The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1) (4 page)

BOOK: The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1)
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Moiré bobbed her head in agreement. “I understand. I won’t ask you about your love conquests and I won’t volunteer information on just how well I kiss.”

I blanched, looking around immediately. Thankfully, no one seemed to have heard her comment. “Um… and can I tack on one more little guideline, please?”

“Sure.”

“Please try to keep comments and behaviors that might suggest that there’s something other than a professional relationship between us to zero, especially in the lab.”

She bit her lower lip. “Right,” she said curtly. “My mistake.”

“That’s alright. Just wanted to make sure that’s clear. We just really need to be careful due to the nature of what we’re doing here. Way too much room for misunderstanding, accusations, et cetera.”

“Got it. My apologies.”

“Honest mistake. Let’s begin.” She smiled. I ignored it.

I pulled out two, medium-sized boxes, and set them on the table, quickly snatching the handful of paperbacks that spilled over the sides. I pulled out a third box that was more neatly sorted, filled to capacity with CDs, DVDs and several old-style VHS and cassette tapes.

Moiré lifted a VHS and a cassette tape out of the box and smiled impishly at it. “You have these,” she said, casting a mildly accusing look my way.

“Magnetic tape is a perfectly valid recording medium,” I answered with mock defensiveness. “They’ve been around longer than CDs and DVDs and they could record when LPs and more modern discs could not. They’re lightweight, reusable and cheaper than the new stuff. Especially when you get them at second hand stores.”

She winked at me and I felt my heart flutter. “I’m teasing you, Nick. I grew up with tapes. Heck, even eight-tracks. My parents were teens in the ’60s, you know. My dad used to blast Neil Diamond, and The Bee Gees, and Elvis and The Beatles all the time. I heard them all, all the time. I even used to record songs off the radio with cassettes, so—don’t worry—I’ll keep your little secret.”

“Thank you,” I said
, feigning a wound to my dignity. “So what secret of yours am
I
going to keep?”

She tsked at me. “Never ask a woman her secrets, Doctor Cairn. If she tells you one, you’ll know. If she doesn’t, then you’re never meant to know in the first place.”

I nodded and smiled, already beginning to feel more at ease with her. “Well,” I said, taking on a more business-like air, “we’ve a whole ton of stuff left to do. I’ve got most of the main body of my dissertation done, but I guess I could use an extra pair of eyes, both to offer new insight and to help with pre-editing efforts. I’m sure I can still add some to it, even if I don’t know what it might be. Along with that, I’d like to get your comments on the reading materials and some of the films. I also have a laundry list of other experiments I need to conduct.” I pulled up the list on my computer.

“Most of it involves simply observing couples in actual dating situations—but you knew that already. The real fun comes when we get to plug them into… The Chair.” I pointed to it, the sensor wires dangling hungrily over the headrest.

“The Chair,” she said flatly. “Dare I ask?”

“What?” I said, pretending shock. “You don’t already know about… The Chair?”

“That bit of trivia somehow escaped me,” she said wryly. “So again—dare I ask?”

“Ask away,” I said with a sly grin.

She walked over to The Chair and gave it a once over. “Well, obviously you’ve got a blood pressure cuff and some sensor patches. I’m guessing… heart rate, respiratory rate and… higher brain functions?”

“Very good.” I was impressed.

“So this is where you conduct evil experiments on your victims?” she asked, eyes amused.

“Indeed.”

“What are those experiments like?”

“I thought you already knew.”

She grinned, fox-like. “I’ve never
seen
you perform one of your tests. I only know the basics of the methodology.”

“Ah.” I looked at my watch
. “You’ll get to see first-hand in twenty-four minutes, if they show up on time. Sometimes the couples are late.”

“I see. And until then?”

“Well, I’d love to shoot the breeze, but Jane Austen is screaming for me to pick her up again. Normally I’d oblige the woman, but seeing as you’re now my minion slave, I’ll let you field that one. Catch.” I tossed her a dog-eared copy of
Pride and Prejudice
.

