They looked so young. What sort of world would they inherit?
Hershel nudged me with his shoulder. “What was that sigh?”
“Doomsday stuff.” I waved it away and picked up my champagne glass. This party must have cost them a fortune. France hadn’t been able to get a vintage ripe since before the Meteor.
“Ah … you’re also looking at those kids and doing weather projections forty years out, huh?” He nodded and picked up his own glass, lifting it in a toast. “To the long summer.”
“To space.” I clinked my glass against his and sipped it, bubbles rising up to bring flavors of apricot and flint along the top of my palate. “Do you think they’ll remember what the stars looked like?”
He shook his head. “Rachel doesn’t.”
My breath caught in my throat. Of course. She’d only been five when the Meteor hit. By the time the dust settled, there was enough steam in the air to give us near constant cloud cover. “That’s appallingly tragic.”
“Not for her.” He pointed with his champagne flute toward where she spun with some of her friends. Her little taffeta party dress twirled out around her. “She thinks all of this is normal and just the way the world works.”
“Even with a father who is a meteorologist.”
“Oh … she has an intellectual understanding of it, but, it’s like … I don’t remember what it was like to walk. The polio hit when I was so young, you know?” He rested a hand on his crutches where they sat propped against the table. “This is my normal. Intellectually, I know that it’s not. That a disease paralyzed my legs. But I have no memory of being able to move them.”
I hadn’t known that, oddly. But I suppose my own memory was just as skewed. My brother had used crutches since before I was born. That was just normal. So, I guess I had firsthand experience that proved his point. These kids wouldn’t realize how much things had changed. “How … how bad does the global climate look? I’m so focused on the IAC that I haven’t been tracking it.”
“Well … the cold went a little longer than we projected, but I think that’s because our models were based on volcanic eruptions, and ash is nonreflective. Plus, we didn’t take into account how long things burned. I mean, we did, but the data from the early days was pretty scarce, so…” He shrugged, light glinting off his glasses as he looked toward the ceiling. “The greenhouse effect is still going to hit, but it’s looking like the ozone wasn’t damaged as badly as we thought it would be. Again, modeling based on A-bomb testing.”
“So … it’s not an extinction event?”
“This is why I’m not allowed to talk to the press.” He wiped the back of his hand across the back of his mouth. “The Earth is going to heat up. That’s going to be permanent. But if we can limit the amount of greenhouse gases we generate, then we might—and I stress the word might—be able to keep the Earth habitable. Or at least habitable longer.”
“Well … that’s something.” After that, what do you say? We sat and watched people dancing. Doris’s brother had pulled her out on the dance floor. I was a little jealous of her for getting to dance with her brother. Or anyone, really. I cleared my throat. “Nathaniel is sorry he couldn’t be here.”
Hershel waved that away. “The crash. I understand.”
“Still.” All of these people, and we were the only Wexlers. I wasn’t even properly a Wexler anymore, and Rachel wouldn’t be when she got married.
“How’s he doing?”
“Fairly well, all things considered.” The actual answer was “poorly,” but if I was going to complain about him discussing me with my brother, I couldn’t very well go disclosing Nathaniel’s troubles. Across the room, the jazz band struck up another tune. I don’t remember what, because I could feel Hershel’s next question gathering.
“And you?” His tone was too quiet. He rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers, but he was staring at me.
I could blow off his question. Answer it socially. Lie. But on the day of my nephew’s bar mitzvah, when I was sitting next to one of three blood relatives I had left in the world … I kept my gaze on the dancers, maintaining the placid smile Mama had taught me how to use. “Remember that semester at Stanford.”
“Yeah.” Not needing me to specify which semester, he reached over and put a hand on my arm. “God. Elma. I’m so sorry. I’d wondered … when you talked about Mr. Wizard. I was hoping you were joking.”
“Twice. Before the show.” In this beautiful ballroom, with all of these smiling people, I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “vomit.” My muscles were so tight they started to tremble. I took a breath and tried letting it out again, trying to let the tension go with it. “And before every interview.”
