It was Oliver.
Hail Caesar! the group quickly roared.
Ditch the rotgut, he told them. With him were three waiters, one of them cradling an inordinately large bottle of Champagne — a double magnum — by its bottom and neck, the other two ready with flutes. Oliver gave hugs to the two women and chest-and-shoulder bumps to the men, with maybe an extra-heavy bump for Vik. Oliver was the shortest person among them and a bit stocky, though, as with his wife, there was something highly crafted about him, plus in his case also unmistakably, irrefutably, clean, as though he had showered twice, a third time, then gone back and fine-scrubbed himself again. He scanned Fan as Vik repeated what he’d already said about her, though to Fan it was clear that Oliver wasn’t in the least believing him. But he didn’t say anything, simply shaking her hand, or rather giving her his to shake, not exerting the slightest bit of pressure.
This just got delivered and I want you guys to have the first taste.
He took the bottle and propped it on his thigh, thumbing at the cork. It shot out and hit a panel of the glass ceiling hard enough that they all winced, though it didn’t appear to have cracked it. But now wine was fountaining over Oliver’s hand onto the tiled floor, and he pivoted to the waiters so they could catch as much as they could in the glasses they extended.
My God, Oliver, the second woman gasped. Is that real Champagne? You could have bought a car instead!
Maybe a used one! he said, pouring out the glasses, the foam overflowing the rims. But I don’t care. I love you guys. I want to share everything I’ve got. The other guests were looking over jealously at them, but what made Oliver the master of such potentially awkward situations was how obliviously enthused he was (though he could never be oblivious) with those he engaged, so that one couldn’t help but be awed by his attentions, even when they were directed at someone else. It was like watching the turn of the Earth from a global, the continents getting lit by the Sun. You could not feel too bereft.
The Fiji man began making an odd, lame toast to used cars, which was snuffing the moment until Vik saved it by proposing they drink to the stunning new house, the design and construction of which Betty had so skillfully overseen. They hear-heared to that, though the Fiji man joked as to what the proper waiting period was for redoing the place altogether.
What? I wouldn’t pry a nail, Oliver said, sounding put out. But he grinned. This house is so perfect I’m going to build another one exactly like it on that lot over there, then connect the two with bridges.
Don’t I see a big house on that lot?
Not for long, Oliver said, his innate keenness showing, the long saber of his confidence. They’ll have to sell, for what I’ll offer them. Then I’ll buy the two adjoining lots in the back, so we can have a real play yard for the kids. Then my work will be done.
What about the new company job? the second woman asked. What about Asimil? Don’t you want to see it through?
Oliver said of course he did, but that from everyone he’d talked to as they prepared for the sale he understood it would never be how it was, he’d never again have full control of the direction of the lab. He and his researchers would be employees in the end. After a few months, he would find it maddening; in a year, impossible. He would then quit in frustration, leaving the lab and project rudderless.
So better not to waste a whole year. They already have a plan for Asimil anyway. And I decided I don’t want to treat patients anymore, either.
But they love you!
Thank you. I will now entrust them to all of you. Day by day I was a medical doctor but all these years I’ve also been an entrepreneur. I was building a business. That business has significant value now. It exists. So I’m going to begin doing that again.
Another kind of therapy?
Probably, but not necessarily. Something in medicine for certain. Maybe devices. But not directly, not bench work. I’m going to be an angel investor, right here from the house. I can leverage an expertise very few people have. So I’m having an office set up. This way I can watch the kids grow. Betty and I can have lunch.
It sounds wonderful, the vineyard woman said, everyone tinkling their glasses again. Another rush of guests had stepped into the conservatory, including a few of his lab assistants and Betty’s parents, and so Oliver went to meet them, handing the massive bottle to the catering waiters to go around and pour glasses for the other guests. It seemed everyone’s eyes and murmurs were following him, this generous and gracious and even filial genius who’d made good on the promise of his powerful intellect and leveraged it, as he’d said, to this now magnificent scale. Vik told Fan he was going to the bathroom and she nodded, though she noticed that he, too, stopped by and greeted Betty’s parents, who warmly greeted him. She was fine to stay here alone but she wasn’t alone now, as a pudgy young girl with black bangs had latched on to her by the banquet table, saying, You want to play? Her thoroughly exhausted-looking nanny entreated Fan with a desperate smile and Fan naturally said she didn’t mind. The girl was four or five years old and her name was Josey. Josey was very bright and talkative and decided to make up a plate of food for a play dinner party and did so with startling care and maturity, choosing a healthful mix of fresh veggies, plus a second plate teetering with cake slices and cookies.
They settled at one of the many small bistro tables that had been set up for the party. The nanny sat on a folding chair on the periphery, finally having a chance to eat something herself. Josey demonstrated how to dip the crudités in the whipped dressing she’d dolloped on the plate. She bit half of a carrot stick and gave the rest to Fan, but when Fan only pretended to eat it, Josey scowled and took Fan’s hand that was still holding the jagged rest and pushed it up toward her mouth. Fan could have resisted, easily reclaimed her hand, yet there was something about the fierce set of the girl’s chin and the pinch of her tiny dampish grip, a focus and determination that was so pure and elemental (and that undoubtedly had not yet been thwarted in her life) that Fan thought it best the moment be played all the way through.
Once they had eaten enough veggies, Josey pronounced they could have dessert, and it was now that the young girl seemed to forget they were sharing, as well as maybe forgetting everything else around her, clutching the big chocolate chip cookie in one hand while forking pieces of carrot cake into her mouth with the other, and then even dipping the crisp cookie into the creamy icing and having it that way, the combination pleasing her immensely. In fact, she was eating a bit too avidly, in Fan’s view, when the girl stood up and tried to cough. She shivered and dropped her fork, and without a thought, Fan rapped her squarely on the back once, quite hard, which caused the girl to yelp and shook the piece of cookie forward onto her tongue. She kept chewing it even as she wailed from the surprise blow and the frightened faces of Oliver and Betty’s parents, who had already rushed over.
Daddy! she sobbed, Oliver taking her into his arms. He thanked Fan for her confident action, as he’d noticed them together just before Josey got in trouble. One would think Josey’s grandparents would be busy offering her comfort and assurance, too, but instead the wispy, lamb-faced, stylishly dressed pair had turned a radish hue and were flaying the terrified nanny, who had bounded over still holding, the misfortunate thing, her piled-high buffet plate. She tried to explain but they weren’t hearing any of it, calling her lazy and incompetent and stupid for not sticking by Josey at all times, until Fan finally said she was to blame for asking to spend time with their granddaughter.
I should not have let her eat so fast, she said, which to her mind was certainly true.
Who in the world are you? said the grandmother.