Dinner with Andrew

by Martha Williamson

  “Well, there’s a lot of competition in medical research,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s not unheard of for data to be stolen, faked, plagiarized, or altered.”

  Andrew feigned surprise. “You? Competitive? No! I would never believe it.”

  Kate laughed heartily and sipped her champagne, her eyes glittering. She found herself beginning to like Andrew, and she was glad that he had insisted that she make good on her six-thousand-dollar date. She was surprised to find that she was having a very good time.

  Even though Norman Delmonico was sitting only a yard or two from Kate and Andrew, he did not notice them, paid no attention to them—he did not even hear Kate’s unrestrained laughter. Rather, his interest was completely taken up with the bottle of wine that Monica was serving. He sniffed the cork deeply, then watched as she poured a small amount into his glass.

  He stuck his nose into the glass, swirled the deep crimson liquid, then sipped. His eyes widened as he swallowed.

  “Where in the world did you get this?” Norman was so surprised he could barely get the words out. “Do you know what this is? This is an 1870 Chateau LaTour LaFitte Rothschild.”

  Monica looked apologetic as she filled his glass. She knew absolutely nothing about wine and her ignorance showed.

  “I know . . . It’s terribly old, but I’m afraid it was all we could come up with. We’re still getting our wine list together. We’ve only just opened, you know . . .”

  “But, but—” Delmonico stammered, “this wine isn’t old—it’s extinct. Finding a drinkable bottle of 1870 LaTour is like finding the Holy Grail. This is absolutely impossible!” In all his years in the food business Norman Delmonico had never seen a bottle of such rare wine—let alone actually tasted the contents. A wine produced and bottled in 1870 should have turned into a bottle of sediment and sludge. But this wine was deep and rich, its body almost flesh and blood. He had never tasted anything quite so exquisite.

  “Astonishing,” Norman exclaimed. “Absolutely astonishing. But unbelievable—no one is going to believe this. It’s impossible!”

  Monica smiled sweetly. “Well, you see, sir, the owner of this restaurant tends to specialize in the impossible. Bon appétit!” She withdrew to the kitchen, leaving Norman Delmonico, a man not easy to surprise, in something of a state of shock.

  Tess was cooking up a storm, moving from pot to pot, mixing, stirring, sprinkling spices like stardust.

  “A food critic!” she grumbled. “Of all the people in the world to walk in right off the street . . . I don’t mind surprises, I don’t mind the cooking. I don’t even mind substitutions. But what I do not like is a critic.” She looked at Monica, her eyes blazing.

  “That poor man,” said Monica. “I’m just a little bit worried about him.”

  “Him?” snorted Tess angrily. “All critics ever do is tear down other people’s work. And I’m the one under pressure here. Why feel sorry for him?”

  Monica shrugged. “Don’t you see, Tess . . . he’s probably going to write a review— most likely a great review—of a restaurant that won’t be here tomorrow morning.”

  “So?” said Tess.

  “Today he is the most powerful restaurant critic in all of New York City, or so Kate Calder says,” said Monica. “And when that review comes out tomorrow . . . well, what’s that going to do to his credibility? It might destroy him.”

  Tess waved away Monica’s worries. “That’s exactly how people get into trouble, worrying about tomorrow. You want to worry about something, worry about my lemon reduction, Miss Wings . . .”

  Chapter Eight

  Andrew and Kate sat at their table as oblivious to Norman Delmonico as he was to them. Delmonico was still confounded and nonplussed by the exceptional food and wine he had found at this unknown restaurant; similarly, Andrew and Kate were so caught up in their conversation it was as if they had managed to close out the rest of the world.

  “I don’t understand,” Andrew persisted. “It seems to me, the more information that scientists share with one another, the sooner they can discover cures for things, and eradicate disease.” He sat back in his chair and sipped his champagne.

