by Ray Daniel
“Hi,” I said. “We’re just here for the bathrooms.”
She smiled and gestured to the left rear corner of the lobby. The public bathrooms in the Mary Baker Eddy Library are a blessing to all mankind. The restroom lobby had a brown rug and wooden paneling. There was a couch on one wall under a mirror. The men’s room was to the right and the women’s room to the left. Dana hustled into the ladies’ room, while I used the men’s room just to experience the luxury. The room was clean and stylish, with black and white tile and oval mirrors.
While I worked the urinal, I thought about ways to get information from Dana, to gain her trust. She knew more about Kevin than she was letting on. I finished up, washed my hands, and walked back to the front desk, where I bought two tickets from the receptionist.
Dana emerged from the restroom looking energized and relieved.
“Thank you,” she said. “I never realized Boston could have such a beautiful bathroom.”
“It’s the Athens of America, baby. You haven’t seen anything yet.” I gave Dana a ticket. “I thought we should take a little break.”
Dana took the ticket between thumb and forefinger. She said, “What’s this?”
“It’s a ticket to something I’ll bet they don’t have in Kansas.”
“This isn’t a date. Right?”
I smiled and said, “Of course not. That would be silly. I assume a pretty girl like you is seeing someone. Right?”
Dana smiled. “Nice try, Casanova.” The smile vanished. “I should be getting back. Roland will be looking for me.”
“Roland can wait,” I said and extended my palm toward the entrance. Dana took my lead and entered.
The Mary Baker Eddy Library contains one of Boston’s hidden treasures: the Mapparium. We walked past the front desk into the Hall of Ideas, a large marble waiting area with columns and wood paneling. True to its name, the Hall was full of ideas. They swirled along the floor and bubbled out of a quiet fountain in the middle of the lobby.
The doors to the Mapparium were on one side of the room. The other had dark wooden paneling and screens. Letters spun on the floor, projected from somewhere overhead. The letters coalesced into words and sentences that ran along the marble floor toward a screen on the right wall. They crawled up the wall and displayed a quote:
“The highest compact we can make with our fellow is
—Let there be truth between us two forevermore.”
–ralph waldo emerson
Dana was entranced by the quote and absentmindedly touched my arm. I maintained my composure and said, “Did you see the fountain?”
She turned toward the quiet fountain that dominated the center of the hall. Gurgling water rose from the center of its flat, glass disk and ran over the sides. Letters also swirled out of the center. They splashed and played among the ripples and then formed themselves into words and another quote:
“In the adjustment of the new order of things,
we women demand an equal voice; we shall accept nothing less.”
–carrie chapman catt
Dana watched the quote float to the edge of the disk and disappear over the edge, washed away by the silent water.
She laughed. “What did you think of that one?”
“Do I think women should have the vote? I don’t know. I think it distracts them from butter churning,” I said.
Dana said, “Smart ass,” and punched me on the arm, hard. That’s gonna bruise. She asked, “What were you doing in Roland’s office last night?”
Before I could formulate an answer, a young woman walked into the lobby.
“Welcome to the Mary Baker Eddy Library and the Mapparium. We are now going to enter the Mapparium, but before we do … ” She went on to tell us about forbidden photography. Then she led us and an older couple through heavy paneled doors and into the deep blue of the Mapparium. The five of us walked across a bridge that spanned the middle of the earth.
The Mapparium is a three-story glass globe of the world as it looked in 1934. Visitors stand inside the globe and look out at stained glass panels lit from behind. Most of the Mapparium panels are blue ocean. The countries are shades of red, orange, yellow, and green.
Dana spun, trying to gather the entire globe at once. We settled at the center of the world, resting our arms on the wooden railings. Dana’s shoulder touched my arm as our host introduced us to the Mapparium and its history.
A multimedia show started, “Welcome, Bienvenue, Saludos, Willkommen …” We learned about the world in 1934 and the countries that had disappeared and reappeared since that time. I heard some of the show, but Dana’s quiet breathing was distracting me. While she looked at the red Russia, I looked at her and was struck by the way the blue of the ocean offset her blond hair. When we looked down at Australia, I was looking at her ankle and the way she hooked one foot behind the other as she leaned. My eyes wandered the equator and then Dana’s waist and hips. I could see how Kevin would be attracted to her, but I couldn’t see Kevin actually going through with it. My mother once told me that only two people really know what goes on in a marriage.
The older couple left us alone after the show, so I showed Dana the acoustics of the globe. The shape of the glass caused tiny sounds to be focused and amplified across the room. I stood at one end of the bridge and she stood at the other.
I whispered “Hi, toots,” and the sound bounced off the glass. It was amplified in her ears.
She smiled widely and her laughter cascaded around me like a fountain. She whispered, “This is so cool,” and it boomed in my ears.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Tucker,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“What were you doing in Roland’s office?”
