A Surface Problem Ch. 01

Anna meets Peter.

I wheeled my bike across the plaza and leaned it up against the bench in front of the shops. As usual, it was a warm day in Palo Alto and I like to eat my lunch on the Stanford campus or the nearby pedestrian areas. I am currently teaching at an all-girls catholic school about a 5 minute ride away but I like to leave the school grounds and enjoy the bustle of the crowd. I am a people-watcher; my name is Anna Petrak

Alone on this bench, I took out the sandwich, celery, apple and milk carton from my bike basket and put them beside me. I reached into my backpack and brought out a magazine: Morbidity and Mortality monthly, and a romantic novel. I chose the novel.

Reaching for my sunglasses, I brought out another glasses case, not by mistake but I rarely used them. This pair contained pink lenses doped with chemicals to enable the near infra-red rays to be partly visible. I don't not fully understand the mechanism of action, but I reckon they are similar to night-vision glasses. They let me see some vapour hydrocarbons and are used widely in the oil patch.

I reached for the novel knowing I had just 20 minutes to eat lunch.

Then, in a moment of whimsy, I put on the IR glasses and looked down the mall. As I expected, there was nothing but yellow and grey images.

I turned and looked up the mall towards the fountain and blinked. I could hardly believe my eyes. Amongst a jostle of people there was a dark red, almost black, plume rising from the crowd.

Although it was likely a mistake or totally unrelated to what I was looking for, I knew I had to follow and identify the source.

Scrambling to gather my lunch, dump it all in my pack and grab my bike, I had to remove the IR glasses before cycling. Within 2 minutes I had reached where I thought the plume or puff of smoke had originated. Replacing the glasses, there was nothing to be seen. Just 20 or 30 people scurrying around the fountain and mothers with babies sitting on the edge, dangling their little feet in the water.

"Well, what was that?" I thought. "Probably just a trick of the light".

Yet I was not convinced of the 'mistake' and decided to return the next day, at the same time.

The next day I left the school 5 minutes earlier and stayed near the fountain at the mall a good 10 minutes later. I wore the glasses the whole time and saw ... Nothing.

The following day, the same: nothing.

Then, three days after the first sighting, I looked up from my book, with an apple in her other hand and put the pink glasses on. Two men passed by walking their bikes: the taller of the two was breathing clouds of dark red 'steam'.

I flushed and became agitated.

"What to do now?" I thought. Quickly I picked up the last of my lunch, ready to fly after the pair.

But the two men stopped at the convenience store a few paces on, the shorter man holding the bike of the taller one while he disappeared into the store, reappearing with frozen juice on sticks. They started to eat and walked on for a few minutes before mounting their bikes and cycling away, followed at a discrete distance by me.

The men cycled slowly on for a few minutes. I phoned the Mary the secretary at school to say I might be a few minutes late for my grade 12 human biology class. I briefly assigned a chapter reading. The two men then parted company, the shorter heading left towards the Medical Centre while the taller followed a path to the right, to a long, long building labeled Roswell Research. He jumped off his bike and pushed it through the front doors. I headed back to school barely a few minutes late for class.

Some more background. I am a single, healthy and attractive 29 year-old. I have a busy life though I make time for social activities. I do occasionally go to the theatre, to concerts and the usual adult activities, sometimes with a girlfriend or my cousin with whom I share an apartment. I rarely date men. Perhaps this is because I am a bit conscious of a minor inherited problem: a form of dry skin. Along with most of the females in my family my body makes a skin compound with an unusual side-chain. I know and understand this because my second degree is in medicine.

Long story short, I need a male-derived chemical to stop my skin getting dry, and other minor body problems. And the best source is male-derived body fluid. My mother and aunt have found the best source is semen, though it is present in tears, sweat, and saliva in lower quantities. One chemical involved in the production of the surface glycoprotein appears in the breath if made in large enough quantities. Hence my interest in the man with the dark breath.

Now, the question is how to get a sample of the semen for analysis? Easy you say, just get him into bed, or on the floor. Well, not so. While I am single, he may well be married. I have a stable professional life here in the Bay area and I already have a reliable source of material.

On the other hand, I have never seen such a strong potential level of production and it would be logical for me to find out if it is true, and if so, how to procure a steady supply. My mother currently supplies me from her source in a VersaPro cream base.

