Chemistry

It was his voice that grabbed me. Arousal is a reaction in the brain, not the body, and when he spoke I imagined him murmuring intimate things in my ear. But I resisted the image because of the horrible circumstances under which we had met, and because he was a cop. This had been the previous year, 1993, less than a year after I came to Canada from New Zealand as a graduate student. I liked to go to a place called Earls with my fellow grad students where we would drink a few beers and play pool.

What I didn’t know – and could not have known - was that the establishment was a front for a pretty nasty business. Girls selected and brought there by some of the punters would have their drinks spiked and would be sexually used, and often filmed and photographed in ways that were always humiliating, and sometimes even violent. Unable to remember what had happened to them, and without witnesses to back up their stories, they had little recourse when they finally came to. The men who had brought them there would play the role of wide-eyed innocent protector. ’Gee honey, what happened? One minute we were talking and the next minute you were, like, drunk! But don’t worry I took care of you, and no I didn’t see anything suspicious …’ You get the picture.

The operation was not as impregnable as its operators assumed, as gradually more girls began reporting their stories to the police, and the thing connecting them all were the places that they had occurred, as Earls was one of a few of places these guys were using for their activities. So a pattern began to emerge. There were some initial investigations, but these came to nothing as these places actually were legitimate establishments, and because of the wall of silence surrounding what happened behind the scenes. None of the witnesses could give a coherent account of what had happened to them because of the drugs. Those running this nasty business became quite confident, and it was this environment that two undercover cops – a man and a woman – arrived to investigate. Mark was the male undercover cop.

He certainly didn’t look like a cop, but I suppose that was the point of his being undercover. He was quite tall, and gave the impression of being skinny, but as I was to discover he was that wiry kind of skinny that is actually muscular and incredibly strong. He was a bit scruffy looking - 1990s ‘grunge’ was his style - but that voice, oh that voice! He usually spoke quite softly, but he had a quiet authority, his voice deep and a little husky. A bedroom voice, a voice that made you feel sexy, dangerous, and safe, all at the same time. A voice that made your mind wander to intimate places.

The last time I had seen him, about three months before, we had both been testifying in the criminal case that was eventually brought against those operating the date-rape ring at Earls and the other places. Needless to say these were not happy memories, and it was hard for me to get my head around the transformation of him from what I assumed to be one of the bad guys to one of the good guys. Until I found out who he really was, I didn’t even know whether he had been there the night I was assaulted or not.

That day I was in Starbucks with a female friend from the university when I saw him at the counter waiting for his coffee. He was in his standard ‘uniform’ of faded jeans, tee-shirt and chunky boots, looking as cool, unconcerned and un-coplike as always. He caught my eye and nodded hello. As he passed our table he stopped and greeted me, asked how I was in that gorgeous voice of his, and then went off to an empty table with his coffee and a newspaper. Friendly, casual and not pushy at all. Nice.

‘Who is that?’ my friend asked, when he was out of range. ‘Nice butt!’ It certainly was.

‘Um yeah, just some guy I met playing pool. Name’s Mark I think, but I don’t know him really well,’ I replied. My friend didn’t know about what had happened at Earls.

A few days later he phoned me, and left a recorded message on my answering service.

‘Hi Nell, this is Mark. It was nice to see you the other day and I was wondering if you’d like to go for coffee some time. My number is …’ and that was it.

How did he get my number? And did he really think I wanted to see him after what I had been through and he had witnessed? I was torn between being really angry (creep, I thought) and feeling quite excited and intrigued at seeing him again outside of the investigation. In the end I did nothing and just erased his message. He didn’t phone again.

A few weeks later I was having coffee in the same place, this time by myself, when I heard his voice behind me.

‘Hi Nell, how’s it going? I was wondering if I would run into you here again.’

I looked over my shoulder at him, and said hello, and then indicated the empty chair opposite me, gesturing for him to sit.

‘Sorry I didn’t return your call. I’ve been really busy working on finalising my PhD proposal.’

‘Of course, I remember that you were doing some impressive postgrad thing. What was it again?’

‘Biochemistry. I’ve finished my Masters, and now I’m beginning a PhD, but I’m thinking about shifting my research in the direction of Molecular Biology.’

‘I won’t even pretend to know what that is.’

‘Good.’

This was rude of me, but I was still a little annoyed with him for trying to cross the line, and so I wasn’t going to make it easy for him with flirty or flattering small talk.

