How long would the guilt go on?She stopped herself going down the stairs and bit the ball of her thumb. No matter how many times she tired to jerk herself up short and get back on whatever track was left to her, she would wander off into a maze of associations, emotional paths to an even deeper un-happiness. The offer from the Herod’s Taskforce was a way back on a single track, her own new path, cool and solid. Nature’s oddities would help her heal the oddities of her own life, and that was bizarre, but it was also acceptable, believable; she could see her life working like that.
The doorbell chimed melodiously, “Eleanor Rigby.” Saul’s touch. Kaye finished the descent and opened the door. Judith Kushner stood on the porch, her face tight. “I came as soon as I saw a pattern,” Judith said. She wore a black wool skirt and black shoes and a white blouse, and her London Fog raincoat trailed its buckles on the step.
“Hello, Judith,” Kaye said, a little at a loss. Kushner grasped the door, glanced at her to ask a sort of permission to enter, and stepped into the house. She swung off her coat and draped it over a maple silent butler.
“By pattern, I mean that I called eight people I know, and Marge Cross has contacted all of them. She drove out personally to where they live, says she’s on her way to a business meeting somewhere — hell, five live around New York, so it’s a good excuse.”
“Marge Cross — of Americol?” Kaye asked.
“And Euricol, too. Don’t think she doesn’t pull all the strings overseas. Christ, Kaye, she’s a great big bull of a woman — she has Linda and Herb with her now! And they’re just the first.”
“Please, Judith, slow down.”
“Fiona was like a little mooncalf when I turned Cross down, I swear! But I hate this conglomerate shit. 1 hate it like fury. Call me a socialist — call me a child of the sixties—”
“Please,” Kaye said, holding up her hands to stem the torrent. “It’s going to take forever if you stay this angry.”
Kushner stopped and glared. “You’re smart, sweetie. You can figure it out.”
Kaye blinked for a second or two. “Marge Cross, Americol, wants a piece of SHEVA?”
“Not only can she fill her hospitals, she can supply directly with any drug ‘her’ team develops. Treatment programs exclusive to Americol-associated HMOs. Plus, she announces a blue-ribbon team, and her companies’ valuations go through the roof.”
“She wants me?”
“I got a call from Debra Kim. She said that Marge Cross was going to put her in a lab, house her SCID mice, buy out her patent rights on the cholera treatment — for a very fair figure, enough to make her wealthy. All before there is a treatment. Debra wanted to know what she should tell you.”
“Debra?” This was going much too fast for Kaye.
“Marge is a master at human psychology. I know. I went to medical school with her in the seventies. She took an MBA at the same time. Lots of energy, ugly as sin, no man trouble, extra time you and I might have wasted on dating…She jumped off the gurney in 1987, and now look at her.”
“What does she want with me?”
Kushner shrugged. “You’re a pioneer, you’re a celebrity — Hell, Saul’s made you a bit of a martyr, especially to women…Women who are going to come looking for treatment. You have great credentials, great publications, credibility just smeared all over you. I thought they might shoot the messenger, Kaye. Now I think they’re going to offer you the gold ring.”
“My God.” Kaye walked into the living room with the blank walls and sat on the freshly cleaned couch. The room smelled soapy, faintly piney, like a hospital.
Kushner sniffed and frowned. “Smells like robots live here.”
“The real estate agent said it should smell clean,” Kaye said, stalling to buy time enough to get her wits together. “And when they cleaned upstairs…after Saul…it left a smell. Pine-Sol. Lysol. Something.”
“Jesus,” Kushner said softly.
“You turned down Marge Cross?” Kaye said.
“I have enough work to keep me happy for the rest of my life, sweetie. I don’t need a driven money machine calling the shots. Have you seen her on TV?”
Kaye nodded.
“Don’t believe her image.”
A car rumbled along the driveway. Kaye looked out the front bay window and saw a large hunter-green Chrysler sedan. A young man in a gray suit stepped out and opened the right rear door. Debra Kim emerged, looked around, shielded her face against a cool wind off the water. A few flakes of snow were starting to fall.
The young man in gray opened the left side door and Marge Cross unfolded, all six feet of her, wearing a dark blue wool overcoat, her graying black hair done up in a dignified bun. She said something to the young man and he nodded, returned to the driver’s side, leaned against the car as Cross and Debra Kim walked up to the porch.
“I’m flabbergasted,” Kushner said. “She works faster than the speed of thought.”
“You didn’t know she was coming?”
“Not this soon. Should I run out the back door?”
Kaye shook her head and for the first time in days she could not help laughing. “No. I’d like to see you two argue over my soul.”
“I love you, Kaye, but I know better than to argue with Marge.”
Kaye stepped quickly to the front door and opened it before Cross could ring the bell. Cross broke into a broad, friendly grin, her blocky face and small green eyes brimming with motherly cheer.
Kim smiled nervously. “Hello, Kaye,” she said, her face pinking.
“Kaye Lang? We haven’t been introduced,” Cross said.
My God, Kaye thought. She does sound like Julia Child !
Kaye made instant vanilla-flavored coffee from an old tin and poured it around in the china she was leaving with the house. Not for a moment did Cross make her feel as if she was serving something less than stylish and gourmet to a woman worth twenty billion dollars.
“I’m here to be up front with you. I was out seeing Debra’s lab at AKS,” Cross said. “She’s doing very intriguing work. We have a place for her. Debra mentioned your situation…”
Kushner glanced at Kaye, nodded ever so faintly.
“And frankly, I’ve wanted to meet you for months now. I have five young men who read the literature for me — all very handsome and very smart. One of the handsomest and the smartest told me, ‘Read this.’ Your piece predicting expression of ancient human provirus. Wow. Now — it’s more timely than ever. Kim says you’re fielding an offer to work for the CDC. For Christopher Dicken.”
“The Herod’s Taskforce and Mark Augustine, actually,” Kaye said.
“I know Mark. He delegates well. You’ll be working for Christopher. He’s a bright boy.” Cross plowed on as if discussing gardening. “We intend to set up a world-class investigation and research team to work on Herod’s. We are going to find a treatment, maybe even a cure. We’ll offer the specialized treatments at all Americol hospitals, but we’ll sell the kits to anybody. We have the infrastructure, my God, we have the finances…We partner with the CDC, and you can act as one of our reps inside HHS and NIH. It’ll be like the Apollo program, government and industry working together on a huge scale, but this time, wherever we land, we stay.” Cross shifted on the couch to face Kushner. “My offer to you still stands, Judith. I’d love to have you both working for us.”
Kushner gave a little laugh, almost girlish. “No thanks, Marge. I’m too old to put on a new harness.”
Cross shook her head. “No chafing, guaranteed.”
“I’m not at all clear about doing double duty,” Kaye said. “I haven’t even started work with the Taskforce.”
“I’m seeing Mark Augustine and Frank Shawbeck this afternoon. If you want, you can fly with me down to Washington. We can see them together. You’re invited, too, Judith.”
Kushner shook her head, but this time her laugh was forced.
Kaye sat silently for a few seconds, staring down at her clasped hands, the knuckles and nails alternating white and pink as she squeezed and relaxed her fingers. She knew what she was going to say, but she wanted to hear more from Cross.