Watching Lily and her effect on men did provide wry amusement. At deplaning, Lily had fielded three offers of assistance with lowering her carry-on from the overhead bin, including from her seatmate. Lily’s solution had been to get it down herself while looking pointedly at an elderly woman in front of her, then at the woman’s bag in the overhead. The seatmate had missed the cue, but another eager helper hadn’t, and immediately offered his aid to the old woman. He had visibly puffed up when Lily gave him a dazzling smile.
The social exchange of roosters and hens—it was amusing to watch it happen instead of seeing the behaviors categorized in rows of data tables. Still, she’d have rather spent the night in her own bed, not wide awake in an airplane. Lily had excused herself on the way to claim their luggage and returned from the restroom with her face scrubbed and glowing, makeup freshly applied. The bump in her hair she’d gotten while sleeping was gone. By comparison, Nicole felt oily and rumpled. Her eyes had been replaced by bits of pumice.
“I wasn’t being literal. I was commenting on the generic nature of urban industrial grime.”
“I know,” Lily answered. She could not have been more cheery. After a glance at Nicole’s face, she added, “When we get to the hotel we’ll find some tea.”
“Tea and a nap.”
“The nap is probably not going to happen.” Lily stepped forward as the last party in front of them boarded their vehicle. “Our rooms may not be ready before we have time to do more than freshen up and leave for the Artful Reader. Also, it’s highly advised for travelers to stay awake until local sunset at least, to more quickly adjust to the time change.”
“Isn’t that an urban myth?”
“No, not at all. Scientific research and everything—” Lily surrendered her larger suitcase to the cabbie. “Thank you. We’re going into the Regent’s Park area.”
The same predictable pattern unfolded again as Nicole watched the burly, fortyish fellow fall instantly under Lily’s spell. Was it the perfect manicure, the dainty accessories, the general prettiness or a combination of all three? Her luggage was handled like porcelain, the door opened with a genteel, “miss?” To be fair, her own luggage was likewise treated with care and it only amused her further that she was invited aboard the cab with “ma’am?”
“Now where exactly are you staying, miss? My dispatch will send me around the construction.”
“Is there a big project underway in London?” Nicole had been long lectured by her mother about cab drivers taking detours to run up the meter.
Almost in unison both the cabbie and Lily answered, “There’s always construction in London.”
The route out of the airport proved the truth of it as they detoured and crisscrossed past backhoes, cranes and crowds of mostly men leaning on trucks and vans while piledrivers thumped the ground nearby. A few miles along the expressway the landscape began to show more green and there were patchy breaks in the murky high fog.
She supposed if she weren’t so tired it might seem more magical, but at the moment there wasn’t much to differentiate this part of London from south Boston. It was supposed to smell different, she thought. That’s what the travel books said. Right now, England smelled like every cab she’d ever been in, including those in India.
“The train would have taken you almost right there, but I’m glad of the business,” the cabbie was saying.
“This will be faster. At least that’s the plan.” Lily leaned forward to be heard past the glass opening between the driver and passenger area. “We have tourist rail passes.”
“That’s the smart way to go, once you’re here. We can’t buy those, but they’re beauts for tourists.”
The cab driver happily answered Lily’s questions about the weather forecast and then current West End plays while Nicole turned her gritty eyes to the landscape again. She just wanted to sleep. So much for trawling through the girl bars. Awake all those hours on the plane she’d done little work and spent far too much time wondering what had possessed her to tell Lily to call her “Cole.”
She woke with a start when the cab’s engine was turned off. Disoriented, she saw a long street of white three-story row houses, none any different from its neighbors but for small signs next to the front doors. The one they were stopped in front of said “Queen’s Park Inn.”
Lily was smiling at her. “You got in a good nap—we hit some traffic. So about forty-five minutes.”
“I feel better,” Nicole admitted. “But groggy.”
“Tea. There’s a nice stall just that way. Edgar gave me a quick tour around the blocks. We can get some sandwiches in hand and relax.”
Edgar was all smiles as he carried their bags up the three steps to the hotel door. He thanked her for the “lovely chat” and drove off in the direction of the business district Nicole could see at the distant end of the street.
Traveling in India had given her enough perspective to know that by American standards the lobby was small, but not as tiny as it might have been. Still, with the two of them and their bags, the floor was nearly covered. The clerk was promptly helpful and delivered the good news that they would be able to get into their rooms early, around noon.
Nicole belatedly adjusted her watch forward five hours. It was almost ten. Some tea and a sandwich sounded good. Then, regardless of Lily’s advice, she was going to have a hot shower and a nap. Lily wasn’t the one who had to entertain an audience at four.
* * *
A shrill, unfamiliar ringing broke into Nicole’s sleep. She knocked the phone receiver off its cradle, then managed to get it to her ear.
“Cole, I let you sleep as long as possible, but you have to think about getting up now.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. It felt nice to be called Cole but she couldn’t think of whose voice was on the line. It wasn’t her mother or Kate. They wouldn’t call her Cole either.
“Now. I’ll hang up, but I’m calling back in two minutes.”
