Perfectly Unpredictable (2 page)

Kalia strode off the plane and looked
around. It had been a few years since she’d been in France, the last time with
her parents, but she never tired of it. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d
received the email from Maurice Bastille. They had corresponded back and forth
to make arrangements for her to be at the International Forum of Neuroscience,
and the organizers had promised to send a driver.

She approached a short elderly man holding
a sign with her name on it. “Bonjour. Je m’appelle Kalia Beck,” she said with a
flawless French accent.

The driver, dressed in a black suit with a
meticulously pressed white shirt and a black tie, wore a jaunty hat to one side.
He removed it with a sweep of his hand and a slight bow. “Bonjour, bonjour. Je
m’appelle Pierre. I will be your driver.” He pumped her hand in an enthusiastic
handshake and reached to take her carry-on. “Bienvienue à Nice. Is this all the
luggage you carry?”

“Oui, Pierre. C’est tout. Merci,” Kalia
said, smiling. Years of travel and one too many incidents with lost luggage convinced
her to travel with only carry-on luggage and a briefcase for her computer.

“Très bien. Très bien. Right this way.” He
gestured to the exit and moved with a spring in his step.

It was a bright fall morning. Pierre
chatted easily about the weather and asked about her flight as they made their
way to the car. He opened the door to a black limousine with a flourish and
helped her settle in before gently closing the door and loading her luggage in
the back.

“Sit back, relax. It is only a short twenty-minute
drive,” he said as he pulled out of the airport.

Look
at that view.
Kalia marveled at the blues and
greens of the water, the white pebble beaches, the swaying palm trees, and a
riot of colorful flowers blooming in window boxes. Pink, orange, and yellow
flowers were brilliant in the sunshine. Casually dressed tourists meandered
along the sidewalk, while others in business attire dodged and weaved, striding
with purpose.

Kalia opened the window and a cool breeze
brushed her face. A cacophony of noise from people, cars, and scooters rose
from the street.

The limo pulled up to the hotel. Pierre
jumped out quickly, opened Kalia’s door with a flourish, and retrieved her
luggage. She smiled and thanked him, offered him a generous tip, and made her
way to the hotel.

Kalia had booked a room at a small, quaint hotel-apartment,
which her parents had discovered on one of their trips to Nice. It was a short
distance from the conference center and off the main road through a small
market.

The smell of freshly baked pastries wafted
from a bakery on the corner. Colorful umbrellas crowded side by side on the
periphery of the courtyard, shading packed tables of fruit and vegetables,
cheese, and fish on ice. Farmers shouted greetings to the bustle of people. Tourists
idled past. Locals sat at small wrought iron tables on smaller wrought iron
chairs, sipping espresso, and leisurely chatting. They weren’t meant to linger
for too long. Women filled their baskets with fresh baguettes and croissants
and moved from vendor to vendor, haggling with a discerning eye to complete their
daily shopping.

Kalia wanted to stop and watch, but the
flight was taking its toll. She’d need a day to switch her own time clock and
had twenty-four hours to rest and recharge before her first meeting tomorrow.

The hotel, a bright pink-red stucco
building, had a window box overflowing with pansies on every sill. Kalia admired
the intricate carving at the front entrance. She pulled open the impressive
wooden door and approached the front desk. After filling out the paperwork, she
was handed a key to an apartment on the second floor.

The suite opened into a living room. Two
inviting oversized armchairs in pale green and white stripes formed a cozy
seating area across from a more formal ladylike sofa. Light flooded in through
a large window, the shutters thrown open to let in the cool morning air. White
sheers danced in the breeze. Off to the left a galley kitchen looked clean and
bright. A welcome note was propped in front of a tray of snacks –
dried fruit and nuts, sparkling water, a mini bottle of Champagne, and an
“intimacy kit.” Kalia laughed. That covered all the bases.

She poked her head into the bathroom and
smiled at a large soaker tub, fresh white towels hanging neatly on a heating
rack, and a walk-in glass shower stall with multiple jets and a luxurious rainfall
showerhead.

Heaven.

But it’d have to wait. For now, she craved
sleep. She wandered into the bedroom. Plump pillows were piled high on a fluffy
comforter covering a king-sized bed, complete with a square of dark chocolate in
a shiny wrapper. She’d save that for the next day, too.

Kalia changed into pajamas, threw open the bedroom
window to the courtyard below, and crawled into bed. The fatigue of the travel
and the change in time zone finally overcame the excitement, and she let the
sounds of the day beginning in Nice lull her to sleep.

On the first morning of the conference,
Kalia was up early and dressed in a navy blue suit with a crisp white shirt. She
added a silver pendant and smoothed her hair into a neat chignon. She stowed
her computer in her leather briefcase and, after checking her make-up, headed
out.

The aroma of freshly baked goods mingled
with the crisp morning air on the short walk to the conference center.
The exterior of the elegant building had old
world charm, with intricate stone carving and fussy wrought iron balconies. Behind
the front doors, the grandeur was a surprise.

A wide curved staircase across from the
main entrance led down one flight to a modern amphitheater. Inside, comfortable
chairs swiveled to allow for smaller groupings, clever dividers created sectioned-off
areas, three large screens graced the front, and each chair had specialized
audiovisual equipment. State-of-the-art, top-of-the-line engineering. They had
obviously paid special attention to the acoustics with the design of the
seating and the use of layered wood on the curved walls and ceiling. Despite
the large number of people animatedly greeting one another, the room was quiet.

Kalia spotted a group of official-looking
people with clipboards at the front of the amphitheater, so she made her way
over. She introduced herself and, with wide smiles, they each pumped her hand
enthusiastically. Maurice Bastille’s assistant, Giselle, showed her the sound
booth and explained how the conference would unfold.

