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They Key to Believingchapter 3
The ManSloane was up in the air again. Shortly after they left, when the plane leveled off, she walked up to the cockpit and knocked on the door. She heard Jim’s muffled voice through the door; she assumed he told her to come in. “Jim, what time do you think we’ll arrive at the airport?” “It’s three o’clock. ... I’d say just a little after five, maybe five-thirty.” “Got it. Thanks.” Knowing what gate they would arrive at, she walked back toward her seat and pulled out her phone. She dialed. She pressed the tiny phone to the side of her head. “Hello?” “Hi, Carter, it’s me.” “Are you in the air now?” “Yes, and the pilot says that we should arrive between five and five-thirty.” “What terminal should I meet you at?” “I could just meet you outside, you don’t have to park your car, and I don’t have luggage to carry.” “Don’t be ridiculous. What terminal?” After giving him the information he needed, they said goodbye. Getting up from her seat, She slowly made her way to the back of the plane. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne. She found a glass in the cabinet next to her head and walked back to her seat. Sitting down, she unwrapped the metal from the top of the bottle. She realized it might not be a good idea to let the cork blow off the top of the bottle, being in an airplane and all. She placed the bottle between her knees, and closed her legs together, placing both of her hands on top of the bottle. She made sure she had a firm grip on the cork, and started to slowly ease the cork out of the bottle. The cork gave way with a loud pop, and suddenly champagne was starting to overflow onto her legs. She started laughing out loud as she grabbed her glass and frantically poured. Jim’s voice came over the airplane intercom. “That’s the spirit,” he said. She looked up, to see if the cockpit door was open; it wasn’t, and she was relieved that he only heard the pop of the champagne cork and that he didn’t see her spill the champagne on her legs. She got up with her glass and walked to the sink at the back of the plane. “At least I took my pantyhose off when I left for that walk on the beach,” she said aloud to herself, and dampened a rag to clean herself off. Holding things along the aisle to keep her balance, she moved back to her seat. She sat down and looked out the window. And she thought about the man she was about to see in New York. Carter Donovan was a classmate of hers during her undergraduate studies. They never had a class together; they were friends because her roommate was in a school class with Carter and they studied together. When he first met Sloane, he thought she was stuffy and a bookworm; he usually tried to get her to come out when her roommate was going out. But after the semester was over, and Carter wasn’t in a class with her roommate anymore, he called Sloane once, and asked her if she wanted to grab some coffee. “I like talking to you,” Carter told her, “and now I don’t have your roommate as an excuse to see you, so I’ll have to make up my own excuses. Want to study at the cafÂ?” She would walk over to his dorm room, but instead of going out for coffee, they ordered a pizza and drank beer and talked about religion, about what they wanted from life, how they wanted to live life, what they thought was right. From then on they were instant friends. They didn’t spend a lot of time together, but when they did they avoided the small talk and discussed what interested them in the backs of their minds. She hardly had an interest in new songs or sports teams anyway. Carter usually brought the subjects of their conversations back to philosophy and religion; he always wanted to get her to state whether or not she definitely believed in a God. “I don’t believe a God does or does not exist,” she would tell him. “I have no proof that a God exists, but it is impossible to prove that something does not exist, given any possible condition.” “So how do you live your life?” Carter asked, smiling after hearing her responses. “According to the rules of the things that can be proven around me. To the things that reason and knowledge dictate to me by my perceptions.” “And since there’s no proof of a God, you don’t believe in it?” “I have no reason to consider whether or not it exists. To me it’s more of the lack of thought about an unfounded theory, not a decision that no God exists. I don’t think about it, really.” As college passed, Carter liked to stump her with questions, knowing how she should answer, hoping she would be up to the challenge. “So if there’s no God, who created the universe?” “That question assumes that someone did create the universe. You have no proof to make that claim.” “But the universe had to begin somehow.” “Did it have to? There are theories about Adam and Eve, and there are also very plausible theories about the Big Bang, which seem to reject the concept of God altogether. And when it comes down to creating the universe, for that matter, what makes you assume how and when it ’began’?” And Carter would smile; he found what he was looking for and was satisfied with her answers. They didn’t often agree in their discussions, but she had to admit to herself that she loved the fact that Carter had a sense of values and was willing to argue about them. Even if the arguments were invalid, she thought, she still loved his sense of morals and values, but then again, she was the scientist and had no room for fallacies and faith. Carter was one of the few people that she drank with. She saw her college school mates drinking excessively every weekend; in her opinion they all seemed to be escaping something. She could have a drink or two with Toby, but only on occasions like this weekend. Carter drank with her to celebrate. He thought of a drink as a gift to share as much as he would share good conversation when he was with her; she enjoyed relaxing a little and talking to him when they’d have their pizza and beer nights. Carter Donovan was handsome by most anyone’s standards. He was a tall