“Whatever,” Stanton said with a wave. “Personally I find the story fascinating. I should be so lucky; it’s like having had a relative on the Mayflower or in the boat when Washington crossed the Delaware.”
“I think we should change the subject,” Kim said.
“Agreed,” Stanton said equably. He was the only one still holding up his glass of wine. It was a long toast. “That brings me to Edward Armstrong. Here’s to the most exciting, productive, creative, and intelligent neurochemist in the world, no, in the universe! Here’s to a man who has come from the streets of Brooklyn, put himself through school, and is now at the pinnacle of his chosen career. Here’s to a man who should be already booking a flight to Stockholm for his Nobel Prize, which he is a shoo-in to win for his work with neurotransmitters, memory, and quantum mechanics.”
Stanton extended his wineglass and everybody followed suit. They clinked glasses and drank. As Kim set her glass back on the table she glanced furtively at Edward. It was apparent to her that he was equally as abashed and self-conscious as she.
Stanton thumped his now empty glass on the table and proceeded to refill it. He glanced around at the other glasses, then jammed the wine bottle into its ice bucket. “Now that you two have met,” he said, “I expect you to fall in love, get married, and have plenty of darling kids. All I ask for my part in bringing you together in this fruitful union is that Edward agrees to serve on the scientific advisory board of Genetrix.”
Stanton laughed heartily even though he was the only one to do so. When he recovered he said, “Okay, where the hell is the waiter? Let’s eat!”
Outside the restaurant the group paused.
“We could walk around the corner and get ice cream at Herrell’s,” Stanton suggested.
“I couldn’t eat another thing,” Kim said.
“Me neither,” Edward said.
“I never eat dessert,” Candice said.
“Then who wants a lift home?” Stanton asked. “I’ve got my car right here in the Holyoke Center garage.”
“I’m happy with MTA,” Kim said.
“My apartment is just a short walk,” Edward said.
“Then you two are on your own,” Stanton said. After promising Edward he’d be in touch, Stanton took Candice’s arm and headed for the garage.
“Can I walk you to the subway?” Edward asked.
“I’d appreciate that,” Kim said.
They headed off together. As they walked, Kim could sense that Edward wanted to say something. Just before they got to the corner he spoke. “It’s such a pleasant evening,” he said, struggling a bit with the p. His mild stutter had returned. “How about a little walk in Harvard Square before you head home?”
“That would be great,” Kim said. “I’d enjoy it.”
Arm in arm they walked to that complicated collision of Massachusetts Avenue, the JFK Drive portion of Harvard Street, Mt. Auburn Street, and Brattle Street. Despite its name it was hardly a square but rather a series of curved facades and curiously shaped open areas. On summer nights the area metamorphoses into a spontaneous, medieval-like sidewalk circus of jugglers, musicians, poetry readers, magicians, and acrobats.
It was a warm, silky, summer night with a few night-hawks chirping high in the dark sky. There were even a few stars despite the glow from the city lights. Kim and Edward strolled around the entire square, pausing briefly at the periphery of each performer’s audience. Despite their mutual misgivings about the evening, ultimately they were enjoying themselves.
“I’m glad I came out tonight,” Kim said.
“So am I,” Edward said.
Finally they sat down on a low concrete wall. To their left was a woman singing a plaintive ballad. To their right was a group of energetic Peruvian Indians playing indigenous panpipes.
“Stanton is truly a character,” Kim said.
“I didn’t know who to be more embarrassed for,” Edward said. “Me or you with the way he was carrying on.”
Kim laughed in agreement. She’d felt just as uncomfortable when Stanton was toasting Edward as when he’d toasted her.
“What I find amazing about Stanton is that he can be so manipulative and charming at the same time,” Kim said.