"What?"
"Susanna. It's my real name. Susanna Herrera." She turned to Cody, and her face was fierce. "I am Susanna Herrera. I'm a dancer, I'm not a whore, and I want to know what you've done to me."
"What I've…?"
"I dance. I tease, I hint. It makes you feel good, you give me money, which makes me feel good. Sometimes I give a lapdance, but always by the rules: hands on the armrest, clothes on, a little bump and grind, because I need the extra tips. I dance, you pay. It's my job. But this, this isn't a job! I don't know what it is. It's crazy. I let you-" Her cheeks darkened. "And I would do it again, for no money. For nothing. It's crazy. I feel… It's like… I don't even know how to say it! I want to talk to you, listen to you talk about your business. I want to see your house. I didn't sleep last night. I thought about you: your smile, your hands, how strong it made me feel to give you pleasure, how warm I felt when you wrapped your arms around me. And I'm scared."
"Me too," Cody said, and she was, very, because she was beginning to get an idea what was wrong with them and it felt like a very bad joke.
"You're not scared." Susanna folded her arms, turned her face again.
"I am. Cook-Susanna, do you suppose… Shit. I feel ridiculous even saying this. Look at me. Please. Thank you. Do you suppose this is what l-"
She couldn't say it. She didn't believe it.
After a very long pause, Susanna said, "Dancers don't fall in love with the marks."
That cut. "Marks don't fall in love with whores."
"I'm not a-"
"Neither am I."
They stared at each other. Cody's phone rang. She thumbed it off without looking. "My full name is Candice Marcinko. I have to fly back to San Francisco this afternoon, but I could come back to Atlanta at the end of the week. We could, you know, talk, go to the movies, walk in the park." Jesus, had she left any stereotype unturned? She tried again. "I want to meet your, your cat."
"I don't have a cat."
"Or your dog," she said. Stop babbling. But she couldn't. "I want to learn how long you've lived in Atlanta and what kind of food you like and whether you think the Braves will win tonight and how you feel when you sleep in my arms." She felt like an idiot.
Susanna looked at her for a while, then picked up the box at her side. "Do you like Krispy Kreme?"
When Cody turned her phone on again at the airport, there was a message from Richard: Call me, it's important. But she had to run for her plane.
In the air she leaned her head against the window and listened to the drone of the engines.
Susanna, sitting on the bench while the sun went down, thinking, Love, love is for rich people.
A cream labrador runs by, head turned to watch its owner running alongside. Its tongue lolls, happy and pink. Dogs love. Dogs are owned.
She tears the last three doughnuts to pieces and throws them to the ducks.
On Thursday, Vince and the executive team toasted her with champagne. She took the opportunity to ask for Friday and two days next week off. Vince couldn't say no without looking chintzy, so he told her VPs didn't have to ask permission.
VP. She grinned hard and for a minute she felt almost normal. VP. Top dog.
Friday morning she had just got out of the shower when the doorbell rang. She was so surprised she barely remembered to pull on a robe before she opened the door.
"Well, that's a sight for sore eyes."
"Richard!"
"Not that I don't appreciate the gesture but could you please tighten that belt, at least until we've had coffee? Here you go, quad grande, two percent."
She went to get dressed. When she emerged, drying her hair with a towel, he was sitting comfortably on the couch, ankle crossed at the knee, just like Susanna in the park.
"I envy you that dyke rub-and-go convenience."
She draped the towel round her neck, sat, and sipped the latte. "To paraphrase you, it's not that I don't appreciate the coffee, but… why the fuck are you here?"
He put his phone on the table next to her latte. "Remember this?"
"It's your phone?"
He took a thumbdrive from his laptop case and gave it, then her, a significant look.
"Richard, I've had a real weird few days and I'm on a plane in four hours. Maybe." Maybe she was crazy, maybe she should cancel… "Anyhow, could you please just get to the point?"
"Drink your coffee. You're going to need it. And tell me what happened on Tuesday night." He held up his hand. "Just tell me. Because my guess is you had a hell of a night with a lovely young thing called Cookie."
She didn't say anything for a long, long time. "Susanna," she said finally.
"Ah. You got that far? Susanna Herrera, aged twenty-four-"
"Twenty-six."
"Twenty-four. Trust me. Mother Antonia Herrera, father unknown. Dunwoody community college, degree in business administration-oh, the look on your face-and one previous arrest for possession of a controlled substance. Healthy as an ox. Not currently taking any medication except contraceptive pills."
"The pill?"
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. Go on."
"No known allergies to pharmaceuticals, though a surprising tolerance to certain compounds, for example sodium thiopental and terpazine hydrochloride."
Cody seized on something that made sense. "Wait. I know that drug. It's-"
"RU486 for the mind. That's the one."
"Oh, Jesus, Richard, you didn't give her that! You didn't make her forget what happened!"
"Not what happened Tuesday."
Cody, confused, said nothing.
He plugged the thumbdrive into his laptop and turned the screen so she could see the sound file icons. "It will all make sense when you've listened to these."
"But I don't have time. I have a plane-"
"You'll want to cancel that, if it's to Atlanta. Just listen. Then I'll answer questions."
He tapped play.
"… ever happens, I promise no one will ever hear what goes on this recording except you."
"Cue ominous music."
She jumped at the sound of her own voice. "What-"
"Shh."
"-more an, um, an ethics thing."
"Jesus, Richard. You're such a drama queen." Pause. Clink.
"I've done my research, too. Like you, I'm pretty sure what will happen after you've made your presentations to Boone."
"The Golden Key."
"-but what I need to know from you is whether or not you can authorize out-of-pocket expenses in the high five figures to win this contract."
He touched pause. "Ring any bells?"
"No." Cody's esophagus had clamped shut. She could hardly swallow her own spit, never mind the latte. But the cardboard was warm and smooth in her hand, comforting, and behind Richard her fish swam serenely back and forth.
"Terpazine is a good drug. We managed to calculate your dosage beautifully. Susanna's was a bit more of a challenge. Incredible metabolism."
"You said you didn't give her-"
"Not in the last couple of weeks. But you've had it six times, and she seven. Now keep listening."
Six times?
"-the exploration of memory and its retrieval. So exciting. A perfect dovetail with the work I've been doing on how people form attachments. It's all about familiarity. You let someone in deep enough, or enough times, then your brain actually rewires to recognize that person as friend, or family."
Pause.
"There are ways to make it easier for someone to let you in."
Clink of bottle on glass.
"I've told you about those studies that show it's as simple as having Person A anticipate Person B's needs and fulfill them."
"So don't tell me again."
She sounded so sure of herself, bored even. A woman who had never thought to use the world love.
"-jumpstart the familiarization process. For example, Person A works in a bookshop and is lonely, and when she's lonely chocolate makes her feel better. And one day Person B arrives mid-afternoon with some chocolate, says, Hey, you look sorta miserable, when I'm miserable chocolate makes me feel better, would you like one? and A eats a chocolate and thinks, Wow, this B person is very thoughtful and empathic and must be just like me, and therefore gets slotted immediately into the almost-friend category. It's easy to set something like that up. You just have to know enough about Person A."