“The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the possessor and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance.”

“Mister Darcy, chapter ten. Impressive.” I was beginning to like having a research assistant again.

She was nearly one-hundred pages in by the time the couple showed up. Moiré graciously put the book down and saw them in, engaging in pleasant small talk while I wrapped up my notes and readied The Chair for use. When it was prepared, I invited the lovebirds over
.

“Okay, you two, I’m going to need you to come down off that cloud for just a few minutes, okay?” They nodded without looking at me.

“Let’s see, we have… Todd and Julie, right?” Another wordless nod. “I guess we can safely say you two have some feelings for each other, so we’ll skip the secondary battery of questions. Now, who would like to go first?” Julie halfway raised her hand and I had Moiré escort Todd to one of the seats just outside the main lab room. When Moiré returned, I told her to take notes—she’d be running the test on Todd.

I grabbed my microcassette recorder and pushed the “record” button. “Subject is a white female, nineteen years of age, currently involved in the early stages of a romantic relationship,” I said as I read through the responses Todd and Julie had put on the questionnaire I’d given them when they signed up. “Commencing first phase of test number nine-hundred-fifty-two.”

I looked up at Moiré. “Hey, could you hand me that plastic tray over there?”

She grabbed a gray tray filled with sundry items and held it up. “This one?”

“Yeah. Just set it right here.” She complied. I extracted a tongue depressor and unwrapped it.

“You’re not going to stick that thing in my mouth, are you?” Julie asked, recoiling.

“Does your boyfriend ever French kiss you?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Then the answer is, well… yeah. First, though, I’m going to test other responses. For that, we’re going to use The Hand. Do you have any objections?” I pulled a fake hand out of the tray. Julie looked squeamish. She chirped a quiet “no” and glanced sharply at the door.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be back in here in just a few minutes.” That seemed to calm her slightly.

I asked Moiré to get out the testing list. The three of us then reviewed the areas that would be checked for a response: the jaw, the neck, the tongue and lips, the eyes, ears, hands and feet, the navel, the back and the thighs. I made sure Julie knew this was all quite clinical
as I hooked up the various sensors and told her to close her eyes.

“First,” I said to Moiré and Julie, “we want to record just the basic neurological responses to pressure in these areas.” I then ran the false hand along some of the spots listed on the sheet and the tongue depressor along the ones more appropriate for it. I also had a pair of wax lips that I used on Julie’s mouth and jaw. Julie squirmed at times, but I had plenty of practice at acting professional; having Moiré in the room seemed to ease Julie’s mind. When the tongue depressor was done, I handed Julie The Hand and asked Julie to hold it as nearly the same as she would hold Todd’s hand. She cooperated. When the tests were done, I pointed out the various readouts to Moiré and gave a brief explanation of them.

“Now, part two. Same tests in response to a person.” I pulled out several pictures of various men—some quite generic, some more celebrated and some downright ugly.

“Which one of these men would you feel most neutral around,” I asked, showing Julie the pictures, one at a time, going back to previous ones when she wanted to reconsider. She finally selected one and I clipped the picture to a small clipboard that hung over The Chair and repeated the tests, asking Julie to imagine that the man whose picture she had selected was performing those actions. Again, I showed Moiré the results, explained any differences and made my notes.

“Okay, phase three. Todd,” I called toward the door, “you can come in now.” Todd practically leapt through the door. Julie’s entire being lit up instantly and I knew this test would give me some excellent results. We explained the procedure to Todd and went through the whole thing one final time. Moiré was actually quite surprised at the notable differences in the readings. I just smiled smugly.

“Well, Todd, it’s your turn.” Julie was taken out of the room and I had Moiré conduct the test. A few minutes later, Julie was invited back in and when we finally got them to stop making out after the lip and tongue tests, I offered them the choice of the fifty-dollar reward or a gift card good for dinner and a show. As expected, they took the gift card and left hand-in-hand.

