Perfectly Unpredictable

by Linda O'Connor

  Pictured telling his parents. Imagined the grief in his mother’s eyes and the hug his dad would give him. They would go through this with him. It would shatter their world, too.

  There was no life-partner to devastate. But close enough friends who had grown up with him, who were like brothers and sisters, who would feel this, too. Would they be there for him, or would they find it too hard to face and not come around because they couldn’t talk about it? Like his colleagues.

  So. Chemo.

  Hair loss. Nausea. Retching. Weight loss. Infertility.

  His gut clenched. Sometimes having too much knowledge …

  There was still so much he wanted to do with his life. He’d set goals and had worked hard to achieve them. Life was good, and he wasn’t done.

  I don’t want to die. Please, just let me live.

  Chapter 3

  Kalia strode off the plane and looked around. It had been a few years since she’d been in France, the last time with her parents, but she never tired of it. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d received the email from Maurice Bastille. They had corresponded back and forth to make arrangements for her to be at the International Forum of Neuroscience, and the organizers had promised to send a driver.

  She approached a short elderly man holding a sign with her name on it. “Bonjour. Je m’appelle Kalia Beck,” she said with a flawless French accent.

  The driver, dressed in a black suit with a meticulously pressed white shirt and a black tie, wore a jaunty hat to one side. He removed it with a sweep of his hand and a slight bow. “Bonjour, bonjour. Je m’appelle Pierre. I will be your driver.” He pumped her hand in an enthusiastic handshake and reached to take her carry-on. “Bienvienue à Nice. Is this all the luggage you carry?”

  “Oui, Pierre. C’est tout. Merci,” Kalia said, smiling. Years of travel and one too many incidents with lost luggage convinced her to travel with only carry-on luggage and a briefcase for her computer.

  “Très bien. Très bien. Right this way.” He gestured to the exit and moved with a spring in his step.

  It was a bright fall morning. Pierre chatted easily about the weather and asked about her flight as they made their way to the car. He opened the door to a black limousine with a flourish and helped her settle in before gently closing the door and loading her luggage in the back.

  “Sit back, relax. It is only a short twenty-minute drive,” he said as he pulled out of the airport.

  Look at that view. Kalia marveled at the blues and greens of the water, the white pebble beaches, the swaying palm trees, and a riot of colorful flowers blooming in window boxes. Pink, orange, and yellow flowers were brilliant in the sunshine. Casually dressed tourists meandered along the sidewalk, while others in business attire dodged and weaved, striding with purpose.

  Kalia opened the window and a cool breeze brushed her face. A cacophony of noise from people, cars, and scooters rose from the street.

  The limo pulled up to the hotel. Pierre jumped out quickly, opened Kalia’s door with a flourish, and retrieved her luggage. She smiled and thanked him, offered him a generous tip, and made her way to the hotel.

  Kalia had booked a room at a small, quaint hotel-apartment, which her parents had discovered on one of their trips to Nice. It was a short distance from the conference center and off the main road through a small market.

  The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted from a bakery on the corner. Colorful umbrellas crowded side by side on the periphery of the courtyard, shading packed tables of fruit and vegetables, cheese, and fish on ice. Farmers shouted greetings to the bustle of people. Tourists idled past. Locals sat at small wrought iron tables on smaller wrought iron chairs, sipping espresso, and leisurely chatting. They weren’t meant to linger for too long. Women filled their baskets with fresh baguettes and croissants and moved from vendor to vendor, haggling with a discerning eye to complete their daily shopping.

  Kalia wanted to stop and watch, but the flight was taking its toll. She’d need a day to switch her own time clock and had twenty-four hours to rest and recharge before her first meeting tomorrow.

  The hotel, a bright pink-red stucco building, had a window box overflowing with pansies on every sill. Kalia admired the intricate carving at the front entrance. She pulled open the impressive wooden door and approached the front desk. After filling out the paperwork, she was handed a key to an apartment on the second floor.

