by Sara Gruen
"What about the Webcast?" Isabel said wearily. "Can you find anything?"
"No," said Jawad, "and I don't think I'm going to. I've been tracing the IP addresses of each mirrored copy, but I don't think the original is even up anymore, and the copies have bounced between proxies from Uzbekistan, Serbia, Ireland, and Venezuela, all via Nigeria. Good luck getting subscriber info from them."
Isabel thought of the final sentence spoken by the frustrated FBI agent: "If it were that easy, we'd have bin Laden."
"Excuse me," she said, climbing to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she watched Celia wipe her fingers on the carpet.
Isabel made her way to the bedroom, leaving the students alone in the living room. She flopped face-first onto the bed.
Six great apes could not simply disappear. They could pick locks with straws, dismantle heating ducts, pull bolts from door frames, break through drywall, and remove window casings--all of which meant that wherever they had gone had been prepared to receive them. Since it wasn't a zoo or a sanctuary, it had to be a biomedical lab.
She felt a sudden stab as she realized that Peter hadn't been back since she threw him out. It was true she'd turned off her cell phone and yanked the other phone's cord from the wall, but if he loved her, shouldn't he just come?
When she eventually went back into the living room, the students were sitting cross-legged around the coffee table with a bottle of tequila, slices of lime, and a salt shaker. Jawad glanced up. He'd already put salt on the webbing between his index finger and thumb, and had a lime slice at the ready. He offered her the filled shot glass.
"I can't," she said, staring at it. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for it. "I can't," she repeated, with more conviction.
Jawad's eyebrows rose into a question mark. Then he shrugged, licked the salt from his hand, tossed the tequila down his throat, and jammed the slice of lime between his teeth.
Isabel went back to her bedroom and found a sitcom on TV.
----
A week later, Celia drove Isabel to her final surgery, which was the most unpleasant of all: getting dental implants to replace her five missing teeth.
This time she was grateful when the nurse wheeled her to the curb, because she had been heavily sedated during the procedure and hadn't quite come around. Her limbs and head felt like bags of concrete.
"You good?" said Celia, straddling Isabel's legs in order to do up her seat belt.
Isabel nodded with her eyes closed. She was obediently biting down on rolls of gauze.
Within a few hours, when the sedation and anesthetic had worn off, Isabel was lying in abject misery in bed. She tossed sleeplessly, sandwiching her head between two pillows and propping bags of frozen vegetables--replaced by Celia as soon as they began to thaw--against her jaw.
Celia had a strange but charming bedside manner. She flung herself onto the duvet beside Isabel, appropriated half the pillows, and flipped through the channels until she found comedies to distract Isabel from her pain. She brought Jell-O and Gatorade, and although her culinary knowledge did not extend much further than that (even the Jell-O was pre-made), Isabel was almost pathetically grateful. She remembered her childhood ear infections, when her mother was extraordinarily solicitous during the early part of the day--allowing Isabel to watch television in bed, and bringing her paper dolls and juice--and then increasingly absent as the wine kicked in. By midafternoon, Isabel was left to fend for herself.
The next day, when Isabel ventured from her bedroom and found that Celia had removed the dead plants and bought African violets from the supermarket, she burst into tears. The white stickers with their bar codes were still stuck slapdash across the terra-cotta-colored plastic.
"What?" said Celia, looking a bit alarmed at the sight of Isabel with a hand over her mouth, crying. "It's no big deal. It was the loss leader."
"It is a big deal," said Isabel. "Thank you." She immediately peeled the stickers off the pots and rolled them into cylinders.
Celia laughed. "You're a complete neat freak."
"And you're completely ... not," said Isabel, also laughing.
That afternoon, Celia persuaded Isabel to plug her phone back in. It rang within minutes. Celia jumped from the bed to answer it, and Isabel muted the TV so she could listen.