Perhaps a little more background is in order. I was born in Chisinau, Transdniestria, (now Moldova) a thin sliver of a country between the Ukraine and Romania. My mother Alicja, has a twin sister Marissa, both are linguists and translators and they were raised by a childless older couple. When I was five my mother moved us to Budapest to work for the UN, and my aunt went to Vienna to do similar work for the EU. There are no permanent men in our families, as yet, though I suspect the man who provides us with 'nectar' at present is in fact my father.

Mother and I arrived in California via Paris and London, for me a teaching degree in French and MB, ChB from Bart's in London. I share an apartment with my cousin Katya, Aunt Marissa's daughter, who is a high fashion model and a real knockout. She is on the 'fashion road' for 3 weeks each month so essentially I live on my own. Yes, we are high achievers. Aunt Marissa is in NY at the UN, my mother nearby in the Bay area.

So I need the know who the tall guy is. The web tells me that Roswell Research is related to big Pharma and is run by a Peter Banks. I now know the quickest way from Sacred Heart school to the ornamental fountain in the mall, where I overhear the shorter guy, he's about 5'10", call the taller guy (6'2") "Peter": good enough. They carry badminton, or maybe it is squash, racquets in their packs and play two or three times a week.

The next day I followed three girls in their mid-20's, from the research building at lunchtime and sat at a table behind them while they (and I) had lunch. Apparently Peter IS the boss, he is NOT married (yeh!) and he is looking for a date for a business dinner. Apparently they are out of consideration because one girl was invited last year and she bragged about her conquest so much that she was transferred to another section of the department. Good information, and a budding idea!

After lunch I wandered into the convenience store and bought a candy bar. I saw a notice board with file card messages fixed with thumb tacks near the door. I bought a cheap (disposable) phone at the store and wrote on a file card:

Escort available

(no, not THAT kind of escort)

•Professional woman, well presented, able dancer

•available to accompany man for evening activity

•serious contacts only please

•ask behind the desk for phone number.

I asked the shopkeeper for his permission to tape the file card to the inside of the door window. I gave the shopkeeper $10 and the phone number.

Before eating lunch the next day I fixed the message to the window and watched Peter and his friend return from their game. As I hoped, they followed the same routine and Peter walked in to buy ices for them both. Winner pays or loser pays? He stopped to read the message on the door! I waited for them to move off before I re-entered the store.

The owner beamed at me and said:

"Yes, Miss, he asked for the phone number."

I thanked him and removed the file card from the window. I cycled back to school and taught the grade 12s some human biology. Then I waited.

Why am I teaching High School while I am a physician? Well, I have a fellowship in Internal Medicine and my specialty is Medical Genetics. One of my research projects relates to young females and adolescence. I spoke about my background and research to the school principal. She saw no problems with me interacting with the senior girls and asking specific questions for my project. She was very happy to get the services of a catholic teacher of chemistry, biology and health studies at a very reasonable cost, if only for a year.

I am no longer a serious catholic but I know the rubric.

I carried the new phone with me at all times. On the second evening it rang and on the second ring I answered.

"Hello, this is xxx-xxx-xxxx."

"Hello, am I talking to the lady who has advertised as an escort?" came the reply.

"Yes, my name is Anna Petrak and I am a High School science teacher at Sacred Heart Girls Academy here in Palo Alto. And, yes, I am advertising my services as an escort for gentlemen who need a companion for a social occasion." I decide to let him 'lead' and ask all the questions.

"Well, Ms Petrak, I am currently without a significant other and I have a business dinner to attend. I could go solo but I prefer not," he replied. "There will be a dinner, some business chatter which you may be interested in as a science teacher, and perhaps some dancing afterwards."

"Are you interested, and how much do you charge?" he continued.

I had not thought much about rates to charge: I am usually better prepared!

"I am interested, certainly, and my rates are $400 for the evening, from 6 pm to midnight." I gulped. Was I asking too much? Dress, hair do, manicure: nothing left for me!

"That sounds fair. Can we meet? My dinner is in two weeks on Friday at The Four Seasons, starting at 7," he replied. I could almost hear him smiling.

