Mindbend

CHAPTER 6

Climbing the third and final flight of stairs in Cheryl Tedesco’s apartment building, Jennifer was appalled. She’d thought her own building was bad, but Cheryl’s made it seem like the Helmsley Palace. A couple of winos-Jennifer hoped they were not residents-had camped in the lobby.

Checking the number on Cheryl’s apartment, Jennifer hesitated before knocking. Then she had to wait while there were a number of clicks and finally the sound of the chain being moved before the door swung open.

“Hi! Come on in,” said Cheryl. “Sorry it took me so long. My dad insisted on putting on all sorts of locks.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” said Jennifer, quickly stepping inside. Cheryl went into the bathroom to finish dressing while Jennifer looked about the unkempt apartment.

“I hope you followed doctor’s orders,” she called, knowing that Cheryl had been advised not to have food or drink save for a small amount of water when she first woke up.

“I haven’t eaten a thing,” yelled Cheryl.

Jennifer shifted her weight from one foot to another. Sensing that the entire building was filthy, she didn’t want to sit down. The whole idea of accompanying Cheryl was beginning to upset her, but she couldn’t let her go alone. At least she’d get to see the fabulous Dr. Foley, though she wasn’t about to challenge Adam about obstetricians just yet. They had half made up the night before, but Jennifer was still distraught at the thought of Adam leaving medical school. She had her fingers crossed that this interview at Arolen would be unsuccessful.

“Ready,” said Cheryl, emerging from the bedroom. She had an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

The hardest part of the trip to the Julian Clinic was climbing down Cheryl’s stairs without falling and then getting by the winos. Cheryl was unconcerned about the bums, saying that when the super got up he’d send them packing.

They walked to the Lexington Avenue subway and caught the No. 6 train to 110th Street. It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood, but it quickly improved the closer they got to the clinic. In fact, an entire city block had been leveled to accommodate the new health-care center. The building was a fifteen-story contemporary structure of mirrored glass, reflecting the image of the surrounding early nineteenth-century tenements. For a block in all directions, the old buildings had been renovated, sandblasted, and refurbished so that they shone with quaint splendor. And for another block beyond that, many of the buildings were fronted by scaffolding, indicating that they too were being repaired. It appeared as if the clinic was taking over a whole section of the city.

Jennifer went through the front entrance expecting the usual hospital furnishings but was pleasantly surprised by a lobby that reminded her more of a luxury hotel. Everything was new and spotlessly clean. The large reception area was so well staffed that Jennifer and Cheryl did not have to wait long before a pretty black secretary said, “May I help you?” She was dressed in a white blouse and blue jumper and wore a name tag that said “Hi! I’m Louise.”

Cheryl’s answer was barely audible. “I’m to see Dr. Foley. I’m to have an abortion.”

Louise’s face clouded over with concern. “Are you all right, Ms…”

“Tedesco,” said Jennifer. “Cheryl Tedesco.”

“I’m fine,” insisted Cheryl. “Really I am.”

“We have psychologists on call for admitting if you’d like to talk to one now. We’d like to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you,” said Cheryl. “But I have my friend here.” She pointed to Jennifer. “I wanted to ask if she will be permitted to go upstairs with me.”

“Absolutely,” said Louise. “We encourage patients to have company. But first let me call up your record on my computer and then alert the admitting people. Why don’t you two go over to the lounge and relax. We’ll be with you in just a few minutes.”

As Cheryl and Jennifer walked around to the comfortable sitting area, Jennifer said, “I’m beginning to understand why you and Candy are so high on this place. If Louise is any example of how they treat you here, I’m truly impressed.”

They barely had time to slip out of their coats when an elderly gentleman approached them, pushing a cart with a coffee and tea dispenser. He was dressed in a pink jacket, which he proudly stated was worn by volunteers.

“Are the nurses this friendly, too?” asked Jennifer.

“Everybody is friendly here,” said Cheryl, but despite her smile, Jennifer could tell that she was anxious.

“How are you doing?” she asked, reaching over and squeezing Cheryl’s hand.

“Fine,” said Cheryl, nodding her head up and down as if trying to convince herself.

“Excuse me, are you Cheryl Tedesco?” asked another pleasant-looking young woman dressed in a white shirt with a blue jumper. Her name tag said “Hi! I’m Karen.”

“I’m Karen Krinitz,” she said, offering a hand which Cheryl shook uncertainly. “I’ve been assigned to coordinate your case and to make sure everything runs smoothly. If you have any problems, just page me.” She patted a small plastic device clipped over a blue belt that matched her jumper. “We want your stay here to be as pleasant as possible.”

“Are all the patients assigned a coordinator?” asked Jennifer.

“They certainly are,” said Karen proudly. “The whole idea here is that the patient comes first. We don’t want to leave anything to chance. There is too much opportunity for misunderstanding, especially now that medicine has become so highly technical. Doctors can sometimes become so engrossed in the treatment that the patient is momentarily forgotten. It’s our job to keep that from happening.”