‘So how have you been?’ he asked. ‘I have been thinking about you a bit – well thinking about the case and what happened.’

‘Believe it or not, I hardly ever think about it,’ I replied. ‘At least I try not to. It’s not exactly what you’d call a happy memory.’

‘I don’t blame you. It was a nasty business but I’m glad it’s all over now, and your testimony really helped us to nail those bastards.’

I just kept quiet. I didn’t want to relive any of it, and I had done all my talking in the months of therapy that followed the trial. Also, I knew that in the course of the investigation, Mark had seen the video and photographs of what had happened to me. And so while I was undeniably attracted to him, my memories of him were tied up with that horrible place, and shaped by the impression I had of him before I knew that he was there to help.

‘Sorry I guess you don’t want to discuss it.’

‘Not with you anyway.’

The trial had been an ordeal that I did not want to relive. I understood that it was the task of the defence council to cast doubt on my testimony, and nothing more, but I was unprepared for how gruelling and intrusive the questions were, and how sullied it made me feel.

‘Of course not. I’m really sorry. You were an excellent witness, though. Everyone was impressed with how calm you were, but please forget what I said.’

‘Okay – I will. How are you anyway? I heard that you were engaged or something.’

‘Oh, ouch!’ He kind of fake clutched at his heart like he was wounded. ‘Actually that didn’t work out too well. More fallout from the trial. I can’t really blame her though. I wouldn’t have wanted to be with me either after what happened.’

‘I’m really sorry. I suppose it must have been hard for you guys too.’

‘Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Sure – how about Biochemistry?’ This time I smiled to show I was joking.

‘Why don’t we rather discuss what you’re doing on Friday.’

This posed a problem for me. I was wary of getting involved with this guy, not only because of what we had been through together and what he knew, but also because I knew that people in his line of work were often emotionally unstable, and two emotional wrecks being even casually involved seemed like a recipe for disaster. I knew myself to be fragile, temperamental and terrified of intimacy. I decided to be evasive.

‘I’ll be in the lab the whole day on Friday.’

‘I meant Friday evening.’

‘Yes, I know what you meant. Why don’t you tell me what you think I should be doing on Friday evening? Make it good.’

‘Oh, I will. You can count on it,’ he smiled. ‘I was thinking maybe we could meet for a drink or something, and then see where we end up.’

‘I don’t drink. Not anymore, not after … well you know.’

Since the events at the Earls, I pretty much stayed away from places like bars and clubs. It wasn’t true that I didn’t drink, but I didn’t want to go to a place where other people were drinking.

‘Do you eat?’

‘Yes, but I’m a little fussy.’ I wanted to push him to make an effort.

‘Would you be interested in trying my cooking?’

I thought about this. If he was cooking then I would be agreeing to going to his place. Did that imply that I was agreeing to more?

‘As long as you understand that it’s only your cooking that I am interested in trying. I mean it.’

‘I know. Believe it or not, I’m not a jerk. I’m really sorry for what happened to you and I’m glad we nailed those guys. But I also want to forget about it and get to know you a little.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not? You’re smart, you’re beautiful and I think we can probably have a lot of fun.’

I am not really beautiful – my features are a little too flat, my eyes spaced too wide, my lips too full for that. But I am attractive, and in those days I had a good figure as I was still young and active. I seemed to attract a particular kind of man, as I am naturally a little reserved, on the surface anyway, and since what had happened the year before I was even more so. So men who are attracted to women who they find mysterious seem to like me, and find my aloofness a sexual turn-on. It’s like they want to break through and see what’s on the other side. If only they knew.

‘Okay then. Give me the time and place.’

‘Great!’ he said, giving me a huge grin, like he was really pleased. ‘I was starting to feel a little bit insecure when you didn’t call me back.’

‘I don’t believe that you know the meaning of the word. How did you get my number anyway?’

‘Oh you know, cop stuff.’

‘Isn’t that illegal or unethical or something?’

‘No actually I just asked your friend after you left the other day.’

‘Why didn’t she mention it to me?’

‘Because I asked her not to.’

‘I’m not sure I like that.’

‘Okay, from now on it’s all up front, and cards on the table.’

Speak for yourself, I thought.

‘Shall I come and pick you up?’ he asked.

‘No. I’ll come to you.’

I had my own reasons for not wanting him to know where I lived, or to see my apartment, so we arranged to meet at his place.