Lyle stared for a moment, trying not to think about her lips, then turned to gather up his samples. “Sure, you can do the photos.”
Susan picked up the trays and spatulas and headed cheerfully down the hall, Lyle following several steps behind. Kerry gets to look at beautiful women every day, he thought, with photo shoots and commercial shoots and who knows what else. He gets paid to look at beautiful women. Is it really so bad that I look at this one? One who’s wearing a lab coat, for crying out loud? It’s not like she walks around in a swimsuit all day.
Hmmm, Susan walking around in a swimsuit all day.…
“Dr. Fontanelle!” Lyle shook himself from his daydream and realized he’d walked past the door. He smiled nervously, wondering if Susan knew what he’d been thinking about, but she seemed as cheerful as ever. He walked back into the room and smiled at the six men seated on the other side of the long, narrow table. HR had managed to grab a batch of outside volunteers with a pretty good mix of skin types: an Asian, a Latino, and four Caucasians, one of whom had red hair and intensely fair skin, and another who was heavyset and greasy. It should be a good test.
“Sorry,” said Lyle, “just got a little distracted. I assume you’ve all read the packet and signed the release forms?”
“We get paid for this, right?” said one of the subjects, a tall, skinny man with dark black hair.
“Naturally,” said Lyle, collecting the row of proffered papers and checking to see that each release form had been fully filled out and signed. Susan followed him, placing a small Styrofoam tray and a mini plastic spatula in front of each man.
“Good,” said the tall man—Lyle saw on his paperwork that his name was Ronald—“because that’s why I’m here. To get paid.” He seemed nervous, and Lyle laughed silently. Test subjects were so twitchy sometimes.
“Good,” said Lyle, and looked at the group. “Well. I’m pleased to tell you that this is a very late-stage test, and the product you’ll be sampling is essentially ready for production. Your skin is in very safe hands, and in fact we think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Now, we’ve given each of you a tray and a spatula; next we’ll give you a— Susan?”
Susan was on the end of the row, rubbing lotion onto the back of a subject’s hand. A very handsome subject, Lyle noted with some irritation. The man glanced at Lyle, then looked up at Susan and flashed exactly the kind of debonair smile Lyle had tried to make earlier, in exactly the kind of way that made Lyle know he had failed. His teeth were more perfect than some of the models they’d used for their teeth-whitening ads.
“You’ll give us a Susan?” the man asked, grinning devilishly. Susan smiled back. “If I’d known that, I’d have signed up weeks ago.”
“Susan,” Lyle whispered, walking toward her, “we can’t actually touch them. That’s what the spatulas are for.”
“He doesn’t mind,” said Susan, and gave the man a stunning smile.
Lyle rolled his eyes. She’s flirting with him.
“I don’t mind at all,” said the man, smiling back.
Lyle successfully avoided groaning. “No,” he said, “I mean it’s actually illegal—if you’re not a licensed cosmetologist you’re not even allowed to touch another person’s face, and the hands are … essentially the same thing, so.” He pulled Susan gently away. “Let’s just not touch anyone, anywhere, just to be safe.”
Susan raised her eyebrow, staring at him.
“Give them all some lotion,” said Lyle, gesturing at the other men. “Just a squirt from the bottle, straight into the tray.” Susan saluted, and Lyle frowned. “Now, gentlemen: use the spatula, or your fingers—you can touch your own face without a cosmetology license, of course—and spread it around on your arms or your face, maybe somewhere you have some fine lines or wrinkles.…” He watched as the six men poked and sniffed at the lotion and slowly began smearing it on their skin. “Careful of your eyes, of course,” said Lyle. “It’s perfectly safe, but that doesn’t mean it feels good in your eyes.”
“We want to test it over time,” said Susan, “so we need you to come back in three weeks so we can see if there’s any progress.” She finished giving each man some lotion, and picked up a camera. “I’ll be taking some ‘before’ photos so we have something solid to compare it to when you come back.”
The nervous guy looked up. “Do we get paid now or at the end of the three weeks?”
“Both, Ronald,” said Lyle. “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid. I just have some quick questions first.” Lyle looked at the sheaf of papers and saw that the handsome man’s name was Jon Ford. “Mr. Ford, let’s start with you: Do you ever experience any…” He paused, realizing what the question was about, and felt a surge of mischievous satisfaction. “Do you ever experience any itching, perhaps a contagious skin rash of some kind, or an epidermal fungus?”
“Do I have to answer?” asked Ford, scowling in disgust.
Lyle stifled a smile. “I’m sorry, this is for science. Now, please tell us the exact nature of the problem.”
3
Monday, March 26
3:31 P.M.
Midtown Manhattan
263 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
Ronald Lynch waited by the service elevators in the dirty back room of another office building, just a few blocks away from NewYew. He’d worked in this building for years, but he’d never once entered through the front doors. Corporate espionage was a little more complicated than that.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened, revealing a heavyset man in an ill-fitting suit, leaning calmly against the back railing. He didn’t move, but raised one finger and beckoned for Ronald to step in and join him. Ronald did, and the man nodded.
“Floor seventeen,” said the man. Ronald pushed it, and the doors closed. “I’m Abraham Decker,” said the man, and offered his meaty hand to shake. “Chief scientist. We’ve never met, but I’ve read your reports. You do good work.”
“I came straight from the product test,” said Ronald. “They wouldn’t let me take a sample, but I—”
“Straight?” asked Decker.
“Well, I … meandered a bit first,” said Ronald. “Obviously. Nobody followed me.”
“I don’t think they understand what they have yet,” said Decker. “We need to be extra careful with this one.”
Ronald frowned. “Seemed like a pretty standard test to me.”
“It’s a whole new technology,” said Decker. “It’s so cutting edge we’ll need new legislation just to manage it.”
“For a wrinkle reducer?”
“For genetic engineering,” said Decker.
