Lessons in Chemistry
- Автор: Garmus Bonnie
- Год: 2022
- Язык: английский
- Год: Doubleday Canada
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Lessons in Chemistry». Краткое содержание книги:
The woman doing jumping jacks stopped to give Elizabeth a thumbs-up.
“—and she couldn’t get down here fast enough.”
“Oh, I see,” Elizabeth said slowly as she gave the woman a small nod of approval. “So really, you’re glad.”
“I—”
“So what you’re trying to say is, Thank you, Elizabeth.”
“No.”
“You’re very welcome, Dr. Mason.”
“No.”
She glanced back at the woman. “Your wife is getting on the erg.”
“Oh god,” Mason called. “Betsy, not that!”
—
A similar thing happened at other boathouses across the nation. Women showed up, and some of the clubs encouraged them to join. But that’s not to say every club did. Or that everyone who watched Elizabeth’s show liked what she had to say.
“GODLESS HEETHEN!” read a hastily scribbled picket sign emblazoned with Elizabeth’s likeness and hoisted by a mean-looking woman just outside KCTV Studios.
It was Elizabeth’s second parking lot of the morning, and like the first, it was fuller than usual.
“Picketers,” Walter said, catching up to her. “This is why we don’t say certain things on TV, Elizabeth,” he reminded her. “This is why we keep our opinions to ourselves.”
“Walter,” said Elizabeth, “peaceful protest is a valued form of discourse.”
“You call this discourse?” he said, as someone shouted, “BURN IN HELL!”
“They’re attention seekers,” she said as if speaking from personal experience. “They’ll move on eventually.”
—
Still, he worried. She was getting death threats. He’d shared this information with the police and studio security; he’d even called Harriet Sloane and told her. But he hadn’t told Elizabeth because he knew she’d take matters into her own hands. Besides, the police had been very reassuring about the threats. “Bunch of harmless kooks” is how they put it.
—
Across town, hours later in the Zott living room, Six-Thirty found himself worried, too. At the end of Elizabeth’s show last Friday, he’d noticed that not everyone was clapping. Today’s show, there it was again. A nonclapper.
Anxious, he waited until the creature and Harriet were busy in the lab, then slipped out the back door, jogging four blocks south, then two blocks west, until he was well positioned near the on-ramp. When a flatbed truck slowed to join a line of cars merging onto the freeway, he hopped on.
Obviously, he knew how to find KCTV. Anyone who’d read The Incredible Journey would understand how un-incredible it was that dogs could find just about anything. He used to marvel at the needle in the haystack story Elizabeth had once read to him — marvel because what was so hard about finding a needle in a haystack? The scent of high carbon steel wire was unmistakable.
In short, getting to KCTV wasn’t hard. Getting inside was.
As he meandered through the parking lot, wending his way between cars, their tail fins and hood ornaments glinting in the unseasonably hot sun, he looked for an entrance.
“Hey there, doggy,” a big man in a dark blue uniform said. He was standing in front of an important-looking door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
What Six-Thirty wanted to say was inside, that, like this man in the blue uniform, he too was in security. But since explaining was out of the question, he opted for acting — the very language of television.
“Oh gosh,” the man said as Six-Thirty collapsed in a very convincing heap. “Hold on, boy, I’ll get help!” He banged on the door until someone opened it and then hefted Six-Thirty up and carried him into the air-conditioned building. A minute later, Six-Thirty was lapping water from one of Elizabeth’s very own mixing bowls.
Say what you want about the human race, their capacity for kindness was what — in Six-Thirty’s opinion — put them over the top, species-wise.
—
“Six-Thirty?”
Elizabeth!
He ran to her in a way that a dog with actual heatstroke never could.
“What the—” began the man in the blue uniform, noting the miracle recovery.
“How did you get in here, Six-Thirty?” Elizabeth said, throwing her arms around him. “How did you find me? This is my dog, Seymour,” she told the man in the blue uniform. “It’s Six-Thirty.”
“Actually, it’s five thirty, ma’am, but still blazing out there. Anyway, the dog keeled over so I hauled him in.”
“Thank you, Seymour,” she gushed. “I really owe you. He must have run all the way here,” she said incredulously. “It’s nine miles.”
“Or maybe he came with your little girl,” Seymour suggested. “And the grandma in the Chrysler? Like they did a couple of months back?”
“Wait,” said Elizabeth, looking up sharply. “What?”
—
“I can explain,” Walter said, holding up his hands as if to ward off a possible attack.
Elizabeth had long ago made it clear that Madeline was never to come to the studio. He had no idea why; Amanda came all the time. But whenever Elizabeth brought it up, he nodded as if he understood and agreed even though he had no clue and couldn’t care less.
“It was a homework assignment,” he lied. “Watch Your Parent at Work Day.” He had no idea why he felt a sudden urge to make up an alibi for Harriet Sloane, but it felt right. “You’re busy,” he said. “You probably just forgot.”
Elizabeth jolted. Maybe she had. Hadn’t Mason pointed out exactly the same thing that very morning? “It’s just that I don’t want my daughter to think of me as a television personality,” she explained, rolling up one sleeve. “I don’t want her to think that I’m — you know — performing.” She pictured her father, her face hardening like cement.
“Don’t worry,” Walter said dryly. “No one will ever mistake what you do for performance.”
She leaned forward in earnest. “Thank you.”
His secretary came in, carrying a large stack of mail. “I put the things needing immediate attention on top, Mr. Pine,” she said. “And I’m not sure you’re aware, but there’s a big dog in the hallway.”
“A what—?”
“He’s mine,” Elizabeth said quickly. “It’s Six-Thirty. He’s how I found out about Mad’s ‘Watch Your Parent at Work Day’ visit. Seymour told me—”
Hearing his name, Six-Thirty got up and entered the office, sniffing the air. Walter Pine. Suffers from low self-esteem.
Eyes wide, Walter pressed himself back in his chair. The dog was huge. He took a short breath in, then turned his attention to his stack of mail, only half listening as Elizabeth droned on and on about what the thing could do — sit, stay, fetch, probably, god only knows. Dog people were always so relentlessly braggy, so ridiculously proud when it came to their dog’s minor accomplishments. But her never-ending discourse gave him the time he needed to ponder how soon he could call Harriet Sloane and get her in on the lie so she could support the story from her end.
“What do you think? You’ve been wanting to try something new,” Elizabeth was saying. “Would it work?”
“Why not?” he said agreeably, having no idea what he’d just agreed to.
“Fantastic,” she said. “Then we’ll start tomorrow?”
“Sounds great!” he said.
—
“Hello,” Elizabeth said the very next day. “My name is Elizabeth Zott and this is Supper at Six. I’d like to introduce you to my dog, Six-Thirty. Say hello to everyone, Six-Thirty.” Six-Thirty cocked his head to the side and the audience laughed and clapped, and Walter, who’d only been informed ten minutes ago that not only was a dog in the building again, but that the hairdresser had trimmed his bangs in preparation for his close-up, sank down in his producer’s chair and vowed to stop telling lies.