Jennifer watched as the woman said good-bye and disappeared around a planter. There was something about her that Jennifer found strange, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Did her speech seem odd to you?” she asked Cheryl.

“I didn’t understand what she was talking about. Is that what you mean?”

“No,” said Jennifer, turning to see if she could catch sight of the woman again. “I just thought there was something odd about the way she talked. But it must be me. I think morning sickness is affecting my brain.”

“At least she was friendly,” said Cheryl. “Wait until you meet Dr. Foley.”

A few minutes later a man came by and introduced himself as Rodney Murray. He was wearing a blue jacket made of the same heavy cotton as Karen’s jumper with an identical tag announcing his name. His voice also had an odd flat quality, and as Jennifer stared at him, she realized that his eyes did not seem to blink.

“Everything is ready for you, Ms. Tedesco,” he said, fastening a plastic ID bracelet around Cheryl’s wrist. “I’ll be accompanying you upstairs, but first we have to go to the lab for your blood work and a few other tests.”

“Can Jennifer come with us?” asked Cheryl.

“Absolutely,” said Rodney.

The man was extraordinarily attentive to Cheryl, and after a few minutes Jennifer dismissed her initial impression as the working of an overwrought imagination.

The lab was expecting Cheryl, so they didn’t have to wait. Again, Jennifer was impressed. She’d never been to a doctor’s office or a hospital where she didn’t have to wait for everything. Cheryl was finished in minutes.

As they rode up in the elevator, Rodney explained that Cheryl was going to a special area the hospital had for “pregnancy termination.” Jennifer noted that everyone at the Julian Clinic studiously avoided the word “abortion.” She felt it was a good idea. Abortion was an ugly word.

They got off at the sixth floor. Again, nothing about the floor resembled the average hospital. Instead of slick vinyl, the floor was covered with carpeting. The walls were painted a pale blue and hung with attractive framed prints.

Rodney took them to a central area that was carefully decorated not to look like a nurses’ station. In front of the central station was a tastefully appointed lounge where five people dressed in what Jennifer assumed was the Julian uniform were waiting. Three of the women wore name tags indicating that they were RNs. Jennifer liked the fact that they were not dressed in the traditional starched white. She had the feeling that Karen was right: the Julian Clinic had thought of everything. She began to wonder if Dr. Vandermer had admitting privileges, since she was sure the delivery floor reflected the same attention to comfort.

“Ms. Tedesco, your room is right over here,” said one of the nurses who had introduced herself as Marlene Polaski. She was a broad, big-boned woman with short blond hair who looked around Cheryl’s room as if she were checking every detail. She even opened the door to the toilet. Satisfied, she patted the bed and told Cheryl to slip out of her clothes and make herself comfortable.

The room, like the corridor, was as pleasantly furnished as one in a good hotel, except for the standard hospital bed. A television was set into the ceiling at an angle so that it could be viewed comfortably from either the bed or the easy chair. The walls were light green with lots of built-in cabinets. The floor was covered with green carpet.

After changing into her own pajamas, Cheryl climbed into the bed.

Marlene whisked back into the room, pushing an IV cart. She explained to Cheryl that they needed an IV just for safety’s sake. She started one deftly in Cheryl’s left arm, carefully attaching a small arm board. Jennifer and Cheryl watched the drops falling in the millipore chamber. All at once it didn’t seem so much like a hotel room.

“So,” said Marlene, putting on the last strips of tape. “We’ll be taking you down to the treatment room in a few moments.” Then, turning to Jennifer, she said, “You are welcome to come along. That is, of course, if Cheryl will permit it. She’s the boss.”

“Oh, yes!” said Cheryl, her face brightening. “Jennifer, you will come, won’t you?”

The room seemed to spin momentarily. Jennifer felt as if she’d expected to go wading but instead was being thrown into the deep end of the pool. Both Marlene and Cheryl were looking at her expectantly.

“All right, I’ll come,” she said finally.

Another nurse swept in with a syringe.

“Here’s a little tranquilizer for you,” she said brightly as she pulled down Cheryl’s sheet.

Jennifer turned to the window, vaguely studying the rooftop scene that she could see through the slats of the blinds. When she turned back, the nurse with the syringe was gone.

“Gangway,” called another voice as a gowned and hooded nurse pushed a gurney into the room and positioned it alongside Cheryl’s bed.

“My name is Gale Schelin,” she said to Cheryl. “I know you don’t really need this gurney and that you could walk down to the treatment room, but it’s standard procedure for you to ride.”

Before Jennifer had time to think, she was helping to move Cheryl onto the gurney and then push her out of the room.

“All the way to the end of the hall,” directed Gale.

Outside the treatment room several orderlies took over the gurney. After the doors closed behind Cheryl, Jennifer felt relieved. Then Gale took her arm, saying, “You’ll have to enter this way.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea…” began Jennifer.

