“Then just give Cindy to Jaycee or let her buy Cindy. You can afford to lose one chimpanzee,” David says. “Giving up Cindy isn’t going to bring all biomedical research to a shuddering halt.”
“Release Cindy into the general public? After that chimpanzee attack in Connecticut a few years back? Did you see that poor woman? No hands, no face, disfigured beyond recognition. These are incredibly powerful creatures. Once they hit puberty, they become unpredictable and destructive. And why not? That’s what they were meant to be. You can’t undo millions of years of evolution by putting them in human clothes. We could never release a chimpanzee into the community at large now. Forget it.”
“Then there has to be some other answer besides putting Jaycee and NIS on trial. I know you don’t need the controversy and the publicity. Give me a way to save this chimpanzee and I will guarantee you that NIS will never hear from Jaycee again. No press releases, no television cameras camped out at the entrance, no protests. You can keep on doing whatever it is you do behind your closed doors. That’s the deal—the life of one chimpanzee for Jaycee’s silence.”
While David negotiates with Jannick, Sally loads all three dogs into my Jeep and drives to the Agway. Chip and Bernie immediately lie down in the back. When he drove with me, Skippy usually liked to be my navigator and co-pilot. I see that, once again, Skippy sits in the front passenger seat and looks out the window.
I’ve noticed that Skippy’s attitude toward Sally has become warmer and more comfortable since Clifford has become a fixture in my house. Perhaps Clifford has made Sally seem more permanent and, therefore, more safe. Or, perhaps, it is just about time. Either way, I’d like to be able to tell you that I feel no jealousy toward Sally about the dogs, but it probably would be more accurate to say that I’m very happy that Skippy is happy and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
After fifteen minutes of driving, Sally signals a left turn into the shopping plaza that houses the Agway, a pizzeria, a hardware store, and a pharmacy.
Once she parks, Sally lowers the windows a few inches for ventilation. Chip and Bernie evidence no interest in moving. As long as they feel safe, the two large dogs are more than happy to nap on a soft car seat.
Skippy, on the other hand, always likes to see and participate in the world—as if he’s aware that every minute for him has more meaning because there will be far fewer of them as compared with other dogs. Sally takes Skippy in one arm and her purse in the other and, after checking twice to make sure that the car doors are locked, puts Skippy in the booster seat of an empty shopping cart and heads toward the store.
You can tell a lot about someone from the treats and toys they give their pets—if any. I’m pleased to see that Sally pushes her shopping cart right past the smokehouse section—the pig ears, hoofs, snouts, and bull penises—without any hesitation, although Skippy does lift his nose in the air for an appreciative sniff.
Sally opts instead for the insanely expensive Greenies and the boilable chicken-flavored Nylabones. She also buys a bag of all-natural dog biscuits and slips Skippy a few as they continue shopping.
Within a few minutes, Sally’s shopping cart is almost full. “Just a few more things, Skip, and then we’re gone.”
Sally turns a corner and what she sees brings her to a hard, cold stop. It is a huge display—one that I’d never seen before—for MEMORIAL STONES FOR YOUR BELOVED PET. The display contains a sampling of a dozen or so “weather-resistant” resin “stones” in a variety of “traditional and modern designs” and “appropriate” colors to “honor your pet.” The display highlights several suggested standard messages but, according to the accompanying flyer, “you can write one of your own for the low cost of $29.95 (up to a maximum of twenty-four words).”
Sally lifts one of the “stones” and weighs it in her hand. She then gently bangs it on the display table. The “stone” makes a flimsy, hollow sound. She tosses the item back onto the display table in disgust.
Sally stoops slightly so that she is now eye-to-eye with Skippy. “I’ll make you a deal. You try to let me know as best you can when it’s time and I’ll make sure that no one puts some cheesy piece of plastic crap with some silly saying over you when you’re gone. What do you say?”
She kisses Skippy on the head and then heads for the checkout counter.
Sally is rung up, paid, and heading toward the store exit in less than five minutes.
