Conscious Bias

by Alexi Venice

  “Love ‘em,” Monica breathed between kettlebell swings.

  “My swing is lopsided,” Shelby said.

  “Why?” Monica asked.

  “My mole is weighing down one side.”

  “Did you say, ‘mole?’” Monica asked, still swinging.

  “Yeah.”

  Monica finished, letting her kettlebell drop to the floor with a thud. “Where?” She circled Shelby, looking for an allegedly very heavy mole, expecting to see something super large—and potentially grotesque—on Shelby’s arm. “Show me.”

  Shelby pointed to her right upper lip. “Here.”

  Monica leaned in close even thought she’d spied it already. “What are you talking about?” Only inches from Shelby’s face, she said, “That’s barely visible.”

  “It’s totally visible. Prominent even,” Shelby insisted, tilting her chin up toward Monica.

  Monica wanted to cup Shelby’s chin and kiss that mole with all the fierce energy she felt throbbing in her heart. Resisting the urge was excruciating. She fought to keep her hands at her sides. “You should add a little color to it, like Marilyn Monroe did.”

  “Are you serious?” Shelby asked. “I usually try to hide it.”

  “No need. It’s sexy as hell,” Monica whispered.

  Shelby studied Monica to see if she was playing with her. “You think?”

  “I know,” Monica said.

  A tilt of her head. A shift in her hips. A gust of something hot between them. “Well then.”

  They allowed a few seconds of charged silence to confirm what they both were thinking, then reluctantly returned to the workout.

  Fifteen minutes later, on their knees on the mats and panting, Shelby turned to Monica. “You’re glistening.”

  “Funny, because I usually only glisten in the dark,” Monica said.

  Shelby laughed and sat back on her heels. Her tanned skin was shiny with sweat too, and her mascara was smudged. Monica was shocked that Shelby had the time, or desire, to apply mascara before coming to the gym for an early workout. Maybe that’s why she’s always late.

  “My face is so sweaty. Is my mascara running?” Shelby asked.

  “Yeah,” Monica said. “Let’s go find a tissue, and I’ll dab it for you.”

  They rose with exhausted bodies and walked to the table of supplies. Monica plucked a tissue and gently dabbed the streaks below Shelby’s eyes while Shelby looked up. “Can you get my eyelids too?”

  Shelby closed her eyes.

  “Of course.” Monica dabbed away. When she finished, she asked, “How does that feel?”

  Shelby blinked open her eyes and trained them on Monica, her face only inches away. “Better.”

  Shelby squeezed Monica’s forearm, making Monica swoon toward her, but she stopped at the last minute.

  “Such a diva,” Monica teased, as they walked back to class. She detoured to her water bottle and took a drink. As she replaced it on the floor next to her phone, she noticed a call coming from Al Bowman. She quickly grabbed it. “Monica Spade.”

  “It’s Al. We didn’t get the monkey last night, but the Seifs are still coming at ten, right?”

  “As far as I know, yes.”

  “I’ll suspend the tracking efforts from 10 to noon, but then we’ll start up again.”

  “I’ll be there 15 minutes early, so we can talk.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  Monica hung up and stashed her phone in her sweatshirt pocket. She picked up her bottle and said to Shelby, “Work calls. I should go.”

  “I’m sorry. See you soon?”

  “I hope so. Maybe outside the gym?”

  “I’d like that,” Shelby said, batting her smudged eyelashes.

  They traded smiles, and Monica left Shelby standing with the class. She could feel Shelby’s eyes burning holes in her back as she walked to the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  Monica arrived at the hospital with time to spare, so she and Al walked the route they planned for the Seifs. As they stood in the now-empty patient room that Abdul had briefly occupied, she felt a deep sense of stirring. Perhaps in anticipation of his family’s visit, the room had reclaimed his essence. For Monica, some places felt more sacred than others, hanging onto a spirit that had once occupied them, and this room possessed that sense of significance. She hoped the family would feel it too.

