The Art of Forgetting (15 page)

             
T
he next morning, Lloyd found himself clearing stacks of half-read medical journals from the heavy driftwood table that dominated the relatively bare living area of his loft apartment. He emptied his refrigerator of boxes of leftovers and stepped out into the alley behind his building to toss out the tall kitchen trash bag which was starting to smell. Finally, he changed his shirt three times before settling on an elegant, but not pretentious, light gray Oxford that worked well with the black silk tie he unwrapped from an elegant box, its price tag still attached. Gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he inspected the full Windsor he had just tied, adjusted the knot just slightly under the shirt collar before turning his attention to his eyes. A few blood vessels on the whites of his eyes were still swollen in protest but not too bad over all.

              The door-bell rang. He straightened and looked at his reflection one last time. “What the hell are you smiling at?” he asked himself out loud.

              He hurried downstairs, opened the door and gazed at the sight of Erin. Her hair spilled in disciplined sheer waves over the side of her forehead as if she had just stepped out of a styling salon. She was wearing a smart, dark-blue pantsuit, a yellow silk scarf around her neck, with a topaz brooch of a scarab on her lapel. Lloyd’s mind went blank as he stood in the doorway holding onto the jamb. He wished he had invested some thought on how he should greet her. Other cultures had well practiced rituals, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or a peck on both cheeks, which betrayed no particular meaning – simple customs from which no ulterior motive could be deduced. But American etiquette was so much more ambiguous and as a result (Lloyd was convinced) every act weighed heavily with the peril of communicating something that could be understood to carry a deeper meaning.

              Erin placed a hand on her hip, cocked her head just slightly and said, “Good morning?”

              “Oh, hi.”

              “Were you expecting someone else?”

              “Oh, no.  I… you just look different.”

              Erin held out a paper bag stamped with a curious logo of an elephant riding a unicycle with the inscription,
Feldman’s Famous Bagels
. Lloyd took the bag and studied it as if he was being asked to provide an explanation.

              “So, can I come in?” Erin asked.

              “Yeah, yeah, of course.” Lloyd stepped back and secured the door shut with the deadbolt once Erin crossed the threshold.

              Erin laughed and stretched out her arms. “So this is your famous bachelor pad?” Lloyd winced at the words echoing off the bare walls. “It’s just a big garage,” she said.

              “The living area is upstairs.”

              She glanced at the car parked on the opposite end of the concrete slab. “A Subaru?  I imagined you in a Beemer.”

              “Just shows how little you know about me.” As he uttered the words, Lloyd felt a hollow vulnerability, as if he had just realized he had forgotten to zip up his fly.

              Erin turned on her heels, lifted an eyebrow. “This just gets curiouser and curiouser.” She started up the floating staircase which protruded from the exposed brick wall.

              Lloyd remained frozen by the doorway, gawking at the way the sheer pant legs tightened around her thighs with each step, the way the buttons on her back pockets see-sawed like two eyes taking turns winking at him. 

              “Oh, this is nice!” Erin said as she reached the top step.

              Lloyd trotted up the stairs as if her words freed him from his trance. “I’ll pour the coffee.”

              As Erin turned into the parking garage Lloyd was still trying to put a name on the feeling he had been experiencing all morning. A feeling that had always been as elusive to him as a mirage and now, he expected, would dissipate once more. The word, “mirth” floated in his consciousness. An odd word, Lloyd thought; practically archaic. He wondered which ridiculous neural pathway had errantly fired to bring it forth. He imagined a shriveled neuron tucked in a crevice deep in the auditory association cortex of his left temporal lobe hiccupping to electro-chemical life.

              “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight?” Lloyd asked.

              “Are you asking me out on a date, Lloyd Copeland?” Erin said, a teasing smile stretched across her face.

              “I’m just being preemptive, in case you’re planning to stalk me with a Taser after work. I don’t want you to zap me with a million volts just to have an excuse to drive me home again.”

              “I see. So that’s what happened last night?”

              “More or less,” Lloyd said.

              “And the purse-snatcher?”

              “Your accomplice? It was all a set up as far as I know.”

              Erin took her right hand off the steering wheel and punched him in the arm. “Why is it so hard to admit that you had a good time last night? That you actually enjoy being with me?” She pulled into an empty spot, thrust the shifter in park and cut the engine. “So…” she said as she turned to face him.

              “What?”

              “So, do you like me?”

              Lloyd looked at her for a moment without saying a word. She cocked her eyebrow making him smile. “Are you going to give me more Chlorophyll now?” he asked.  She shook her head ever so slightly without taking her eyes off of his. “Well, you haven’t poured iced water on my lap this morning and the agony of the pepper spray is subsiding, so it’s not as painful to be with you today as it has been.”

              She smiled. “You’re just terrible. Terrible and terribly childish.”

              “So dinner’s on?”

              “After what you just said?”

              “Oh, come on.”

              “Tonight’s not good. I have a crazy day,” Erin said reaching for the door handle. “Don’t know what time I’ll be done.”

              They stepped out of the car.

              “Still, you gotta eat,” Lloyd said, looking at her over the roof of the car.

              “I’ll be dead tired.”

              “Still… you gotta eat.”

              “I told you.  I don’t know when I’ll be done.”

              “It’s alright. When you finish you just swing by my place. I’ll have dinner waiting on the table.”

              “You cook?”