“Okay.”
There was more shrilling what seemed like immediately. She didn’t remember putting the receiver back. As she answered she felt a jolt of “I’ve overslept” adrenaline.
“I’m up now,” she told Lily, then she went to her tiny bathroom to get an idea of how bad her hair was. What had she been thinking, going to sleep with it still wet?
Fortunately, only the left side was sticking out and a wet comb with smoothing gel tamed it. She knew some Indian women went to great lengths to add some kind of curl to their hair but she liked the simplicity of the heavy strands. Though she could grow it much longer, she liked it cut above her shoulders so that it didn’t tangle in the collars of her shirts and was nearly free of care.
A few minutes later she was in her habitual white blouse and dark slacks. The day had been somewhat muggy but she picked up a thin purple sweater nevertheless. In New Hampshire one did not go anywhere, at any time of the year, without a sweater at hand. She would have to break the habit as they traveled to more southern latitudes.
She met Lily in the lobby and saw that Lily too had felt the need for a sweater. That it was cut to mimic a jacket made it very stylish, and it fit snugly over a sleeveless white dress patterned with lively light and navy blue stripes. Kate would probably be disappointed in Lily’s footwear—simple black sandals that fit her small feet well, the heel height half that of the shoes she’d worn at dinner that first night.
Lily led the way from the lobby, saying, “I’ve got a cab waiting. We should just make it. The Artful Reader is between Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus. It’s a large store with a lecture space, and it’s well-known for lecture series and appearances. They were one of the first bookstores to feature J.K. Rowling, before anyone had really taken notice of the first Harry Potter book.”
She continued to narrate the likely audience, clearly having spoken to the bookseller while Nicole had slept. “The good news is that their customers are well-versed in signing up in advance if they want to be sure of a seat, and there were over
seventy sign-ups. That’s just amazing these days.” After a pause, Lily said, “You’re frowning.”
“I’m don’t know what I expected, actually. Seventy does seem like a lot.”
“You’re a blockbuster. I got an e-mail from the university in Edinburgh—their hall has sold out. That’s two hundred. They were considering moving you to the largest space they have.” She cocked her head. “It’s hard to imagine what it really all means. Going viral in today’s world can mean lots of Web views and likes and shares and Tweets. In your case, it means lecture fees and books being bought, reviewed and talked about.”
“I am still surprised by it all.”
“It’s time to enjoy it,” Lily said. She turned her head away, obviously to keep in view a church that was probably older than the United States. “I hope you don’t mind, but I booked a table at a restaurant I went to years ago—spending some Insignis expense account funds rather liberally, I’m afraid. You said you were open to most cuisines. This is soul food.”
“In London?”
The church out of sight, she turned back to Nicole. “I know—it’s a cross of American southern and Welsh country.”
“Whimsical.”
“It is!” Lily’s entire face was alight, like a child thinking about a future piece of cake. “When I was there I had barbecue lamb ribs with a leek and potato cake, and cabbage that had been seasoned like collard greens. It was scrumptious.”
Nicole’s stomach growled loudly. Lily laughed. Suddenly it didn’t seem the least bit odd to be in the back of a London cab while buildings she was sure she’d seen in movies flashed by, sitting next to a glamorous, poised woman and anticipating a lovely meal together.
With a jolt she reminded herself that Lily was her nursemaid and that her desire to smooth the path in front of Nicole was her job. The smile, the glow—they were for the city and the food. Maybe she wasn’t as studied and pre-programmed as she’d seemed at first, but nothing had changed.
Perhaps after a good meal she would find the energy to slip out later and look for companionship focused on more basic needs. Lily, effortlessly collecting male hearts every step of the way, might well be repelled if she knew who Cole really was. Nothing had changed, she repeated to herself. Then she spent the rest of the cab ride wondering why she was dwelling on something that didn’t matter.
They were greeted by the bookstore owner at the door. A bubbly woman in her late forties, she bustled them to the back of the store, chattering about the large crowd and brisk sales of the print copy of the book. The buzz from the room where events were held was just like that from a lecture hall. This audience might be mostly adult, and mostly women, but she’d spoken at conferences full of colleagues with no issue. She knew her material as always. There was nothing different about the situation, so her racing heart and suddenly dry mouth were inexplicable. Her fight- or-flight reflex was thoroughly engaged.
Lily’s hand was suddenly on her forearm, just firmly enough to be bracing. “Dr. Hathaway, would you like water to drink while you’re speaking?”
The owner immediately pointed out the pitcher and glass under the lectern.
“That’ll be fine,” Nicole said.
Lily gave her arm another squeeze, then said in a low voice, “All they have to believe is that you’ve been here before.”
“But I haven’t.”
“It’s a metaphor.”
Nicole digested that information. “Give me a moment.” She turned her back to the room and took a long, deep breath. The oxygen quelled her anxiety. Stage fright wasn’t unusual, she supposed. Only unusual for her.
“What a great crowd.” Lily smiled at the women nearest them, then gave Nicole’s arm yet another little squeeze before letting go.