man, nearly six foot six. He had short brown hair, a little wavy, and dark brown eyes. He had good taste in clothes, but more than that, Carter Donovan made clothes look good. Everything he wore looked as if it were tailored expressly for him. Sometimes when they would be talking together she’d stay in his dorm room all night, falling asleep at four in the morning on the floor next to him. She’d wake up with a pillow under her head, a blanket covering her up, and Carter curled up next to her. It was moments like that where she would allow herself to study his face, when he didn’t know she was looking. It was a face she had grown to love. It was a face that should be loved. Her eyes would scan along the sharp collar of his shirt to the matching harsh edge of his jawbone, up toward his ear, over to his Roman nose, even to the delicate eyelashes. Sloane didn’t know why she loved his face. But every once in a while, when she had the chance, she would take a moment to just stare. Carter was not a scientist. He majored in finance, with a minor in English. I love reading and writing, but really, where’s the money in that?” he’d say. “Maybe one day I’ll run a publishing house, and then I’ll be in charge of what everyone else reads.” “That sounds a little Orwellian of you,” She would answer, and Carter would smile a mischievous smile. And in time, run a publishing house is exactly what he would do. After she went on to medical school, Carter Donovan went to work for a book publishing company in New York. He worked his way up in the company, and shortly after he got the famed mystery writer Paul Christensen to sign on for a ten-book contract, he was hoisted up to the executive level at the company. Now at Quentin Publishing company, a business that has books on the top ten best sellers list forty out of fifty-two weeks a year, Carter was the Vice-President in charge of recruiting new clients. And he did all of this by the age of thirty-one. Every once in a while Carter would write. On behalf of the company he wrote a how-to book about working and succeeding in corporate America. It was on the best sellers list for six weeks. In his spare time, though, he tried his hand at writing philosophy; his essays weren’t something his publishing company wanted to work with, but he’d often convince them to do a short press run, usually as more of a favor or a bonus than as a business proposal. They had created a small branch of Quentin for Carter Donovan’s pet projects, and in spite of all the work he had to do as the recruiting Vice-President, he never stopped adding titles to his branch collection list. Every time Carter told her about a new book of his, usually published once a year, she would go out and buy it. While drinking her champagne on the airplane, she thought about this. They were never in a relationship; they never thought of each other as more than friends; she never thought about having a relationship with him. She hoped he hadn’t changed much. She hoped she wasn’t interrupting any of his plans. The last phone conversations they had were shortly after Emivir was discovered by the press; although they had phone conversations together, it had been three years since she had seen him last. Glancing at her watch, she read 4:15. She looked at her legs. She went to her purse, got her pantyhose and a brush out and turned back toward the bathroom. After two steps she stopped and turned back to her purse. Even though she rarely wore make-up she knew there was eyeliner and lipstick at the bottom of her purse, so she grabbed the purse and slowly made her way to the back of the plane. Sloane had mentally prepared herself for an explanation of why she needed make-up in her purse. “Sometimes I have to wear make-up when I’m going to a meeting at work.” Never having to use make-up or have some in her purse, she still thought that just in case, she should be prepared for it. She fidgeted in the tiny, all-silver bathroom with her eyeliner. “Why am I doing this to myself?” she said out loud as she moved the soft pencil over the bottom of her eyelids. She pulled back to look at herself in the mirror. She leaned forward to add the lipstick. She brushed her hair straight down. She shook her head to try to make her hair look more full. She then shook her head at herself and brushed her hair again and tucked it behind her ears. Pulled back, she looked at herself again. She pulled the bottom of her suit jacket down to get rid of the wrinkles in it. She glanced over her slate blue suit. “Too formal,” she thought, and took off the jacket, so she was only wearing an ivory blouse and the slate blue skirt. There were two small strands of pearls wrapped around her neck. She pulled back and looked at herself again. She closed up her purse, threw her jacket over her forearm, grabbed her glass of champagne and opened the latch of the bathroom door.
When Toby got through the airport he tried to ask for a seat at the front of the plane. He always preferred to be at the front of the plane so he wouldn’t have to wait for all the family members who had to slowly collect the bags and their children to get out of the center row while people were trying to get off the plane. And he knew that once he got on the plane, he still wouldn’t be able to explain exactly where he was going. Yes, he knew, Seattle, but a part of him didn’t know what was going to be waiting there for him. Would he always think children were a nuisance? Or would he grow to love them too, would he even love his own kids? Maybe. He never had the time to think about things like that, though. But he always noticed when he got the chance to let his mind wander, that Sloane always seemed to find a way to come into his mind. It was like her spirit knew the effect she had on his, and her spirit found a way to creep into his soul. Even when he wasn’t thinking about her, he noticed that she did still find a way into his subconscious. Then again, maybe he just saw her in Miami for a day. Maybe that was the reason he thought about her, he said to himself. Maybe that was all the reason he needed.