I asked, “Were you sleeping with Kevin?”
Dana bared her teeth in disgust and shouted, “No!”
The sound nearly knocked me off the platform.
I said, “I’m tired of lies.”
I turned and left Dana standing in the globe.
twenty-six
The humidity hit me full in the face as I walked out of the library. I heard Dana call behind me, “Tucker, wait!”
I walked to the corner of Clearway, crossed, and waited in front of the Christian Science Reading Room with my arms folded.
Dana looked both ways and crossed after me. She said, “What’s the matter?”
“I’m tired of being lied to and interrogated.”
“You ask me if I’m fucking a married man, and you’re the one being interrogated? I saved your ass last night, and you owe me an explanation.”
Dana looked down Mass Ave and said, “Let’s go back to work.”
“This way,” I said and started walking down the uneven bricks of Clearway Street.
“This isn’t how we came,” said Dana.
“No. It isn’t. That’s the whole point of a walk around the block. You walk on four different streets and it brings you back to where you started.”
“Why are you being such a dick?” Dana was working to keep up with my angry pace.
“You told me that you heard that I like older women. Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t see …”
“Where did you hear it?”
“From Kevin, OK? Kevin told me when he was interviewing me.”
“That’s bullshit. Kevin wouldn’t have told you that. He wouldn’t even tell me who accused me of murdering Alice because she was Carol’s lesbian lover.”
Dana darted her eyes at me.
“Oh, so you knew it too,” I said. “Was I the only one in the dark?”
We reached the end of Clearway and turned left at I. M. Pei’s Christian Science administration building. I took the corner and charged up Clearway along the park that would bring us back to the convention center. Dana kept up w
ith me. I had another thought and stopped walking.
I asked, “Who called you about Kevin’s wake? Why would you get invited to his wake? Nobody told me about the wake.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Who were you talking to when I surprised you?”
“It was Kevin’s wife, OK? I was talking to Kevin’s wife.”
“Charlene? How do you know Charlene?”
“How did you know Kevin?”
“Went to school together.”
Dana spread her hands. There you go.
“You went to BU with Charlene?”
“Yeah. So now you answer my question. Why did you break into my office and scare me half to death?’”
“I scared you?”
“I’m a small woman in a dark office at night. A guy comes in the back door and so I hide. The next thing I hear is ceiling tiles being moved, and then scraping, banging, and swearing. Of course I was scared. I peeked into Roland’s office, and you’re lying on the floor. What were you doing there?”
I felt better. I knew that door was closed. I started walking again and said, “It’s a long story.”
“They’re always long stories. Try me.”
“Well, what were you doing there?” I asked.
“I was working. I work there.”
“You didn’t need to be there. You told me that you’re staying at the Boylston Suites. You could have worked from your hotel room, just like you worked from the Starbucks.”
“Now who’s being interrogated?”
We crossed the street to avoid one of Boston’s ubiquitous construction sites. A cop directed traffic while talking on his cell phone, waving cars past the hole in the ground and laughing at a joke coming over the phone. I suppose it could have been worse; he could have been holding a cruller in his free hand.
We walked up the sidewalk next to the convention center. I wasn’t looking forward to rejoining the madness of Margaret’s sharks and MantaSoft’s triangle hats. Then I saw a vision.
Bukowski Tavern, its red facade tucked into a parking garage, shone as a beacon of serenity. I took Dana by the hand and led her back across the street to the tavern.
“Let’s go in here,” I said, opening the door for Dana. She looked at me, her lips tightened with misgiving, then walked through the door.
Bukowski is a long, dark oasis of fine beer and tasty food. It was as if someone had built the parking garage around a diner. A wooden bar ran down one side of the diner, and tables and chairs down the other in front of round windows that looked out on cars rushing down the highway.
I sat at the bar and motioned Dana next to me. She climbed on to the stool as the bartender came over.
I said, “Black Label” and looked at Dana for her order. The beer menu dazzled her. They had beers from every corner of the beer universe. She was still taking in the place and deciding whether to bolt. The kid behind the bar said, “Ma’am?”
Dana said, “Give me what he’s having.”
The bartender said, “Two Black Labels.” He fished around in the refrigerator, pulled out two cans, and popped them open for us. He offered glasses, but I waved them away. Black Label needs to be drunk from the can.
“Bottoms up,” I said and took a swig.
Dana took a sip of hers, scrunched her face, and said, “This tastes like ass.”
“Canadian ass, to be precise.”
“Why are we here?” asked Dana, sniffing her beer.
I drank my beer. It didn’t taste like ass. It tasted like summers at MIT and good times with Kevin. I said, “We’re here because we still don’t trust each other.”
“And you think beer will help?”
“It can’t hurt.”
“Why do we need to trust each other?”
“Roland pulled a gun last night,” I said and watched her reaction.
“When?”