  Kate shook her head. “Medicine is competitive because medicine is business, just like everything else” she said vehemently. “If you don’t get there first, you don’t get the jobs or the grants or the fame or whatever else you want. There’s a bottom line in medicine and for most people it is money. Lots of it. Do you know how much money is made each year in this country off diabetes? Or asthma—or even the common cold? The figures are immense.”

  Andrew stared at her for a moment. “You’re not interested in money,” he said. “I can tell.” And that interested Andrew. He knew it was a rare trait to find in a modern human being—a lack of interest in material things—but Kate Calder plainly did not care about any of the tangible rewards of her profession.

  Kate’s eyes flashed. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  “So what is it you want then?”

  “Immortality,” said Kate bluntly.

  Andrew laughed lightly. “I have a couple of suggestions for that,” he said. “You might want to hear them sometime. I am something of an expert on immortality.”

  Kate smiled wryly. “And let me guess; your suggestions probably have something to do with heaven, right?” She shook her head slowly. “Heaven . . . ,” she said.

  “It has a lot to do with it, actually,” said Andrew. “But you knew that, right?”

  “I’m not making fun of you,” said Kate, a note of apology creeping into her voice. “It’s just that heaven is not part of my vocabulary. I’m only interested in what I can prove. And if I can discover something no one else has and prove it, then I’ll make it into the history books. And that is important to me. It means a lot to me, and nothing will change that.”

  “Why is that so important to you?” Andrew asked. “Why does that drive you?”

  Kate shrugged. “That, in my opinion, is the only thing that will allow me to live forever.”

  “But I still don’t understand why that is so important.” Andrew had never known someone so young to be so concerned about how she would be remembered after death. It was very peculiar. “I don’t get it, Kate. Why?”

  Kate hesitated a moment. Hardly anyone knew her secret, yet something made her want to confide in Andrew. She said, “Because I’m dying.”

  Andrew stared at her. “That can’t be true,” he said. And he knew that it couldn’t be true.

  But Kate thought his denial was nothing more than the usual reflexive gainsaying, that it was mere rhetoric on his part.

  “I’ve got cancer,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s a form of leukemia. It’s going to kill me some day, but right now I’m still here, still very much alive.” She flashed him a little smile. “And that’s thanks to science, by the way. I’m the subject of an experimental treatment program— so experimental that nobody can say how long I’ve got. So, you see, I understand the value of knowing what you’re going to die of.”

  “How long?” Andrew asked. “How much time do your doctors say you might have left?”

  There was another shrug from Kate. “Five, maybe even six years.” She laughed and shook her head. “That’s not a long time, but I’m hoping that it will be sufficient for me. I’ve got work to do and do not intend to be denied it. I only hope it will be time enough to finish my work.”

  “I’m sure it will be, Kate,” said Andrew.

  She laughed again, shaking her head ruefully. “I know you think I’m some pushy broad who just has to be first in line and win the auction and beat the other kids and keep all my secrets to myself.”

  She leaned forward and gripped the table tightly. Suddenly it was very important to her that Andrew understand her point of view, that he realize that what appeared to be mere selfishness was in fact a type of self-preservation.

  “But discovering a new gene, Andrew, that could change the world, doing that on my own, making
a name for myself, that’s all I have to live for now. And it’s the only thing that’ll be left when I go, the difference that I made in this world.” She was looking deep into his eyes now, begging him to try to understand every word she had said.

  And she did get through to him. Andrew found that he was deeply moved—for the very first time he had seen beyond Kate’s carefully constructed facade and had caught a glimpse of her as a real and very vulnerable person. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. She did not pull back, did not snatch her hand away. But before he could speak, Monica approached the table.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said softly but earnestly. “I believe you have a call at the front desk.”

  Andrew and Kate had been caught up in the moment and Monica’s words cut into it. “Oh,” he said. He let go of Kate’s hand and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

  “A call? Really?” He looked very puzzled.

  Then he looked past Kate and saw that Adam had arrived in the restaurant, and it was clear that they had to confer.