When Carter Donovan got off the phone with Sloane at three, he quickly scanned his apartment. He lived in a penthouse apartment in Manhattan; it was sparsely decorated, according to his taste: “Extra objects just break up the lines of the room,” he said to the decorator he hired to buy furniture for his home. The doorbell rang. He moved to the door and opened it. His weekly maid was standing in the hallway. “Oh, thank you for coming in on such short notice.” “That’s okay. I usually don’t have clients on the weekends anyway.” “Can you do the usual, and not bother coming this next Tuesday, and just come the week after that?” “Sure, no problem.” “I need to have the place cleaned up in just a few hours, so...” “I’ll be as quick as I can, but I’ll make sure not to overlook anything.” “Thanks a lot, Margaret. I really appreciate it. I have to get ready to go out by about four-thirty or five o’clock, so I’ll be here for a while. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.” “And I’ll do my best to stay out of yours,” the housemaid said. Carter walked to his bedroom, past his bed and to the shower. He had to get ready. At four-thirty Margaret walked to Carter’s bedroom and knocked on his door as he was still getting ready. “Mr. Donovan?” Carter ran over and opened the door. He stood in the doorway to his bedroom wearing a white dress shirt and dark gray slacks. “I’m pretty much done, I did the bedroom and --” “That’s fine, Margaret, that’s perfect. I need to ask you something, though. It’s very important.” Margaret looked a little nervous. “Yes, sir?” “Come in, please, I need your opinion.” Margaret walked over to his bed, and three ties were sprawled out on top of a dark gray jacket. Carter picked up the first tie. “Which do you think is the best tie?” He grabbed the second tie and placed it in front of him, next to the first tie. “The first one I think is a little loud, but the second one is a little too business-like. I don’t need a power tie, I want something that says friendly, you know what I mean? Which do you think is the best?” Margaret looked at him for a moment. “Mr. Donovan, are you going on a date?” Carter stopped and stepped back. His voice toned down; he suddenly sounded grave. “No.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan, you just seem very anxious.” “I’m seeing an old friend of mine. A good friend.” Margaret looked over the tie choices. “If it’s a friend, I’d wear the first tie.” She pointed at the tie in his left hand. “If it’s a date,” she bent over to pick up the last tie on the bed, “and I’m not saying it is a date, I’m just saying that if it’s a date,” she handed the third tie to Carter, “I would definitely pick this tie.” Margaret stood and looked at him. He stared at her for a moment. “Thanks, Margaret.” “There’s nothing else sir?” “No. Thanks for coming on your day off. I’ll see you two Tuesdays from now?” “Yes.” Margaret walked to the doorway. “You have a good night, sir.” “You too, Margaret.” Carter looked over at his closet. He pulled out his black wing tips and slid them on to his feet. He stood in front of the mirror. He held the first tie up against his shirt, then the third. He shook his head, put the first two ties in his closet, closed the closet door, hung the third tie around his neck, grabbed his jacket off his bed and headed out the door. His driver was standing in front of his limousine waiting for him at the turn around at the front door of his building. Carter never slowed down as he got out the front door; the driver opened the back door just as Carter was at the car and he glided into his seat. He figured he could tie a Windsor knot during the ride on the way to the airport. He told the driver when they arrived at the airport to wait with the car; he would meet his friend at the terminal. Carter stepped out of the back of the black stretch limousine and walked through the doorway and turned toward the far terminal. He didn’t know how long he would have to wait for her plane to land. He thought for a moment about going to the men’s room to make sure he looked okay. Then he stopped himself. “What am I doing?” he thought. “I’m acting like this is a date.” He shook his head at himself and continued walking down the hallway. He walked to the gate her plane was to arrive at. He saw a plane outside the window. He turned to an airport attendant. “Excuse me,” he said, pointing out the window, “Do you know if that’s the Madison Pharmaceuticals private plane?” Just as Carter asked the question he heard a voice behind him and felt someone tapping his shoulder. “You have no patience, do you?” Carter spun around to see her standing right in front of him. The first thing he saw was her face. It seemed like her face was beaming. She was restraining herself from laughing; it looked like she was pleased that she’d surprised him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Seeing his face light up like a child’s, she stood there as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re always one step ahead of me, aren’t you?” “I’m always trying. Don’t I get a hug?” Carter slid his hands from her shoulders around her back and stepped closer to her. She wrapped her arms around him as she turned her head and leaned into his chest as he held her. Sloane was used to knowing men that were around her height. She knew she was a tall woman, and she knew that men regularly claimed to be taller than the really were. She always felt tall compared to others, but Carter was... Well, he was tall, and she liked that. She liked the fact that he was physically tall, that he was emotionally tall, and most of all she liked the fact that on some of those levels he was taller than her. “It’s good to see you.” “It’s good to see you, too.” They pulled back and locked their hands together. “You know we should really do this more than once every three years,” she said. “You’re still beaming, even after these three years... And first things first, give me those bags,” and Carter reached over and grabbed the straps of her bags from off her shoulders. Sloane started to resist; she always preferred carrying her own luggage to having a man do it for her. This time, however, she stopped herself and let him ease her load. She was also sure she wasn’t beaming, but once again, she felt there was no need for her to resist. They turned toward the hallway and started walking toward the baggage claim and the outside doors where Carter’s car was waiting. “So why were you in Miami?” “I met up with a colleague there to discuss some problems with his research.” “You look like you got a little sun.” “Oh, I just walked outside for an hour, no more than that, I couldn’t have gotten any sun.” “Well, you’re positively glowing nonetheless.” “Since we’re doling out compliments, you look fantastic yourself. The corporate life -- well, at least the suits -- fit you well.” “Okay, okay, no need to butter me up. So what would you like to do