“Rewards, huh,” Moiré said, gesturing at the remaining gift cards in my hand as she watched the couple disappear into the hall.

“You’ve got to have bait if you want to catch fish,” I replied.

“True, true.”

“What’s funny is that the couples almost inevitably choose the gift cards, even though the fifty bucks is worth more and can be spent in more places. Those gift cards? I found that I could get them at a bulk rate—sixteen bucks a pop—when I bought over a hundred at a time. The guy who took my order just about fainted when I told him I wanted a thousand of them.”

“You dream big, don’t you,” she said with a smile. I ignored the rise in my pulse. “Where’d you get that kind of money?”

I shrugged. “Grants, mostly. I used some of my own cash, too
, and my parents were kind enough to pitch in. But I’ve asked them not to give me financial aid for the most part. Besides, the Psychology Department was supposed to give me
a lot
more than they have, but… eh. In any case, I had a lot more money when I started out than I do now.”

“Which is why you’ve got me doing slave labor.”

“Hey, you put your own handcuffs on.” We shared a laugh. I loved how easy she was to talk to. She had such confidence, poise and friendliness—I felt I’d known her all my life though we’d spent less than an hour together over two days. Maybe this would work out.

We had two more test couples that day and another two on Friday. Though Moiré had a good handle on what I was doing, there were still housekeeping items to handle and a bit of a learning curve for her to climb. By the time she walked out the door that first Friday, I felt she was up to speed.

 

Monday started early and we plowed through some Russian love stories. I had a hard time reading them with any seriousness and Moiré and I ended up adding a few things to Anton Chekov’s
The Kiss
before it was done. Before I knew it, the morning was over.

Noticing that it was nearly time to meet Ella for lunch, I sighed. “Hey, I’ve got a lunch appointment to catch. Can I have you just write up the notes we took from Todd and Julie please? I should be back around one.”

“Sure. No rush. I still have P.A.S. one-twelve at two, but I’ll show you what I’ve done when you get back.”

I smiled, thanked her and started my walk to Ella’s place.

 

My watch beeped noon as I stepped onto the porch at Ella’s posh townhome. I’d seen a Bugatti—in this town? Wow—in the parking garage beneath the units, mixed in with all the Benzes and Beemers. I had wondered how Ella could afford such a place without a job and with only one roommate to split the rent with. From the way she tossed her credit cards around as if they were confetti, I had concluded that she was probably living on her daddy’s dime. For all I knew, he owned the place.

I rang the doorbell. Before the rich chimes finished, a tall, tired-looking brunette answered the door. “Nick. Hi. Ella’s not here, sorry,” she said with an apologetic look.

I shrugged. “That’s fine, Vera. I’ll just wait out here until she arrives.” With a wink I said, “You know how Ella is. I’m not about to risk her wrath on the off-chance that she walks in and finds the two of us alone, no matter how far apart we are. Remember the ‘come on in and have some lemonade’ incident?”

Vera cringed. “Very good point. Well, I hope you don’t mind the heat. I have my lunch on the stove, so I should get back to it.”

I agreed. As Vera shut the door, a familiar giggle sounded from around the far corner of the row of townhomes. Ella popped into view walking backwards, arms out as if she were pushing someone away. The look on her face said she was enjoying something. A hand shot out suddenly, seized Ella by the forearm and then dragged her back out of sight. I started to run, but after three steps, she giggled again and squealed playfully. Then came a loud slurping sound I didn’t care to identify. I waited. Moments later Ella appeared around the corner again looking as though she’d just been handed a million bucks.

“Hey,” I said, pretending I hadn’t seen anything.

“Nicky…
.” Her massive smirk vanished under a crimson blush. She tried to recover with an attempted smile. “Oh, um, I didn’t think you’d be here for another few minutes. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I got hung up at school a bit.”

BOOK: The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1)
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