“Nonsense,” interrupted Gale. “I know what you’re going to say. But this part of the procedure is nothing. The most important thing is Cheryl’s outlook. It’s important for her to have the kind of support that family can bring.”

“But I’m not family,” said Jennifer, wondering if she should add “and I’m pregnant myself.”

“Family or friend,” said Gale, “your presence is crucial. Here. Put this over your clothes and this over your hair. Make sure that all your hair is tucked in.” She handed Jennifer a sterile gown and hood. “Then come on in.” Gale disappeared through a connecting door.

Damn, thought Jennifer. She was in a storeroom fllled with linens and a large stainless-steel machine that looked like a boiler. Jennifer guessed it was a sterilizer. Reluctantly, she put on a hood, tucking in her hair as she was advised. Then she put on the gown and tied it across her abdomen.

The connecting door opened and Gale returned, eyeing Jennifer as she opened the latch on the sterilizer. “You’re fine. Go right in and stand to the left. If you feel faint or anything, just come back in here.” There was a hiss as steam escaped from the machine.

Taking a deep breath, Jennifer went into the treatment room.

It looked just like she had imagined it would. The walls were white tile and the floor some sort of white vinyl. There was a white porcelain sink mounted on the wall and glass-fronted cabinets filled with medical paraphernalia along one side of the room.

Cheryl had been transferred to an examination table that stood in the center of the room. Next to it was a stand that supported a tray with a collection of stainless-steel bowls and plastic tubing. Against the far wall was an anesthesia cart with the usual cylinders of gas attached.

There were two nurses in the room. One of them was washing Cheryl’s abdomen, while the other was busy opening various packets and dropping the contents onto the instrument tray.

The door to the treatment room opened and a gowned and gloved doctor came in. He immediately went to the instrument tray and arranged the instruments to his liking. Cheryl, who had been calmly resting, pushed herself up on one elbow.

“Ms. Tedesco,” said one of the nurses, “you must lie back for the doctor.”

“That’s not Dr. Foley,” said Cheryl. “Where is Dr. Foley?”

For a moment no one moved in the room. The doctor and the nurses exchanged glances.

“I’m not going through with this unless Dr. Foley is here,” said Cheryl, her voice cracking.

“I’m Dr. Stephenson,” said the man. “Dr. Foley cannot be here, but the Julian Clinic has authorized me to take his place. The procedure is very easy.”

“I don’t care,” pouted Cheryl. “I won’t have the abortion unless he does it.”

“Dr. Stephenson is one of our best surgeons,” said a nurse. “Please lie back and let us get on with this.” She put her hand on Cheryl’s shoulder and started to push her down.

“Just a minute,” said Jennifer, surprised at her own assertiveness. “It is obvious that Cheryl wants Dr. Foley. I don’t think you should try to force her to accept someone else.”

Everyone in the room turned to Jennifer as if they’d just realized she was standing there. Dr. Stephenson came over and started to lead her out of the room.

“Just a minute,” said Jennifer. “I’m not going to leave. Cheryl says she doesn’t want the procedure unless Dr. Foley does it.”

“We understand,” said Dr. Stephenson. “If that is the way Miss Tedesco feels, then of course we will respect her wishes. At the Julian Clinic the patient always comes first. If you’ll just go back to Miss Tedesco’s room, she will be right along.”

Jennifer glanced at Cheryl, who was now sitting on the edge of the examination table. “Don’t worry,” she said to Jennifer. “I won’t let them do anything until Dr. Foley comes.”

Bewildered, Jennifer let herself be led out of the treatment room. The gurney that had brought Cheryl was being rolled back inside, which made Jennifer feel more comfortable. Removing the hood and gown, she deposited them in a hamper in the corridor.

Almost immediately Marlene Polaski appeared. “I just heard what happened,” she said to Jennifer. “I’m terribly sorry. No matter how hard you try in a large institution, sometimes things go wrong. It’s been chaotic here for twenty-four hours. We thought that you knew about poor Dr. Foley.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jennifer.

“Dr. Foley committed suicide the night before last,” said Marlene. “He shot his wife and then himself. It was in all the papers. We thought you knew.”

Jennifer stepped into the corridor. Cheryl rolled past her. Jennifer sighed, glad she was with Dr. Vandermer after all.

As Adam got off the bus in Montclair, New Jersey, he thanked the driver who looked at him as if he were crazy. Adam was in fact in an oddly jazzed-up mood, a combination of anxiety about the upcoming job interview and guilt about his behavior the previous evening. He’d attempted to apologize to Jennifer, but the best he’d been able to do was say he was sorry that he’d broken the door. He hadn’t changed his mind about her standing up all day throughout her pregnancy selling shoes.

Adam spotted the Arolen car right where the secretary had said it would be: in front of the Montclair National Bank. Adam crossed the busy commercial street and tapped on the driver’s window. The man was reading the New York Daily News. He reached over his shoulder and unlocked the rear door.