“And … has it—” He wet his lips. Looking around us, in case anyone was going to approach, he leaned toward me. “Have you tried—tried it again?”
I was already shaking my head to stop him. “No. I broke down, and that’s the worst Nathaniel has seen. He knows that I had a breakdown in college and why, but not the details. Please don’t tell him. Please, please don’t tell him.”
“I won’t.” He squeezed my arm. “I won’t. I promised I never would, and that’s going to my grave—even if that’s the worst possible metaphor I could have used.”
My own laugh surprised me. It cut through the ballroom in a space between notes and bounced off the far wall. Heads turned our way, but I think that all they saw was a brother and sister, sitting together while nervous giggles rocked them.
They certainly didn’t see the memory of the year that I tried to hang myself.
TWENTY-FOUR
SPEED IS KEY TO SUCCESS OF SPACE PROGRAM
By DR. NATHANIEL YORK Lead Engineer, International Aerospace Coalition, Feb. 4, 1957
TIME is the scarcest resource, and the most essential to humanity’s space efforts. Since there is no way to increase the supply of this resource, the only sane choice is to make the best use of the small and rapidly dwindling quantity available.
The contrast between the ballroom for Tommy’s bar mitzvah, which had been all baby blue plaster and gilding, and the congressional hearing rooms of the New Capitol could not have been stronger. The New Capitol stood as a testament to the austere and modern aesthetic of post-Meteor fashion, stainless steel framing squares of granite. I was there to support Nathaniel during the inquiry into the Orion 27 crash. When I got back from California, he’d requisitioned me from the computer department to help him prepare the data for the hearing. Other computers could have done the work, but I knew his shorthand.
In the two months since the crash, we had prepared exhaustive reports with a host of charts and indices, but if the congressmen asked for a number Nathaniel didn’t have, then I could supply it. At least, that was the plan.
On the second day of the hearings, Senator Mason from North Carolina scowled down from his bench. I almost expected him to have one of those ridiculous wigs judges wore in England. “Now, wait a minute, sir. Wait a minute. Am I to understand that the entire rocket program is so fragile—so fragile, sir, that a single symbol can undermine it?”
Director Clemons shuffled his papers. “No, sir. Although in this instance, it is true that we are looking at a transcription error.”
“I find that … yes, sir, I find that hard to believe, sir. I find that hard to believe.” If Mark Twain had been an idiot, this man might have been his embodiment. “I find that very hard to believe.”
One might think he found it hard to believe.
Senator Wargin, who was one of the few bright spots on the committee, cleared his throat. “Perhaps if we let them explain the equation in question.”
My heart seized in my chest as if someone had hooked a live wire to my spine, sending current through my body. That was my cue. This was why I was here. I tried to draw a breath, but it was too shallow. I tried for another. God. Panting wasn’t going to help.
As I wiped my hands on my skirt, Nathaniel stood. “Let me try to walk you throu
gh it.”
My gaze had been fixed on the polished wood of our table. I dragged it up to follow Nathaniel. He walked away from the table, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room off of me. He didn’t—he didn’t have to do that. I could have explained it. That’s why I was there. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and watched him inch through the explanation.
Explaining that a single superscript had been dropped by the man responsible for transcribing our handwritten formulas onto punch cards was simple. Explaining what that superscript did? You had to understand the entire formula.
I should be the one explaining it. Nathaniel was doing it because he’d taken one look at my sweaty, shaky self and seen me as a liability. Pressing my hands against my skirt, I bowed my head and waited.
When he sat down, I leaned over. “You should bring Helen tomorrow. She wrote most of the program.”
“Helen is Chinese.” He sorted his papers as Director Clemons answered a question about the range safety officer’s duties.
“Taiwanese.”
“The point is, Mason wouldn’t get past her accent.” He rested his hand on my knee. “I need to—” But then he turned away in answer to something Mason asked from the stand. “Yes, sir. All of the rockets are equipped with a self-destruct device in case of malfunction.”