As soon as the store door opens, Sally’s ears are hit with the distinctively sharp bark/yap of a Labrador in distress and the sound of bad, loud music. Four teenagers stand around Sally’s car banging on the windows to get Chip to bark. Bernie, who does not have a fighting bone in his body, just whimpers. The music pours out of their nearby maroon PT Cruiser.
Sally plucks Skippy out of the shopping cart and, holding him under one arm, runs toward her car pushing the package-laden cart before her. Twenty feet from the kids, Sally releases the cart with a shove. The cart picks up momentum in the short distance and then slams into the two kids nearest to Sally. They go airborne and seconds later are moaning in pain on the ground.
The remaining two teenagers turn toward their attacker. The one closest to Sally is built like a linebacker, but has the blunt facial features of someone who pulls the wings off butterflies for fun. “You’re crazy, you bitch!” he shouts at her, taking a step in her direction. In response, Skippy growls and shows his teeth. He actually bites the air a few times and his teeth click together. This freezes the linebacker in place.
“We were just playing around,” one of the kids on the ground whines as he struggles to get to his feet.
Chip, emboldened by Sally’s presence, snarls at the teens through the window.
“Playing around?” Sally says icily. “Okay boys, let’s play.” Sally puts her hand on the handle to the car door. Chip goes wild, scratching at the window with both front paws to get out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this riled up.
“Don’t let him out!” the second kid on the ground pleads.
“Don’t want to play?” Sally’s question is met with silence. “Then I just have one question for you boys. How fast can you run?” Sally slowly pulls on the door handle. The teenagers scramble for the Cruiser. Sally laughs as they all jump into the car like some circus clown act. The Cruiser peals out of the parking lot even before they’ve slammed the doors closed.
Sally watches the Cruiser until it’s clearly gone for good and then opens her car door. “C’mon, boys. Stretch your legs.” Chip and Bernie jump down from the car. Bernie seems more confused than concerned. Chip is panting heavily, but otherwise he’s back to his normal self. Sally reaches into the shopping cart and gives each dog a biscuit.
I couldn’t have done it better.
And with this realization, I can feel one more mortal bolt loosen.
By the time Sally has returned home with the dogs, David and Jannick have reached the outline of an understanding. NIS will drop all charges against Jaycee, and Cindy will be sent to a chimpanzee sanctuary in California where she can live out her life with the promise that she will not be used in any NIS studies. In return, Jaycee agrees that she will not disparage NIS, will not publicly discuss her work while at CAPS or Cindy, and finally will not attempt to publish any study about her work without advance written approval from Jannick.
“And if Jaycee breaks her promise,” Jannick says.
“Cindy returns to ‘government service.’ I get it,” David says.
“The question is whether Jaycee will get it.”
“I still have to sell it to her, but I don’t see that she has much of a choice. It’s the only way to save Cindy. Jaycee gets a life for her silence.”
David packs his papers and rises to leave. Jannick offers his hand and David shakes it. “It’s not perfect, I know,” Jannick says.
“Nope. But for today, I think it’s good enough. I’ll draft the papers and get a set to the US attorney.”
20
That night, David made
his arguments to Jaycee and, once she heard that Cindy would be safe, she reluctantly agreed to the deal David had negotiated. There was only one condition: Jaycee wanted to be able to say good-bye to Cindy. Jannick told David that this was a terrible idea and David agreed, but Jaycee was insistent. “I want to be able to explain it to Cindy,” she told David. “I want her to know it from me.”
The next morning, David and Jaycee drive to CAPS in silence. They meet Frank in the parking lot, and then all three walk to the entrance where Jannick is waiting.
To his credit, Jannick tries to maintain an air of professionalism. Jaycee, however, makes no effort at collegiality and refuses to shake his hand. Jannick wordlessly escorts them into Jaycee’s old lab.
Thankfully, the Cube and Cindy have been cleaned for the visit, but now that much of the equipment is gone, the lab seems more like a morgue.