"How about Starbucks at 10 on Saturday morning, on the plaza?" that was close to the fountain where I saw him. Two days till Saturday. "I will wear jeans or shorts, depending on the weather, a T-shirt and a red scarf."

"Fine, see you then," he replied.

I had so much to do. Katya would be home on Monday and I could talk to her about everything. She has the same skin as I have so she has a vested interest in this man. I am not a clothes horse like her: my wardrobe runs to velour track suits, scrubs, a couple of outfits and leisure wear. I don't need more. Compared to my cousin I have NO clothes, while she overflows into my space. Added to this I have studiously avoided men for the past 12 years of a Bachelors degree, a Master's in Education from the Sorbonne, MB, ChB from Guy's Hospital and studying for my Fellowship in the American Institute for Internal Medicine. I am not scared of men, I just don't know much about them at the personal level.

First problem: how to get a sample? I could always use a handkerchief to get some sweat if we dance, but semen would be better: tricky!

I sewed up a silk sleeve about 6-7inches by 2 inches, and put it in a kitchen freezer bag in a kitchen drawer. A plan was incubating: I would add 5 ml of Ringer's buffer on the night.

I cycled to Starbucks on the Saturday morning. I left the apartment at 9.30 and I was 10 minutes early. I locked my bike and decided I would get a coffee and wait. He was already there! Of course he didn't know me but I knew him. As I opened the door I ran my hand through my hair: it was windy. He got up, smiling, with his hand out.

"Anna?"

"Yes. Peter?" I smiled back. I am 5'7", slim, 115 lb. I have dark eyes and a pale complexion. I have been called elfin or an Audrey Hepburn lookalike.

"You are very pretty," Peter said, "I wasn't sure what I would do if you were taller than me and weighed 250 lbs."

I laughed. He seemed nice, easy to talk to. We chatted for a while, mainly about the dinner. He implied it wasn't a big deal but the men would all probably wear tuxedos and the ladies, knee-length cocktail dresses. I said that would be fine, and we agreed that we had a date.

"Shall I pay you now?" he asked.

"No, on the day will be fine. I'll bring a big bag" I joked. He smiled, drinking the last of his coffee.

"I work just around the corner from here" he said, "I'm going to drop in and check something. Do you want to come?"

I would love to but I think I might give my medical background away too soon. I wanted to hold that back, at least for a while.

"Love to, but I've got grocery shopping and the weeks washing to do before I relax" not quite a lie, but close.

We both released our bikes.

"Oh, where do I pick you up?" He asked. "I've got an old silver Acura. Shall I come to the door?"

"No, I can see the road from the apartment. I'll come as soon as you arrive. About 7 or 7.15?"

"Great. Thanks for agreeing. I hope you enjoy the evening with me," he replied and cycled off.

Housekeeping, reading essays, lesson plans. The weekend went by quickly. Monday night and Katya arrived about 7 as usual. We don't email each other much, we just anticipate. I had made some dinner for her and she demolished it like someone who hadn't eaten for days. Probably true. Katya is tall, blonde and skinny. And really beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful. A good reason to not have a boyfriend, with such a flatmate.

After dinner she crashed, asleep within 10 minutes I would guess. Flying a lot does that I am told. I took her clothes bags and hat boxes, piled them in her room, and closed the door.

The next day I was off to teach and gather data for my research. I left Katya asleep. We met up at dinner which she made. We are both good cooks and both enjoy cooking when the time is available. After dinner we hand-washed the crockery and cutlery then sat down for a coffee.

"So, tell me, tell me, what's happening with this man?" she asked.

I replied "well I told you he has a huge IR signal, which may or may not be related to our compound, but I got him to hire me as an escort for a dinner with his colleagues. How about that! Somehow I will try to get a sample: seduce and rape him? What do you think? And I have to find a cocktail dress for the dinner ..."

"Dahlink, ve can fix duh dress, look to cossin Katya," she vamped, scooting off to her room. Five minutes later she emerged with 4 dresses.

"One of these should do," Katya mused, thinking with her finger on her lip. "I think this one will be ideal. It's an Yves St Laurent piece that I wore in Milan at Easter. I liked it so much I asked them for it but I don't think I'll ever wear it again."

She showed me a brilliantly coloured dress with four-inch diagonal stripes across the body from over the right shoulder to under the left arm.