  The suite opened into a living room. Two inviting oversized armchairs in pale green and white stripes formed a cozy seating area across from a more formal ladylike sofa. Light flooded in through a large window, the shutters thrown open to let in the cool morning air. White sheers danced in the breeze. Off to the left a galley kitchen looked clean and bright. A welcome note was propped in front of a tray of snacks – dried fruit and nuts, sparkling water, a mini bottle of Champagne, and an “intimacy kit.” Kalia laughed. That covered all the bases.

  She poked her head into the bathroom and smiled at a large soaker tub, fresh white towels hanging neatly on a heating rack, and a walk-in glass shower stall with multiple jets and a luxurious rainfall showerhead.

  Heaven.

  But it’d have to wait. For now, she craved sleep. She wandered into the bedroom. Plump pillows were piled high on a fluffy comforter covering a king-sized bed, complete with a square of dark chocolate in a shiny wrapper. She’d save that for the next day, too.

  Kalia changed into pajamas, threw open the bedroom window to the courtyard below, and crawled into bed. The fatigue of the travel and the change in time zone finally overcame the excitement, and she let the sounds of the day beginning in Nice lull her to sleep.

  On the first morning of the conference, Kalia was up early and dressed in a navy blue suit with a crisp white shirt. She added a silver pendant and smoothed her hair into a neat chignon. She stowed her computer in her leather briefcase and, after checking her make-up, headed out.

  The aroma of freshly baked goods mingled with the crisp morning air on the short walk to the conference center. The exterior of the elegant building had old world charm, with intricate stone carving and fussy wrought iron balconies. Behind the front doors, the grandeur was a surprise.

  A wide curved staircase across from the main entrance led down one flight to a modern amphitheater. Inside, comfortable chairs swiveled to allow for smaller groupings, clever dividers created sectioned-off areas, three large screens graced the front, and each chair had specialized audiovisual equipment. State-of-the-art, top-of-the-line engineering. They had obviously paid special attention to the acoustics with the design of the seating and the use of layered wood on the curved walls and ceiling. Despite the large number of people animatedly greeting one another, the room was quiet.

  Kalia spotted a group of official-looking people with clipboards at the front of the amphitheater, so she made her way over. She introduced herself and, with wide smiles, they each pumped her hand enthusiastically. Maurice Bastille’s assistant, Giselle, showed her the sound booth and explained how the conference would unfold.

  All of the talks would be offered in English. In the past, speakers of the international community had muddled through, sometimes with heavy hard-to-understand accents. This year, for the first time, each guest speaker would present the lecture in the language of their choice and Kalia would interpret. Her version would be simultaneously broadcast, and participants could choose which version to listen to through their headsets.

  In addition to the three large group lectures each day, smaller workshops would be recorded and translated at a later date. These ranged from clinical case discussions to research project presentations, and from hands-on technical skill sessions to clinical standards consensus groups.

  The keynote address, scheduled for the last day, was causing the most buzz. Dr. Alexandre Sinclair was presenting his latest research. He was also hosting two workshops, and after a meeting the night before, the organizers were scrambling to change to a bigger venue because of the unexpected dra
w.

  The room slowly filled until most of the seats were taken. Maurice took to the podium and officially welcomed everyone to the forum.

  With the introductions complete, Kalia took her place at the back of the room in the sound booth. She adjusted her earpiece and tuned in to the speaker. Concentrating, she focused on the cadence and rhythm of the Spanish presenter, and the translation flowed. The second lecture in German was much easier. Thank you, Pappa.

  The first two hours flew by. As the group scattered to the workshops, Kalia lingered to answer questions and make adjustments to her equipment. She thought that keeping the eight hundred or so registrants in line and on time with their assigned workshops would be a logistical nightmare, but an army of volunteers kept things moving smoothly.

  She spent time reviewing the afternoon lecture and then headed to the grand ballroom for lunch.

