doused the lights. The sudden pitch darkness caused both Pia and Rothman to jump. The lights came right back on.
“Jesus, I thought they fixed that,” Rothman said. “Used to happen to me all the time.”
“You must think I have an antisocial personality disorder,” Pia said, regretting saying so much about her violent past. It had been like a dam bursting. “I’ve never really talked about it straight out like this. Not to anyone except maybe Sheila. But with her it wasn’t all at once. It was over time.”
“I don’t think you have a personality disorder in the slightest,” Rothman said. “You did what you had to do. I admire you. My foster care experience was nowhere near as bad. With Jewish parents, I got a decent placement right off. It wasn’t a picnic, and I had to do without much nurturing, but I was older to boot. I was eleven at the time. Also I got to spend vacations with an aunt who wasn’t the warmest of souls but at least was family. Even though my label then was only ADHD, my parents couldn’t deal with me, so they had given up. In their defense, I was a handful. They had four older children, and I just figured that my mom and dad had run out of love by the time it got to me.
“Listen, Pia, I’m not trying to make you feel grateful to me, or feel any different about me because of what I’ve told you. I’m just saying that I understand some of what you went through-more after what you’ve been willing to share tonight. It’s no wonder you have nightmares, and to tell you the truth, your being late doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers Marsha and Junichi, especially with what I know. Ironically, it bothers them because they believe it bothers me. The major point I want to leave you with is that research is the calling where I found myself despite my past and despite my Asperger’s. I think it could be for you as well, but you’re going to have to make a decision. It can’t be halfway. It’s got to be either research or clinical medicine. It can’t be both.”
“Reactive attachment disorder,” Pia said. “One of the social workers at Hudson Valley Academy told me I had reactive attachment disorder. It’s supposed to mean I can’t establish a relationship with anyone.”
“Well, I guess we make quite the pair then,” Rothman said, and smiled. Pia had never seen Rothman smile before and his whole face lit up for a second. “You think about your future. You don’t have to say anything now. But I have to know soon so I can prepare. Once our article for
Rothman stood up. “Now I have to go back in the biosafety unit for another hour or so.” Typical of his Asperger’s syndrome behavior, he didn’t comment further, just left.
Pia remained sitting after Rothman had departed. Except for the sounds emanating from some of the automatic equipment out in the lab, there was silence. Even the desk lamp went out again until she waved her hand in the air. She’d been taken aback by the evening’s events. She felt exposed, emotionally naked, and found herself worried that Rothman might decide on further thought that she was much too big a risk. She sat in her chair for at least ten minutes before she got up and left. As she descended in the elevator, she started to feel better, relieved to a degree that she’d been as open as she had. Having been in foster care himself, Rothman understood her. All at once Pia felt confident all was going to work out. It was her opinion that you can trust only a man whose actions match his words, or better still, who acts without asking for anything in return. The only person she knew who fit that bill was Dr. Rothman. She knew that even George, as generous as he was, had his own agenda.
Exiting into the cold night, Pia didn’t know exactly what she was going to do, but she had to admit that Rothman had made a lot of sense. And as unbelievable as it was, she felt he’d morphed into the father figure she’d never had.
20.
ONE CENTRAL PARK WEST NEW YORK CITY MARCH 4, 2011, 8:05 A.M.
When his home office phone rang just after eight in the morning, a very anxious Jerry Trotter snapped it up. He’d been hoping it would ring, and he was hoping it would be Harry Hooper.
“I just had breakfast with that Morgan guy I was telling you about last night,” Hooper said, launching right in after Trotter picked up.
“You met with the guy? Sat down in front of him and ate breakfast?” Trotter was surprised. Brubaker and Hooper were usually more indirect, avoiding face-to-face meetings.
“He wouldn’t say anything more over the phone. He wanted a meeting, insisted on it. At six-thirty in the morning. He thinks I’m a headhunter for real, and he wants a new job, like yesterday. I couldn’t see the harm in it. It’s not like I’m going to see the guy again.”
“But what do you know about being a headhunter?”
“What’s to know? I just asked the guy to tell me about himself, about his strengths, where he sees himself in five years, all that BS. I said I didn’t know of anyone who needed someone exactly like him, but I’d keep an ear to the ground, keep him in mind.”
“Didn’t he ask you for your business card?”
“Said I was all out,” Hooper said. “Said I’d been meeting with a lot of bankers the last couple of weeks and underestimated demand. Almost convinced myself I was that busy. Anyway, we finally got around to talking about your woman friend. She and the thick guy who she was working for at the time definitely slept together. More than once. Not just some drunken hookup at a convention but an actual affair-hotel rooms in the afternoon, that kind of thing.”
“And he knows this how?”
“He was going out with this woman who was good friends with your girl. Real good friends, like girlfriends who told each other everything. So your friend tells this woman she’s seeing this guy who’s married. Then she says it’s her boss. She swore the friend to secrecy, made her swear she’d never tell anyone, all that. But the woman told my guy. Information’s valuable, as you know, and it all depends on the circumstances. This woman thought it would help in her relationship with my guy, bring them closer, having a shared secret. It didn’t work. They broke up after a while.”
“So why’d he tell you?”
“Like I said, information can be valuable. I was asking about your girl, he knew something. Maybe he wanted the supposed job I was checking out your friend for. I don’t really know. I guess I may have led him to believe I’m better connected on Wall Street than I am.”
“He’s going to be pissed when you disappear all of a sudden.”
“What’s he gonna do, tell his boss? Anyway, I plan to call him next week, start letting him down slow. It looks like I’m going to be downsized myself. Sure is a cruel world.”
“Okay,” Jerry said. “Give me a second to think.”
Jerry held the phone in both hands. This was good-Gloria Croft and Edmund Mathews had slept together ten, twelve years ago. And clearly it hadn’t ended well because Gloria was apparently enjoying trying to ruin Edmund. But for what Jerry had in mind, there had to be more. This was good, but it wasn’t enough.
“Okay, I like this, but I need more. Keep digging. Try and figure out why it ended between them, and why it ended so badly.”
“All right, got it.”
Jerry sat back in his chair. He was a man with a lot of secrets, which is why he assumed everyone else had them. Some of Jerry’s secrets concerned the fact that he was unfaithful to Charlotte, his wife of twenty-two years. He had had affairs with some of his patients, one of which continued after Trotter ended his medical practice and went into finance. It was still going on, with trysts at an apartment Trotter maintained in the Village for that express purpose. Trotter didn’t feel any guilt about Charlotte. He thought of it as a kind of deal even though Charlotte had never been approached about it. He played around, and she lived the high life. Shopping was her sport.
From Jerry’s perspective risk was a big part of life. Everybody handled risk differently. He thought he handled risk well, which was what made him a good hedge fund guy. Others handled risk poorly. The real question that dogged Jerry’s mind at that moment was how much would have to be on the line for someone to do something truly desperate. He was just beginning to think there might be a way to solve the problem that Edmund had tossed into his lap.