  As she and Al passed through the front lobby to return to his office, a hoard of people getting off an old, blue school bus caught their attention. They were carrying picket signs.

  Oh no, Monica thought.

  “What the hell?” Al asked, heading for the large revolving doors.

  She followed him outside, and they were met by Darcy, the owner of Marcus-the-monkey, with a battalion of monkey-activist friends. As they tilted the signs upright and began their march, Monica scanned them: “Don’t kill Marcus,” “Return Marcus to Darcy,” “Marcus has rights too,” “Don’t let the hospital kill the monkey,” and “Save emotional support animals.”

  “I want my monkey back!” Darcy yelled to Al. “You have no right to bar me from this hospital!”

  A cameraman materialized out of nowhere and pointed his camera like it was an assault rifle in Al’s face.

  He quickly glanced at the green light before replying. “Of course, Darcy. Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll discuss our plan for finding and returning Marcus to you?”

  “Why?” she asked. “So you can give me some bullshit story about how you’re ‘looking for him?’” She clawed the air with angry air quotes. “I know you really have a professional team of hunters tracking him to shoot him!”

  The color drained from Al’s face in nauseating speed. “That’s not true, and you know it. We’re trying to coax him out of hiding with food, so we can humanely tranquilize him and return him to you.”

  “Then why won’t you let me join the team?” she asked.

  “First, they only arrived, and second, we didn’t want to upset you.”

  “You should’ve asked me!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The picketers had formed a large circle and were marching back and forth in front of the door.

  Meanwhile, Monica texted Mike Warner. Change of plans. Don’t bring the Seifs to the front entrance. We have monkey picketers and TV coverage. Come to the side entrance on Walnut Street.

  He replied, Sucks to be you this morning. We’ll be there in 10 minutes.

  “You didn’t think it would upset me more to be locked out?!” Darcy screamed at Al.

  “Why don’t you come inside now, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I’ll come inside when you call off the hunters!” she screamed.

  “There aren’t any hunters inside, and the recovery team isn’t working this morning.”

  “I don’t believe you!” She stomped off to join her fellow picketers.

  Giving up, Monica and Al pushed through the revolving door, returning inside.

  “That shit parade really throws a monkey wrench into our plans to meet the Seifs at the front entrance,” she said.

  “Nice one,” he said. “What should we do?”

  “I already texted Mike. We’ll meet them at the Walnut Street entrance.”

  “Good plan. What a disaster. The Seifs will think we’re a horrible hospital.”

  “Never mind Darcy and her friends,” Monica said. “We can take the Seifs on a route through the hospital that avoids them.”

  “Are those picketers even allowed here?” he asked.

  “Not where they’re currently marching. They’re obstructing patient flow. Why don’t we put your head of Security in touch with Jim Daniels, and they can work on a plan for moving the picketers while you and I meet with the Seif family?”

  “Great idea,” he said.

  They coordinated the calls while they walked the labyrinth of hallways to the opposite side of the campus to meet the Seifs. When they reached the Walnut Street entrance, they didn�
�t have to wait long for the arrival of two conspicuous black Suburbans.

  As soon as the SUVs stopped, the front passenger doors opened to men dressed in black suits wearing ear pieces. Monica noted the bulk under their suits, and assumed they were armed. The rear doors opened, and Mike Warner jumped out first, followed by a gentleman in his mid-30s who Monica assumed was Abdul’s older brother, Mohamad, Mike’s main contact.

  In the second SUV, the rear door opened to three people—an older couple and a beautiful young woman who Monica assumed was Abdul’s sister.

  “Allow me to make introductions,” Mike said, stepping forward. In the cool morning sun, they lingered under the awning. Mike introduced himself to Al then turned to the Seif family.

  “This is Abdul’s father, Mr. Khalid Seif and his wife, Basmah.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Al Bowman, President of Community Memorial Hospital, and this is our attorney, Monica Spade.” Al stepped forward and shook their hands. Monica did the same.

  “And these are Abdul’s older siblings, Mohamad and Ameerah,” Mike said.