tonight?” Never having even thought of what to do, she tried to think of something. “You know, I never thought about it. I’m not particularly interested in doing anything, really.” “Oh, come on, let me show you the sights.” “If you want to, but I didn’t come here to be a tourist, I came here to catch up with you.” They stepped outside the sliding airport doors; Carter’s limousine was waiting at the doorway. Carter guided her toward the door; his driver held the door open for her. “Carter, a limousine? Is this a company perk or did you decide to splurge?” “Consider it a company perk. Just like your plane.” Sloane laughed. “I guess we’ve finally made it, haven’t we?” “Yes, I suppose we have.” The driver got into the seat and they started moving. Carter asked the driver to go to the apartment first, so she could settle in. “Okay, so let’s catch up first. How’s the book publishing business going?” “It’s going perfectly, actually. We changed our focus a few years ago from romance novels and other housewife-oriented trash novels--” “You mean, ’sleazy novels for housewives’,” Sloane responded. Carter looked at her and smiled, responding positively with his expression to what she felt she could not say. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she added. “Not a problem,” Carter said. Then he smiled with her as he continued his story. “To mystery writers,” he started, “and business writers, you know, how to succeed in business, and we got more self-help books, you know, so-and-so’s sure-fire way to lose weight. We’re doing more biographies, even if they are only of Hollywood actors, but that’s where the market is going. Occasionally they still let me run books solely of my own choice in the Quentin/Donovan Philosophy branch, they’ve even made that separate division label for them. I try to get them into university towns and the like.” “Have you been doing any more writing lately?” “No, I’ve been too busy with work. That’s why I’ve been seeking out other good work. Even if they might not go mainstream, I want to get good work out there, work I think truly has merit. And as long as I don’t go overboard, they let me. The most recent one is an economics book; in fact, it’s at press now and I have to go to the plant in Ohio tomorrow and do a press check.” “Ooh, so they let you travel, too? All the way to Ohio?” “I know, I know. But I go for big projects, with a few other production people from the company. But when my own choices are running, which are always small print counts, mind you, I always go to do a press check then. And you know, I always notice that when I see my own choices printing, I get this wonderful sense of pride by watching the presses work.” “And you don’t get that feeling when you’re watching other projects, the big books that actually make you a success?” “When it’s one of the trash novels that goes through, when it’s one of the trash novels that makes me rich that’s at press, then I can still look at the massive amount of machinery and admire its speed and skill at executing its job. And then I think about the mind that it took to create these machines. But at the same time it doesn’t fill me with the same sense of pleasure.” “Any idea why?” “You know exactly why.” Carter leaned forward and opened a cabinet against the side of the limousine. “Would you like some champagne?” “No, thanks, I should wait a little, I was drinking champagne on the plane.” “Well, well, well, maybe that explains the glow on your cheeks.” “I’m telling you, I don’t have a glow, Carter.” “And I’m telling you, you’re radiant.” They smiled at each other. Sloane looked out the window. “Wow, It has been a while since I’ve been here. Maybe I could go out, to see the skyline.” “Wait until you see the view from my place.” As Carter finished his sentence the limousine turned into the driveway in front of his high-rise apartment building. Carter held the door open while she made her way through, past his outstretched arm against the door, to his living room. They were on the 55th floor, and her attention was immediately drawn to the window and the breathtaking view of New York. She walked over to the opposite wall and pressed her hands against the window. “This is an amazing view, Carter,” she finally managed to get out of her mouth. She kept turning her head to look at different buildings. “I thought you’d like it,” Carter answered. “I don’t want to leave this room all night,” she said, looking like a child in front of a pet store window. “I want to see all of the lights on in this city from this view. This is absolutely gorgeous.” “I thought you’d like it. But you know, we could drive around a bit. The limo has a sunroof, so you can still watch the city. And there are a few nice restaurants I was thinking of taking you to. What kind of food are you in the mood for?” Turning her head away for a moment, she thought about his question. She turned around and leaned her back against the window. “In all honesty?” “Of course.” “I want pizza.” Carter laughed. “Shall we have it delivered?” “Of course.” “Would you like to stay here, or would you also like to go for a ride?” “A ride would be delightful,” she answered and walked across the room toward Carter and her baggage. “Where do you want me to put this stuff?” “I’ve got it,” Carter said, and picked up her belongings. “I’ll put them in the bedroom. We can go for a ride now, and as it gets past dusk we can come back for food.” “It’s a deal.” The next hour was spent in the limousine. Carter was able to convince her that she had waited long enough since her last glass of champagne and that she should have some in the car with him. They drove up and down the streets of Manhattan; at one point Carter dared her to stand in the car with her head out of the sunroof. She agreed only if he’d join her, and for a mile or two they drank champagne and waved back at the people waving in the streets at them. “Why are they waving at us?” she asked. “I suddenly feel like royalty, giving the Queen’s Wave to the little people.” She laughed. “No, I feel more like someone dressed up as Cinderella at a Disney parade.” “I don’t know why they’re waving,” Carter answered. “Maybe they think we just got married.” “But you’re wearing a suit instead of a tux and I’m in a blouse.” “Good point. Okay, I have no idea... Maybe they’re waving just because we’re here, sticking out of the top of a car.” “Maybe,” she said, “maybe they’re waving at us because we look happy and they want to share in that happiness. To have some of that happiness too.” She sounded like she was thinking out loud. “You’re not laughing enough to look happy,” Carter said as he reached his hand over to her side and started tickling her. she started screaming with laughter and at the first chance she got ducked back into the car. “Ready to go back?” Carter asked. “Yeah, I suppose.” “Want to go by the park once more? “I’d rather go around by Times Square once more.” And so they drove.
