The Clone's Mother (7 page)

Chapter 13

The next weekend I was off work and I took a bus, the El, then a second bus, to get to a quaint little coffee house by the University of Chicago called
Hyde Perk
to meet Mack at one o’clock. On the phone, he’d asked me just to the coffee house—instead of the promised dinner—but after getting over the initial disappointment, I realized I was still excited that he’d asked me at all.

I’d never been to
Hyde Perk
. Mack said he liked to try new places all over creation. (That’s what people do who own cars.) I was sitting there thirty minutes when I decided the poppy seed I’d found between my incisors after returning to my floor had probably grossed him out and he’d changed his mind and wasn’t coming. Though he’d downgraded from dinner to coffee, even that had become too risky for him. Then after another ten minutes, I didn’t care how many seeds had been between my teeth. I started getting cranky. Besides being stood-up, the idea of the long return trip via the CTA was hard to face.

Just then he arrived, apologizing profusely. Once he flashed me his incredible smile, I decided I’d excuse an arrival twice as late. And his Barrel-of-Monkeys necktie made me laugh. A long chain of dangling monkeys, satin-stitched with red shiny thread on yellow silk.

“I tried to call,” he said. “I kept getting your voicemail.”

“That’s my landline,” I said, embarrassed. “My cell is out of commission. Had too much to drink.”

He apologized again, clearly repentant for keeping me waiting so long.

We put it behind us and ordered blueberry scones with clotted cream. I also got an incredible
Hyde Perk Special
, a concoction with rich, smooth mocha and chocolate flavors, while Mack had coffee diluted with plenty of Half-and-Half.

I had a great time, once I relaxed and stopped trying so hard. Before that happened, I tripped on an uneven step and would have landed on my face if Mack hadn’t grabbed my arm in time. And I bumped the table getting up to go to the restroom, rocking my coffee mug and sloshing my
Hyde Perk
Special
across the tablecloth. Our server was thoroughly disgusted with my behavior, but Mack just laughed and helped me blot up the mess.

That evening, after spending a couple of hours window shopping downtown—to which I did
not
have to take the bus, lucky me, because Mack gave me a ride in his very cool silver Dodge Charger—we went to Salvatore’s, an Italian restaurant in Lincoln Park, a place where coats and ties were required. On the way, we swung by Mack’s condo so he could get his blazer. My white sundress upgraded to dinner attire easily enough next to his swank.

At the restaurant, we talked so much, our food grew cold. He told me about college, med school, and even high school, when he pulled pranks I wouldn’t have dreamed of attempting. We laughed so much, it’s a wonder my face didn’t get stuck looking like one of the monkeys on his tie.

When he took me home and we stood by the locked entry door into my building, he started to kiss me. I wasn’t ready, so I turned my head after first contact and pulled away like an awkward thirteen-year-old.

He took my cue and backed up but had a weird look on his face. I tried to smile like nothing was wrong. He returned a genuine smile, which said to me he was fine with things. I thanked him for the day. He promised to call soon, went back to his car, and didn’t drive away until I was inside.

I went up the squeaky stairs to my apartment, kicking myself for not kissing him back better. What if I’d insulted him? What if he thought something was wrong with me? Was he only smiling to cover the awkwardness? But he did say he’d call. But everybody knows guys just say that. They’re too chicken to be honest. Or they are afraid you’ll end up outside their window watching them through their curtains. With a big knife in your hand.

I was debating with my cynical self when I got to my door and found Ollie sitting on the worn spot of the welcome mat in front of the closed door. He scolded me with a very long, throaty
miaooow
. If he was out here, his consistency was really shot. But this couldn’t really be Ollie. I’d left him safely on the other side.

Or had I? Maybe in my clumsy excitement and titillation at the prospect of a date with Dr. Mackenzie, I’d neglected to notice where my kitty was when I shut the door. Actually, I couldn’t even recall shutting the door or walking down the steps, I was so distracted when I left.

I picked up the poor, mistreated cat—yes, it was truly Ollie—and apologized profusely as I clinked my keys around in the doorknob. It opened, but I couldn’t tell if it was even locked. What had I been thinking when I’d left? 

Obviously, I was just a crummy mom who didn’t take notice of her baby or keep him safe the first time a handsome face came along. See what I mean? I couldn’t have
real
kids.

Ollie high-tailed it to his litter box, scolding me all the way there. Good of him to have held it.

While Ollie relieved himself, I parked myself on the wooden barstool I kept by my desk. I kicked my sandals off and played back through my mind the day’s conversations with Mack. I’d laughed so much. He’d laughed, too. Hadn’t he? He seemed to have had a good time. While my mind busied itself replaying my witty repartee in my head, and reevaluating his answers for authenticity, my hand pushed in an open drawer on the right side of my desk. My other hand moved my statuette of Curious George away from the edge of the roll top to a safer place. Then I righted my cheap tarnished brass candlestick. The candle was cracked in the middle and listing. It finally registered that things weren’t as I had left them. And if Ollie was outside the whole evening, he couldn’t be held responsible for the changes.