It was a short ride from the town to the newly constructed Arolen headquarters. Adam sat with his hands pressed between his knees, taking everything in. They stopped at a security gate, and a uniformed guard with a clipboard bent down and stared at Adam through the window. The driver said, “Schonberg,” and the guard, apparently satisfied, lifted the white-and-black-striped gate.

As they went up the sloping drive, Adam was amazed by the opulence. There was a reflecting pool in the center of the well-tended grounds surrounded by trees. The main building was a huge bronzed structure whose surface acted like a mirror. The sides of the building tapered as they soared up into the sky. There were two smaller buildings on either side, connected to the main building by transparent bridges.

The driver skirted the reflecting pool and stopped directly in front of the main entrance. Adam thanked the man and walked up toward the door. As he drew closer, he checked his appearance in the mirrorlike surface. He had on his best clothes, a blue blazer, white shirt, striped tie, and gray slacks. The only problem was that there were two buttons missing from the left sleeve of the jacket.

Inside the front door he was issued a special badge and told to take the elevator to the twelfth floor. Riding up in solitary splendor, he noticed a TV camera that slowly moved back and forth, and he wondered if he were being observed. When the doors opened, he was greeted by a man about his own age.

“Mr. McGuire?” asked Adam.

“No, I’m Tad, Mr. McGuire’s secretary. Would you follow me, please.”

He led Adam to an outer office, told him to wait, and disappeared through a door that said “District Sales Manager, Northeast.”

Adam glanced around. The furniture was reproduction Chippendale, the wall-to-wall carpet a luxurious beige. Adam couldn’t help but compare the environment to the decaying medical center he’d recently left, and recalled the dean’s warning. He didn’t have time for second thoughts before Clarence McGuire opened the door and motioned Adam inside. He walked over to a couch and sat down as McGuire gave Tad a few final orders before dismissing him.

McGuire was a youthful, stocky man an inch or so shorter than Adam. His face had a satisfied air about it, and his eyes almost closed when he smiled.

“Would you care for something to drink?” he asked.

Adam shook his head.

“Then I think we should begin,” said Mr. McGuire. “What made you interested in Arolen?”

Adam nervously cleared his throat. “I decided to leave medical school, and I thought that the pharmaceutical industry would find use for my training. Arolen gave my class their black bags and the name stuck in my mind.”

Mr. McGuire smiled. “I appreciate your candor. OK, tell me why you are interested in pharmaceuticals.”

Adam fidgeted a little. He was reluctant to give the real, humbling reasons for his interest: Jennifer’s pregnancy and his desperate need for cash. Instead, he tried out the line he had practiced on the bus. “I was influenced to a large degree by my gradual disillusionment with the practice of medicine. It seems to me that doctors no longer consider the patient their prime responsibility. Technology and research have become more rewarding intellectually and financially, and medicine has become more of a trade than a profession.” Adam wasn’t sure what he meant by that phrase, but it had a nice ring to it so he let it stand. Besides, Mr. McGuire seemed to buy it.

“Over the last two and a half years I’ve come to believe the pharmaceutical companies have more to offer the patient than the individual doctor has. I think I can do more for people if I work for Arolen than if I stay in medicine.”

Adam leaned back on the sofa. He thought what he had said sounded pretty good.

“Interesting,” said McGuire. “It sounds as if you have given this a lot of thought. However, I must tell you that our usual method of starting people like yourself is in our sales force. What the medical professional likes to call ‘detail men.’ But I don’t know if that would give you the sense of service you are seeking.”

Adam leaned forward. “I assumed that I would start in sales, and I know it would be a number of years before I could really make a contribution.” He watched McGuire for signs of skepticism, but the man continued to smile.

“One thing that I particularly wanted to ask…” said McGuire. “Is your father with the Food and Drug Administration?”

Adam felt the muscles of his neck tighten. “My father is David Schonberg of the FDA,” he said, “but that has no bearing on my interest in Arolen. In fact, I am barely on speaking terms with my father, so I certainly couldn’t influence his decisions in any way.”

“I see,” said Mr. McGuire. “But I can assure you that we are interested in you and not your father. Now, I would like to hear about your schooling and work experience.”

Crossing his legs, Adam began from the beginning, starting with grammar school and leading up to medical school. He described all his summer jobs. It took about fifteen minutes.

“Very good,” said Mr. McGuire when Adam had finished. “If you’ll wait outside for a few minutes, I’ll be out shortly.” As soon as the door closed, McGuire picked up the phone and called his boss, William Shelly. Shelly’s secretary answered, and McGuire told Joyce to put the VP on the line.

“What is it?” asked Bill Shelly, his voice crisp and commanding.

“I just finished interviewing Adam Schonberg,” said Mr. McGuire, “and you were right. He is David Schonberg’s son, and he’s also one of the best candidates I’ve seen in five years. He’s perfect Arolen executive material, right down to his philosophies about current medical practice.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Bill. “If he works out, you’ll get a bonus.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for finding him,” said Clarence. “The kid called me.”