              “No, but I know some good take-out places that deliver.”

              “I don’t know.”

              “A nice glass of wine…”

              “Let’s go Lloyd. I’m going to be late.” The sound of Erin’s heels resonated off the concrete columns of the parking garage.”

              “Some soft music…” Lloyd said as he followed her.

              The clicking of her steps came to a halt. She stopped to stare at Lloyd’s motorcycle. Lloyd walked up to the bike, inspected it briefly and caressed the handlebar.

              “Why don’t you wear a helmet when you ride this thing?”

              “Why should I?” Lloyd said with a shrug.

              “Because you can die.”

              “We’re all going to die.”

              “That’s just stupid.”

              Lloyd exhaled through his nose as he studied Erin’s piercing stare. “Look, if I die, I die.” He shrugged again but the gesture came out feeling mechanical, contrived.

              Erin looked down and started walking again. “That’s so sad,” she said under her breath.

              “What’s so sad?” Erin kept walking. “Erin, what’s so sad?”

              She stopped and faced him again. “It’s so sad you feel you have nothing to live for.”

              The words slammed into him like a rogue wave breaking over a life raft. He drew a finger across his lips, stared at the pavement then lifted his gaze again to see Erin’s eyes still burrowing into his. He forced a meek smile and said, “Well, now that you won’t have dinner with me I really have nothing to live for, do I?”

              She didn’t smile. “You’re such a dolt.”

              “And next you’ll ask me if I like you.”

              Erin paused, took a deep breath and said, “I’ll be at your place sometime between eight-thirty and nine.”

              “Anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

              Erin shook her head with a somber expression. “Just no more tapas,” she said before walking away.

              Chapter 12

             
L
loyd stepped off the elevator and headed for his office. He was still replaying Erin’s last words in his mind.
No more tapas
. What did she mean by that?  Was she referencing her psychology professor’s asinine musings on the reluctance to form commitments? But at Mike’s barbecue she had clearly told him that she wasn’t ready to enter a serious relationship either. Maybe she just didn’t like Spanish food.

              It’s not as if Lloyd struggled to understand women; he simply didn’t try. It never truly mattered to him. He didn’t strive to fill any emotional void they might harbor. His only aim was to satiate the sexual hunger he purposely stoked in them.

              The door to the lab was locked, which meant that Kaz hadn’t arrived yet. During the day they usually left the door unlocked. Lloyd extracted a key ring from the pocket of his riding jacket and opened the door. He exchanged his riding jacket for his lab coat and headed for the ward to start his rounds.

              After lunch, he decided to retreat to his office to think. He jogged up the stairs, the tuna-salad sandwich feeling far heavier in his stomach than it should. He walked up the last half-flight of stairs and placed his fist in front of his mouth to belch. The taste of mayo and tuna rose with a putrid sweetness.

              Lloyd reached the landing, still belching. Maybe he should stop running up the stairs after lunch, he thought, or he should just lay off the tuna at the cafeteria. He pulled open the heavy metal fire door and stepped into the hallway leading to his office.

              He was half-way down the corridor when he first noticed the man standing squarely next to his door tapping away on a smartphone with both thumbs. He wore a sleek double breasted pin-striped charcoal suit over a pale blue shirt, perfectly polished leather shoes the likes of which you don’t find in a mall.  Lloyd slowed his pace a little and clenched his jaw. Speaking to pharmaceutical reps was slightly less annoying than hearing the sound of fingernails scratching a blackboard. He despised the phony reverence, the contrived charm. How did this clown manage to sneak up by his office in the first place?

              Just ten feet away the man looked up and Lloyd noticed a medical center badge clipped to his lapel. The man slipped the cell phone inside the breast of his coat, slid both hands in his trouser pockets and nodded at Lloyd.
Definitely not a drug rep
.

              It wasn’t until Lloyd had his hand on the door knob that the man said, “Dr. Copeland?”

              “Yes?”

              “Nick De Luca, head of security at the medical center here.” No offer of a handshake, no smile, deliberately slow speech with a strange inflection as if he were trying to dampen a thick Chicago accent.

              “Okay.”

              “Wonder if I can have a word with you.”

              “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

              “Good, I’ll only be a minute,” De Luca said, his face not betraying any expression.

              Lloyd exhaled. “Look, can’t we do this another time?”

              De Luca took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed his palms together. “Well… no.”

              Lloyd pushed the door open and De Luca entered without being prompted. They walked across the lab and stepped into Lloyd’s office. While Lloyd circled his desk and took a seat, De Luca stood in the middle of room, pivoting on his heels to inspect the office.

              “So what’s this all about?” Lloyd asked.

              De Luca finally sat down. “Quite a night you had last night, no?”

              Lloyd thought of his dinner with Erin. “The hell you talking about?”

              De Luca scratched his chin. “What, you jump muggers every day, doc? I watched an interesting video taken from one of our surveillance cameras this morning. Tyrone, one of my officers was like, ‘Who’s
this
crazy dude?’  So I say to him, ‘Why, that’s Dr. Lloyd Copeland,’ I mean, I see you around campus all the time. You ride that nice Ducati, there.”

              “Yeah.”

              “See, not too many docs ride bikes, at least not to work. Maybe a Harley on the weekend, you know, when they get their mid-life itch. But you’re too young for that, and I must say, as a bit of a connoisseur, that Ducati is an engineering work of art. It’s Italian, you know.”