The pizza arrived at around ten o’clock. Carter yelled from the kitchen, “I’ve got water, beer, soda, wine, more champagne... Which would you prefer?” “I would say beer to be more historically accurate, to continue with the tradition, you know, but I think I’ll be sick if I switch from champagne to something else.” “Champagne then?” “Sure.” They sat on the floor in his living room and ate. Carter started a small fire in the fireplace for light. They ate for a moment in silence. Then it was Carter’s turn to ask the questions. “So I’ve seen your name in the papers a few times since Emivir came out. Anything new going on with the research?” “Our main focus since the drug has come out is to work on improving the drug. We got to this drug by altering other drugs until we found a solution that worked. We were hoping that we could mimic that process and find more.” “No luck yet?” “No. I think it’s getting my department down. And I’m not very good at cheering the team up.” “That’s not your job.” “No, but if they’re not putting in all they can, if they don’t have the heart for it anymore --” “Then the research suffers.” “Exactly.” “So what is the solution?” “I’ve been trying to look at this from a different angle. I was thinking I’d separate the department into three teams. One would continue with the current vein of research. One would work on coming up with integrase inhibitors -- you know how the drug cocktails work?” “Vaguely.” “Each of the drugs in the cocktail attack one enzyme of the virus. The first group would be trying to improve one of the existing drugs. The second group would be working on a new drug -- the integrase inhibitor -- that would attack a third enzyme of the virus.” “Got it. The more ways you attack it, the better.” “Exactly.” “And the third group?” “This might sound trivial, but beyond vitamins and exercise for patients the third group would work on making these drugs easier to take, eliminating the drastic side effects and making the drugs work on a time-release system, so patients would not have to take twenty to sixty pills a day.” “You’d have a better success rate with the drugs if people took them properly and if there weren’t any side effects to make them stop taking it, right?” “Exactly. There’s also a psychological factor to taking so many drugs. Every time you take a pill you’re reminded that you have a fatal disease.” “Not a bad plan. Are you working on more long-term research? This seems a little short-sighted for you.” Carter could see her start to look disappointed as she attempted to answer. “Yes, but it’s hard to think of the light at the end of the tunnel when you can’t come up with the first step to solving this problem.” “Oh, the Sloane I know wouldn’t sound so pessimistic.” “It’s not pessimism, it’s realism.” She thought through her response like how she thought through all problems. “When I can’t solve the problem with improving what we have, then it’s hard to think about solving the problem altogether... I think that’s why I came here tonight.” “Why?” “Because I wanted to hear you tell me that you know I can do it.” “You know you can. You don’t need me telling you that.” “I just get tired of telling it to myself over and over again.” They sat in silence for a moment. Then she started talking. “I know I’m a realist, and that makes people think that I’m a pessimist. And I’ve always covered up any emotions I’ve felt, and I’ve never shown emotion to anyone.” Carter nodded his head in agreement. “But with you, well, you make me more real. I feel like I can let out emotions with you, emotions I wouldn’t bother to feel or show to anyone else.” “Well I’m glad you’ve got that with me,” Carter answered. He paused with his sentences before continuing. “So back to the subject... It seems you’re on the right track by looking for alternative ways to attack the virus. Can you stretch your staff that thin, separating them into three smaller groups?” “Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem at all. Actually, people usually work better that way. And I’ll let people decide by their own interests and abilities what they want to work on.” “And that’s how you’re going to keep their morale up.” “...I guess it is. But I want them to have some control over their work; everyone needs to feel that their talents -- as well as their interests -- matter.” “I guess you didn’t need a cheer for them after all.” “I also thought I’d do a little research on homeopathy and alternative forms of medicine, like nutrition, herbs, massage, hypnosis, or something. Even if it has no merit, it might act as a placebo when people think they’re on a drug and maybe it will help their system somehow. If patients feel they’re taking positive steps toward recovery, they alleviate depression, and their immune system may respond positively. So it could be worth the effort after all.” “A lot of people say that homeopathy really does have merit, though. Hell, we’ve published a number of books on the subject. Want me to send some to your office? “I’d love it, Carter. Thanks a lot. Anything you have on natural remedies or homeopathy for better health.” “No problem. Actually, we have a few books about AIDS, too. Mostly conspiracy stuff, though.” “Really?” she asked, in a condescending tone. “Boy, you really do pander to the lowest common denominator, don’t you?” “You know the saying that sex sells, more than anything. But now, the people’s hatred for the government is coming in a close second.” “What does that say for the people?” “Really, if you think about it, those are two pretty worthwhile topics. And if the government does something wrong, the question would be: what do you say about the government?” Knowing he was right, she laughed, and glanced up at Carter. Carter continued eating, while she got up and walked to the window. “So, you’re doing well at the publishing company. Why do you still run that small publishing branch in your spare time if it isn’t a money-maker?” Carter wiped his face with a paper napkin. “Because those books need