The afternoon of the party, he headed across the frozen campus toward the lab, where twelve rats waited to be fed. He would take their temperatures, sample their blood, and measure their droppings. He earned $7.50 an hour running a twenty-four/seven metabolism experiment. Mindless work, but enough to live on, carefully, until he finished his degree. As always, the ag building smelled of fertilizer, but it was warm. He took the stairs. A coworker was exiting the fourth-floor alcove where they hung their lab coats. Gordon grunted at him and raised an eyebrow. With stiff fingers, Paul removed his jacket.
“When are you going to get a decent coat? I’m tired of seeing you shiver.” Gordon pulled a stocking cap over his ears.
“Haven’t had the time.”
“Nah, you’re just cheap. Never met anyone as cheap as you.” Gordon picked up his coat. “Paperwork’s done.”
“You’re good for something after all.”
Gordon slapped his back as they passed. “Later.”
Paul hung up his jacket and threaded arms into a rumpled, stained lab coat. He didn’t mind doing early-morning and late-night feeds, but he’d be dammed if he’d pay for laundering an apron. Gordon was wrong. He wasn’t cheap; he’d had to fight for every buck, and he wasted nothing. The lab coat didn’t reek yet, so he buttoned it across his chest. In the next job, he’d have better; there’d be a regular supply of clean white coats for everyone.
He opened the door to the animal room, even warmer than the hallway, and smelled the familiar mix of kibble, excrement, and disinfectant. Most of his rats hunkered in the corners of their individual plastic bins on a rack along the far wall. Paul worked his way along the row, picking up a rat in his left hand and inserting a needle with his right, then bottling the blood sample. He put a precise measure of meal into the feeding trough, picked up the droppings, and moved on. He would enter the data when he finished the round.
Halfway down the row, one of the rats lay still, four pink paws curled in the air. Shit, he thought, one less data point. At the last feed, had it looked sick? Could he have made an error? If he had screwed up, wouldn’t more than one have croaked? He chalked up the death to chance, the engine of life, destructive half the time. Putting on fresh latex gloves, he held the six-inch corpse in his left hand, sliced open the whitish, hairy skin of its belly with a scalpel. He reached into the slit and slid his fingers beneath the slippery tube of gut. He worked it loose from the surrounding membranes, then yanked it free from its attachments at mouth and anus. It was yellow but intact. The other organs looked normal too. He boxed and labeled the body and gut, shelved the box in the refrigerator across the room, and went back to tend the next specimen.
So the dead rat had a yellow gut. He had seen other rat guts that were pink, or brown and white. Just like humans—so much variety within the same functional frame. The so-called radicals on this campus didn’t understand that variation was a good thing. They wanted everyone to think the way they did and fall into line behind their placards. They didn’t understand the natural order of things. He had tried to tell Maggie the ways in which the radicals—on the left and the right—were wrong. But she hadn’t agreed; she listened to the crap her snotty, lefty roommate spewed. He was convinced he’d win her over in the end because she was smarter than the rest of them. Looking around to check that things were in order, he left the animal room, eleven labeled vials in hand. In the lab next door, he deposited them in a drawer. Someone else would analyze the specimens. Kaufmann’s outfit ran like a machine, parts functioning independently, smoothly. He didn’t mind being a cog, for now.
A few hours later he stood behind the dissecting table, now covered with a red cloth, to serve eggnog to the partygoers, lacing it with rum for the over twenty-ones. Kaufmann’s wife had decorated the lab and hovered near the Christmas tree in front of the fume hood, presiding. Kaufmann stood just inside the door to welcome his guests. Paul watched him greet colleagues and students alike. He wore a red corduroy Christmas jacket, no doubt bought by the wife, that looked at odds with his khakis and sneakers. Paul liked him; he was shy and evenhanded with his technicians. He knew his stuff. And he left you alone most of the time. At five to eight, Paul signaled for Gordon to take over the bar and stepped into the hall to wait for his date to arrive.
Maggie emerged from the stairwell at the end of the hall looking flustered, cheeks red from the cold. She never took elevators. Quaint, but he liked the result, a tight little body with good legs. She wore a long sweater that hinted at her shape and a lacy collar, of which he approved. Feminine but not delicate; she wouldn’t turn into one of those demanding women who suck up a man’s energy. Hanging her coat in the alcove, he ushered her into the animal room. She wrinkled her nose at the odor.
“The party’s in the lab. I want to show you my charges first.” He walked her over to the rack with its twelve plastic bins. “I take their temperatures every eight hours. One of them died today.” He lifted a mottled gray-and-white rat out of its bin and placed it in her outstretched hands. She caught her breath but held the wriggling rat steady, cupping her hands over it to make a cage. The rat tried to escape, but she held on. It pleased him to see her so stalwart.
“What should I look for?”
“Feel how active it is. Burns more calories than the next one. Yet they’re both normal.”
“I don’t want to hurt it.” Her brow furrowed. “Why do you have to measure them all the time?”
“Professor Kaufmann thinks every rat has a slightly different metabolism . . . a different way of utilizing food to make energy. Metabolism changes after a meal, or exercise, or sleep.” He could almost see her thinking. “We’re looking for formulas that apply to any animal in the species, any time.”