Cindy’s demeanor toward Jaycee further accentuates the feeling. She is still, even as Jaycee approaches the Cube. It’s as if Cindy doesn’t recognize Jaycee at first, but then I realize that’s not it at all. The word betrayal forms in my mind, and I can’t get rid of it.
“Can I open the Cube?” Jaycee asks.
“I’m sorry, no,” Jannick says.
Jaycee sticks her hand through the bars and begins to stroke Cindy’s fur. A few minutes later, Cindy finally takes Jaycee’s hand and puts it in her mouth.
“Be careful,” Jannick says.
Jaycee ignores him. Cindy licks Jaycee’s fingers and then gently places them on the side of her face. Jaycee rubs the fur there in slow, gentle strokes.
This is too much for Jaycee. She begins to cry.
Cindy reaches out through the bars and touches the trail of tears on Jaycee’s cheek and then brushes away a wisp of Jaycee’s hair.
Cindy offers her doll through the bars to Jaycee. Jaycee shakes her head. Cindy offers the doll again, more forcefully this time. Jaycee folds Cindy’s hand around the doll and then covers it with her own hand. For a moment, human and chimpanzee fingers entwine. The fingers, to be sure, are different, but juxtaposed in this way, they seem entirely appropriate together. The divide just isn’t that big; I can see that even without words, without language.
I glance at David to see if he notices what I do, but he’s staring down at the floor, chewing on his lower lip.
Finally, Jaycee releases Cindy’s hand, and Cindy slowly pulls the doll back through the bars of the Cube. Then Cindy turns her back to us.
Jaycee runs out of the lab and doesn’t stop running until she gets into David’s car.
A few days later, at ten o’clock on New Year’s Eve morning, David and Jaycee wait on hard chairs in the downtown Manhattan offices of the assistant US attorney. They’re waiting to sign the document that will bind Jaycee to her silence and secure Cindy’s life.
At ten thirty-five, David and Jaycee are still waiting. David approaches the woman stationed behind a thick glass window. “Can you do me a favor and check with Mr. Cohen’s office? The meeting was scheduled for ten.”
“Of course,” the woman answers as she lifts the phone and dials an extension. The woman speaks to someone in a tone too low to hear as she writes on a message pad. When she hangs up the call, she turns to David in embarrassment and says, “Mr. Colden, I’m sorry, but the meeting seems to have been canceled. I was asked to give you this.” The woman tears off the message and hands it through the window to David.
David quickly reads the message and then, without a word to Jaycee and before I understand what is happening, grabs his briefcase and leaves the office.
Jaycee runs after him and catches David at the elevator. “What happened?” she demands. “What did they say?”
David ignores her until they get to the ground floor. He stops at the first newsstand he finds, grabs a copy of the Daily Chronicle, and flips through the first few pages until he finds what he’s looking for. Jaycee stares at the paper over his shoulder. The headline in the middle of the page in large bold letters reads CAPTIVE CHIMP KNOWS HER ABC’S.
David hands Jaycee the message from the receptionist. It says, “Nice article in the Chronicle. Hope it was worth it.”
Jaycee looks up from the note. “But I didn’t—”
“ ‘A source familiar with the project,’ ” David reads from the article, “ ‘puts Cindy’s age at four. But the future for this chimp is uncertain.’ ”
“Listen to me. I’m telling you it wasn’t me,” Jaycee protests.
“Then who was it? Jannick?”
“I don’t know. Why would I leak the story now? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“That assumes that you’re rational, and when it comes to your relationship with that chimpanzee, I’m not sure you are.”
“What’s going to happen now?” The panic is clear in Jaycee’s voice.
“Now? Now the deal’s dead. Now they’re going to try to make an example of you. Now they’ll do whatever they must to transfer Cindy back to the NIS general primate pool.”
“So we’re back to where we were.”
“No, not we. You. I negotiated the best possible deal for you and you screwed it up. You played me. I’m done. I’m going back to my day job.” David shoves the newspaper into Jaycee’s hands and walks away.