to get out. Because I know they’re right.” “Right? How so?” “The drivel that gets on the best sellers lists, the garbage that makes us money, the language is at a grade school student’s reading level. The content is poor at best. There are no heroes. There is nothing extraordinary about them, the characters or even the books. I want books that glorify man. People don’t read that anymore.” “If people don’t read it anymore, why do you print it?” “I have to hope that I’m not the only person in the world that thinks this way. I have to believe that there are other people out there --” he held his glass up to the skyline out his window -- “other people out there like me.” “Do you think people don’t read the kinds of books you’re talking about because they don’t want to, or because they haven’t found them?” “I hope it’s the second. If it is, then I know I can’t give it up.” Walking back to Carter, she sat next to him on the floor in front of the fireplace. “There are people like you, Carter.” she said. She leaned her head on his shoulder. He liked her answer. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Carter answered, and leaned his head on top of hers. “Of course.” They watched the fire for a moment. Carter liked her leaning on him, but he had to make a motion to get up, so she could move out of the way. “I hate to interrupt, but duty calls...” He walked toward the washroom. Sloane watched him walk down the hall. She watched the long line of his slacks as he moved away from her. She watched his shoulders sway back and forth. He turned the corner. He’s not a scientist, like her, she thought, but she admired his sense of freedom, his love of succeeding and the fact that he knows that he’s good at what he does. His pride, she thought, she loved his pride. She looked back at the open cardboard box of left over mushroom and sausage pizza and their glasses of empty champagne. She reached over, grabbed the bottle, and filled their glasses. Carter walked out of the washroom and down the hall. When he reached the entrance to the living room, he stopped for a moment and leaned against the wall. When sitting, her skirt slid up her legs a little, and Carter noticed her long thin legs trailing off to her delicate feet. Her black hair was shining in the light of the fireplace. Although Carter never visited her, he realized how much he missed her. Sloane looked up and saw him looking at her. “What’s the matter?” “Oh, I’m just not used to seeing someone here. I’m usually alone here.” “Oh, I’m sure you take people out all the time.” “Sure I do, but I don’t bring them home with me.” He walked over and sat down next to her. “You know,” Carter started, “you’re the only friend I’ve kept in contact with since college. And I’ve done a poor job at that.” “Carter, you’re probably the only friend I had in college,” She answered. “You stuck your nose in the books too much.” “Well, science isn’t going to let you guess.” They both leaned their backs against the couch and sipped their champagne. “Thanks for putting up with me,” She finally said. Carter put his arm around her. “You know, I think we’re cast from the same mold, you and I. It is nice to talk to you, because when I talk to you, it makes me feel better too... It’s just nice knowing you exist.” Sloane whispered, resting her head again, “You know, you are so cool.” “I’m what?” Carter answered. “You heard me... I’m not trying to sound like I stick my head in the books too much.” She paused to smile before she finished her thought. “You make me smile. It’s nice knowing you exist, too.” She closed her eyes as she kept her head on his shoulder. She almost fell asleep right there, until she relaxed her hand and the glass of champagne she was holding in her lap tipped over and spilled all over her skirt. She let out a light scream at the cold liquid seeping through her skirt and pouring over her legs. She wiped the carpet off with an extra paper napkin until Carter brought in a towel for her. He held it out to her, looking at the spill strategically located on her skirt. “I think I better let you do the honors,” he said. She smiled. “Here, let me get you a robe.” Carter walked into his bedroom and produced a white terry-cloth bathrobe. She took it from his hand, smiled in embarrassment and walked into the washroom. He heard her laughing from down the hall. “What’s so funny?” “Carter, I know you’re tall, I know you’re a big guy, but I know I am a tall woman and I feel like this robe is consuming me!” As she walked out, the shoulder seam was near her elbows. “I’ve rolled up the sleeves four times and I still can’t see my hands. Are you sure this isn’t a blanket or a sleeping bag instead?” Carter stood up and started laughing out loud. “Why are you worried? You look perfectly comfortable -- and perfectly dry.” “Yes, and thank you for the robe.” “You want to go to sleep?” “What time is it?” “Three-thirty.” “Oh my God, we talked that long?” “Yeah.” “Let me help you clean up.” She picked up the box of pizza before he could stop her. Carter got the champagne bottle and glasses; she got the napkins. They cleaned up in the kitchen and walked back out into the living room. Carter put the fire out while she looked out the window. “If I had this view every day, it sure would be easier to get up every morning.” She looked down. Carter walked over to her, took her hand, and walked her to the bedroom. He placed her in front of his mirror, stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “When you have this view every day,” he said, pointing over her shoulder to her reflection in the mirror, “you have no reason not to face every day with your drive and enthusiasm.” Sloane looked at herself smothered in Carter’s bathrobe in the full-length mirror. “I look ridiculous,” she said, smiling. “You are amazing,” Carter answered. “And you, my dear, are Sloane Emerson. That’s all you need.” They stood in front of the mirror together for a moment before Carter let go of her shoulders and walked toward the door. “I’ve got to do my