"Oh, hey!" she said brightly. After a pause she said, "It's Celia." After another pause she said, "C-E-L-I-A." Her voice had taken on a different tone. "What do you mean? ... I'm helping Isabel out for a while.... Helping her out, like looking after her.... What? ... What are you talking about? ... No, I haven't said anything. Why would I?" Celia's voice rose dramatically. "Oh my God. You stinking rat. I get it. I get it entirely...." From here on out she was yelling. "What makes you think you get to tell me what to do? I'll do what I like.... Are you trying to threaten me? Really? What are you going to do, fire me from the lab? ... No, I think maybe I'll talk to her first."
Click.
Celia returned to the bedroom and threw herself down on the bed. She and Isabel lay side by side, staring at the muted television set.
"So," Celia eventually said. "It seems I slept with your boyfriend on New Year's Eve."
"Fiance," said Isabel. It was the only word she could choke past the aching lump that had risen in the back of her throat.
On the television, a bumbling actor swung his arms wildly before falling backward over a sofa.
"I'm sorry," Celia said. "I had no idea you were together."
Isabel covered her eyes with her hands.
"Do you hate me?" asked Celia.
Isabel shook her head, unable to speak.
"Want to be alone?" asked Celia.
Isabel nodded, still covering her eyes. When she heard the bedroom door click shut, she rolled over, pressed her face into a pillow, pulled her knees to her chest, and wept silently, heaving sobs until long after the last rays of sun had disappeared.
----
The next day, a large box of cut tulips appeared in the hallway. The phone rang shortly thereafter.
"Yup, still here," Celia said casually, holding the phone with one hand and using the other to cup her elbow. "No, I put them down the garbage chute.... Yes, I'm sure they were expensive, and yet somehow I don't think she wants armfuls of decaying plant genitals from you.... No, I don't see that happening anytime soon." And then she hung up.
"I'm right, right?" she said, turning to Isabel. "You don't want to see him?"
Isabel thought for a moment, biting her lower lip, perilously close to tears. She glanced around the room at the multiple containers of tulips that, despite Celia's claims, had never been anywhere near a garbage chute. "Not yet. I really don't think I can."
Two days later he finally showed up in person. Isabel was padding into the kitchen when an ungodly pounding started at the door. Celia glanced quickly at Isabel, who ducked into the corner behind it. Celia opened the door, but left the chain on.
"I want to see Isabel," he demanded.
"She's not available," said Celia.
"I know she's here. Her car's in the lot. I want to see her."
"I don't think she wants to see you."
His voice turned vicious. "What did you tell her, you little slut?"
Celia let out a short bark of a laugh. "Little slut? That's inventive. I expected better from someone involved in language studies. Anyway, I told her we fucked."
"I was drunk. You were available. It meant nothing."
"You got that right."
"Isabel!" he roared.
Isabel, squatting against the wall behind the door, cringed.
"Isabel! I need to talk to you! Isabel!"
"I'm going to close the door now," Celia said calmly. Then she sighed and shook her head. "You know, it's funny, but sticking your foot in the door doesn't seem to have any effect on the chain."
Isabel looked down at the brown shoe tip, the only part of Peter that was visible from her vantage point. She half expected him to reach through the crack and grab Celi
a. After a couple of seconds, the shoe disappeared and Celia shut the door.
"He is such an ass," she said, sliding the bolt. "Want a drink?"
"No," said Isabel.
"Well, I do." Celia disappeared into the kitchen.
Isabel felt used and betrayed and foolish. It had all happened too fast--she could see that now. The animal attraction, the heady mix of endorphins and pheromones that left all logic turned to mush--all of it had led to the sense that she was protected, would never have to face anything alone again. She had given herself to him too quickly, too completely, and in return he had dashed her world to pieces. Although she hadn't disclosed everything about her background, he knew enough to be aware that betraying her on a personal level was much larger than that. He was betraying her trust in the world in general, undermining her faith in everyone. She knew he thought he could talk his way back into her heart and her bed--he had great faith in his abilities in all things, and that confidence was part of his allure--but this time he was wrong.