“You’ll get the bonus just the same,” said Bill. “Give him some lunch and then bring him up to my office. I’d like to talk with him myself.”

Clarence hung up the phone and returned to the waiting area outside his office. “I just spoke with the vice-president in charge of marketing who is my boss and he’d like to talk with you after lunch. What do you say?”

“I’m flattered,” said Adam.

Jennifer turned away from the window in Cheryl’s room and looked at her friend. She seemed almost angelic with her white skin and freshly washed blond hair. The tranquilizer that she’d been given had obviously taken effect. Cheryl was asleep, her head comfortably elevated on a pillow.

Jennifer didn’t know what to do. Cheryl had been brought back from the treatment room and told about Dr. Foley’s death. Marlene Polaski had tried to convince Cheryl that Dr. Stephenson was as good a doctor as Dr. Foley and that Cheryl should go ahead and have the procedure done. She reminded Cheryl that every day that passed made the abortion more risky.

Jennifer eventually had agreed with Marlene and had tried to change Cheryl’s mind, but the girl continued to insist that no one was going to touch her except Dr. Foley. It was as if she refused to believe the man had committed suicide.

Staring at the still form on the bed, Jennifer noticed that her friend’s eyes were slowly opening.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” said Cheryl sleepily.

“I think I should be going,” said Jennifer. “I’ve got to get dinner ready before Adam gets home. I’ll give you a call later. I can come back tomorrow if you’d like. Are you sure you don’t want Dr. Stephenson to do the procedure?”

Cheryl’s head lolled to the side. When she spoke, her words were slurred. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you exactly.”

“I said I think I’ll be going,” said Jennifer, smiling in spite of herself. “Did they give you some champagne before they brought you back here? You sound drunk.”

“No champagne,” murmured Cheryl as she fumbled with the bed covers. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.” Cheryl threw back the blanket, inadvertently jerking the IV line that was still attached to her left arm.

“I think you’d better stay where you are,” said Jennifer. Her smile disappeared, and she felt the initial stirring of fear. She reached out to restrain Cheryl.

But Cheryl already had her legs over the side of the bed and was pushing herself up into a shaky sitting position. At that point she noticed that she had pulled out her IV and was bleeding from the spot where the tube had entered her arm.

“Look what I did,” Cheryl said. She pointed to the IV and in doing so, lost her balance.

Jennifer tried to grab her shoulders, but in a limp, fluid movement, Cheryl slipped off the bed onto the floor. All Jennifer could do was to ease her down. She ended up bent double, her face resting on her knees.

Jennifer didn’t know what to do: call for help or lift Cheryl. Since Cheryl was in such an unnatural position, she decided to help her back to bed and then get the nurses, but when she raised Cheryl’s arms, all she saw was blood.

“Oh God!” she cried. Blood was pouring from Cheryl’s nose and mouth. Jennifer turned her on her back and noted that the skin around her eyes was black and blue, as if she’d been beaten. There was more blood on her legs, coming from beneath the hospital gown.

For a few seconds Jennifer was paralyzed. Then she lunged for the nurse’s call button and pressed it repeatedly. Cheryl still had not moved. Abandoning the call button, Jennifer dashed to the door and frantically called for help. Marlene appeared almost immediately and pushed past Jennifer, who flattened herself against the wall of the corridor, her hands pressed to her mouth. Several other hospital nurses rushed into the room. Then someone ran out and issued an emergency page over the previously silent PA system.

Jennifer felt someone take her arm. “Mrs. Schonberg. Can you tell us what happened?”

Jennifer turned to face Marlene. There was blood on the side of the nurse’s cheek. Jennifer peered into the room. They were giving Cheryl mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

“We were talking,” said Jennifer. “She didn’t complain about anything. She just sounded drunk. When she tried to get out of bed, she collapsed and then there was all that blood.”

Several doctors, including Dr. Stephenson, ran down the hallway and into Cheryl’s room. Soon another doctor arrived with what looked like an anesthesia machine. Marlene helped him maneuver it into the room, leaving Jennifer alone. Jennifer leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy. She was vaguely aware of other patients standing in the doorways of their rooms.

Two orderlies appeared with a gurney. A moment later Jennifer saw Cheryl for the last time as she was taken back to the treatment room. She had a black anesthesia mask clasped over her shockingly pale face. At least a dozen people were grouped around her shouting orders.

“Are you all right?” asked Marlene, suddenly appearing in front of Jennifer.

“I think so,” said Jennifer. Her voice was flat, like Dr. Stephenson’s. “What’s wrong with Cheryl?”

“I don’t think anybody knows yet,” said Marlene.

“She’ll be all right,” said Jennifer, more as a statement than a question.

“Dr. Stephenson is one of the very best,” said Marlene. “Why don’t you come to the lounge across from the nurses’ station. I don’t want you sitting by yourself.”

“My bag is in Cheryl’s room,” said Jennifer.

“You wait here. I’ll get it,” said Marlene.