press check tomorrow. Would you like to go with me?” “I really should get back to work.” “Oh, have you had your Carter fix already?” Sloane smiled, thinking she didn’t have her fix. “Well, you’re going to work, too. Have you had your fill of me?” “You know I never would,” Carter said as he understood and smiled. “I’ll wake you in the morning.” “If I don’t wake you first.” Carter closed the door and walked down the hall. She slumped down at the foot of the bed. She looked around the room. “So this is where he lives,” she thought. She reached over and crawled toward the pillows at the other side of the bed. She got on her knees and took off his robe and placed it at the foot of the bed. She lifted the covers and crawled into his bed. “So this is where he sleeps,” she thought. She felt the sheets against her skin and could smell Carter in the pillow she was resting her head against. His scent comforted her as she tossed and turned in his bed, felt the sheets wrap around her legs, until she finally fell asleep. Carter walked over to his couch. He stretched a blanket over the couch and placed an extra pillow on one end. The apartment was dark. He looked around, and walked over to the window. He saw what she saw as the lights of the skyscrapers flickered before him. It was a fireworks show he took for granted every night when he closed his shades and went to sleep. He unbuttoned his shirt and placed it on a dining room chair. He walked back toward the couch and saw in the shadows her shoes lined up next to his near the fireplace. He lay down on the couch, stared for a moment, and tried to sleep.
At nine in the morning Carter gently knocked on his bedroom door. The light from the window woke him up. She rolled over, grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to her nose. Since she had that evening showed more to him about her than she was used to, she thought she shouldn’t show off her bare skin in bed as well. “Come in.” Carter slowly opened the door. “Hey, sorry to wake you. I have to leave for my flight to Ohio in about an hour. I figured you’d want some time to get yourself together. Do you want anything for breakfast?” She thought about the headache behind her right eyebrow. “No. Thanks.” “Doing that well?” “Didn’t fall asleep right away. I tossed and turned a lot.” “Really? How come?” “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not used to sleeping in a different place.” He would never admit it consciously, but in the back of Carter’s mind, a part of him was glad that sleeping didn’t come easy to her last night. “If you need anything,” Carter said, “let me know.” “Thanks.” Carter turned and started to close the door. “Oh, Carter?” she asked. He stopped and turned back toward her. “Yes?” “Do you have any orange juice?” “Sure. I’ll bring some in for you.” He started to close the door again. “Oh, wait, Carter?” Carter looked back again. “Yes?” “Is it from concentrate?” “What?” “Is your orange juice from concentrate?” “No. That stuff tastes awful.” “Good. Thanks.” Carter then closed the door; she could hear his footsteps fading away. She reached over and grabbed the bathrobe from the floor; it must have fallen off the bed while she was moving in her sleep, she thought. She threw it on and walked over to his bathroom and turned on his shower. Carter knocked and came in with a glass of orange juice, a vitamin pill and two towels. “The vitamin is for the hangover. I heard the water running, so here are some clean towels.” He put everything in her hands, then put his hand on her head and messed up her hair. She squinted her eyes and smiled. He turned around and walked out again. Gulping down some orange juice, she swallowed the multi-vitamin supplement. She walked into the bathroom, placed the towels on the counter, and let the bathrobe fall to her feet. She stepped into the bathtub. The heat of the water shocked her when she got under the showerhead; she liked the water piping hot in the morning. She grabbed the soap from the side of the tub and started running the bar over her shoulders and up and down her arms. She turned toward the water and ran the bar over her stomach. She tilted her head back and felt the water beat down against her chest. Then she leaned against the wall of the shower stall; she liked how the cold of the ceramic tile felt against her back while the hot water was pounding on her. Sloane needed to focus. She had things to do back in Seattle. A part of her wanted to go on the press check with Carter, but eighteen hours was enough time to spend in one visit. She didn’t want to seem overbearing. Besides, she had work to do too. So she walked out into the living room wearing her beige slacks and her gray tank top. She was shaking the wrinkles out of her white blouse while she was walking down the hall. Carter looked up at her; her shoulders had the same effect on him as they did on Toby. She looked over at him, sitting at the dining room table with the newspaper folded in his hands. “What are you looking at?” “You.” “Why?” “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you when your hair is wet.” “Oh, I know, I look like a wet dog. But I didn’t see a hair dryer, and I didn’t pack one, so I --” “I wasn’t saying it was bad. I was just noticing.” She walked over and picked her shoes up. Carter waited for a moment after seeing her with wet hair. “Are you done in the bathroom? I desperately need to shower and change.” “Oh, I’m sorry, yes, let me just get my bags and I can pack them out here.” Carter walked into the bathroom and closed the door. He noticed his bathrobe on the hook of his door. He took off his clothes and started the water. Then he walked over to the bathrobe. Just stared at it for a moment. He reached up to it with his left hand and felt the loops of the fabric under his fingers. He turned to the shower and stepped in. He stepped underneath the showerhead and held his head under the running water for a few seconds. Then he shook his head, tried to regain himself, and grabbed the shampoo.