----
The day Isabel was fitted with flippers--false teeth that were attached to a retainer because the titanium pegs would need to heal for several months before her new teeth could be screwed in--she came home and discovered that her refrigerator was virtually empty. So was her apartment, as Celia had moved back out.
Over the course of her stay, the vagaries of Celia's living arrangements had become somewhat clearer. Celia, along with Joel, Jawad, and three other students, rented a large ramshackle house near the university. When it came to light that Celia was sleeping with three of them (Joel, Jawad, and an unnamed girl), a brief power struggle had ensued, during which Celia announced that if they couldn't live with it, she wanted none of them and was going to couch-surf for a while. Isabel's predicament had created a perfect symbiosis. Since then, the roommates had made peace, and Celia had moved back in. Isabel didn't ask for details. It was just another of the mysteries that was Celia, who sometimes seemed more bonobo than human. Isabel missed her, so she took the absence of any food other than lime chutney, canned peaches, and ramen noodles as an excuse to treat Celia, Joel, and Jawad to dinner.
The restaurant was a small vegan place called Rosa's Kitchen. Isabel was giving her retainer a test run, having been warned by the denturist that it would take a few days for her to get used to it and speak clearly. The students conspired to make her say things with esses and then laughed uproariously at the resulting lisp.
Isabel was about halfway through her green curry with eggplant when she caught sight of someone at a table in a darkened corner of the restaurant. She recognized him instantly--he was the oldest of the protesters, the one Celia always referred to as Larry-Harry-Gary. He was sitting with two other men, leaning in on his elbows, the jacket from his blue-black suit hung over the back of his chair, his tie loosened. He was deep in conversation, apparently unaware of Isabel's presence.
The smile dropped from Isabel's face and her eyes hardened. "Excuthe me," she said, leaning forward to spit her retainer into her hand.
Celia's head whipped around to see what Isabel was looking at. "Uh-oh," she said.
Isabel rose, pushing her chair back with a screech. She walked to the table and stood in front of it.
Larry-Harry-Gary stopped laughing and looked up. "Can I help you?" he said, a smile lingering at the edges of his mouth.
"Are you happy?" said Isabel, narrowing her eyes.
He shook his head, confused. "I beg your pardon?"
She leaned forward and shouted, "Are you happy?" A stray piece of basmati rice flew from her mouth.
He sat back, alarmed. "What are you talking about?"
As he continued staring, realization dawned on his face. Although he had waved signs at her every time she had driven into the parking lot for almost a year, he hadn't recognized her.
"My God," he said quietly.
"My God is right," she said, lowering her tone to match his, and nodding rapidly.
"Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" She gestured toward her face and head, voice rising like a siren. She turned to address the rest of the stunned diners, some of whom had forks poised in front of open mouths. "You're dining with a terrorist! In case you're interested!"
"Uh, Isabel?" said Celia. She came up behind Isabel and laid a hand on her arm. "I really don't think--"
Isabel shook Celia off and swung back to Larry-Harry-Gary. "Congratulations! You 'liberated' the apes! What a huge, enormous favor you did them. They're so much better off at a biomedical lab. What good work you people do!"
A handful of waiters gathered. The manager elbowed his way through them. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but I'm going to have to ask you to keep it down."
"I had nothing to do with it," said Larry-Harry-Gary. "On my mother's grave, I had nothing to do with it. None of us did."
Isabel leaned over, eyes blazing, and knocked a bowl of curry from the table. It hit the floor, its contents skidding and splashing.
"That's it. Let's go," said the manager. He grabbed Isabel's arm and spun her toward the door.
A male voice bellowed from behind them: "Get your hands off her!" Isabel was startled to discover it belonged to Larry-Harry-Gary. He rose and took a step forward, face flushed with anger. "For Christ's sake, leave her alone! Can't you see she's been injured?"
Everyone froze. Isabel's chest was heaving from the effort. Her eyes bored into the manager's, and then moved to Larry-Harry-Gary's. His dark brown eyes met her gaze and matched it.