“So! This is something, sir, that happens often enough that you plan for it.”
“We would be irresponsible if we did not have contingency plans, even for theoretical occurrences.” Clemons’s voice sounded like he’d been sucking on lemons and still trying to smile. “Sir.”
For the rest of the session, my role stayed that of a spectator.
The only silver lining to the whole ordeal was that, since Senator Wargin was on the committee, Nicole came in to watch at some point. As we stood to recess for lunch, her lemon yellow dress was a welcome spot of color amid the stainless steel and granite of the hearing room.
“You look peaked.” She swirled over to Nathaniel, skirt billowing out. “Both of you. No offense, but you need to get out of this tomb. Join me for lunch?”
Nathaniel stood, stretching. “Thanks, Mrs. Wargin, but I have some things to go over with Director Clemons before the next session.”
“Sandwiches for us.” Clemons rose from his chair. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
“Well, may I at least steal Elma?”
I shook my head. “I should stay.”
Nathaniel took me by the shoulders and turned me away from him. “Go on. You can bring me back a piece of pie.”
Nicole linked her arm through mine. “Pie? Perfect. I know just where we’re going.” She half-dragged me out of the hearing room and into the bustling, hushed halls of the New Capitol. Congressional aides hurried down the thick blue carpet that lined the halls. It was the only spot of softness amid the crisp right angles and stone.
“We can’t go too far, though.” I kept having to blink to get my eyes to focus. “I need to be back when the session starts.”
“Well, I happen to know that one of the senators—who shall remain nameless—always takes a two-hour lunch. We’ve got plenty of time. Besides, you and I? We need to talk.”
* * *
The restaurant that Nicole took me to was pre-Meteor splendor, with tall ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and mirrors everywhere. It had gilding like something out of a Regency romance novel, and I felt hopelessly out of place. For the hearings, I had confined my wardrobe to dark pencil skirts. Today’s was navy, with a plain white blouse, to blend as much as possible with the sea of men and their suits.
The floral scarf Nicole had tied about her neck framed her face with a softness more appropriate to our luncheon setting. She broke that illusion when the waiter came to take our order. “Two martinis. Doubles. Deviled eggs to start us, and then filet mignon for both. Rare and bloody.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t—”
“Two-hour lunch. Plenty of time to absorb and recover.” She folded her menu. “Besides, you look brittle enough to crack. And I want to soften you up before I make my suggestion.”
“You mean, ordering for me doesn’t count as ‘suggestion’?”
She waved her hand, diamond bracelet sparkling. “Please. You would have ordered a salad and eaten a third of it. At least when you just pick at the steak, you’ll get a little nutrition.”
“That bad?”
“You and Nathaniel both.” She shook her head and placed a hand on mine. “Elma. Dear. I’ve seen more than my fair share of inquiries, and you are both textbook cases. Your clothes are loose, so … Not eating. Foundation is heavier under your eyes, so … Not sleeping. Probably barely talking outside the chamber.”
She wasn’t wrong. I was saved by the arrival of the martinis. “What’s your suggestion?”
Nicole pushed mine firmly toward me. “Drink.”
“Oh? That bad?”
“Drink.” She lifted her own glass in a salute and waited until I touched mine to hers, and then to my lips. She took a healthy swallow, closing her eyes with relish, then set the glass down. “Why isn’t Nathaniel using you?”
My mouth tasted of brine and juniper as I swallowed. “Well, we did all of our preparations before arriving, and there hasn’t been a call for new calculations yet.”
“I’m talking about having you testify.”
I nearly dropped my martini. “Testify? Me? Why in the world would they want to hear from me?”
She tilted her head, and I wasn’t sure how I thought that the scarf made her soft. “Elma. Senator Mason is going to try to use the accident to stop the program.”
“Yes, well, he’s always hated it.” He kept trying to funnel the money to his own state for disaster recovery. To be fair, North Carolina needed it. They got hit with a lot of the fires, and then the acid rain afterward killed most of the farming land. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Because you’re the Lady Astronaut.”