“It certainly is.” The little bit of patter helped calm her nerves and Nicole felt a wave of relief. It was going to be okay.
* * *
Lily faded to the back of the room as the bookseller introduced Nicole to the crowd. Every seat was filled and more women stood at the back with Lily. Once she was sure that the microphones were working, that the crowd was settling and Nicole’s look of shock had been replaced with an air of confidence, Lily let herself relax.
The crowd was mostly women and very mixed, with a significant number of darker faces present. Most of those looked to Lily to be of Middle Eastern heritage. She wondered if these women, in addition to being intrigued by the book’s subject, saw Nicole as a role model.
The bookseller was wrapping up general announcements and starting on Nicole’s credentials. It was dreadfully dull, Lily thought, but necessary. Nicole was a scientist, and that meant lots of alphabet soup, professional society accolades and published papers. She wondered if Nicole would be open to adding something more personal at the end—even a mention of where she lived. She had found the world over that anywhere else was exotic to someone. Lake Winnipesaukee had exotic in every syllable.
Nicole didn’t smile. Lily was starting to think the frown was habitual. She wondered if Nicole would change if she rewarded smiles with chocolates. Her face transformed when she smiled—there was humor there, but deeply buried. All in all, Nicole was an enigma. Even living in a beautiful place like Meredith on one of the lake jewels of New England, earning a living in the field of study she obviously cared about, in the embrace of a loving family, and now enjoying a tremendous amount of fame and no small amount of money—none of that seemed to make Nicole the least bit happy. It was as if a key ingredient were missing.
Lily didn’t want to be stereotypical and presume the missing piece of the puzzle was the very thing Nicole was talking about: life with somebody special. It seemed far more likely that the good professor didn’t put stock in emotional constructs like “happiness.” She only studied people who did.
Lily had learned the hard way that happiness mattered to her. She’d had too many days when she hadn’t cared if the sun came up or she ever got out of bed. But it finally felt as if those days might be behind her. She could even think about finding a somebody special herself. But for the foreseeable future her chances of that were slim and none. Libido took that opportunity to announce that Somebody Special for a few hours would not be unwelcome. During Edgar’s turn about the blocks around their hotel she’d spotted a bar called the Cat’s Paw sporting a rainbow flag in the window. Libido had thought of little else ever since.
Nicole was trying to put energy into her opening remarks, but her exhaustion was obvious to Lily. On the other hand, Lily felt energized. No one would recognize her here. She could go out to eat, not hide her face—hold her head up. She felt alive for the first time in so long. So maybe it was a bit manipulative to plan to fill Nicole up with good food and then deposit her in a warm, comfy hotel room and hope she didn’t hear the quiet open and close of Lily’s door later in the evening. Even if all she did was dance like no one was watching, it would be fun.
She focused as Nicole transitioned from appropriate thanks to the bookseller and a general thank you to the audience for having come to the event.
“I hope that none of you came here today to find the magic solution to the difficulties of navigating uncertain social waters in today’s dating environment.”
Oh dear, Lily thought.
“Contrary to the popular belief, my book is not about a magic fix-all formula that will lead to finding the perfect life mate.”
Uh-oh.
“Scientific method allows us to find common events in a group of subjects and to analyze the likelihood of their repetition throughout a larger unspecified population.”
She blew out some air. She knew that Uncle Damon hadn’t hired her to be Nicole’s publicist, but as Nicole went into more and more detail about exactly what hopes and dreams wouldn’t be solved by her book, Lily was dying by inches. She watched the faces in the packed room fall into disinterest.
Finally, after several minutes, Nicole switched gears and discussed several case studies. There was a palpable change in the audie
nce. The background on the couple with fifty-six years of happy marriage brought smiles. The case of the widow, in her second of two twenty-year-plus marriages, whose first husband’s DNA sequence had been available because of his participation in an earlier medical study, drew looks of surprise because the sequences that empowered social cognitive and reactive abilities were similar to those of her second husband, who was of a different race. The remarried widow herself described the two men as different in temperament and intellectual interests, but she was equally happy.
Nicole seemed unaware of the changes in her audience, but the final portion of her talk picked up a lot of steam when she discussed the vast DNA data that could be gathered about a single person, the impossibility of capturing, storing and manipulating that data for seven billion people which then led to the misconception that there was, therefore, no pattern to it, and therefore no reason to attempt to understand it.
“A massive amount data that we can’t study is not the same as chaos. What seems a bewildering network of infinite unpredictability could be predicted if we had the tools to do so. Many, many people are working on exactly this challenge, not the least of whom are building massive social networking sites that substitute analyzing DNA with click patterns and nexus substantiation.”
For the first time, Nicole smiled. “Until we have a super-computer we can access in our individual brains, we are, unfortunately, at the mercy of anecdote, experience and instinct to evaluate the situations we encounter. In excess of seventy percent of the study participants already accepted that their DNA made them more compatible with certain professions, places to live and foods. All of our research confirms that finding a life mate is no more mysterious than that.”
Love by the Numbers Page 7