| |
Lana Hayaak
––––––––
It was lunchtime as I sat with my friends Shelly and Gretchen at a Sichuan restaurant. It was a stylish locale adorned with dark wood paneling, Ming Dynasty seats, and moody red lighting.
Shelly was a British art teacher in her late thirties. Gretchen was an American doctor in her early forties, married to a finance manager.
“Shelly, I love your dress,” I said.
“Thanks, Lana. I bought it at People’s Square last Saturday.”
“How’s everything?” Gretchen asked both of us.
Shelly spoke while reading the menu, “Good, but it’s tough dating a married man. However, I love his kids since they were students of mine.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
Shelly continued, “I’m not in love with my boyfriend and always feel guilty after seeing him, but I can’t resist his calls.”
Gretchen said brusquely, “That guy is not your boyfriend. He’s a married man with two kids.”
“Well, this is Shanghai,” Shelley reminded us.
“Come on, Shelley, how do you think Lana feels? She’s married.”
“Why? Is Curt fooling around?” Shelly asked.
“What an insensitive thing to say,” Gretchen snapped.
“I didn’t mean anything,” Shelly insisted while hiding behind the menu.
The waiter returned and took our orders. It was only noon, but we ordered Basiltinis — martinis laced with lots of basil and sugar.
After the server left, I said, “It’s alright Shelly. I know you didn’t mean anything.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Gretchen insisted. “Lana, what type of research is your husband’s company working on?”
“Cancer,” I replied. “They’re trying to develop a drug that would help the body’s immune system combat illness.”
“That’s wonderful,” Shelly exclaimed.
“I hope Curt succeeds,” Gretchen said supportively.
“Thank you. If my husband achieves his goal, then the top 1% will never suffer cancer again.”
“Lana, that’s so cynical,” Shelly remarked.
“It’s realistic,” I said flatly. “It’s not as if these drugs will be affordable by the average person.”
Gretchen responded, “Our healthcare system is a mess.”
Shelly added, “We don’t have your problems in the U.K.”
The waiter had returned and filled the table with plates of steaming Sichuan entrees and bowls of rice.
I shrugged. “I wish Curt was trying to cure cancer out of the goodness of his heart. But he and his partner have a strong profit motive.”
Shelly suddenly blurted, “There’s been gossip about your husband’s company.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked with surprise.
“You haven’t heard?” Shelly asked while trying to stifle a nervous smile.
Gretchen looked impatient and said, “Lana, you should discuss this with Curt. C’mon Shelly, let’s talk about events for our upcoming mixer.”
Shelley laughed and said, “My tongue is numb from the spice. I can barely talk.”
“We can only hope,” Gretchen retorted.
I wondered what my friends were talking about, but I almost didn’t want to know.
Curt and Ben were a cryptic pair. They were always sneaking around and whispering. I figured that they were obsessively trying to hide trade secrets from me. After all, if another company acquired their drug’s intellectual property, then they wouldn’t be able to create the monopoly they desperately sought.