“After he shoved you but just before you came back for your purse. I couldn’t believe he shoved you. He’s a dick.”
“No doubt,” said Dana. “Why would he have a gun?”
“Because he’s a bad man,” I said.
“And I thought he was just a run-of-the-mill jerk.”
“No,” I said. “He’s evil. Empirically evil. That’s why we need to trust each other.”
“Because Roland is dangerous?”
“You work for him, and I—I just hate the guy.”
“Why do you hate him? Why not ignore him?”
“I think he knows who killed my wife.”
“Carol?”
“Yeah.”
Dana looked at the beer taps and sipped her can of Black Label. Clearly she was regretting her decision to follow my lead. I drank my beer and let her think.
She turned to me. “You know, Carol’s death is the reason I’m working all these hours.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was in charge of organizing the code.”
“Yup. She was very good at it.”
“I’ll bet she was. It’s a very complicated project. Since she’s left, the files have gotten all messed up. The scripts don’t work anymore, and the project is out of control. Roland wants me to fix it.”
“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I said, “especially since you weren’t here at the start.”
“Fortunately, you were.” Dana drank and looked at me over the can. She said, “Would you like to start trusting each other?”
“Yes.”
“OK, here.” Dana reached into her bag and pulled out her wallet. She pulled out her hotel room card key and handed it to me. The plastic card read “Boylston Suites” and had a picture of a Swan Boat. I took the card and raised my eyebrows at Dana. Planning a little afternoon delight?
Dana rolled her eyes and said, “It’s a suite. I’ve set the front room up as an office. I like to have meetings there. The back room has the bed and it’s off limits.” Dana leaned close and whispered in my ear, “I’m in room 804.” She sat back and said, “Come by at noon tomorrow. I’ll have my laptop set up. Help me fix the code.”
I looked from the card key to Dana. She was sipping her beer again. Her T-shirt moved tightly across her chest as she breathed. It interfered with my thinking. I was sure I was being played, but I couldn’t figure out how it was happening. I decided to go along with her.
“Noon tomorrow,” I said.
Dana hopped off her bar stool.
“Thanks for the Black Label. I’d finish it, but I don’t want to.”
I raised my can to her. “See you later.”
Dana turned and walked out. I followed her with my eyes. As she left, she turned back to wave goodbye and caught me glancing at her butt. I averted my gaze and took a deep interest in my beer can. She smiled and walked out.
When the door closed, the bartender, who had been watching her too, turned to me. “She’s a cutie, dude.”
“She is,” I said, “but I still don’t trust her.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, latching on to the universal phrase of commiseration.
I drank beer and thought about Dana and why I didn’t trust her. Something was wrong.
I flipped open my cell phone and dialed a number that was hardwired into my fingers.
“U around?” I texted to Huey. Huey worked for me when I ran the Rosetta project. Now he worked for Roland. He’d never answer a phone call, but he’d answer a text every time.
“Ya,” answered Huey immediately.
“Pong?” I texted.
“Ya”
“1hr”
“kk”
Huey was a man of few, abbreviated words. I slurped the rest of my Black Label, paid for the beers, and left to grab a Zipcar. I was going back to Waltham.
twenty-seven
Huey
was tucked into an office far from the front door and next to the kitchen. He was a huge guy, eclipsing the sun for small children who got too close to his gravity well. Despite his bulk, he had a light touch with a Ping-Pong paddle. He was also a coding genius.
We were friends in a way that was easy when we worked together but awkward now that we didn’t. It turned out that the only thing that I had in common with most of the people who worked in this office was a project and a cafeteria. When those were gone, so was the friendship.
I had always liked Huey. He was completely guileless. Anything that popped into his head popped out of his mouth a second later. He was genuinely honest and kind, though useless in front of management or customers. One time he told Nate that the software was shit and that we should all be fired. That’s why I came to visit him. I wanted unfiltered information about Dana Parker.
I poked my head in his door and said, “Hueeeyyy!”
Huey twirled his office chair and lurched himself out of it. He reached for me with giant meaty man-arms.
“I heard they hired you back,” he said. “Fuckin’ A! It will be so good to get rid of Roland.”
I was enveloped in a big, sweaty hug. I reached as far around Huey as I could to return the hug and then started to push on his massive chest. “Air, buddy. I need air.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Huey, releasing me.
“I’m afraid you’re still stuck with Roland,” I said.
“Well that sucks. What are you doing?”
“Some consulting for Nate. Have you ever heard of Bronte Software?”
“No.”
“Me neither. That’s why Nate hired me to look into them.” I turned and headed for the break room. “Up for some pong?”
“You know it,” said Huey.
He surged past me and turned into the kitchen. I heard the pop of his ever-present Diet Coke. We walked to the recreation room at the front of the office. Huey talked a lot once you got him playing Ping-Pong. The physical activity soothed him. We walked past Roland’s office. The door was closed.