Decoded Dog

by Dianne Janczewski

  I stand in the restroom at the club, back against the side wall of my fancy-schmancy stall that has its own sink. Large donors are obviously entertained here. In the club, not the stall. I close my eyes for a few moments, seeking calm and focus. I could use a dog right now. Even when Ania slowly invades my space, pushing her feet into my stomach, physical contact soothes me and I easily shift and find balance. Balance evades me now, even with artful granite propping me up.

  Douglas and I sit in the waiting room outside of President Abrams’ office. He gave it the old college try to keep our lunch conversation upbeat and focused on our achievements, but as he patted my arm offering me reassurance in physical contact, all I could feel was feet in my stomach but couldn’t find balance. The Regnum folks had already arrived when we returned from lunch and were seated down the hall in the large conference room.

  “That was a rather austere group,” Karen says quietly.

  “Were they? How many?” I ask.

  “Six, all dressed in black suits. They looked like the Men in Black without the sunglasses.”

  “Hoping to induce memory loss, are they?” Douglas says, elbowing me, but I am rigid. “Relax, we have to trust Nathan and Laura. This is not their first rodeo. Besides this is some unbelievable stuff you’ve uncovered. You should be very proud. I hope you are prepared for the public attention and scrutiny you are about to face.”

  Karen sits up straight. “Oh! Sorry to eavesdrop, but that reminds me. Dr. Abrams asked me to set up an appointment for you late this afternoon with our public relations director. Do you know her? Sandy Jenkins? She’s very sharp. She said to just give her a call, even if it is this evening or over the weekend, and she’ll work with you whenever and however long you need.” She hands me a blue sticky note.

  I stand and take it silently, and plop back down in one of the reception chairs. Oh my God, this is really happening! My heart is pounding. Douglas gives me a big grin.

  Over an hour later, having read every magazine in the waiting area, I know everything about the university, the aeronautics industry, and colleges today. I would have preferred the distraction of Hollywood gossip, and reality magazines’ heroes of the day, but this is an educational institution.

  Karen’s phone buzzes. She answers, listens, and hangs up. “They are ready for you,” she says.

  Douglas and I walk silently down the long hall. It’s formal in a modern sort of way. Former Presidents give us frozen grins, doors to smaller conference rooms whisper, “In here.” I could easily duck in, but they would find me. We can see into the room at the end of the hall, through the glass panels that frame the door. Same guys I met with a little over twenty-four hours ago. Same ones that put the threat out to Neil.

  Douglas puts his hand on the doorknob, but looks at me before he pulls. His face is kind and fatherly. “We’re on your side. Remember that.” And he opens the door to the wolves’ den.

  They all stand. I position myself in front of the empty chair between Douglas and Laura. Laura starts to introduce the Regnum team. I turn to her and say, “No need for introductions. We all met earlier this week. Nice to see all of you gentlemen again.” I shake hands with each across a much smaller table than theirs. I’m falsely cordial as I sit.

  Laura explains that the group has gone over my results, and she has assured Regnum that all of the science and administrative requirements are of the utmost quality and integrity. She says that Regnum agrees, and is impressed with my work.

  Regnum’s lead counsel interjects, “As we told you yesterday, we are very impressed with your work. We cannot thank you enough for what you have done for our company, and for all of the dog owners who will rest easy knowing that CRFS is in the past.” The same coating of sickening syrup as yesterday.

  I’m supposed to say something here to their false compliment, but I don’t.

  “As we also told you, we would like to offer to compensate you for your efforts, and we realize that it will require some follow-up research. As well, this research effort has taken time away from your main research emphasis, Addison’s, so we would like to set up an endowment for you and your university to continue your great work in that area as well.”

  The slimy bastards. Can’t get little old me to bite? Run an end-around and dangle a giant carrot in front of the university that is always hungry for endowments? I look to Dr. Abrams, Dr. Austin, and Ms. Dechaines, Esq. All look me directly in the eyes and give me . . . no reaction. Something is going on. I can’t tell if they have a plan or not; if they do, I’m not privy to it. I’m on a limb, a very skinny one, and the wind is blowing hurricane force.

