Ape House

  "No idea. What time is it, anyway?" She looked at her watch and gave a despairing sigh. "Oh God, I've been here sixteen hours."

  "Who took the apes?"

  She shook her head. "No clue. They even covered the truck's license plate. All I know is they had deeds of sale, so I had to hand them over."

  "What?" Then, as realization hit, John closed his eyes. He suddenly understood the university's statement that they had taken steps to ensure that this would never happen again. He wondered if Isabel knew yet, and experienced a physical pang at the thought.

  Family, she had said.

  He leaned on the counter and rested his forehead on his arm. "Tell me you saw the buyer's name on the deed."

  "It was a corporation number."

  "Tell me you kept a copy."

  "You don't seem to get it--I was here alone. I had six apes in the back, as well as all the other animals. Those guys had a lawyer with them as well as a rep from the university. What could I do? They owned them." She fell silent for a moment, then added, "Do you know, sometimes when I was at Starbucks, Celia or someone else from the lab would come in and order skinny lattes for the apes. They always brought a video camera. Apparently the apes liked to watch afterward. The people behind the counter always spoke to the camera like the apes were right there. I always thought that was kind of cool. Supposedly they understand English."

  "They do. I've met them," John said quietly, lifting his head. He sighed and knocked his knuckles on the counter a couple of times. "Okay. Well. Thank you, you've been very helpful."

  ----

  John called Celia Honeycutt from the car, but, as he expected, there was no answer. When he got back to the hotel, he could smell Amanda's handiwork from the lobby.

  The door to their suite opened directly onto the tiny kitchen area, where an enormous pot bubbled furiously on one of the electric coils. Amanda stood at the counter meticulously removing the topmost epidermis of mushroom caps. The rest of the counter was obscured by celery leaves, onion skins, chicken carcasses, cans of stock, wine bottles, shreds of cheesecloth, scraps from leeks, and bunches of flat parsley.

  He kissed the back of her neck. "What's this?"

  "It's chicken pot pie filling. I figured if there's no crust you can just call it soup."

  "Okay." After a moment he added, "But the crust is my favorite part."

  "I can make crust. It's just there aren't any pie tins here, or even a rolling pin." Her eyes scanned the counter. "I guess I can soak the label off a wine bottle and use that to roll it out. The grocery probably has foil pie tins."

  John picked up a square plastic food container from a large stack by the fridge and examined it.

  Amanda glanced over. "I got those because they're dinner-size and I figured you could just grab one out of the freezer and nuke it"--John's heart sank because he instantly registered that she was talking in the singular--"and I made beef bourguignon as well so you'd have a little variety. There's egg noodles in the cupboard, or you could boil potatoes to go with it. And I got some of those steamin-the-bag veggies. You don't even have to pierce the bag. Just pop them in the microwave." She piled the mushroom caps onto one end of a cutting board, moved them one at a time to the center, and deftly quartered them. When she was finished, she scooped them into the pot, set the lid on it, and turned the burner to its lowest setting.

  "There," she said, wiping her hands on her thighs. Her face was flushed. Wisps of curly hair stuck to her forehead and temples. "Want a glass of wine? I opened a decent red for the beef."

  "You're beautiful," John said.

  She smiled, wiped her hair from her face, and picked up the bottle. "I'll take that as a yes?"

  They walked the ten feet to the so-called living room and settled on the couch. Amanda tucked her feet beneath her and nestled into John's armpit. "You're really okay with this? With me going to L.A.?"

  "I am."

  "Because I reserved a flight for tomorrow morning."

  "Wow. That's ... fast."

  "Yes." She shot him a nervous look. "It's just that if I am going to do this I have to do it right away, and it didn't make any sense to fly all the way back to Philly first because it's in the opposite direction, and even though we'll lose the return portion of this last flight it's still cheaper to--"

  John pulled her to him and buried his nose in the top of her head. She smelled of burgundy and all things good. He kissed her. "It's okay. Really, it is."

  She smiled, took a deep breath, and looked up at him. "So, how was your day?"