All of the talks would be offered in
English. In the past, speakers of the international community had muddled
through, sometimes with heavy hard-to-understand accents. This year, for the
first time, each guest speaker would present the lecture in the language of their
choice and Kalia would interpret. Her version would be simultaneously broadcast,
and participants could choose which version to listen to through their headsets.

In addition to the three large group
lectures each day, smaller workshops would be recorded and translated at a
later date. These ranged from clinical case discussions to research project
presentations, and from hands-on technical skill sessions to clinical standards
consensus groups.

The keynote address, scheduled for the last
day, was causing the most buzz. Dr. Alexandre Sinclair was presenting his
latest research. He was also hosting two workshops, and after a meeting the
night before, the organizers were scrambling to change to a bigger venue
because of the unexpected draw.

The room slowly filled until most of the seats
were taken. Maurice took to the podium and officially welcomed everyone to the
forum.

With the introductions complete, Kalia took
her place at the back of the room in the sound booth. She adjusted her earpiece
and tuned in to the speaker. Concentrating, she focused on the cadence and rhythm
of the Spanish presenter, and the translation flowed. The second lecture in
German was much easier.
Thank you, Pappa.

The first two hours flew by. As the group
scattered to the workshops, Kalia lingered to answer questions and make adjustments
to her equipment. She thought that keeping the eight hundred or so registrants
in line and on time with their assigned workshops would be a logistical
nightmare, but an army of volunteers kept things moving smoothly.

She spent time reviewing the afternoon
lecture and then headed to the grand ballroom for lunch.

The ballroom was bright and airy, with a
wall of glass and a high-vaulted ceiling. French doors were thrown open, and a
warm autumn breeze stirred the air. Circular tables were set for ten with crisp
white linens and sparkling silverware. Simple low arrangements of gerbera
daisies in an assortment of bright colors graced the center of each table.

Kalia was enjoying a lively discussion with
a group from Germany when Alexandre Sinclair walked in. He was escorted by
members of the organizing committee and, engrossed in conversation, seemed
oblivious to the interest his arrival caused.

Kalia wasn’t sure if it was the brilliant
scientific mind or the gorgeous good looks that caused a stir, but she couldn’t
help joining the crowd in stopping and staring. Something about the man in a
well-fitted suit had her heart fluttering. Or maybe it was the body the suit
fit that was mouth-watering. He was much younger than she’d thought he’d be,
closer to her age, and he walked with the grace of a panther. She couldn’t
imagine having those startling blue eyes focused on her. That and the flash of
his smile was a disarming combination.

He and his entourage sat down at the head
table. The noise level rose again, and with some effort, Kalia pulled herself
back to the conversation at her table.

The remainder of the ten days went by smoothly.
Kalia had a chance to flex her language skills, translating from French,
German, Spanish, and Russian to English and amusing a cohort of Italians who
flirted with her at lunch. By the end of the ten days, she had helped with
restaurant reservations, transportation dilemmas, and one minor medical
emergency. She’d received a number of compliments for her clear and accurate
translations and could hardly walk back to her hotel without being greeted in
several different languages.

She loved it all – the languages,
the challenge, the people, the camaraderie, the cutting-edge research. Who knew
science could be this much fun? She caught glimpses of Alexandre Sinclair
throughout the conference. Always elegant. Always stunning. Always surrounded
by admirers.

She spoke to him very briefly just before
his keynote address. She was at the podium making changes to the microphone
when he came in to set up for his lecture. She managed to muster a hello when
he nodded in greeting. That was enough. She, with her knowledge of six
languages, could only spit out “hello” before her mind went blank.

He was fluent in English and didn’t require
translation, but Kalia decided to stay and listen. The auditorium was packed,
but Alexandre Sinclair had their attention the moment he started speaking in
his deep, smooth voice. He was completely at ease and flashed a smile that had
everyone relaxing. He made the complicated sound simple and answered questions
with patience, obviously enjoying the interaction with the audience. The time
flew by and when he finished, the crowd rose to its feet with thunderous
applause. Kalia was sure they would have shouted “encore” if they could have.

A beaming Maurice Bastille took the podium.
“Three years ago when I accepted the task of organizing the International Forum
of Neuroscience, I thought it would be a daunting task.” He paused. “And I was
right, it was.”

The audience laughed.

“But this,” he said, sweeping his arm
around the audience, “is why I accepted the challenge.

“When I come to this meeting and feel the
energy, the enthusiasm, and the dedication to the advancement of neuroscience, I
see how important, even essential, this forum has become. I would like to thank
the panel of exceptional speakers we have had this year.” He paused as the
audience acknowledged them with a boisterous round of applause. “They have
shared their latest research, made us question and think, renewed our interest,
and spurred us to push our efforts forward. Thank you.

“I would like to thank the team of
volunteers, led by my most invaluable assistant, Giselle Menoit, who spent countless
hours organizing and overseeing the logistics of the conference. And to Kalia
Beck for providing the interpretation services.” There was another enthusiastic
round of applause. “This was a new addition this year. Definitely a success, it
will be the start of a new tradition.

“Heimlich,” he said, singling out a
prominent scientist in the first row. “This was the first time I think I
actually understood what your research was about.”

Heimlich, a big man with a bushy beard,
guffawed and joked back, “For you, I keep it simple.” The audience laughed.

“And to all of you–” Maurice looked
out to the crowd “–a special thank you for coming. You have busy lives, but
you make time to be away. It is this commitment that makes the forum a success.
So thank you, each one of you, for making the time to come and participate.” He
finished to a resounding wave of applause.