"We will have to shorten it by about three inches for you but Marcella at the downtown shop can do that easily" she said breezily. "We may need to open up the bust a bit too, I am so small there."

I loved it! I had often viewed Katya's pieces from her massive collection with bemused interest, but this dress was special, we both agreed. I couldn't wait to try it on, so I slipped out of my sweats and Katya lifted to dress up me, carefully. She was right: it was a bit long and my breasts barely fitted into the built-in bra. Katya was skinny!

"I'll take the dress with me in two days when I go to pick up my next assignment and fitting. You may need to go in once it is ready though I can probably tell Marcella what is needed. Leave it with me. Oh, and you had better choose a pair of pumps to go with it: not too high and the right colour!" Katya knew my dress-sense was undeveloped.

I left the details to her and on Friday night we had a fashion show. Katya had returned from the fashion house and was sparkling. Her fittings went well and I had this marvellous dress to try on.

"It could be let out a bit more on top" she said. "Just don't breathe in too deeply." She laughed as I admired myself in the mirror. This will knock him dead, I knew, but was it too much I wondered?

The following week went slowly. I took the Friday off and pre-spent much of my fee on a manicure, a pedicure and a hair-do: a kind of French roll. Katya supervised my makeup, she spent particular time on my eyelids which ended up being blue fading to yellow fading to green, with a dark liner. The styling made me look almost oriental.

"No Katya, its too much" I protested.

"Take my word for it girl, this is the latest and it goes so well with your character tonight" she replied. Well, she was in the business I suppose so I left it as such.

Just before seven I gathered up my handbag with all its bits, put a light wool coat on and left to wait for Peter. Our building is the end one of three with a large stone patio in front. I waited at the curb and Peter arrived within minutes. He quickly walked around the car and opened the door.

"You look fantastic tonight" he said, "even more attractive than at the coffee shop, if that were possible"

I thanked him and got in, saying something inane like "I bet your say that to all your escorts." I was nervous, he wasn't.

Before we drove off he handed me an envelope. I slipped it in my purse and thanked him. The Four Seasons was a five minute drive and we arrived in good time.

The meeting was in a board room with a table set for eight and there were four already there. I was introduced first to Jane and Alastair McKenzie, Peter's squash partner and his wife, then to JoAnne Toschak and her husband Mervyn. Peter explained Dr Toschak's connection representing a group of Big Pharma companies. Both ladies expressed admiration for my dress to my delight. Peter smiled.

Finally the third couple, Mieke van Osterlin and her husband Jos who was a finance man from the consortium. Mieke seemed to stare at my dress while we sat down for dinner.

Dinner was gorgeous: five or six courses, each fairly small but with seconds if desired, and wine for each course. I followed everyone else. There was constant small talk about what Peter was doing at Roswell, how happy they were with progress, and questions about a CRISPR Cas-9 project. Peter replied carefully to each question and Alastair gave a brief summary of ideas the two of them had discussed.

Without realizing what I was saying, I interjected with a question to Alastair about his gene-editing project, after all it was part of my research too. The three men all stopped talking and looked at me.

"A very good point Anna" Alastair replied. "We will have to work on that angle as well. How would you suggest we approach that?"

I wasn't sure if he was genuinely interested in my reply or was being polite. Nevertheless I outlined how I might tackle the problem, and both Peter and Alastair brought me into the discussion.

We decided to have coffee and liqueurs in the dining room, where there was a small 5-piece band starting to play. I walked beside Peter and Mieke joined us.

"That's a lovely dress you have Anna" she said. "I recognize it: it's an Yves St Laurent, isn't it?"

"Well" I replied, "It's a good copy I think!"

"Oh, no" she said. "Do you see those little tags between the colours? They have YSL on them. That means it's an original. Yes my dear, you are wearing a $6,000 dress. In fact I think it was worn by Katya Ulsen at the spring show in Milan this year."

"I have to tell you, I'm in the rag trade," she smiled.

Well, yes," I replied "Katya is my cousin and we share an apartment."

She took my arm and guided me to the restaurant while Peter followed. I was having a good time. We sat around a large table, nobody ordered desert but two of the ladies had a port and Alastair and Peter both had a scotch. Mieke and I went to the ladies' room while Jane and JoAnne pulled their husbands on to the dance floor.