Chapter 4

   Dr. Lawrence Foley pulled into his long winding driveway. The rambling stone mansion was still out of sight when he pressed the button that opened the garage door. Rounding the final group of elms, he could see the towers silhouetted against the night sky. The neo-Gothic castle in Greenwich had been built in the early twenties by an eccentric millionaire who’d lost everything in the crash of 1929 and blown his brains out with an elephant gun.
   Laura Foley was in the upstairs sitting room when she heard the Jaguar enter the garage. At her feet, Ginger, their apricot toy poodle, lifted his head and growled as if he were a guard dog. Tossing aside the book she was reading, she looked up at the clock. It was quarter to ten and she was furious. She’d made dinner for eight o’clock, but Larry had never bothered to call to say he was going to be late. It was the sixth time he’d done that this month. If she’d told him once, she’d told him a hundred times to call. That was all she asked. She knew doctors had emergencies, but phoning only took a minute.
   Sitting on the couch, Laura contemplated what she should do. She could stay where she was and let Larry fend for himself in the kitchen, though she’d tried that before with no results. Until recently, her husband had been sensitive to her moods. But for some reason, ever since he’d come back from his medical meeting four months ago, he’d been generally cold and inconsiderate.
   Noises drifted up the back stairs from the kitchen, suggesting that Larry was already making himself something to eat. Not bothering to come and say hello added insult to injury. Laura lifted her legs off the hassock, wiggled her toes into her sandals, and stood up. Walking over to a gilt frame mirror, she peered at herself. For fifty-six she looked pretty darn good. But over the last eight weeks Larry had shown absolutely no sexual interest in her. Could that be the reason for his new burst of professional enthusiasm? It had taken Larry and Clark Vandermer twenty years to build their practice to the point where they could concentrate on gynecology rather than obstetrics. And then Larry had thrown it all away. After coming back from that medical meeting, he’d calmly announced that he’d quit GYN Associates and had accepted a salaried position at the Julian Clinic. At the time Laura had been so stupefied that she’d been unable to respond. And since joining the Julian Clinic, Larry had been taking on more obstetrical cases, even though he got the same salary no matter how hard he worked.
   A crash interrupted Laura’s thoughts. That was another problem. Larry had become clumsy of late, as well as having lapses of attention. Laura wondered if he were on the verge of some sort of breakdown.
   Deciding that it was time to confront her husband, Laua straightened her robe and started down the back stairs. Ginger followed at her heels.
   She found Larry at the kitchen counter, eating a large sandwich and reading a medical journal. He’d taken off his jacket and had thrown it over the back of a chair. When he heard her enter, he looked up. His face had that curious slackness it had developed in recent weeks.
   “Hello, dear,” he said in a flat tone.
   Laura stood at the foot of the stairs, allowing her anger to build. Her husband looked at her for a moment, then went back to his journal.
   “Why didn’t you call?” snapped Laura, infuriated by his attempt to ignore her.
   Larry raised his head slowly and turned to face his wife. He didn’t speak.
   “I asked you a question,” said Laura. “I deserve an answer. I’ve asked you a dozen times to call me if you are going to be late.”
   Larry didn’t move.
   “Did you hear me?” Laura stepped closer and looked into her husband’s eyes. The pupils were large, and he seemed to be looking right through her.
   “Hey,” said Laura, waving her hand in front of his face. “Remember me? I’m your wife.”
   Larry’s pupils constricted and he blinked as if he had just noticed her.
   “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said. “We decided to open an evening clinic for the neighborhood around the Julian and the response was better than we’d anticipated.”
   “Larry, what is wrong with you? You mean to tell me that you stayed until after nine o’clock to man a free clinic?”
   “Nothing is wrong with me. I feel fine. I enjoyed myself. I picked up three cases of unsuspected VD.”
   “Wonderful,” said Laura, throwing up her hands and sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs. She stared at Larry and took an exasperated breath. “We have to talk. Something weird is going on. Either you are going crazy or I am.”
   “I feel fine,” said Larry.
   “You might feel fine, but you are acting like a different person. You seem tired all the time, as if you hadn’t slept in weeks. This whole idea of giving up your practice is insane. I’m sorry, but it is crazy to give up what has taken you a lifetime to build.”
   “I’m tired of fee-for-service private practice,” said Larry. “The Julian Clinic is more exciting and I’m able to help more people.”
   “That’s all well and good,” said Laura, “but the problem is that you have a family. You have a son and daughter in college and a daughter in medical school. I don’t have to tell you how much their tuition is. And keeping up this ridiculous house that you insisted on buying ten years ago costs a fortune. We don’t need thirty rooms, particularly now that the children are gone. The salary you’re on at the Julian Clinic barely keeps us in groceries, much less covers our commitments.”
   “We can sell the house,” said Larry flatly.
   “Yes, we can sell the house,” repeated Laura. “But the kids are in school and unfortunately we have little savings. Larry, you have to go back to GYN Associates.”
   “I gave up my partnership,” said Larry.
   “Clark Vandermer will give it back,” said Laura. “You’ve known him long enough. Tell him you made a mistake. If you want to change your professional circumstances, you should at least wait until after the children’s schooling is complete.”
   Laura stopped talking and watched her husband’s face. It was as if it were carved from stone. “Larry,” she called. There was no response.
   Laura got up and waved her hand in front of her husband’s face. He didn’t move. He seemed to be in a trance. “Larry,” she yelled as she shook his shoulders. His body was strangely stiff. Then his eyes blinked and looked into hers.