Maggie handed back the rat carefully. “What makes one rat different from another?”
“We have ideas about enzyme production and some other physiological stuff.” He replaced the rat in its bin. “We need proof.”
She rested her hand lightly on his arm. “I didn’t realize your work was so important.”
She looked so interested. And pretty, brown hair nestling in waves on her shoulders, hazel eyes wide as she scanned the animals. He wondered if he could cop a kiss.
Maggie walked along the rack, looking at each rat, stopping at the empty bin. “Is this for the one you lost? I’m sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll have enough data to finish the study.”
“But you lost a living creature.” She lifted her chin.
“One rat is as good as another. It all amounts to electrical energy in the end.”
“No,” she said softly. “It amounts to a lot more.”
He busied himself straightening the feed containers on the table behind them. He didn’t tell her that she had just scored, that no one else made him see virtue in the ordinary. Her thoughtfulness impressed him; her respect touched a nerve.
“Let’s join the party. It smells better in there.” He ushered her into the hallway.
At the door, Professor Kaufmann beamed at them, and Mrs. Kaufmann bustled over. She took Maggie by the arm and pulled her into a circle of graduate students’ wives near the tree. Paul could see Mrs. Kaufmann chattering as Maggie smiled courteously. He drifted over to the bar, wanting to take the edge off the social hour. Gordon handed him a glass.
“Hey, man. So that’s why we don’t see much of you anymore.” Gordon lifted the pitcher of eggnog to pour. Paul stopped his arm.
“Just rum. The conversation is cloying enough.”
Gordon poured himself a shot, took a sip, and grimaced. “This stuff is awful. Wanna go get stoned?”
“No, I’ve got company.”
“So I see. Pretty, but too virginal for you.”
Paul refused to take the bait. He poured himself a shot. Gordon laid a hand on his arm.
“I’ve got enough weed for everyone. Good stuff. I’ll meet you and your date downstairs in half an hour.”
Paul shook his head no. Gordon shrugged.
Sipping the too-sweet rum, Paul surveyed the room. Kaufmann had attracted a bunch of creeps. Not one cool soul in the laboratory, which made Paul like him all the more. The few biology faculty who had stopped by the party hovered near the entrance, waiting their turn to shake Kaufmann’s hand and make an excuse. Petty people—they couldn’t see that Kaufmann was the only one of them with original ideas. Paul looked around for his date. Maggie appeared to be listening intently to Mrs. Kaufmann. He was pretty sure she didn’t care about the woman’s stories, but she would say something appropriate. Maggie had good manners. It pleased him to see that she could handle society when she needed to, society for which he had no patience. Gordon nudged his shoulder.
“I guess you have better things to do tonight.”
In Gordon’s shoes, his army buddies would have been unmerciful. They would have demanded to know how and when he got into Maggie’s pants, teasing him, bragging about their own exploits. Paul had always played along, not believing a word the other young guys said, replying in kind. He’d learned a few things about his fellow soldiers, like never challenge the little guys because they’ll do fifty push-ups to your twenty-five, and, more important, that you earned prestige by scoring. He had lost his virginity at nineteen with a town girl at a beery dance, but he hadn’t liked her. Now he had a classy girl with whom something might be at stake.
“Can you take over for me tonight and tomorrow? I’ll work all week Christmas.”
Gordon grinned. “Sure. You can return the favor when I get an old lady.” He raised his cup in toast.
Paul walked over to the tree, circling behind the knot of women. Mrs. Kaufmann spotted him.
“Paul, I hear that you haven’t yet proposed to this lovely girl.”
“We’ve only known each other two months, Mrs. K. Can I borrow her a minute?” He placed his hand at the back of Maggie’s waist and curled her toward him. Blushing, she stepped out of earshot of the others. Her eyes darted right and left.
“I’m so embarrassed. Please believe me. I didn’t say anything personal.”
“I know. I came to rescue you.”
She raised her hand to shield her mouth. “What an annoying woman! She wouldn’t leave me alone. I hope you don’t have much to do with her. Your rats are better company.”
He suppressed a laugh.
“Oh, have I offended you?”
“Not at all. I think we can leave now. How about you tell her good-bye?”
Paul walked to the window overlooking the quadrangle between the science buildings. He leaned his forehead on the cold glass, peering through the bare branches of the elms below. Only a few pedestrians crossed the quad—no protesters in the cold and dark. He pulled his forehead away from the pane as Alvin and the Chipmunks began to squeal. Time to go. He had met his obligation to Kaufmann and his wife. With luck, he would spend the next thirty-six off-duty hours with Maggie. As a rule, he didn’t bring girls back to his room. But if he could persuade her to stay, the rule was going down.
This girl could be a prize. With her on his arm, he could fool the world. They’d accept him in graduate school as a solid citizen; she’d serve as camouflage for his disgust at their small-mindedness. She could help him make his mark. So pretty, and intelligent, and receptive. He hoped to hell she liked sex.
