Whatever Lola Wants

Whatever Lola Wants by George Szanto Page A

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Authors: George Szanto
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A-17, taken intravenously, later orally, transformed her rats, scraggly, arthritic, their leg and neck joints in agony, into silken, sure-footed, sunny creatures, all their painful shuffling evaporated. Undeniable success.
    Time to test the drug on humans. But for this she needed specific permission. Already then she’d grown too distant from her husband, Joe, he the Chairman of the Board of CochPharm, to ask him for help. She went to see Sam. “I have to do this.”
    â€œYou’re crazy.”
    â€œSam—”
    â€œAnd you must think I’m crazy too.” Sam stood behind his desk, his face and bald scalp gone red.
    â€œWe’re none of us crazy—”
    â€œBeth. Listen. Let me be basic here. Marijuana is illegal. Importing it, buying it, possessing it for whatever purpose, is a felony. You’ve been able to get away with your tests because all of your animals are in cages, they can’t meander over to a cocktail lounge and blab away, ‘Hey, I had this high the other day, outasight.’ Right now CochPharm hides that secret here behind our walls. But you want to work with human subjects? Who live lives outside your lab? Who talk to their neighbors and their spouses? No, Beth. No.”
    â€œSam, my whole purpose in doing this work is to show people the great good that marijuana can do. I want people to see it as an honest and helpful drug.”
    â€œYou’ll go to jail. And so will I.”
    â€œSam. I need sick human beings to try it on, people with palsy, with arthritis, with the worst migraines you can imagine. I can’t continue my work without testing it on sick people.”
    â€œOkay, Beth, let’s say you succeed brilliantly. Where would you publish your results? The New England Journal of Goddamn Cannabis Medicine? Get serious. And worry about CochPharm. What good would the most successful testing be for CochPharm, where’s the profit? We’d never patent let alone manufacture what your findings might prove, never.”
    â€œIf I could show how remarkable—”
    â€œThe US Narcotics Bureau would close us down. Yes, even in Sherbrooke, Quebec!” Sam Ulrich shuddered. “Forget it, Beth.”
    â€œThis is the essence of my work!”
    They argued for half an hour. Finally Sam, as a friend not as Research Director, said he’d take it to the board. “Okay?”
    She nodded. “Thank you.”
    The board heard Sam. They listened as well to Beth. They showed themselves more than adamant. “No way,” said the board.
    What choice for Beth? Was there a legitimate lab anywhere that would take a woman whose research called for illegal substances, unlawful inquiries? A woman who for nearly three years had not, after such promise, published a single paper?
    â€œGo home, Beth,” said the board. “Be there for your boy.”
    â€¢
    Very strange, seeing all that, telling Lola about Beth Cochan.
    Lola said, “Is that all?”
    All. I knew there was more, but I couldn’t find it. Yet, or ever? “That’s all for now.”
    She shook her head. “How do you do it, Ted? Is it your memory?”
    â€œWell—it can’t be. I have no memories of Beth Cochan.” But how can she even be asking about memory? Gods can’t experience memory. It’s just a word.
    â€œIs it, maybe, Beth Cochan’s memory?”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œCan you see her memory? And Bobbie’s memory?”
    I blinked. I had seen Bobbie’s memory. That’s how I could tell Lola about Bobbie in San Francisco. I had seen what Bobbie remembered. How remarkable! Lola had figured out something I hadn’t known! I wanted to hug her. I only smiled broadly. “You know, I think you’re right. I did see Bobbie’s memory. Lola—thank you!”
    She grinned as if I’d just rewarded her with a lollipop. “Good! You’re welcome.”
    Again that urge to

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