“I am not an astronaut!” My voice cut through the low hum of conversation around us. Wealthy and powerful people turned to stare. What must they think? Bending my head, I applied myself to the martini and let the cold burn of the gin distract me.
“And the Lady Astronaut clubs?”
The deviled eggs arrived. There was not a chance that I could eat even one of the glistening ovoids. Your body is not supposed to react this way … Swallowing, I pushed the martini away from me. “That was NBC’s idea. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. And Don—Mr. Wizard—objected to the name, because boys and girls should be able to be astronauts, or in his Mr. Wizard Science clubs.”
She shook her head and leaned across the table. “That’s not what I mean. You may not have organized the clubs, but the fact that they exist is directly because of you. And Nathaniel isn’t taking advantage of your popularity?”
“I’m not—”
“You’re photogenic. You make rocketry sound exciting and easy. You’re funny and—”
“I throw up.” Clapping my hands over my mouth, I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing. Nicole was trying to help. If I were someone else, her suggestion might work, but not with me. “I can’t.”
“When?” Her voice was softer.
Lowering my hands, I opened my eyes. “Before every filming. Sometimes after, too.”
“But not during?”
“I can’t.”
Nicole bit her lower lip, then sighed and slid her chair a little closer. “I … you have to promise me you won’t say anything. Lord help me, if the paper gets wind of this—promise me, Elma.”
I shook my head, trying to figure out where this was going, and then realized it looked like I was saying no. “Sorry. Yes. Of course I promise. Though you’re alarming me a little.”
Lowering her voice until it was barely audible over the clink of cutlery, she leaned closer still. “After the Meteor … I had some trouble. Similar trouble. And then when Kenneth was running for offic
e it became … it became a problem. I became a problem.” She looked around as if we were in a spy novel. “I can introduce you to my doctor.”
“I don’t want to take drugs.”
She pulled back, her face frozen in a social smile. “I didn’t say anything about medication, of course. The wife of a senator? What would people think?”
That fear, I understood all too well. I held up my hands to try to soothe her. “It’s not—I wouldn’t. It’s just … I talked to a doctor and he recommended them, but…”
“I know.” She picked up her martini and stared into it, mouth twisted in an odd smirk. “Believe me, I understand all about the ‘but.’ And I was wrong.”
* * *
It took another week of hearings before I realized that Nicole was right on two fronts. First, that although Nathaniel resolutely was not asking me to testify, he needed me to. Or, rather, he needed a computer to testify, and of the ones who worked for IAC, I made the most sense, because I’d been helping him prepare; and … and because of my existing visibility.
And, second, that testifying would make me ill. No, wait … that’s not the part she was right about. I already knew that about myself. What Nicole was right about was that I shouldn’t have to get sick every time I addressed a group of people.
It’s funny how, once something comes into your consciousness, you begin seeing it everywhere, like seeing your birthdate in random places. After talking with Nicole, I began seeing ads for Miltown constantly. At the pharmacy there was a sign that read “Ice Cream!” and then under it, just as large, “Yes! We Have Miltown!” Or, at the grocery store, leafing through a magazine, there were ads for the “happy pill.” Heck, Milton Berle was even joking about renaming himself “Miltown Berle.” I know that we’re pattern-seeking creatures, but at a certain point the prevalence of anxiety began to seem like a Fibonacci sequence of emotion.
So, I called Nicole’s doctor. Who also specialized in psychotherapy. This new doctor turned out to be a woman, which was a surprise and a relief. I didn’t tell Nathaniel where I was going. He would have understood, and gone with me. I just … I just didn’t want to admit that I was this weak. I was so ashamed of needing a drug to do something as innocuous as talk. I was smart. Heck. When I wasn’t being modest, I was brilliant. I knew that. But the doctor and Nicole were both right, and if this had been any other condition, I would not have balked at medication.
The Calculating Stars Page 21