  "You know what?" John said, "There's a hot tub downstairs. Let's discuss it there. Then I've either got to find Cat or file a report on my own."

  Amanda glanced over at her simmering pot, had a visible, fleeting moment of doubt, then vanished into the bedroom to change.

  ----

  John was holding the glass door to the pool enclosure open for Amanda when he caught sight of the back of Cat's head. She was alone in the hot tub, resting with her arms stretched out on the rim. Amanda looked back at John and whispered, "Speak of the devil."

  John gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead. "Indeed."

  While Amanda got towels, John stood by the edge of the hot tub and gazed down at Cat. Her head was resting on the rim, her eyes closed, and the sides of her neatly angled dark brown bob hung slightly above the tiles. She looked either dead or asleep. John cocked his head, considering. If he hadn't known her, he might have found her attractive--the sharp collarbone, the defined upper arms and chiseled fingers, the tidy little nose. But he did know her, so that was that.

  John turned to survey the room. In the pool beyond the hot tub, three families' worth of kids splashed and shrieked in preternaturally blue water. Their parents lounged poolside, the fathers slouching forward in dry swim trunks, scowling at their BlackBerries and occasionally sipping beer from cans. The mothers reclined on towels in equally dry bathing suits, knees slightly bent and arms flung overhead, as though sunbathing. One of them was reading a glossy tabloid--the Weekly Times--and had a bendy straw in her plastic wineglass so that she didn't have to lift her head to take a sip. Paintings of palm trees and sandy beaches adorned the concrete walls, peeling slightly beside the air vents. Oversized ice cube trays of artificial light flickered overhead.

  Amanda returned with a stack of white towels, set them on a nearby table, and caught John's eye to make sure he was looking. She ran her gaze dramatically up the sun umbrella that sprouted from the table's center and laughed. Then she peeled off her coverup.

  Two of the three fathers with cell phones lifted their heads, noses crinkled like bloodhounds'. Within a split second, Amanda was locked in a collective tractor beam. As she approached the hot tub, one of the men banged his knee against the leg of the third, oblivious one, alerting him to the situation.

  In your dreams, thought John, and his sudden and irrational rage caught him off-guard. Men had always looked at Amanda, everywhere, and until this moment, John had kind of liked it.

  Amanda descended the stairs of the hot tub. When her thighs were underwater, she mouthed the words "Hot! Hot!" before pushing off and submersing herself to the shoulders. She took a seat along the edge, let out a deep breath, and looked expectantly at John.

  "You coming?"

  John threw a last fierce look at the middle-aged dads. Now that Amanda's body had disappeared into the well of the hot tub, they were back to emailing and ignoring their wives and children.

  John followed Amanda into the steaming, swirling water and sat next to Cat. "So," he said, "where were you today?"

  Cat lifted her head and opened one eye with great suspicion. "Oh. It's you," she said, laying her head back down.

  "You didn't answer any of my calls."

  "Phone was dead. Sorry."

  "We're supposed to be working together."

  "I said sorry."

  "Well, plug it in, for Christ's sake!"

  "I will," she said, sounding irked. She stirred the water with
the fingertips of one hand. "Of course."

  A new game began in the pool behind them, and the children's voices echoed off the concrete.

  "Marco!"

  "POLO!"

  "Marco!"

  "POLO!"

  There was the slap-slap-slap of wet feet on concrete, followed by a child's plaintive cry, "No fair! Fish out of water!"

  "Oh, Jesus," Cat said, sitting forward angrily. She cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling toward the parents. "Could they be any noisier?" She fell back and once again let her head loll on the rim. "Their spawn will be in here before you know it, splashing and peeing, and the parents won't do a thing about it. Oh, great," she said, rolling her eyes as another family with young children entered the room. "Here." She flicked the backs of her hands at John and Amanda. "Spread out so we take up all the space."

  "They're just having fun," Amanda said, although she scootched in the direction Cat indicated.

  John stayed put and settled himself against a jet. "So," he said, lifting his arm and resting it on the edge, "what did you do today?"

  Cat shrugged. "I interviewed Peter Benton and saw Isabel Duncan. What did you do?"