After retrieving it, Marlene took Jennifer to the lounge and offered her something to drink, but Jennifer assured her that she was fine.

“Do you know what they’re going to do?” asked Jennifer, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

“That’s up to the doctors,” said Marlene. “They’ll certainly take out the fetus. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“Is the baby causing this bleeding?”

“Most likely. Both the bleeding and the shock. That’s why they have to get it out.”

Making Jennifer promise to call if she needed anything, Marlene went back to work. Every few minutes, though, she would wave to Jennifer and Jennifer would wave back.

Jennifer had never liked hospitals, and this present experience confirmed her long-standing aversion. She checked her watch. It was three-twenty.

Almost an hour passed before Dr. Stephenson reappeared. His hair was matted across his forehead, his face drawn. Jennifer’s heart skipped a beat.

“We did the best we could,” he said, sitting opposite her.

“Is she…” began Jennifer, feeling as if she were watching a soap opera.

Dr. Stephenson nodded. “She’s dead. We couldn’t save her. She had DIC, or diffuse intravascular coagulation. It’s a condition that we don’t really understand too well, but it is occasionally associated with abortions. We’ve only had one other case here at the Julian, and fortunately the patient did well. With Cheryl, however, the situation was complicated by uncontrollable hemorrhaging. Even if we had been able to resuscitate her, I’m afraid she would have lost her kidney function.”

Jennifer nodded, but she didn’t understand in the slightest. It was all too unbelievable.

“Do you know the family?” asked Dr. Stephenson.

“No,” said Jennifer.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Cheryl was not willing to give their address or phone number. It’s going to make it difficult to track them down.”

Marlene and Gale appeared in front of Jennifer. Both had been crying. Jennifer was astounded. She’d never heard of nurses crying.

“We’re all very upset about this,” said Dr. Stephenson. “That’s the trouble with practicing medicine. You do your best, but sometimes it is just not enough. Losing a young, vibrant girl like Cheryl is a tragedy. Here at the Julian Clinic we take this kind of failure very personally.”

Fifteen minutes later Jennifer left the clinic by the same door she’d entered with Cheryl only hours before. She could not quite grasp the fact that her friend was dead. She turned and looked up at the mirrored façade of the Julian Clinic. Depite what had happened, she still had a good feeling about the hospital. It was a place where people counted.

Following McGuire off the elevator on the nineteenth floor after lunch, Adam paused. He was again both impressed and appalled by the costly furnishings. The appointments were so lavish they made McGuire’s floor seem utilitarian by comparison.

Quickening his step, Adam caught up with McGuire just as he was entering the most spectacular office Adam had ever seen. One entire wall was glass, and beyond it the Jersey countryside unrolled in winter majesty.

“You like the view?” asked a voice. Adam turned. “I’m Bill Shelly,” the man said, walking around his desk. “Glad you could come out and see us.”

“My pleasure,” said Adam, surprised at Mr. Shelly’s youthfulness. Adam had expected someone at least fifty years of age as a senior executive. Mr. Shelly did not appear to be more than thirty. He was Adam’s height with closely cut blond hair combed with a razor-sharp part. His eyes were a startlingly bright blue. He was dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, pink tie, and tan slacks.

Mr. Shelly gestured out the window. “Those buildings in the distance are Newark. Even Newark looks good from a distance.” Behind Adam, McGuire chuckled.

Looking out the window, Adam realized he could also see the lower part of Manhattan. There were lots of clouds, and shafts of sunlight slanted down, illuminating some of the New York skyscrapers while leaving others in blue shadow.

“How about some refreshment,” said Mr. Shelly, moving over to a coffee table that supported a silver service. “We’ve got coffee, tea, and just about anything else.”

The three men sat down. McGuire and Adam asked for coffee. Bill Shelly poured himself a cup of tea.

“McGuire has told me a little about you,” said Shelly, sizing up Adam as he talked.

Adam began to speak, repeating essentially the same things he had told McGuire earlier. The two Arolen executives exchanged glances, nodding imperceptibly. Bill had no doubt that McGuire’s assessment had been accurate. The content of the personality profile that Bill had ordered drawn up during lunch confirmed Bill’s sense that Adam was a particularly good choice for their managerial training program. Finding candidates was a high priority, since the company was expanding so rapidly. The only reservation Bill had was that the boy might go back to medical school, but that could be handled too.

When Adam finished, Bill put down his teacup and said, “We find your attitude about the medical profession sympathetic with our own. We too are aware of doctors’ lack of social responsibility. I think you’ve come to the right place. Arolen could very well be a perfect home for you. Do you have any questions for us?”

“If I am hired, I would like to stay in the New York area,” said Adam. He was reluctant to move away from the medical school and wanted Jennifer delivered at the center.

Bill turned to McGuire. “I think we could find an opening, don’t you, Clarence?”

“Indeed,” agreed Clarence quickly.

“Any other questions?” asked Mr. Shelly.