  They shook hands with them too.

  “Please, come inside and let’s talk,” Al said.

  Once they entered the hospital and began walking, Al was flanked by Khalid and Mohamad. Basmah and Ameerah followed, and Monica and Mike brought up the rear. Monica was glad she had selected a conservative navy dress with a subdued silk scarf for the meeting. The Seif women wore modern black dresses with colorful hijabs loosely wrapped, so their faces were fully visible.

  As the contingent walked through the hospital, Al pointed out a few items of interest, and Mohamad translated in Arabic for his family.

  While walking down a long corridor toward the administrative offices, Khalid stopped suddenly to study the art work adorning the wall, a collection by Chaim Gross entitled, The Jewish Holidays, a Suite of Eleven Original Lithographs.

  There was a nervous silence as Khalid walked from one work to the next, taking in each of the water colors. At the end, Khalid said something under his breath to Mohamad, who listened attentively then said to Al, “My father admires this artwork, which leaves him wondering if your hospital is of the Jewish faith.”

  Monica could tell by the concerning looks on the family’s faces that Al’s answer would be pivotal to their successful discussions.

  “This collection of art was donated by a local benefactor,” Al said matter-of-factly. “As a nonprofit hospital, we welcome such donations. With respect to faith, Community Memorial Hospital is nondenominational. We have a diverse chaplaincy department that is committed to ministering to patients according to their individual faith. Our employees, including physicians, come from all faiths.”

  They waited while Mohamad repeated Al’s answer to his family.

  Khalid nodded subtly, blinking his large, intelligent eyes that had visible, dark circles under them despite his olive skin. Basmah, Abdul’s mother, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  Khalid whispered something to Mohamad, who said, “Thank you. We can continue.”

  The procession resumed. Through her peripheral vision, Monica caught a deliberate movement to her right, down a long hallway. She turned in time to see Marcus-the-monkey, who made eye contact with her before casually hopping to the side and out of sight. Marcus, to whom all banana-trails lead.

  She put her hand on Mike’s arm and said, “Excuse me. I have to attend to something. Proceed without me. Tell Al I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Okay,” Mike said, baffled.

  Monica briskly made her way down the passage after Marcus, tiptoeing quietly in her black pumps. She spotted a long tail curling around a corner about 12 feet in front of her, so she trotted to keep up. When she reached the corner, she peeked her head around and saw Marcus lope down another hall, his long tail arching behind him.

  She pushed off the wall and followed, staying a sufficient distance behind so as not to spook him. Where is Security? Why am I doing this?!

  As they both rushed down the hallway, Marcus picking up speed, they passed a corridor to her left where she caught a glimpse of the Seif procession walking toward Administration. She telepathed as fiercely as she could to Marcus, Do NOT turn left. Do NOT turn left. Do NOT turn fucking left.

  Marcus turned left. Fuck, he’s heading toward the Seifs. Monica got to the corner and peeked around it. The Seif family had already passed by, but Marcus was weighing whether to enter the main corridor where they were walking, which would mean he would be right behind them. It was a busy corridor, so other people would surely see him and call out, which would alert the Seifs. Marcus pondered his options.

  He must be lost, Monica thought. He was so sure of his direction before, as if he knew where he was going.

  Luck and superstition swung in Monica’s direction because Marcus suddenly spun around and reversed course. She backed up, careful to be quiet, and tucked into a doorjamb.

  He returned to her hallway and turned away from her—apparently on a mission. She followed him, grateful that he hadn’t trailed the Seif family, when he suddenly ducked into a doorway on the right and disappeared.

  She proceeded cautiously to the spot where she last saw him, an open door, and walked into a supply room after him. He was already resting on the top metal shelf, a banana in hand. While he peeled, he watched her warily, making a grunting noise followed by a squeak.

  Monica gently closed the door behind her. Why she decided to join Marcus inside the room was beyond logic. She briefly thought she should quickly exit and lock Marcus in there alone, standing guard until help came, but she was tired of monkeying around with this issue, especially since Darcy had hired legal counsel and started picketing. She’d be damned if she’d let Marcus make a monkey out of her, so she decided to take ownership and confirm his safe return herself.