  John sat forward and glanced quickly at Amanda. "You saw Isabel?"

  "Yes."

  "How is she?"

  "Extremely grumpy. And her jaw is wired so I didn't get much out of it. Except, of course, an introduction to Peter."

  "How did you get in?"

  Cat waved a hand dismissively. "Psh, it was easy."

  John stared at her as it dawned on him. "Oh, no, you did not."

  "Of course I did. How else was I going to get in?"

  A round-bellied toddler blasted past, squealing in joy, pursued closely by her father.

  "Is that a swim diaper?" Cat said, screwing up her face. "Those things aren't even waterproof. What's the point?"

  "I think she's adorable," said Amanda. "Did you see the daisies on her bathing suit?"

  John shot her an alarmed look.

  "So what did Benton have to say?" he said, tearing his eyes away from Amanda, whose face had turned to follow the baby's trajectory.

  "I think academics need to get out into the sun more. They're a surly lot."

  "So you didn't get anything out of him."

  Cat shrugged. "I asked him about his missing finger--I mean, it's not like he's trying to hide it or anything--and he went totally berserk on me. There's obviously a story there."

  John sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Okay. Look. We have to cobble together some kind of report. Want to do it now or after dinner?"

  "Already done."

  "What?"

  "It's already done. I sent it an hour ago. Relax."

  John sat forward angrily. "You just assumed I'd get nothing?"

  "Did you?"

  "The university sold the apes. Did you know that?"

  Cat's brow creased.

  "And one of the lab interns is in custody. Did you know that?"

  Cat looked at him, irritated, then turned away. "I'll send an amendment."

  "No," John said firmly. "I will send the amendment. I assume you copied me on the original?"

  Cat began stirring the water again, watching her own fingers. "I'll forward it to you."

  John stared in disbelief. This was so entirely unacceptable he couldn't form a response. Was his byline even on it?

  An elderly man appeared at the edge of the hot tub. "Got room for another?" he asked.

  Amanda slid over.

  He climbed down the first two steps, glanced around at the three of them, and winked at John. "Looks like you've got your hands full. Want me to take one off your hands?"

  "Be my guest," said John, tipping his chin toward Cat.

  Cat turned her head slowly and fixed the man with a look so withering, so devastating, that he backed up the steps and went to sit on a lounge chair instead.

  "Perv," said Cat.

  "I think he was just trying to be friendly," said Amanda.

  "And I think you just like everybody," said Cat.

  "Well, almost everybody," Amanda said archly. She wiped her face and stood. Water slid from her hips and dripped back into the steaming hot tub. "I'm going back to the room." As she ascended the steps, John looked in alarm at the collection of dads, who were once again staring openly.

  John leapt upright, leaving chop and angry whirlpools in his wake. He took the steps two at a time, grabbed the nearest towel, and wrapped it around Amanda.

  "Oh, thanks, baby," she said. She fixed the towel, picked up her coverup, and headed for the door.

  John followed. As he pulled the door open, he looked back at the men, who were still staring. He pointed first at her and then at his wedding band, and mouthed the word "Mine."

  ----

  They made love that night in a way that left John gasping and quivering. He'd felt like an animal, desperate with need, desperate to lay claim, and she had responded in kind.

  Until tonight, John had felt a sense of pride that other men found his wife attractive. Tonight, he had wanted to kill them. He had never been as keenly aware of their real intent. Married men, men with children, men whose wives and children were right there. How could he let her go to L.A. without him?

  Yet there was something that frightened him even more, something that was so terrifying he didn't even want to think about it. John considered himself as faithful and devoted as they came. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Amanda. If she needed his liver, she could have it. An eyeball? Hers. And yet right now, with his beautiful, perfect, coveted wife lying naked beside him, he couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting across the city toward Isabel Duncan.

  9

  Bonzi crouched in a dark corner with Lola clinging to her chest. She was the first to hear the jingling of keys and screeched a warning to the rest of her family: the men were back.

  The fluorescent lights flickered spasmodically and then finally buzzed to life.