“Not that I can come up with at the moment,” said Adam. Thinking the meeting over, he started to rise, but Bill leaned over to stop him. “Wait just a little longer.” Dismissing his colleague, he said, “Clarence, I’ll send him down to your office shortly.” As the door closed behind McGuire, Bill rose to his feet.

“First, let me tell you that we are very interested in you. Your medical background is first-rate. Second, I want to assure you that we would be hiring you on your own merits, not because of any influence that you may or may not have with your father.”

“I appreciate your saying that,” said Adam, impressed by Mr. Shelly’s frankness.

Lifting the personality profile that McGuire had put together, Shelly added, “You’d be amazed to know that we have already a complete report on you.”

Adam felt a moment’s outrage that Arolen would dare invade his privacy, but before he could protest, Bill was saying, “Everything in this report encourages me not only to hire you but to offer you a spot in our managerial training program. What do you say?”

Dazed, Adam tried to regain his composure. Things were moving faster than he’d ever expected. “Is the managerial training done here as well?” he asked.

“No,” said Mr. Shelly. “Sales training is located here, but the management program is held at our main research center in Puerto Rico.”

Puerto Rico! thought Adam. And he had been worried about leaving Manhattan. “That’s a very generous offer,” he said at last. “But I think I’d prefer to start out a little slower. My original idea was to begin as a sales rep so that I could learn about the business world.”

“I can appreciate that,” said Mr. Shelly. “But the offer remains. I should tell you that Arolen is planning to reduce its sales force starting next year. You might want to keep that in mind.”

“Does this mean I have been offered a sales job?” asked Adam.

“Yes, indeed,” said Bill. “And there’s one more person in our organization that I’d like you to meet.” He flipped on his intercom and asked his secretary to ask Dr. Nachman if he could come down and meet the new recruit they had discussed earlier.

“Dr. Heinrich Nachman is head of our research center in Puerto Rico. He’s in town for our board meeting, which was held this morning. I’d like you to meet him. He’s a renowned neurosurgeon and a fascinating individual. Talking with him might make you consider the Puerto Rico offer more seriously.”

Adam nodded, then asked, “When would you like me to start? I’m ready now.”

“I do like your attitude,” said Shelly. “I’ll have you enrolled in our next sales representative course, which I believe starts in a week. You’ll have to spend a day with a sales rep before then, but I’m sure Clarence McGuire can set that up for you. As for salary, you’ll go on the payroll immediately. Also, after reading your file, I guess you would like to know about our maternity benefits.”

Adam could feel his face redden. He was saved from replying by Dr. Heinrich Nachman’s entrance.

The neurosurgeon was exceptionally tall and thin. He had shaggy dark hair and eyes that appeared to miss very little. He greeted Adam with a broad smile and stared intensely at him for several minutes. Adam was about to squirm under the unwavering gaze when the doctor said, “Are we going to see this young man in Puerto Rico?”

“Unfortunately, not just yet,” said Shelly. “Adam feels he’d like to learn a bit about the business before committing to managerial training.”

“I see,” said Dr. Nachman. “From what Bill’s told me you’d be a real asset to our organization. Our research is moving ahead faster than we had anticipated. It would be a fantastic opportunity for you. You have no idea.”

“What area does the research involve?” asked Adam.

“Psychotropic drugs and fetology,” said Dr. Nachman.

There was a pause. Adam looked from one man to the other. They were both staring at him. “That’s very interesting,” he said self-consciously.

“At any rate,” said Dr. Nachman, “welcome to Arolen Pharmaceuticals.” The researcher stuck out his hand, and Adam shook it.

On the bus ride back to the city Adam felt some misgivings. He remembered Dr. Markowitz’s statement about deserting to the enemy. The idea that a company could make so much money selling drugs to people who were ill seemed contrary to all his ideals. He realized that doctors did essentially the same thing. But there was something else that bothered Adam about Arolen, something he couldn’t quite define. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that they had done a “complete report” on him.

In any case, he hadn’t made a lifetime commitment and for the moment he needed the money. If he and Jennifer saved carefully, there was no reason he couldn’t be back in medical school in eighteen months.

As the bus entered the Lincoln Tunnel, Adam pulled out his worn wallet and surreptitiously glanced into it. There they were, ten crisp hundred-dollar bills nestled against the half-dozen ragged singles. Adam had never seen so much money in cash. Bill had insisted Adam take an advance, pointing out he might need some new clothes. He wouldn’t be wearing whites to work.

But a thousand dollars! Adam still could not believe it.

Struggling with two Bloomingdale’s bags containing shirts and a jacket for himself and a gift-wrapped new dress for Jennifer, Adam took the Lexington Avenue subway to Fourteenth Street and walked to the apartment.

As soon as he opened the door he heard Jennifer on the phone, talking to her mother. He glanced into the kitchen and saw no preparations for dinner. In fact, he saw no signs of groceries, either. Promising himself that he was not going to get upset that evening, he walked into the bedroom where Jennifer was just saying good-bye. She hung up the phone and turned to face him.