  From her angle, about six feet away, she could see that he had made a little bed on the top rack with a white blanket, some scrubs, and a few stuffed animals. Did he steal those from the gift shop?

  “Hi Marcus,” Monica said in as calm a voice as she could muster. “A lot of people have been looking for you.”

  He squeaked in capuchin talk, his inquisitive dark eyes, framed by a white hood of hair, studying her every movement. He still ate his banana, though, which she interpreted as a good sign. The last thing she wanted to do was piss him off and have a crazy monkey attacking her. She had always hated the The Wizard of Oz, and didn’t need a reenactment.

  She had no idea how to talk to, or approach a monkey, so she avoided direct eye contact for fear of inciting him. She calmly removed her phone from her pocket and took a pic of him. She texted it to Al, guessing that he probably wouldn’t consult his phone while meeting with the Seif family, but just in case. In any event, he needed to know where she was, and why she had ditched him.

  She also texted the pic to Jim Daniels, hoping he would see it and help her out. After all, he was working with security regarding Darcy and the picketers. Monica knew that Mike was a texter, so she texted a pic to him too, explaining her dilemma and excusing herself from the immediate meeting.

  She waited a few long minutes, stealing herself to remain calm for the benefit of Marcus, preoccupied with squeaking and eating. After no reply from any of the men, she called the hospital operator and asked to speak to the head of Security.

  “Security. This is Howard.”

  “Hi Howard. This is Monica Spade, the hospital’s attorney. I’m working with Al Bowman today at the hospital, and I noticed the monkey go into a supply room, so I followed him. He and I are in the supply room together right now.”

  “Where’s Al?” Howard asked.

  “Al is in a meeting with a family and can’t be disturbed. Can you go to the front door and get the owner of the monkey, Darcy, and bring her to us? She’s picketing with her animal rights group.”

  “What room are you in?” Howard asked.

  “Good question,” she said. “It’s a supply room off the main corr
idor from the Walnut Street Entrance. We had just passed the Chaim Gross art collection when I spotted the monkey and followed him.”

  “The what collection?” Howard asked.

  “The Jewish art collection in the main thruway from the parking ramp to the clinic building.”

  “Oh. That. I know where you are now.”

  “Good. Can you help me out, so I can join the patient-family meeting with Al?”

  “I’ll be right there,” he said and hung up.

  She decided to call Mike Warner. To her delight, he picked up and excused himself from the meeting.

  She explained.

  “You have to be kidding me,” he said.

  “I’m not monkeying with you.”

  “And Security is helping you?”

  “Yeah. They’re getting the owner now.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell Al.”

  “Thanks.”

  She turned to Marcus, who was comforting a stuffed animal in one hand while rearranging the blankets in his nest with his other.

  Hmm. What to do while in a room alone with a strange monkey? It will probably take them 10-15 minutes to get here. Think calm thoughts. Don’t spook the monkey.

  She regarded his human-like face, inquisitive but not friendly. He possessed an element of unpredictability that frightened her a little.

  She slowly moved a small step stool and sat on it, facing Marcus, so she could keep an eye on him. Then she thumbed to Pandora and selected some piano music that she liked to listen to while drafting documents at work. One of her favorites came on, Bill Charlap playing Ohio by Leonard Bernstein. She took a deep breath and exhaled slow and steady to the soothing tune.

  Marcus seemed to like it too, because his ears perked up, and he tilted his face, cradling the stuffed animal and rocking it gently while peering over the edge of the metal shelf. He squeaked a few low squeaks and gracefully swung from one rung to another, down a pole, and landed on a lower shelf a few feet from her.

  Sitting across from each other, Monica’s heart beat a little faster, and she felt her body tense defensively. He was close enough. Thankfully, he was enjoying the music, a pleasant look on his face. Leave it to Bernstein to calm a wayward monkey.