“Pia . . . Pia . . . !” Pia sat up in bed and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Her T-shirt was sticking to the sweat on her back as she stretched forward, listening to George calling to her from the other side of the door. She let him in and hurried to get dressed, vowing that she’d remember to set the alarm that night. Her internal clock used to wake her up at six without fail but the last couple of weeks she’d had trouble sleeping, suffering from a number of recurrent nightmares. She felt exhausted. She’d not had nearly enough sleep. After visiting with the mother superior, she’d gone back to Rothman’s lab. By the time she’d gotten back to her dorm room and crawled into bed it had been 4:23 in the morning.
As she dressed, she found herself mulling over the meeting with the mother superior, and she shared some of it with George on the way to the medical center.
“I’m glad you went,” George said as they walked in the crisp morning sunshine. “I mean, you were never going to join the order, and I can’t see you in Africa doing whatever missionaries do nowadays. I’ve never known any nuns, but I can’t imagine you’re the nun type.” From one of their four lovemaking events, an erotic image of a satiated Pia naked in bed flashed through his mind. He noticed Pia shoot him a look, and he cringed. Could she read his mind? It wasn’t the first time George had this worry.
“I don’t think becoming a nun and taking the vows would have been a problem for me, George. I’m not even saying I’ll never do it. I’ve seen how life is at the convent, and it’s very peaceful. It’s different from the world out here. The sisters support each other. It’s safe.”
George immediately felt uncomfortable, like he was patronizing Pia. He couldn’t blame her for wanting some security in her life with the little he knew of her childhood. But becoming a nun? It seemed extreme. “I guess what I mean is that it seems like a way of avoiding life. There are other ways of being safe besides going and hiding out in a convent.”
“I don’t think of becoming a nun as hiding. It’s the opposite-they have to give all of themselves to the world they have chosen.”
“Actually I think you’d be equivalently hiding if you end up spending your whole career working in there with Rothman,” George said, indicating the building with a tilt of his head. His concept of medicine involved helping people directly, one-on-one, having an effect on the lives of people he could see and touch. As far as he was concerned, research was too cold and abstract and populated with asocial martinets like Rothman who were as welcoming and warm as a file full of algorithms.
“So, what about lunch today?” George said, changing the subject and ever hopeful. As he had feared, they hadn’t met up for lunch the day before. In the three-plus years that George had known Pia, they’d never had an official lunch date. They had lunched together numerous times, but not as a planned event. During the first two years they had managed to have pretty much the same schedule so it just happened. But now that George was on a radiology elective and Pia was holed up in Rothman’s lab, he knew that the chances they’d run into each other by accident were slim. But why he was bothering to ask her he had no idea, since he knew it wasn’t going to happen. And why was he always so damned accommodating?
“Sorry, George, I can’t make plans,” she said. “Yesterday I had to spend the entire day and come back at night to work on one of Rothman’s journal articles, and it still isn’t done. On top of that I’ll be meeting with him sometime to find out what he has in store for me for the entire month. I seriously doubt I’ll even be getting lunch.”
Pia was unhappy to see that the pesky maintenance man was still in her office. He was up the stepladder again, only facing a different direction this time. The day before, as she had worked on Rothman’s paper on one of the benches out in the lab proper, she’d noticed that he’d left at twelve and didn’t come back for four hours. At that rate she worried about him being there pestering her and keeping her from her cubbyhole for a week. Her office was small, but it was hers and she could leave her stuff spread out on the countertops, something she couldn’t do in the main lab.
Pia made enough noise dropping her bag on her tool-littered desk to ensure Vance knew she was there and not particularly happy. “Hey, you up there,” she called out.
Vance pulled his head down into the room and, seeing Pia, climbed down, smiling, rubbing his hands on a rag. “Ah, Miss Grazdani! How are you today? I missed you yesterday when I left.”
“I noticed you took a four-hour lunch. You should have told me you’d be away so long. I could have been working here in my office. Anyway, yesterday you thought you’d be finished. What’s up? How long is this going to take?”
“The job is turning out to be more difficult than I had thought. All I can really say is that I’m trying my best. As soon as I figure out what the hell is wrong, I’ll knock it right out and be outa here.”
Pia merely sighed irritably and lifted her bag.
“Miss Pia, I’ve got a surprise for you. I made an extra sandwich today for lunch, one for me and one for you. How about joining me for a bite? I make a wicked pastrami sandwich on a ciabatta roll. What do you say?”
He was smiling again. Jesus, men were so predictable. Pia glowered: Was this guy suffering from delusions? She wasn’t staying to find out nor did she want to encourage the man.
“Just hurry the hell up with the job. Please!” she snapped. As far as the sandwich offer was concerned, she didn’t even want to acknowledge it.
Pia turned and stepped back into the main lab. She put her bag on the bench area where she’d worked the previous day. But instead of jumping right in, she walked back to Marsha’s desk to find out where their leader was that morning. To her surprise, she learned that Rothman was in his office and waiting for her. Pleased, Pia hurried in through the open door. Immediately she noticed he was dealing with the same maintenance inconvenience Overhead, a number of ceiling tiles were missing and spaghetti-like wires dangled from the holes. An assortment of tools dotted one of the countertops and a few were scattered on the floor. In the corner was a stepladder leaning against the wall and the security camera was missing from its mounting.
“Good morning, Dr. Rothman,” Pia chirped. She never knew what to expect mood-wise but hoped for the best. “Marsha said you were expecting me.”
“Miss Grazdani. How do you spell ‘catheter’?” Rothman demanded, not even bothering to look up from the sheet of paper he was holding. She could tell it was part of the
“C-A-T-H-E-T-E-R. Why?”
“Well, it seems you know how to spell it, so I’m wondering why you felt the need to make up an alternative version for my paper?”
Pia had worked on Rothman’s article, making several suggestions for changes in structure and rewriting one whole section she found particularly opaque. Late last night she had been in a hurry to finish, and she hadn’t run a spell check.
“One wonders what they taught you at NYU, if anything. There were several spelling errors and two grammatical ones.”
From experience, Pia knew how Rothman worked. These jabs at her spelling and grammar almost certainly meant that he had accepted her structural changes. If you lived for compliments and praise, you’d starve to death working for Rothman. Rothman took good work for granted. If you weren’t good, you didn’t last long, so the only elements worth talking about were the minor faults. Rothman twisted in his seat to face his Mac and started pecking his way around the keyboard. Pia surmised he was adding her changes to the original manuscript. Pia took a seat without being asked. If she waited to be asked, she’d be standing all day.
Pia had enjoyed laboring over the