She looked terrible. Her cheeks were streaked and her eyes were red from crying. Her hair was half in a bun, half out, hanging limply over her shoulders.

“Don’t tell me,” said Adam. “Your parents are moving to Bangladesh.”

Large tears welled up in her eyes, and Adam wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“I tried to call you earlier,” said Adam. “The phone was busy.”

Jennifer let her hands drop into her lap. “Why were you calling?”

“Just to tell you I was going to be a little late. I got you a little surprise. Interested?”

Jennifer nodded. Adam went out and got the package. She opened it slowly. Finally, after carefully refolding the paper, she opened the box.

Expecting delight, Adam was upset when Jennifer just sat holding the pretty Belle France chemise, the tears continuing to roll down her cheeks.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

Jennifer wiped her eyes and pulled the dress out of the box, stood up and held it under her chin so she could see herself in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. “But where did you get the money?”

Adam shrugged his shoulders. “If you don’t like it, I’m sure you can exchange it.”

Jennifer walked back to Adam and, with the dress still pressed against her chest, kissed him on the mouth. “I love it. It’s one of the prettiest dresses I’ve ever seen.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I had such an awful day. Did you ever meet Cheryl, Jason’s secretary?”

“I don’t think so,” said Adam.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jennifer. “But she was only nineteen or twenty. Today I went with her to a place called the Julian Clinic…”

“I know of it,” interrupted Adam. “A huge, new HMO organization, kind of like the Mayo Clinic. Some of the students that have gone there for various rotations say it’s a bit weird.”

“It wasn’t the place that was strange,” said Jennifer. “It was what happened. Cheryl went there to have an abortion.”

Adam cringed. “Wonderful!” he said with sarcasm. “You went with someone to have an abortion? Jennifer, are you crazy?”

“She didn’t have anybody else,” explained Jennifer. “I couldn’t let her go alone.”

“Of course not,” said Adam. “But if you don’t mind my asking, where was her family or her boyfriend? Why did it have to be you, Jennifer?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Jennifer. “But I went. And then she died!”

“Died!” repeated Adam with horror. “What did she die of? Was she sick?”

Jennifer shook her head. “She was apparently quite healthy. They were just about to do the abortion when Cheryl realized her own doctor wasn’t present, and she refused to go ahead with the procedure. She expected a Dr. Foley, but the man is dead. He’d committed suicide. So another doctor was going to do the abortion.”

“In some group practices the patient can’t choose which physician they see,” said Adam.

“That may be true,” said Jennifer, “but it seems to me that the patient should be informed in advance if the doctor she expected is not going to be there.”

“I can’t argue with that,” said Adam. “But if she refused the abortion, how did she die?”

“They said it was diffuse intravascular coagulation. She died right in front of me. One minute she was all right, and the next minute she fell on the floor bleeding. It was awful.” Jennifer pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit on it. Her eyes filled with tears.

Adam put both arms around her and patted her back.

Neither spoke for a few moments. Adam let Jennifer calm down while he puzzled over the story. How could Cheryl have died of DIC if the abortion had been canceled? He guessed that it had been a saline induced abortion and the solution had already been started. He was tempted to ask more but thought it best if Jennifer weren’t made to dwell on the experience.

But Jennifer was unwilling to drop the subject. “What is diffuse intravascular coagulation?” she asked. “Is it common?”

“No, no,” assured Adam. “It’s very rare. I don’t know too much about it. I don’t think anybody does. Something starts the clotting process inside the blood vessels. I think it’s associated with extensive trauma or bad burns and occasionally with abortions. But in any case, it is rare.”

“It doesn’t happen to people who are just pregnant?” asked Jennifer.

“Absolutely not!” said Adam. “Now I don’t want you to get medical-schoolitis and think you’re going to come down with every exotic disease you hear about. Right now I want you to take a shower, try on this new dress, and then we’ll eat.”

“I didn’t get groceries,” said Jennifer.

“I noticed,” said Adam. “No matter. I have a wallet full of money and I’m dying to tell you how I got it. You take a shower and we’ll go out to a fancy restaurant and celebrate, OK?”

Jennifer got a tissue and blew her nose. “OK,” she managed. “I hope I’ll be good company. I’m so upset.”

While Jennifer showered, Adam stepped into the living room and looked up DIC. As he expected, the condition was not related to pregnancy. Putting the medical text back on the shelf, he noticed the PDR. His curiosity piqued, he slipped the volume out of the bookcase and turned to the section for Arolen Pharmaceuticals. Except for an extensive list of generic antibiotics, Arolen did not have many exclusive products in the patented prescription drug category. There were several tranquilizers that Adam did not recognize as well as some anti-nausea preparations, including one for pregnant women, called pregdolen.

Adam wondered how Arolen managed to do so well with such a small list of new products. They had to sell a lot of drugs to pay for the impressive headquarters. He put the book back, deciding Arolen’s financial base was none of his business. At least not as long as they continued to pay his generous salary.