  “I’m sorry,” Andrew said to Kate apologetically. “I have to take this . . . excuse me.”

  Andrew stood and followed Monica, joining Adam at the door of the restaurant. “How’s it going?” Adam asked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  “Well,” said Andrew with a little shrug of his shoulders, “I’m finally getting a clue as to what we’re all doing here. She’s dying. And she knows it.”

  Monica’s eyes grew wide. “What?” she gasped.

  Andrew nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, she’s dying. But she doesn’t need me. Not yet.”

  He glanced over his shoulder quickly. “This lady’s got to get her priorities straight. At least her doctor said she has some time left—five or six years. She’s completely obsessed with making a significant medical breakthrough, a discovery— something that she can leave behind after she dies. She has no conception of an afterlife— or a here and now, for that matter. She runs roughshod over her colleagues and her life is completely consumed by her research work. She pays no attention at all to her spiritual life.” Andrew sighed heavily. “That’s got to change. She needs someone like you, Monica.”

  “Me?” said Monica. “But you said she’s dying.”

  “She has a few years,” Andrew replied. “And she’s got to be taught to use those next few years very wisely. If she’s got five years, then she has time, I’d say. A lot can happen in five years.”

  “That’s time enough,” Monica agreed.

  But something was plainly bothering Adam. “Five years?” he said. “She’s not going to die in five years.”

  “Well, maybe not exactly five years, but she has a good bit of time to get her house in order.”

  “No, no,” Adam insisted. “Understand that we aren’t talking years here, Andrew.”

  “We’re not?” Andrew said.

  “No,” Adam replied. “That woman over there is going to die tonight.”

  Andrew and Monica stared at Adam, shock plain on their faces. Then they looked back at Kate, who sat unaware, her champagne glass light in her hand. She was staring out the window at the glittering lights of the office towers and the great yellow moon and the cold stars that seemed to hang in the night sky. She was happier in that moment than she could remember being in a long time and she was, for a change, at peace.

  Chapter Nine

  The angels gathered in the kitchen for a hurried conference on the subject of Dr. Kate Calder. On one hand, it was simply too hard for Monica, Tess, and Andrew to believe that Kate’s time had come; on the other, they knew that Adam got his information on High Authority.

  “She looks perfectly normal, Adam,” Monica protested. “What do you mean she’s going to die tonight? Are you sure?”

  “Well, she has a disease,” said Andrew. “It’s fatal, but it’s slow. She said she had at least five years.”

  Adam was matter-of-fact, almost to the point of flippancy. “Well she’s not going to die of that disease tonight,” he said. “It will be something else. A car accident, a stroke, a chandelier could fall on her head—”

  “Oh hush, Adam,” said Tess.

  Adam shrugged. “I don’t know how she’s going to die,” he said. “All I know is I was supposed to be there when it happened. It’s standard procedure—all of you know that.”

  Andrew nodded. “And now I’m the one who has to be there,” he said. It was an assignment he was looking forward to fulfilling.

  But Monica was still full of questions. “Out of all the men in that auction, what made her bid on an angel?” She looked around the room. “Any ideas?”

  “Sometimes, when death is near, people get a sense of it,” Tess said gently. “I suppose God knew that, given the chance, she would want an angel with her today, whether she knew why or not.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Andrew sounded far from convinced. “This lady is not the angel type, Tess.” He had been on enough assignments to know the type who needed an angel and those who didn’t. Kate Calder definitely fell into the latter category. If he was going to get through to her before it was too late—by the end of that very evening—he knew he had his work cut out for him.

  But Tess was not convinced by Andrew’s intuition. “Maybe she knows that,” she replied. “Maybe deep down inside she wants to change that part of her before it’s too late.” She shrugged. She knew from experience that you could never quite read the map of the human mind, that human beings had an astonishing ability to change their minds in a split second.