  “Thank you. Since you made your offer yesterday, I have had time to consider it, and while it is quite generous, I’m not sure what you want in return.”

  “Full rights to your research results, and a non-disclosure agreement with all of those involved, including the university.”

  I would blow Coke out my nose if I was drinking one. I open my mouth to speak but close it. Rachelle said to choose my words carefully. Only calculated, measured responses. I need to be very careful what I say here. If my university higher-ups want to take the money, who am I to say no? But then, what university would give up the opportunity to capitalize on having solved CRFS. That has to be more valuable down the road. But then, are they concerned about a lawsuit? Would they think a bird in the hand—a several-million-dollar bird—is better than one in the bush?

  “How much money are you talking about, if I don’t sound to too crass?” I ask, just to bait them. Or am I actually considering this?

  “We’ve provided a written offer to Dr. Abrams. It is very generous.”

  Nathan turns to me. “It is quite substantial Dr. Winthrop.”

  Obviously, I don’t get to see it.

  “How exactly do you think I am going to get everyone to sign an agreement?” I ask.

  “Everyone will be generously compensated.”

  I look to Nathan and ask, “Who decides?”

  Laura sits forward. “Our Board of Directors has the final say.”

  “They decide based on our recommendation,” Nathan adds.

  Screaming inside my head, “So why am I here?!? How could you have sold me out?!?” I’m trying to stay calm but my face will probably betray me. Careful. Measured response. My words are modulated. “I appreciate you soliciting my opinion, even though I don’t really have standing. Obviously my opinion is biased as I would like to publish the results. I also—”

  “If the point of publishing is to secure future funding, we are offering an alternative solution.” Regnum’s lead counsel is obviously not a scientist. Clearly, it is all about saving the company’s ass—and money.

  Quietly, I say, “That is not the point of publishing. The public needs to know that the origin of CRFS was identified, and understand how further infection has been contained. They have to know that this can’t and won’t happen again.”

  “We will make sure of that,” their Chairman says.

  “And the scientific community needs to know how we discovered the cause,” I add. “It’s an important scientific advancement.”

  “Gentlemen, is there anything else?” Nathan asks. “We have your offer, your very generous offer, and will get back to you with an answer by tomorrow morning, or sooner if we can convene a quorum for our Board.”

  Everyone is standing, closing folders, snapping shut briefcases. I pick up my backpack. My cardigan sweater and pants brand me as a researcher. I’m no match for this room of suits. I can feel their disdain, though they won’t show it outwardly. Their livelihoods depend on the talents of scientists, yet they place themselves above us. They know I have no say in this, but they were obliged to appease the university leadership in feigning due consideration. They begin to file out of the room, shaking hands down the ivory tower line. Laura follows, escorting them down the long hallway to the elevators.

  We watch in silence until Nathan closes the door and faces us all. “Well, that was int
eresting.”

  I am about to lose it. I don’t know if I am angry or upset, but I can feel tears welling in my eyes. I can’t show my feelings but I can’t believe all our work has come to this. I start to speak. My voice cracks.

  “Hang on,” Nathan says, putting me on hold with a cautious smile. He buzzes Karen’s desk. “Hey, can you please let the Board members know we are ready?” He releases the intercom.

  Nathan walks around the table and sits facing us. “Claire, I’m sorry.” And here it comes. “I’m sorry that we didn’t include you in some of our discussions this morning. We’ve been scrambling to figure out what to do. After your briefing, it was clear that we have only one choice.” I am jolted out of alternate thoughts. “To release the information to the public.”

  “Wha . . . ?”

  He cracks a smile. “It was easy to figure out the purpose of their coming to see us. Tempting as we knew their offer would be, we knew that there was no way we could ever let them buy us or one of our researchers. We are an academic institution that thrives on research innovation. If we start selling our silence to the highest bidder, that will be our undoing. The first person we would lose, one of our top researchers, would likely be you.”