My heart started beating faster and I got that winded feeling in my gut, like butterflies ramming around inside trying to find their way out. Or more like flying monkeys. What if someone had come in? What if someone was still here?

So like the brilliant thinker that I am, I decided to have a look around. I picked up the big metal stapler from my desk for protection. When I found an intruder, if the makeshift club didn’t work to take him out in one fell swoop, I could always staple him to death. Back-up plans are good.

I approached my bedroom door. It was slightly open. I was certain I hadn’t left it like that. My heart pounded so loudly I knew the noise would tip off anyone on the other side that I was going in.

With one finger, I pushed the door. The hinges squeaked as it inched open. I held my stapler ready. Suddenly, something hit my leg. I jumped hard, and my weapon started lashing out toward the serial murderer who was grabbing for my leg. I shot several staples into the air for good measure.

Actually, it was just Ollie. He was head-butting me for some attention.

And because of it, he’d come within a whisker’s breadth of getting stapled.

No one was in my room. Even so, I should have secured the perimeter better before breaching the entrance, locking Ollie in the bathroom, just to save myself the heart attack.

I did a final inspection of my closet and confirmed that the apartment was secured. It didn’t look like anything was missing, either. Whoever had broken in was probably sorely disappointed to find I had little of value. I couldn’t even afford my owns bills, so I had nothing to fund their drug habit.

I plopped back down on the barstool to let my spaghetti legs solidify. One leg of the stool was shorter than the other three, so it wobbled back and forth like a spastic rocking chair. I worked out some of my adrenaline in the movement while I chewed on a Tums. I looked up at my pricey porcelain Curious George figure. I never would have put him in such a precarious position on the edge of the desk. Clearly my intruder didn’t recognize his resale value. Good thing he was still in one piece. I’d once seen a porcelain Curious George on eBay for over $800, and that one didn’t have H. A. Rey’s signature on the bottom like mine did. George—which had belonged to Uncle Howard’s mother—was my most valuable asset, my insurance to tide me over if my archaic beast of a hospital ever got shut down. If only he could talk. He could tell me what had happened, since Ollie had spent the ordeal outside. Ollie jumped into my lap, probably jealous that I was eyeing the monkey so closely, and curled up. Guess the near-death stapler incident hadn’t phased him.

While I let Ollie collect himself—I think he was already asleep—I stopped rocking and leaned back against the wall. My eyes came to rest on the mirror above my credenza.

The business cards for Howard and Anna’s lawyer were gone. I knew they had been there. I’d seen them both there that morning when I left for errands. I pushed Ollie off my lap and jumped over to the credenza. After I pulled it back from the wall and searched everywhere they could have fallen, I sat back on my stool. They were gone.

Why would someone bother to break into my apartment and run off with just a couple of business cards? So maybe they weren’t an antique expert and they overlooked my collector monkey statue, but you’d think they’d at least want my George Clooney poster before a couple of business cards.

Nothing in the rest of the apartment was out of place. But I did find how someone had gotten in. The window off my kitchen by the back fire escape was unlatched. That lock had never worked well.

The intruder must have come in the window then left out the front door, letting Ollie get out. Or maybe he just put Ollie out so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.

I didn’t bother calling the police. With shootings about every three seconds in Chicago, the cops had more important things to do than to look for a business card thief. That’s just what a girl living alone in the big city had to deal with. So I got proactive. I found some nails and a shoe with a hard heel and closed the back window permanently.

Chapter 14

Two mornings later, which was Labor Day, Mack called and asked me to go downtown to Millennium Park with him to the jazz festival.

Guess he wasn’t worried I’d turn out to be a weirdo stalker.

We had a terrific day. We heard incredible music and ate amazing food. My favorite music was an outstanding band with a singer who reminded me of Sarah Vaughan. As far as food, I couldn’t pick a favorite. Vendors from the best restaurants all over Chicagoland had booths and I ate better than I had all year. The sun was intense and freckles popped out all over my face—Mack said he liked them and he played Connect the Dots with his fingertip—and my nose burned until he bought me a hat. And by evening, when the sun started to give us a break, the atmosphere turned romantic and we sat close to each other on our blanket in the grass as the smooth jazz tunes washed over us. The heat I felt where our bodies touched had nothing to do with solar power. It was all
love
power.

At my door again when the time came to say goodnight, Mack kissed me. After such a great day and feeling safe with him, my happy-gauge went nuts. The kiss was long and passionate and my insides waved with desire. I really liked kissing him.

He stopped a second and said, “You’re beautiful.”

I laughed.

“Don’t laugh. You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

He looked kind of sad. “Why would you say that? You’re very pretty, very attractive.”

“Nobody’s ever told me that.”