Isabel walked back to her table, put her teeth back in her mouth, retrieved her purse, and headed for the door. She felt every pair of eyes watching her retreat, and, just as surely, examining the long, crooked gash on the back of her nearly-bald head. She raised her chin and kept walking.
----
The next afternoon, there was a tentative knock on Isabel's apartment door. When she looked through the peephole, she saw Larry-Harry-Gary.
She slammed her body against the door and struggled to get the chain on. "I'm calling the police! I'm not alone in here!" She was, of course. Her fingers trembled so violently it took several tries to get the chain on the door.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just want to talk."
"I've got my phone in my hand! I'm calling the police. Right now! I'm dialing!"
"Okay! All right. I'll go."
Isabel eyed her cordless phone, which sat out of reach on the coffee table, next to her teeth. When his footsteps receded down the hall, she lunged for the phone and returned to the door. She pressed her ear against it until she heard the ding of the elevator. Then, with phone in hand, she opened the door as far as the chain allowed.
"Wait!" she said. "Come back."
After a moment's pause, the footsteps returned and Larry-Harry-Gary leaned against the far wall, hands raised in supplication.
"I still have my phone in my hand," she said through the crack in the door.
"I can see that."
"How did you find out where I lived?"
"The Webcast."
"Oh. Right. Of course."
"Which I had nothing to do with." His words tumbled out. "Look, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have come if I thought it would scare you."
"What do you want?"
"I just wanted to know if you're okay."
Isabel simply stared.
"All right. I know you're not okay. I can't imagine what you've been through. I'm so sorry."
"Great. Thanks."
"I also wanted you to know that our group had nothing to do with the explosion. Harming animals--including people--is against everything we stand for. Every one of us was taken in by the police and cleared. Peaceful protest coupled with education. That's all we do."
Isabel centered herself in front of the narrow opening. "Okay, fine, maybe you didn't blow us up, but what in God's name were you protesting? All of our research was performed in a collaborative setting. There were no negative repercussions, ever. T
here were no cages, no coercion. Those apes ate better than most people I know."
He shifted from foot to foot. "You'll have to ask your friend about that one."
"What friend? What are you talking about?"
"I think you know what I'm talking about."
"Actually, I have no clue."
"Well, you should."
An uncomfortably long silence followed, during which he rocked back and forth on his heels. Eventually he said, "Do you really think they went to a biomedical facility?"
"Yes. Because nobody will tell me anything, and if they went somewhere decent, why would it be a secret? I've contacted everyone I can think of, and nobody's admitting to knowing anything about them. So, yes. I think they went to a biomedical lab."
"Let me see what I can find out."
Isabel laughed. "You'll find out nothing is what. Those apes were the closest thing I had to family and nobody will tell me a damned thing."
He pulled a card from his pocket and held it forth. When she didn't reach for it, he laid it on the floor in front of her door. "My name is Gary Hanson. Please call if you need anything."
Isabel crouched and snatched the card from the carpet. She glanced at it. An architect? He was an architect? She looked at him again. He'd always looked surprisingly normal, but somehow she didn't expect this.
Gary Hanson watched her for a moment longer. "I mean it," he said. "If you need anything, call." He ran a hand through his dark hair, pulled his coat collar up, and walked down the hall.
Isabel clicked her door shut and stood clutching her phone. When she heard the elevator doors slide open and then shut, she checked to make sure the hall was truly empty.
What friend could he possibly be talking about? Celia?
----
Four days later, Isabel was lying on the couch in the dark, running her hand back and forth across the sheared velvet of her hair. It felt like the patch glued to the heads of G.I. Joe dolls. Although she was no longer completely bald, when she held a hand mirror up to see the back of her head the jagged scar was still angry. It would be conspicuous until her hair was long enough to fall rather than stand. She supposed she should get a wig, or maybe some scarves, as Peter had suggested.
The phone rang, startling her.
Isabel dropped one leg to the floor and swung around to a sitting position. "Hello?"