“Why are you so quick to believe I’d lie to you?” Jaycee calls after him. “Because that’s what Helena did?”
These last few words stop David’s footsteps, but only for a moment. Then he walks toward the exit and into the cold New York air.
David tries to flag a cab going uptown, but they’re all filled. He starts to walk toward the nearest subway.
“It was Frank!” Jaycee shouts from a hundred feet behind him. A few people turn to watch Jaycee as she runs toward David with her cell phone open in front of her. “Frank gave them the story!” She catches up to David and, out of breath by this point, just gives him the phone.
David puts the phone to his ear and instantly hears Frank’s voice. He sounds like he’s been crying. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I thought it would help Jaycee. I talked to the reporter before she got the deal, weeks ago after the project didn’t get renewed. When they didn’t run the story, I thought it was just dead. Jaycee wasn’t involved. I didn’t know it would come out now.”
David hangs up on Frank and hands the phone back in silence.
“Please. Help me,” Jaycee pleads.
An empty cab finally stops next to them. “You really need to pick better friends,” David says. “Get in.”
David paces in Max’s luxurious corner office while Max watches from behind his large desk.
“Look, I got Simon’s business.” David stops mid-stride and turns to face Max. “Now I need you to do a little quid pro quo for me. I want you to get this approved.”
“You want? I want to not have ex-wives. Want is an irrelevant word.” Max takes a hard look at David and then a deep breath. “David, I’ve always supported you.”
“You mean when it suited your needs.”
“Whatever. Do you really think this is wise? Are you asking yourself that? Your billables are not great at the moment. You’re just now getting your life together.”
“What life, exactly, is that? The twenty-four-hundred-billable-hours-a-year life? The life of profit allocations and the firm Christmas party?”
“No, the life that paid for your lovely house and feeds all those nice animals. The life that taught you how to be a lawyer. The same life that allows you to be a country gentleman instead of a schlepper.”
“This isn’t about hours or business generation. Don’t try to hide behind that. I just brought in enough business with Simon to make my nut for each of the next five years.”
“And what do you think Simon would say if he knew what you wanted to do?”
“I bet he’d respect my position and be proud of us for our skill.”
“I seriously doubt that. Very seriously.”
David reaches over Max’s desk and grabs the phone. “Then call him
and find out.”
Max takes the phone from David and returns it to its cradle. “Simon is the least of your problems. We represent pharmaceutical testing labs and surgical equipment companies. We represent vivisectionists, or have you forgotten?”
“So what?”
“They’re really going to love the fact that their law firm is defending someone who broke into a testing lab. And on the theory that it was justified to save a monkey from torture no less.”
“She’s not a monkey. She’s a chimpanzee. And we have compelling proof that this particular chimpanzee at least has acquired human language and can use that language to express the thoughts of a sentient mind.”
“Because she knows the symbol for Chiquita Bananas? Come on now.”
“Look at the video. You can’t make your case by distorting the facts—not with me.”
“I’ve got an even better idea. Why don’t we invite her into the summer associate program? We’ll get her a cage here in the office. She won’t even need to go home. Think of the example she’ll set for the others.”
“Would you be serious?”
“I will if you will,” Max says in a steely tone.
“I am serious.”
“Then you are seriously out of your mind. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no CRUELTY-FREE sign on the front door. And as sure as I am sitting here, some very large and very important company that we represent and that pays us lots and lots of money is going to end up on the opposite side of this issue and that, as they say, will be that—regardless of the outcome, which you must know will be a loss.”
“There’s no direct conflict of interest under the code. There’d be no basis for disqualification.”
“There doesn’t need to be any formal conflict or disqualification for clients to pull their business. You already broke the rules by representing her in negotiating the deal with the US attorney without the firm’s approval. We’ll overlook that one. But a public trial with press and television cameras? No way.”
“I can’t abandon her now. And you shouldn’t ask me to.”
Unsaid Page 21