in the room at all. Like his office at Nano, the décor and furnishings oozed stereotypical masculinity. There was a bank of photos of Berman on a countertop that ran along the wall behind the couch. They were mostly location sporting photos with Berman holding guns, fishing poles, and mountain climbing gear. Pia sat on the couch and Berman fiddled with his iPhone, changing the lighting, bringing on some jazz music, and closing the drapes all in the space of a few seconds.
“That’s very high tech… or something,” said Pia. She imagined she was supposed to be impressed.
“I’m sorry,” said Berman. “Is it too corny? I didn’t conduct that little performance just for your benefit. I actually do it when it’s me here by myself. I like the convenience of this custom app on my phone. I got some of the programmers at Nano to rig this up for me. It took me a while to learn how to use it, but now I can turn on faucets in the garage with this.” He held up the phone in triumph.
No wonder I can’t get any time with the microbivores programmers, Pia thought, but didn’t say.
“So what can I get you?” Berman asked, playing the considerate host. “After-dinner cordial, some dessert wine? I do have some homemade ice cream in the freezer. I’m assuming you’re not interested in a cigar. But I don’t want to be sexist. If I were here by myself, which I’m infinitely grateful I’m not, I would indulge in a cigar.”
“Are you by yourself very often?” Pia asked.
“Sometimes. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You have these attractive women working for you. Whitney, Mariel…”
Berman sat down next to Pia.
“Maybe they are attractive…” He reached out and ran his forefinger along Pia’s jawline as she turned to face him. Her initial response was to knock his hand away, but she controlled herself. She knew she had to maintain the pretense or the evening would be a flop. At the same time, she hated to be in the position she was. It reminded her of being attacked in the residence mansion of the superintendent of the Hudson Valley Academy. She struggled to keep as much eye contact as she could.