FIVE
On the last day of class of her sophomore year, Maggie decided her future belonged to Paul Adler. It was, she realized, the first grown-up decision she’d made, and she hoped it was right.
She had been a diligent, if uninspired, student in high school. As a shy only child, she didn’t do the social scene. The one crush she developed senior year on the dreamy boy in French class hadn’t born fruit. Some people in her church youth group pointed her to Ohio State, and her parents agreed to pay in-state tuition if she earned room and board. So she enrolled and got a job waitressing. Coming from a small high school in a small town, she felt lost freshman year, confused by the protests, the pot, the promiscuity. If not for her roommate, she most likely would have gone home and to community college. But Sarah pulled her along, introducing her to people, teaching her how to take exams, sharing her music and clothes. Sarah seemed to know more than other freshmen: She had a diaphragm; she’d read the classics in prep school; she’d been to Europe more than once. But she was no snob, except for her politics. You had to agree with her or she cut you down. A gap had opened between them at the end of the school year when Maggie refused to go on a protest march to protect dolphins from trawlers. She told Sarah that she didn’t know enough about the fishing industry to judge; secretly, she feared getting into trouble and being sent back to an angry mother. When Sarah asked her to room together again, Maggie was surprised and, preferring the devil she knew, relieved.
On her first date with Paul, just a walk in the park after work, he told her he wanted to do research in biology and asked about her interests. She said she’d been told that she was good with numbers, and a woman could always fall back on accounting. He asked her whether she liked accounting, because you should like what you study. She could hear her mother scoff at the notion of picking a major because you liked it. Her mother had told her to pick something “reliable” that led to a job she could do for a few years before settling down. Then he said that someone as pretty as she should be having fun. No one had ever called her pretty. In the mirror, she saw an ordinary girl with many imperfections. Paul didn’t seem to notice.
They began dating regularly, strolling campus and sitting in coffeehouses to watch the crowd. At first she had been embarrassed by the fierce way he put down protesters and hippies. He’d said that the army had given him a bullshit detector, and he used it aggressively. As the weeks went by, she learned to trust his opinions. When he called her a truth-teller, she basked in the praise. In the spring she consented to sex. He said that he’d wait until she wanted to make love, and one day she did.
They were sitting on the steps outside her dorm in the dark. He had walked her home after work, and she laid her tired head on his shoulder. Slowly he leaned in and kissed her forehead. He took her head into his hands and kissed her neck. He lifted her face toward his and kissed her lips. And she kissed him back, and then she wanted more and he could tell. They went to his room and he undressed her slowly, and then they were both naked in his bed, and he asked her to trust him and she did. She’d been relieved at how simple it was, giving pleasure and learning to be pleased.
But then she suffered. She could hear her mother’s voice, icy with contempt, calling her foolish for believing in a young man’s tenderness. Her mother had told her so many times that extramarital sex debased a woman, because that’s all men wanted. She’d told Maggie to hold herself to a higher standard, as defined by church and state. She said nothing else, letting Maggie learn about sex on her own. Outside her home, people talked about making love, not sex. She felt confused, and she let the confusion lie until Paul changed her. She was surprised at how much she wanted him. Over the months, despite fear of maternal shaming, her desire had grown with each date.
On the last day of class, Paul met her at her dorm. He seemed anxious, toying with his keys. She sat next to him on the top step of the porch, wanting to touch his jeans-clad thigh with her bare flesh, but afraid someone might come by. Instead, she absorbed his scent and his heat, feeling as if all the separate cells of her body were drawn to his.
“Kaufmann found me a job.” He looked at his feet. “Research assistant to a colleague of his working on cancer. Same kind my mother had. They want me to start right away.” He fiddled with his key chain. “It’s a sweet deal. All the way to a PhD, if I want it.”
“You don’t sound happy.” She tried to read his face.
“Here’s the catch. It’s in Michigan. I’ve got to move by the end of this month.”
Her chest squeezed tight.
He turned to face her. “I’m asking you to come with me. You can take classes there.” He placed his hand on her thigh. “I’ve never felt
so close to anyone. Nor have you. I don’t want to lose that. Do you?”
She couldn’t untangle her thoughts. Yes, she wanted to stay close to him; something animal in her wanted to live in his skin. Could she pick up and leave? It had taken two years to get comfortable at State. What would her mother say?
He stroked her hair. “I’m not asking you to marry me. Just come with me. Try us out. I’ve never said that to any other girl.” He lowered his voice and leaned into her ear, “Pretty good experimental design, huh?”
She couldn’t speak, but the tightness in her chest eased an inch.
He meant for them to live together. Could she move into an apartment with Paul? The only person with whom she’d ever shared a room was Sarah. She’d managed to figure out how to live with a roommate, but a boyfriend? “I need to think about this.”
He laughed and pulled her close with one arm. “That’s what I would expect.” He kissed her temple, held her tight. “You won’t be lonely. Knowing you, you’ll make friends soon enough. And I promise not to work all the time.” He released her, scrutinizing her face. “Do you want to meet later at the café?”
“No. I have a final tomorrow.” She stood slowly and gathered her things. She wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry.
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