“Then Nobody is blind. Don’t listen to him. You are beautiful.”

He kissed me again and it made me almost believe him. I mean, wow. It was steamy!

When we stopped, I was a little out of breath and it took a minute to figure out what to do. I thanked him for the great day, then I got all flustered and shy and I felt the heat of a blush rise in my face. I just wasn’t quite ready to go to the next level and invite him
upstairs
, but of course I had no idea how to communicate it well, so I gave him a quick, awkward hug and dashed inside.

***

The rest of the week, I worked the day shift. I had volunteered to be on the committee to escort the JCAH—that’s the Joint Commission on the Accreditation of Hospitals—and show them the hospital. I would get a little extra pay for it, something I could always use. Of course, because this was the association which regulates procedures and sets the standards for all the workings of the hospital, I had to be on my best behavior. Sheila said she’d do it, but Charge Sarge knew better than to send Miss Clairol with the very people who said red claws were not appropriate in the hospital. The Nursing Office issued me a master swipe key card to give us access to locked areas, plus a master key for the areas not yet converted to electronic key cards.

My assignment on Thursday was to give a tour to a group of inspectors. A giddy feeling spread through my insides when I looked over the list of destinations and saw I’d be escorting them through the bowels of the building. I would lead the troops to Dr. Mackenzie’s laboratory. His area resided in the subbasement of the hospital, part of the original structure that was over a hundred years old. The hospital had a dozen stories, plus the main and lower basements. Back in the 1950s the “modern” addition had been built across the street and was connected back then to the original hospital building by a long underground tunnel. A glass skyway between the old and new third floors had been added five years ago. It was a great asset during the worst of the winter days.

Our tour included an endless journey through medical units, Central Supply, the Main Pharmacy, the kitchens, and even a janitor’s closet. After all that, we finally progressed to the subbasement.

Before I let my gaggle of detectives impinge upon Mack’s space, I peeked my head in the door, hoping to give him a heads-up he was about to be invaded.

The room looked like a typical lab. Counters and cupboards lined the walls and an island counter sat in the center of the room. Every type of equipment you can imagine clogged the room—cryo tanks, microscopes, incubators, a stainless refrigerator, autoclave, laminar flow hood, a centrifuge, and several things I didn’t know the names of, but they looked very scientific.

One of the doors in the back of the lab was next to a giant window. Through the window you could see an animal lab—a spacious room with elaborate animals cages, like those gerbil habitats with tubes and compartments, only these were big enough for cats. Another scientist was in the animal lab, holding and petting one of the felines.

Mack was in the front lab working under a flow hood.

He was so intent on his work, it took my whistle to catch his attention.

He turned and looked. Safety goggles distorted his face. His blue-gloved hand held a giant eyedropper over a row of racked test tubes. His lab coat was draped over another chair and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. His penguin tie was tucked in between two shirt buttons, military style. And of course, his ever-present cup of coffee sat on a bare, stainless Mayo tray pulled up alongside the hood.

Bill Nye had nothing on this Science Guy.

I said, “I hope you washed behind your ears. The ‘Inspect-Yours’ are here and they’ll swab and culture anything they can stick a q-tip into.” I didn’t think it was that bad a joke, but his expression told me otherwise.

He grumbled something and put down his eyedropper. He grabbed his coffee, dumped it down the drain, and chucked the cup into the trash. He snapped off his gloves and removed his goggles.

I let the Commission in and, suddenly, it was as if I’d never known Mack. He became stiff and formal, and seemed very uncomfortable. He obviously hated the JCAH. While some of the group asked him questions and requested to see some of his logs, others poked around. Mack’s attention stayed more on the people snooping through drawers and cabinets than the inspectors talking to him.

They came to a closet next to the door into the animal lab that was locked. A slender professor type asked what was inside.

“Just some storage,” Mack said. He used a key from his pocket to open the closet when the man insisted on seeing for himself.

“Hmm,” the man said. How could he find so interesting a closet stacked to the ceiling with Baxter supply boxes?

The man moved on to the hood—the piece of equipment with controlled air flow, allowing work with hazardous substances or sterile solutions. He fiddled around with some switches for a few seconds, wrote something on his iPad, then moved to the incubator—a giant silver box which looked like a fridge. When he touched the handle to open it, Mack grabbed his arm and asked him not to, explaining through tight lips that the temp inside needed to remain as constant as possible.

The man grunted but complied with Mack’s request. The tension oozed out thick enough to clog the flow hood. I was relieved when they finally signaled they were ready to leave. In fact, I was so happy to get out of there and give Mack a break, I didn’t mind that my taskforce of anal-retentive Inspect-Yours, Inspect-Mine wanted to go to the OR and swab for bacteria in the soap dispensers.

I got away from the germ police as quickly as possible and, before anyone could request we go clean a refrigerator, I vamoosed out of their sight, took the back way through the ER to leave the hospital without them seeing me again, and lit out for home.