Sloane walked around his living room. She picked up his dishes from breakfast and cleaned them in the kitchen sink. Then she got her cellular phone from out of her purse and called Jim. “Hello, Sloane.” “You know, Jim, you can act like you don’t know who’s calling you. It’s strange to hear someone answer like that.” “I’m sitting in an airport hotel...” “I know, I know, I’m just being silly. Is it okay if I leave from Manhattan for the airport by eleven?” “No problem. I’ll meet you at the same gate.” “Thanks a lot, Jim. By the way, did you do anything last night?” “Yeah, I went to dinner and met up with a friend of mine. We were out kind of late, actually. And how about you?” “We didn’t go anywhere, but we had a lot of fun talking.” “Did you get your spirit back?” “Huh? “You said on the flight in that you were visiting a friend that would hopefully bring your spirit back to you. Did they?” “Yeah, I think they did.” “Good then. Mission accomplished. I’ll meet you at the airport.” “Thanks, Jim.” “No problem.” She hung up the phone and walked over to the window. A haze had fallen over the city and cut a few of the taller buildings in half. She looked at all the buildings for one last time. There were times in her life when she would look at a scene, and memorize it, so she could call it up into her mind when she wanted to. She did this at the beach in Miami, and she was doing it here, recording the layer of fog, the few buildings that pierced though the fog out into the sky, the shapes of the buildings, and the motion in the streets. Then she walked over to her bags, made sure everything was in order, and stretched out on the couch and waited for Carter. Carter walked out ten minutes later and saw Sloane stretched out on the couch. “I thought you would have had your computer out by now, working, since you had to wait for me.” “I thought I might as well enjoy this time while I’m still capable of it.” “What do you mean?” “Most of the time I feel like working. I want to work; it’s what makes me feel good. I get anxious just sitting around doing nothing constructive. But this morning I actually feel like lounging around for a bit. I did think that I could get my notes out and do a little work. A part of me still wants to. But then I thought: no, I should enjoy this moment of peace while I’m still capable of it.” “I understand your love of your work, but I’m glad you’re able to relax here. Consider this your private spa; visit whenever you want. You have an open invitation.” “And you have the same in Seattle,” she answered as she got up and straightened her clothes out. “I’ll keep it in mind. Hey, are you sure you don’t want to go with me on my press check? I think you’d enjoy it.” “No, I really should work through the rest of the weekend, even if that does just mean tonight. There’s too much I want to get done.” “Isn’t there always?” “I suppose there is. I’ll take a rain check, though.” “You’ve got a deal.” Carter picked up her weekend bag and her briefcase and handed her the trench coat as he guided her out of his apartment.
A strong gust of wind followed her into the airplane. Jim walked toward the cockpit. She turned toward the cockpit once she tucked away her luggage. “What time should we arrive in Seattle, Jim?” “We gain three hours, so we should arrive no later than two in the afternoon.” “I like trips like this, I like gaining a few more hours,” she thought. “I can get more work done.” The plane made its way to the runway, and she leaned her seat back and listened to the roar of the engines. She closed her eyes, feeling the wheels lift off the ground and the gravitational pull as she was pulled away, farther and farther away from the earth. As the plane started to level off, she reached under her seat and found her briefcase. Placing it on the table in front of her, she decided to pull out her note pad. She found the list that she had written on her flight this weekend. She read the last lines. -------------------------- 6. psychological treatments 6a. alleviate depression, may help immune system 6b. help memory to take drugs, and keep positive attitude 7. homeopathies 7a. nutrition, diet and herbs to improve general health 7b. herbs to alleviate nausea for patients who experience side effects 7c. vitamins and herbs with effects on immune system 7d. is there a psychologically positive effect of eating things good for you? -------------------------- She thought about it. She decided to get on the internet when she got home and do some research. She called Kyle at home from her cellular phone. “Hello?” “Kyle? Hi, it’s Sloane.” “Where are you? There’s a lot of static.” “I’m flying back to Seattle now. Listen, I was wondering if you finished the report of what we’re going over with the staff tomorrow.” “Yes, it’s finished. Where did you go this weekend?” “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Can you fax your notes to my apartment?” “Sure. You sound tired.” “Yes, I suppose I am.” “I hope you didn’t work all weekend.” “Don’t worry about me, Kyle. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Placing the phone on the table next to her list, she closed her eyes for a moment, she thought about all the work she had ahead of her. She felt a hand against her shoulder in her seat. “Wake up.” Slowly opening her eyes, she jerked her head up and focused on Jim. “Jim, why aren’t you flying the plane?” “We landed five minutes ago. You slept through the entire flight.” Looking around for a moment, she attempted to collect her thoughts before she collected her things. She had work waiting for her at home.
Click here for Chapter 4 of The Key To Believing
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portions of this book are in the following books:
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