  Andrew shook his head slowly. He refused to be convinced. “I don’t know, Tess. That lady is an awfully tough case. One of the toughest I’ve ever encountered. She’s thought about death and life, and she’s made up her mind.”

  “Maybe she just seems tough, Andrew,” Tess replied. “Sometimes it’s those hard types who see the light faster and sooner than the ones who never give the big questions a second thought.”

  “Well, it’s later than she thinks. A lot later,” said Adam. “Monica, you may want to serve dessert with the entrée,” he said teasingly.

  Monica was shocked that Adam could make light of such a solemn situation. She snapped at him with a dish towel. “You never change, you know that, Adam?”

  Adam threw his arm up to protect himself. “Sorry, Monica—I’m too old to change.” Then he turned to Andrew. “Look, I’m really sorry you’re in this position, Andrew. It ought to be me out there, not you. If there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know.”

  Before Andrew could answer, Tess stepped up, tossing an apron at him. “Yeah,” she barked. “Put this on and stir!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Adam meekly.

  Andrew made for the door, Monica at his side. “I can’t believe it,” he said with a shake of his head. “This doesn’t feel right. It feels too soon for her to go.”

  “Be very careful, Andrew,” Monica cautioned. “Remember to heed the advice that you’re always giving me: don’t get too emotionally involved with your charges.”

  “I’m not getting too involved,” said Andrew. “Really, I’m not.” And he might have genuinely believed that—but no one else in that kitchen did.

  Andrew hurried back to his table, feeling that he had been a very bad host and had left his guest alone for far too long. But Kate seemed unaware of his long absence and was sitting at the table, calm and composed, when he returned.

  “Is everything okay?” Kate asked.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. He cocked an ear and listened to the piano for a moment or two, then extended his hand. “Would you care to dance, Kate?”

  Kate hesitated a moment, then, beaming, took his hand and allowed herself to be guided onto the dance floor. They began to sway to the music, the two of them falling into the rhythm of the song. Kate was a graceful dancer, and Andrew was pretty light on his feet. She was impressed with his skill.

  “If I believed in God,�
�� said Kate, “which I don’t, I’d say this place was as close to heaven as I could get. I hope that doesn’t give you any ideas.”

  Andrew smiled slyly. “Just one—heaven,” he said. “Funny you should bring that up. Play along with me for a minute. It won’t take long. Don’t worry.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Kate. “I think I feel a sermon coming on. The big push from God’s representative.”

  “No,” said Andrew, laughing lightly. “No sermon, I promise. But think about what you just said—people live and people die. What do you think happens after that, Kate?”

  “Nothing,” she replied bluntly. Then she added with a shrug, “Decomposition. Probate. People grieve. They’ve just discovered that grief is something that never passes. Did you know that? It used to be that people thought it was something that passed, that scabbed over and eventually went away. And if that didn’t happen you were likely to have someone tell you to ‘put it behind you,’ or ‘get over it, already.’ But researchers have found that you carry grief with you until you die.”

  “And then the cycle starts all over again, with the loved ones you’ve left behind,” said Andrew.

  Kate smiled wanly. “The cycle can be broken. I don’t imagine I’m going to get much in the way of grief. But that’s just fine with me. I don’t want it.”

  “What do you want?” Andrew asked.

  “I told you. I hope to have a plaque somewhere with my name on it. That’s it, Andrew. The rest is wishful thinking. You die and what? You ‘go to heaven.’ There’s no proof of heaven. So how can you be so sure of going there?” She finished her statement with the air of a prosecutor who had delivered a stunning blow to the case for the defense.

  But Andrew had run into this argument before, and he countered without much effort. “Oh, that’s easy,” he said with a smile. “It’s been done.”

  Kate laughed tolerantly. “Okay, let’s assume that I die, and I go to heaven. Then what? I float around like some kind of bliss-filled amoeba with no food, no champagne, no cable TV. That doesn’t sound like anyone’s idea of heaven, Andrew. I mean, let’s face it, who wants to live forever like that?”