  The ballroom was bright and airy, with a wall of glass and a high-vaulted ceiling. French doors were thrown open, and a warm autumn breeze stirred the air. Circular tables were set for ten with crisp white linens and sparkling silverware. Simple low arrangements of gerbera daisies in an assortment of bright colors graced the center of each table.

  Kalia was enjoying a lively discussion with a group from Germany when Alexandre Sinclair walked in. He was escorted by members of the organizing committee and, engrossed in conversation, seemed oblivious to the interest his arrival caused.

  Kalia wasn’t sure if it was the brilliant scientific mind or the gorgeous good looks that caused a stir, but she couldn’t help joining the crowd in stopping and staring. Something about the man in a well-fitted suit had her heart fluttering. Or maybe it was the body the suit fit that was mouth-watering. He was much younger than she’d thought he’d be, closer to her age, and he walked with the grace of a panther. She couldn’t imagine having those startling blue eyes focused on her. That and the flash of his smile was a disarming combination.

  He and his entourage sat down at the head table. The noise level rose again, and with some effort, Kalia pulled herself back to the conversation at her table.

  The remainder of the ten days went by smoothly. Kalia had a chance to flex her language skills, translating from French, German, Spanish, and Russian to English and amusing a cohort of Italians who flirted with her at lunch. By the end of the ten days, she had helped with restaurant reservations, transportation dilemmas, and one minor medical emergency. She’d received a number of compliments for her clear and accurate translations and could hardly walk back to her hotel without being greeted in several different languages.

  She loved it all – the languages, the challenge, the people, the camaraderie, the cutting-edge research. Who knew science could be this much fun? She caught glimpses of Alexandre Sinclair throughout the conference. Always elegant. Always stunning. Always surrounded by admirers.

  She spoke to him very briefly just before his keynote address. She was at the podium making changes to the microphone when he came in to set up for his lecture. She managed to muster a hello when he nodded in greeting. That was enough. She, with her knowledge of six languages, could only spit out “hello” before her mind went blank.

  He was fluent in English and didn’t require translation, but Kalia decided to stay and listen. The auditorium was packed, but Alexandre Sinclair had their attention the moment he started speaking in his deep, smooth voice. He was completely at ease and flashed a smile that had everyone relaxing. He made the complicated sound simple and answered questions with patience, obviously enjoying the interaction with the audience. The time flew by and when he finished, the crowd rose to its feet with thunderous applause. Kalia was sure they would have shouted “encore” if they could have.

  A beaming Maurice Bastille took the podium. “Three years ago when I accepted the task of organizing the International Forum of Neuroscience, I thought it would be a daunting task.” He paused. “And I was right, it was.”

  The audience laughed.

  “But this,” he said, sweeping his arm around the audience, “is why I accepted the challenge.

  “When I come to this meeting and feel the energy, the enthusiasm, and the dedication to the advancement of neuroscience, I see how important, even essential, this forum has become. I would like to thank the panel of exceptional speakers we have had this year.” He paused as the audience acknowledged them with a boisterous round of applause. “They have shared their latest research, made us question and think, renewed our interest, and spurred us to push our efforts forward. Thank you.

  “I would like to thank the team of volunteers, led by my most invaluable assistant, Giselle Menoit, who spent countless hours organizing and overseeing the logistics of the conference. And to Kalia Beck for providing the interpretation services.” There was another enthusiastic round of applause. “This was a new addition this year. Definitely a success, it will be the start of a new tradition.

  “Heimlich,” he said, singling out a prominent scientist in the first row. “This was the first time I think I actually understood what your research was about.”

  Heimlich, a big man with a bushy beard, guffawed and joked back, “For you, I keep it simple.” The audience laughed.

  “And to all of you–” Maurice looked out to the crowd “–a special thank you for coming. You have busy lives, but you make time to be away. It is this commitment that makes the forum a success. So thank you, each one of you, for making the time to come and participate.” He finished to a resounding wave of applause.

