Page 24 of The New Couple in 5B

“Oga reaches into people and brings them back to life,” says Charles. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

Oga laughs with a deep resonance that sounds like a bass drum, and his smile makes his serious face turn boyish. I envision him in an operating room, a patient open on the table in front of him, blood on his gloved hands. That laughter booming.

I shake off the image as Charles swings me over to a much older woman who is beautiful in the way of precious metals—cool, hard. She wears a stunning red wrap and must be nearly six feet. Hair dyed a wiry orange, eyes Freon green. Are those contacts? They must be.

“Anna is a sculptor born in Prague. Her work has been displayed in museums and galleries around the world.”

He directs my attention to a piece lit from above, standing on a pedestal by one of their south-facing windows. It’s a twisting piece of metalwork, a woman’s torso shredded, no head, no arms. It gleams in the light, stunning, mesmerizing.

“We commissioned this from Anna many years ago. One of the best investments we’ve ever made.”

It looks razor-sharp, as if it would cut deep if you lifted a finger to it.

“It’s magnificent,” I say. She’s staring at me hard, like I’m an equation she’s trying to solve. “You’re so talented.”

“And you,” she says, her accent thick, voice throaty, “are so young.”

“Well, I’m not as young as I look,” I say, for lack of a wittier retort. She reaches out a twisted finger and touches my cheek.

“Just a baby.”

It’s not mean, but itiscreepy, and I find myself taking a step back, which earns an enigmatic smile from the sculptor, like I’ve failed a test I’ve been given.

I look around for Chad, but he’s surrounded by Ella and two other women, all of whom seem to be hanging on his every word. I’m used to this, how women react to Chad. How he plays to it,laps it up, really. If he gets more famous, it will get much worse, I’m sure. But it’s okay. I know his heart. And it belongs to me alone.

“You’re overwhelming her, Charles. Poor thing, she’s probably wondering what she’s gotten herself into.”

I may have seen the speaker in the elevator once, the dark-haired, bearded man wearing a black blazer and gingham shirt, stylishly ripped jeans.

He offers his hand.

“Xavier Young,” he says. “I’m the least interesting person here. Just a lowly anesthesiologist—no accolades or awards or fame at all. And, until you arrived, the youngest person in the building at forty-one.”

His deep-set dark eyes are smiley and sad at the same time.

“Xavier is too modest,” says Charles. “He just published an article inThe Lancet, the magazine of the American Medical Association.”

Xavier offers an assenting nod. “Sure, okay. There’s that.”

The door buzzer rings. More people?

“Charles and Ella are the most magnanimous people alive,” Xavier says as Charles leaves us to answer.

“In addition to being the youngest before you arrived, I was the only one in the building to still be working for a living,” Xavier continues. We talk about how he works at Mount Sinai, how he paid his way through school by working as an EMT. “I used to wake people up. Now I put them to sleep.”

It seems like such an odd thing to say; it piques my curiosity.

“Do you miss it?” I ask. “The adrenaline of emergency work.”

Again, I look around for Chad but now he, Ella and Charles all seem to have disappeared. Ella’s mellifluous laughter carries from the kitchen.

“Honestly, I think I reached a kind of adrenal burnout. I stopped caring. After you bring a certain number of junkies back from the brink, you start to wonder—does everyone deserve this type of extreme saving? Or even want it?”

I am at a loss for words, but it makes a kind of dark sense. After seeing so much damage, you must start to desensitize, to preserve your own sanity. He’s moved in too close. I take a step back.

“What do you think?” he asks, gently inquiring. “Do you believe everyone deserves to be saved?”

Are you saved?my father used to ask.Have you accepted the Holy Spirit into your life and your heart?