  Feeling like the butt of the joke, I can’t think of anything to say.

  “So, what, just kidding?” Douglas asks, sounding slightly irritated. Apparently he wasn’t in on it either.

  “We needed to have them think we were honestly considering their offer or, we suspect, they will start legal action. It looked better if a few of us—well, you two—were giving genuine responses. Sorry we left you dangling for a bit.”

  Relenting, Douglas leans into me, as we are clearly on a separate team. “Guess these two owe us a very expensive dinner.”

  “Oh, I’ll buy. You played your parts masterfully,” Laura says.

  “And without a script! But what about the Board?” I ask, trying to catch up.

  Nathan stands and heads to the door to let Karen in. “Oh, they too are in on it.” She hands him a note and the two conspirators whisper in code.

  “Of course they are.” Douglas rolls his eyes at me, getting up to pour himself some water.

  Nathan returns. “We had a teleconference after you left for lunch, and the Board agreed that whatever Regnum offered would not be accepted unless it includes public disclosure, acknowledgement of the source of contamination, and full credit to our research team. This will be our only counter-offer.”

  “Regnum will never agree to that,” I said. “That’s—wait, they are still threatening to pin the whole thing on Neil, our financial sponsor, and former Regnum CSO. I’m sorry I left that part out. This doesn’t change their threat. They will still try to pin the whole thing on him and ruin him. That must be why they said they would make sure the public knows the truth. Even if we make the announcement about how we discovered the cause, they will still have to explain how it started. They intend to use him as their scapegoat.” Panic is rising in my voice and crawling across my skin. “I can’t let them do that!” I plead, looking from Nathan to Laura.

  “Unfortunately, we can’t make him our concern because he doesn’t work for us,” says Laura, the consummate lawyer.

  “But . . . I . . .”

  Nathan walks over to fully face me. “They told us about ‘his involvement’.” Oddly, he uses air quotes.

  “He didn’t do—”

  “We figured there’s a backstory and we trust that you would not have accepted funding from someone who wasn’t above-board, but there is nothing we can do to include him in our counter-offer without knowing what actually happened at Regnum when this all started. Does Neil have any ideas?”

  “I don’t think so. But I don’t know if he has uncovered anything. We have been trying to have as little contact as possible for the last few days since Regnum has been putting the screws to him.” My thoughts are hopscotching. “Wait, you already asked Karen to set me up with the public relations person—Sandy, is that her name?—so you had already started implementing your plan or strategy or whatever, before we even met with them. You must be pretty confident that they will accept this counter-offer of yours—or are you confident that we can just leave them out?”

  “Well, admittedly, we are a few steps ahead of them—and you. Again, I apologize.” Nathan motions for everyone to take a seat again, though he remains standing. “Laura is going to counter to them tomorrow when she informs them that we have set up a press conference for Monday morning, so they have barely the weekend to decide.” He places his hands on the table and draws everyone’s attention to me. “Dr. Winthrop, we have some work to do!” He nods to Laura to take over, pushes off the table, and leaves momentarily to talk to Karen, who minutes later shows up with cookies, sodas, and a bevy of other snacks she keeps on hand to feed the students.

  They ask me to keep my lab closed until Monday. I can go in for an hour later today to handle any pressing needs. Not that they think Regnum will try to do something, but if there are any information leaks they don’t want anyone trying to get a scoop from someone working in the lab.

  We break for a bit, but I can do nothing but stare out the window trying to clear my head. The afternoon sun dances across the campus. Blotches of shade and bright reflections hypnotize and oddly calm me.

