He offers me a drink when I step inside, a small crystal glass of neat Scotch. I’m thinking I might need a few of them.
“So,” he says. “What shall we talk about?” Alex takes a seat on the sofa after inviting me to sit across from him in one of the Eames chairs.
I take a sip of my drink and let it fill me with warmth. Direct is probably best now. “I want you to help me get home. With my daughter,” I say, crossing my legs, letting some skin show.
His lips curl into a smile, but the smile doesn’t reach the other parts of his face. Cold, calculating eyes stare back at me, leveling themselves with mine. Not even a glance down to my legs.
Forty is a strange age, a milestone. A time to sit down and think about life. Growing older never bothered me, and I always thought the few wisps of gray at my temples lent a scholarly sort of air. I dyed them, of course, at Malcolm’s suggestion. “It’ll take years off your life,” he said. About a thousand times.
I still run and do the weights routine at my gym, I haven’t yet acquired that dreaded middle-aged band of fat around my waist, and whatever skin-care nonregimen I’ve been on for the past decade seems to be working. But forty hit me hard. It just didn’t hit me as hard as the realization that Alex doesn’t seem to give a shit about the only thing I have to offer him.
“There’s a way out of here, Elena. If you want to take it.”
“Tell me.”
He leans back, letting the sofa receive him, folding his hands behind his head as if we were two people having a chat over drinks. Casual and carefree. “I need volunteers. For some tests I want to run. Tell me, and tell me the truth, because I can find out. Are you still menstruating?”
I feel naked, exposed, the way I felt the first time I went in for a Pap smear, feet up in stirrups, the entirety of me opened up for a doctor to prod at. My voice is a hoarse whisper when I answer yes.
“Regular?”
“Yes.” I am, but I know one day I won’t be. I won’t bleed to the tune of a clock anymore. We tell our girls when they start their periods that they’re women. We say trite things like You’re a woman now. Does the converse also hold? At the other end, when nature stops us, do we become unwomen? Do we dry up when we cease being capable of breeding? I’ve always put this question off, and now I can’t put it off any longer. I know what Alex is asking, and what he is about to propose.
“Good.” He reaches forward for a small book and leafs through it. “I can schedule this for later. Seven o’clock this evening.” It isn’t a question, only an order.
“You’re one of them,” I say. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
The air in his apartment goes stale and cold.
“We’re doing good work at the institute. Great work. Another twenty years and we won’t need the state schools anymore. Think about it, Elena. Think about a world where everyone is at the top. No more disease, no more social inequality, no more competition. We’ll be rid of the bad apples.”
Bullshit, I think. “It’s the fish barrel problem again. Take out the old ones, and you still have the problem. Sameness is an illusion, Alex.”
He waves a dismissive hand at me. “Malcolm was right about you.”
“You talk to my husband about me?”
“I talk to him about quite a few things. But yes. You’ve come up.” He stands, smooths out his trousers, and pours himself another drink. There’s no offer of a second for me. “I’d love to sit here and discuss your marital problems, Elena, but I have to call my wife.” He opens the door, waiting for me to go through it. “Seven tonight. Sharp. Meet me in the lobby. And I’ll arrange to fly you home immediately after.”
He hasn’t mentioned Freddie. Not once.
“What about my daughter? I’m not leaving here