  Maurice waited until the noise quieted. “Now, I would like to take this opportunity to present the International Forum of Neuroscience Research Award. The recipient is a role model for their scientific work, for the promotion of it to the rest of the scientific community, and for making neuroscientific research respected and revered. This award is coveted because the jury is our peers – the harshest critics. They judge the value of the research and look for inspiration.

  “It is my great honor and my absolute pleasure to present the award this year to Dr. Alexandre Sinclair.”

  The audience rose to its feet, clapping, as Alexandre made his way to the podium. Alexandre and Maurice shook hands warmly as Maurice presented a plaque to commemorate the achievement. They stood together, smiling broadly, as a photographer captured the moment.

  Maurice gestured for Alexandre to say a few words. Alexandre approached the microphone and looked out at the audience. “Thank you for this. I’m deeply honored to receive it. I think there are many of you who are equally deserving, and I share it with you. I also share this with the team who work with me in the lab and in the clinics. Without them, none of this would be possible.

  “And finally, I would like to thank Maurice for his outstanding organization.” Alexandre nodded and smiled at Maurice. “It is a daunting task, as you’ve mentioned, and you’ve done a brilliant job of it. Thank you.” He waved briefly and made his way back to his seat.

  The applause was deafening.

  Maurice approached the microphone again. “All good things must come to an end, and so I officially close this year’s International Forum of Neuroscience. In three years’ time, we will reconvene in Spain, and I hope to see all of you there again. Meanwhile, I invite you to join in the final event planned for tonight, the gala ball being held in the Grand Ballroom. The ballroom has been transformed, and the cuisine will be exceptional. I know, because I’ve had a chance to sample it all,” he said, chuckling. “Enjoy your evening, and good-bye, until we meet again.” He smiled and stepped away from the microphone.

  After a final flourish of applause, the audience broke up and slowly streamed from the amphitheater.

  Kalia stood off to one side, enjoying the energy of the room. Listening to the conversations around her, she could already sense the anticipation of the next forum being held in Spain in three years.

  She hoped she could be a part of it.

  Chapter 4

  The final evening, Kalia thought with a sigh. It had gone by too q
uickly. It had been a fascinating change of pace, a chance to flex her language skills. She had met so many interesting people and was charmed by their enthusiasm. It hadn’t been work at all. She sent a silent thank you to her parents for opening up her world with languages.

  Kalia took the flute of champagne offered by a passing waiter and wandered into the ballroom, joining the crowd mingling about.

  The formal dining room had been transformed into an underwater extravaganza. Ice sculptures of dolphins graced the hors d’oeuvre table and drew people in to sample the trésor de la mer. Gossamer-thin curtains, in a watery blue, glimmered in the light of the crystal chandeliers, which hung low over the tables. Murals of schools of fish and paper-mâché coral filled the walls.

  Each table, covered in the same gossamer blue, was set with its own unique centerpiece, ranging from sandcastle candles to elegant blossoms floating in water-filled vases. The flames of lit candles danced and flickered. Pure magic, Kalia thought, as she sipped her drink.

  Kalia had been invited to join the head table, so she meandered through the crowd to find it, greeting people in multiple languages on her way.

  She enjoyed the fuss and the pageantry. She loved the feel of her silk dress against her bare skin. It was low in the front and lower in the back, in the palest pink, and fell to her ankles with a diaphanous shimmer. Underneath she wore matching panties almost as bare as the spaghetti straps covering her smooth, perfumed shoulders. She had pulled her hair up in a careless knot, leaving one or two curls to frame her face. Dangling silver earrings matched her anklet and contrasted with the wide silver bangle she wore at her wrist. It was lovely being a girl, she mused, and such fun to dress up.

  She was nearly at the table when she saw him. And ooh la la. Alex Sinclair in a suit was eye-candy. Alex Sinclair dressed in a tux was just wow. She smiled to herself. She knew six languages and none had a word better than “wow.”