  Sandy joins us, and Nathan leaves to deal with the looming crisis of rising costs and potential tuition hikes, which ironically could be addressed with a giant grant from Regnum. For almost two hours Laura, Douglas, Sandy, and I walk through the process of the press conference, and she gives us a short course in media relations. Look directly at the audience, hands on the podium. Be prepared to answer the questions that we believe they will ask. Maintain control by making it clear what is off-limits. I am to meet with Sandy again on Sunday evening, hopefully with my whole research team in tow, to go through a presentation I am supposed to prepare, and to define each of our roles and the formal written statement. I am not one for the stage. My daughters are the theater geeks.

  I group text Jamie, Megan, and Haley. Can you all meet me at the lab at 6 pm? Sorry, I know it’s a Friday evening. I have to explain everything very quickly. I won’t say anything about Regnum’s bribe. When it is all over, I will tell them. I doubt they will be disappointed in having missed out on a share of the hush money. They will have their name on what will likely be one of the biggest scientific publications of the year. Not too shabby for graduate students and an undergrad.

  Throughout the day I have called and texted Chris with updates. Standing in an alcove on the way back from a restroom break, I confess my nausea over how this is turning out. He reminds me, repeatedly, that this is a good thing, the most exciting finding and the biggest announcement of my career. I should be excited and proud of the outcome. There will be no late night in the lab tonight. Maybe we could actually relax on a Friday night and have a quiet dinner and release the tension in our lives. This is big for him too. He’s right, it deserves a Snoopy dance.

  I call Anna. I didn’t want to talk to her until I had the total picture. “Hey, guess whose lab was locked when she arrived this morning?”

  “I suspected something was going on. After I couldn’t reach you on your cell I called the lab a bunch of times and no one answered.” Her voice is flat. “Claire, a lawyer from Regnum paid me a visit today. He said that they intended to file a complaint with the Virginia Board of Veterinary Medicine to have me investigated for unethical practices.”

  “Oh my God, they will stop at nothing! What did you say?”

  “I politely asked for his card, then told him to leave as I would have my lawyer contact him. I contacted Rachelle and she said she would call me back later today, but I haven’t heard from her. Why didn’t you answer my texts? What’s going on?”

  “Anna, I’m so sorry, I was asked not to. I—”

  “By who? Why?” She is genuinely alarmed.

  “Anna, it’s okay, everything is being worked out.”

 
“Bullshit! It’s not okay. I have lawyers threatening me in my clinic, my best friend has abandoned me, and I’ve got a practice that has lost most of its patients.”

  “Let me explain.”

  “Please do. But I’d rather you do it in person. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are tapping our phones. I’ll come to your house around nine.”

  Dinner with Chris is off.

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.”

  “Anna?”

  “What?”

  “It’s going to be okay.” I say this, but clearly Regnum is running down parallel tracks: playing the good cop with the university, but the bad cop with those on our team they think are vulnerable. I am convinced that they still have more cards to play.

  Neil. Nathan left it up to me to decide whether to include him in our press conference or not. He didn’t actually do any of the work, and while he funded the research, he worked for Regnum at the time this all started. Laura, less subtle, suggested more than once that I leave him out of the press conference. But I need to talk to him first. By now I’m convinced that he is either dead or kidnapped by Regnum. I feel like a stalker with the number of texts and calls I have made in the last few hours, but he hasn’t answered any of them. I know he is never without his phone. I can feel something is wrong.

  He must have known the risk when he told me to meet with my president today. I call again, this time leaving a message that he will likely not listen to. He typically sees I called and just calls me back, but I have to say something. “Neil, please answer your GD phone! Regnum beat me to the President’s office. He, our lawyer, and my Dean, headed Regnum off at the pass, but I think they’re still going to blame you. Please call me. I’m this tiny caboose trying to slow a giant freight train that is going to crash over a cliff with you in it. Please call me, leave me a message, run away with me to the Caribbean. I’m so sorry it has come to this.”

  Saturday, Day 6

  The morning is quiet. The couches and floors are littered with shifting piles of dog and teenaged biomass as they intertwine and support one another through homework, TV, and naps. I lose myself in housecleaning, laundry, and cooking, content to nest around them.