  In the cage opposite Bonzi and Lola, Sam screamed, "Whah!" and sprinted around the small confines of his cell. He stopped to sign, BAD VISITOR! BAD VISITOR! then leapt onto the front of his extruded metal cage and shook it violently with hands and feet. When he jumped backward, his right thumb was bleeding. Oblivious to the wound, he perched near the front of his cage, his hair bristled and head cocked, on full alert. The other bonobos sat waiting, watching.

  Human footsteps followed, heavy-soled steps that echoed in the concrete hallway. As they approached, panic flooded Bonzi's body. She could never see them until they were immediately outside her space.

  Jelani, Sam, and Makena were in cages across the aisle from Bonzi, so she could see all of them and they could see her, but they could not see each other because the walls between them were concrete. Nobody could see Mbongo, but they knew he was there. He was the only member of the family out of sight of all the others, and the strain of this situation was clear in his vocalizations.

  The clomping got louder until the men came into sight. There were two this time. Bonzi recognized only one--he was the food giver, coming through the halls twice a day to slide trays of tasteless, homogenous pellets through the slots in their cages and refill their water with a hose. He never made eye contact. He never spoke to them, but was always in deep, angry conversation with some invisible other.

  The second man was new. He had light hair, gray eyes, and a crooked, joyless smile. "These look like chimps," he said.

  "You're the one who wanted them," the food man said with a guffaw.

  The stranger turned his gaze on him.

  "I'm just saying," said the food man, lowering his eyes, "we could have got chimps a lot cheaper."

  The alpha male, having asserted himself, stood with hands on hips and did what Bonzi could not: he moved his eyes across her family members and evaluated them.

  "Are they eating and whatnot?" he said.

  "They appear to be."

  PEARS, signed Bonzi. GOOD PEARS. BRING PEARS.

  "Because I want
them to look healthy. They can't appear to be mistreated." The alpha male crouched down outside Bonzi's cage and looked her straight in the eyes. "Which one is this? Is this the matriarch?"

  ME BONZI, BONZI ME, she signed. GIMME PEARS. EGGS. GOOD EGGS. SAM HURT.

  "What the hell is that? Is that some kind of monkey voodoo? It's creeping me out," said the food man, averting his eyes.

  Bonzi held the alpha male's gaze and raised her left hand in a fist, which she flicked off her ear. Then she bounced her pointed index fingers off each other in front of her chest.

  "Shut up, Ray. She's trying to tell us something."

  SAM HURT, repeated Bonzi, more urgently. SAM HURT. NEED GOOD PEARS.

  "What the hell is she doing?" said the nondominant.

  The alpha continued to watch Bonzi, who repeated her assertions in ever more urgent motions. "She's saying something."

  "What?"

  "I don't know."

  BONZI OUT KEY GIMME HURRY YOU.

  The nondominant's voice rose. "I don't like it. It's not right. Are these things even natural? Are they genetically engineered or something? Anyway, aren't they supposed to have sex all the time? They haven't done it once since they got here."

  "They're caged separately, you imbecile."

  The food man shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortably up and down the hall.

  "But you wait," said the alpha. "This is going to revolutionize everything." He leaned closer to the cage. "Are you my girl?" he whispered.

  Bonzi, whose response for no was simply not to respond, remained still.

  "You're my girl, aren't you?" he repeated. His voice was a hiss of rank breath between his teeth.

  Bonzi stayed motionless.

  "I'm going to move you soon."

  He rose and addressed the other man. "Come on. Let's go."

  On his way past, he double-whacked the front of Sam's cage with an open palm. The clash reverberated through the cement hall, and Sam shrank into a corner.

  10

  Amanda had brought so few clothes to Kansas that when she split her things out from John's they all fit into her backpack.

  "I don't suppose you'll be going back to Philly anytime soon?" she asked ruefully, as she rolled up her fourth and final shirt.

  "I don't know," John said. "It depends entirely on what happens with the story."

  "I wasn't thinking about clothes when I decided to leave from here." She zipped the backpack and stood staring at it. "I guess I could ask your mom to put some things together, although I really don't like the idea of her rummaging through my underwear drawer."