crazy metabolism had not slowed. In grad school it had earned him a nickname, Tapeworm. Frank thought of the cold-cut sandwiches—slappers, they'd called them—Neil had made each morning. He'd carried them to the lab in a grocery sack, half a dozen slappers a day. His hair had been thinning even then. Now he was virtually bald, his shoulders beginning to stoop. Frank still had a full head of hair, to his great satisfaction: thick and wavy, with only a touch of gray.
Neil seemed to read his mind. "My God, look at you. Aging beatnik. Get a haircut, wouldya?"
"Envy's an ugly thing, Weisberg."
Neil grinned appreciatively."Is that a martini?"
"Want one?"
"It's a little early for me. But hey, knock yourself out."
Thanks for your permission , Frank thought sourly."So what brings you into town?"
"I gave a talk at Dana Farber." Neil poured his beer into a glass.
"Then I met with your outfit this morning."
"Protogenix?" Frank stared at him, surprised.
"Yeah. They want me on the SAB."
"No kidding." Frank felt himself sweating. He'd been on the scientific advisory board for nearly three years; his agreement expired in a month. He groused about the management to anyone who'd listen, but that didn't mean he was ready to be replaced.
"I told them no. The money's incredible, but I've got too much on my plate." Neil reached down the bar for a bowl of peanuts. Tapeworm had always loved peanuts."Seen Paulette lately?"
"Not in a few years." Frank speared his olive with a toothpick, a mortal blow. "When Scott moved back from California, she let me come for dinner so I could get a look at my grandkids." He said the word a little sheepishly.
Neil laughed. "Don't much like the sound of that, do you, old man?" He tossed a peanut into his mouth."Where's Scotty these days?
Vermont somewhere?"
"Connecticut."
"And why Connecticut?"
Here we go, Frank thought: Neil was never happier than when he was asking questions. In the old days it had driven Frank crazy. He hadn't minded the factual ones— where did you take Paulette for dinner?
But those were just the warm-up. Neil wanted to know the reasons for things. Why were you home so early? Why did she get mad at you? Why do you suppose she felt that way? Are you sure that's the reason? At the time Frank had been flattered; he assumed that Tapeworm, with no girlfriend of his own, was living vicariously through him.
Later he saw those questions in a different light.
His friend's curiosity, the depth and dazzling breadth of it, was his primary strength as a scientist. Other investigators, including Frank, were driven to find the correct answer to a question—the single, uniquely perfect answer. Neil was interested in the whole range of possibilities; he truly enjoyed positing theories, playing out scenarios as far as imagination could take him. Unlike Frank, he didn't mind being wrong. It's the only way you learn anything , Neil often said, but Frank found the whole process tiresome. He didn't have the patience for mistakes.
"Teaching," he said, draining his glass. "At some prep school there."
"Choate?" Neil asked."Taft? Pomfret?"
"One of those." Frank couldn't remember the last time he'd discussed his younger son with anybody. Scott the longhair, the college dropout, who'd gone west and married a girl the family had never met. Billy was the son Frank talked about. But Tapeworm, as always, went right to his weak spot.
"Billy's practice is thriving," Frank said.
"Good for Bill," Neil said."And Gwen?"
"I'm seeing her tomorrow. She and Billy are coming for an early Christmas."
"Did she ever make contact with Doug Levin?"
Frank hesitated, a bit surprised. He'd forgotten that years ago, trying to track down an endocrinologist for Gwen, he'd asked Neil for a referral."I think so."
"Levin's top-notch. He was in on that Turner study at the NIH."
He poured his beer into a glass. "She's still taking the estrogen, I hope."
Frank felt a flash of anger. None of your goddamn business , he
Neil seemed to read his mind. "My God, look at you. Aging beatnik. Get a haircut, wouldya?"
"Envy's an ugly thing, Weisberg."
Neil grinned appreciatively."Is that a martini?"
"Want one?"
"It's a little early for me. But hey, knock yourself out."
Thanks for your permission , Frank thought sourly."So what brings you into town?"
"I gave a talk at Dana Farber." Neil poured his beer into a glass.
"Then I met with your outfit this morning."
"Protogenix?" Frank stared at him, surprised.
"Yeah. They want me on the SAB."
"No kidding." Frank felt himself sweating. He'd been on the scientific advisory board for nearly three years; his agreement expired in a month. He groused about the management to anyone who'd listen, but that didn't mean he was ready to be replaced.
"I told them no. The money's incredible, but I've got too much on my plate." Neil reached down the bar for a bowl of peanuts. Tapeworm had always loved peanuts."Seen Paulette lately?"
"Not in a few years." Frank speared his olive with a toothpick, a mortal blow. "When Scott moved back from California, she let me come for dinner so I could get a look at my grandkids." He said the word a little sheepishly.
Neil laughed. "Don't much like the sound of that, do you, old man?" He tossed a peanut into his mouth."Where's Scotty these days?
Vermont somewhere?"
"Connecticut."
"And why Connecticut?"
Here we go, Frank thought: Neil was never happier than when he was asking questions. In the old days it had driven Frank crazy. He hadn't minded the factual ones— where did you take Paulette for dinner?
But those were just the warm-up. Neil wanted to know the reasons for things. Why were you home so early? Why did she get mad at you? Why do you suppose she felt that way? Are you sure that's the reason? At the time Frank had been flattered; he assumed that Tapeworm, with no girlfriend of his own, was living vicariously through him.
Later he saw those questions in a different light.
His friend's curiosity, the depth and dazzling breadth of it, was his primary strength as a scientist. Other investigators, including Frank, were driven to find the correct answer to a question—the single, uniquely perfect answer. Neil was interested in the whole range of possibilities; he truly enjoyed positing theories, playing out scenarios as far as imagination could take him. Unlike Frank, he didn't mind being wrong. It's the only way you learn anything , Neil often said, but Frank found the whole process tiresome. He didn't have the patience for mistakes.
"Teaching," he said, draining his glass. "At some prep school there."
"Choate?" Neil asked."Taft? Pomfret?"
"One of those." Frank couldn't remember the last time he'd discussed his younger son with anybody. Scott the longhair, the college dropout, who'd gone west and married a girl the family had never met. Billy was the son Frank talked about. But Tapeworm, as always, went right to his weak spot.
"Billy's practice is thriving," Frank said.
"Good for Bill," Neil said."And Gwen?"
"I'm seeing her tomorrow. She and Billy are coming for an early Christmas."
"Did she ever make contact with Doug Levin?"
Frank hesitated, a bit surprised. He'd forgotten that years ago, trying to track down an endocrinologist for Gwen, he'd asked Neil for a referral."I think so."
"Levin's top-notch. He was in on that Turner study at the NIH."
He poured his beer into a glass. "She's still taking the estrogen, I hope."
Frank felt a flash of anger. None of your goddamn business , he
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