   “Larry, are you aware that you seem to blank out?” She kept her hands on his shoulders while she studied his face.
   “No,” said Larry. “I feel fine.”
   “I think that maybe you should see someone. Why don’t we call Clark Vandermer and have him come over and look at you. He only lives three houses away, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. We can talk to him about getting back your practice at the same time.”
   Larry didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes assumed the blank look again while his pupils dilated. Laura stared at him for a moment, then quickly walked over to the kitchen phone. Her irritation had become concern. She looked up the Vandermers’ number in the address book that hung from the cork bulletin bord and was about to dial when Larry grabbed the phone from her hand. For the first time in months the slackness had gone from his face. Instead, his teeth were bared in an unnatural grimace.
   Laura screamed. She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it. She backed up, knocking over one of the kitchen chairs. Ginger barked and growled.
   Despite the horrid expression on his face, Larry didn’t respond to Laura’s scream. He hung up the phone, then turned. In agonized slow motion he grasped the sides of his head with both hands while an anguished wail escaped from his lips. Laura fled up the back stairs in panic.
   Reaching the top, she passed through the sitting room and ran down the corridor. The huge house was built like the letter H with the upper hallway traversing the crossbar. The master bedroom was over the living room in the wing opposite the kitchen.
   Reaching the bedroom, Laura closed and locked its paneled door. She ran to their bed and sat on its edge, her breath coming in short gasps. On the night table was another address book. She flipped it open to the Vs. Keeping her finger on Vandermer’s number, she lifted the princess phone to her ear and started dialing. But before the call could go through, one of the downstairs phones was picked up.
   “Laura,” said Larry in a cold, mechanical voice. “I want you to come downstairs immediately. I don’t want you calling anybody.”
   A wave of terror swept over Laura, constricting her throat. Her hand holding the phone began to shake.
   The connection went through and Laura could hear the Vandermers’ phone ringing. But as soon as the phone was answered, the line went dead. Laura looked at the phone helplessly. Larry must have cut the wire.
   “My God,” she whispered. Slowly she replaced the receiver and tried to collect herself. Panicking was not going to solve anything. She had to think. It was obvious that she needed help; the question was how to get it. Turning her head, she looked out of the bedroom window. Lights were on at her neighbors’. If she raised the window and yelled would anybody hear, and if they did, would they respond?
   Laura tried to convince herself she was overreacting. Perhaps she should just go downstairs as Larry suggested and tell him that he simply had to get help.
   A thump on the door jolted her upright. She listened and was relieved when she heard a sharp bark. Going to the door, she pressed her ear against it. All she could hear was Ginger’s whining. Hastily she undid the lock so the poodle could run inside.
   The door slammed wide open, bruising her hand and crashing against the wall. To Laura’s shock, Larry was in the doorway. Ginger rushed to Laura’s feet and began to jump up and down, wanting to be picked up.
   Laura screamed again. Larry’s face was still grotesquely contorted. In his left hand was a Remington 12-gauge pump gun.
   Spurred by utter panic, Laura turned and fled into the bathroom, slamming and bolting the door. Ginger had followed her and was trembling at her feet. She picked up the shaking dog and, backing up, watched the door. She knew that it was not much of a barrier.
   A horrendous blast echoed around the tiled room as part of the door splintered and tore away. Flying debris stung Laura’s face and the dog uttered a helpless yelp.
   The bathroom had another door and, dropping Ginger, Laura struggled with its latch. She was dazed but got the door open and ran into a dressing room that led back into the bedroom. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Larry’s hand coming through the hole made by the shotgun blast.
   As she raced though the bedroom, Laura caught a brief glimpse of Larry disappearing into the bathroom. Knowing she had only a few moments’ head start, she dashed into the hall and half ran and half fell down the staircase. Ginger stayed at her heels.
   Vainly she gave the front door a tug, but it was locked. The old man who had originally built the house had been so paranoid that he had equipped all the doors with locks that could be secured from both sides. There were keys somewhere in the bureau in the foyer, but Laura didn’t have time to search for them. Her keys were in her purse in the kitchen. Hearing Larry start down the stairs, Laura ran down the gallery on the ground floor.
   Normally, she put her purse on the desk beneath the kitchen phone, but it wasn’t there. She tried the back door but, as she expected, it too was locked. With mounting panic, she tried to think of what to do. The fact that Larry had actually used the shotgun on the bathroom door made her heart pound. Ginger leaped into her arms, and she hugged him to her chest. Then she heard Larry’s heels striking the marble of the gallery floor.
   In desperation Laura opened the cellar door, flipped on the cellar lights, and pulled the door shut behind her. As quietly as she could, she descended the angled stairway. There was a way out of the cellar that was secured with an oak beam rather than a lock.
   They had never used the basement because they had such an overabundance of space upstairs. Consequently, it was musty and filled with all sorts of junk from previous owners. It was a warren of little rooms, and poorly illuminated with infrequent light bulbs. Laura stumbled over debris in the hallway, clutching Ginger to herself as she navigated the strangely tortuous route. She was almost at the exit when the lights went out.
   The darkness was sudden and complete. Laura froze in her tracks, disoriented. The terror consumed her. Desperately, she swung her left hand in front of her, searching for a wall. Her fingers hit rough wood. Stumblingly, she made her way along the wall until she came to a doorway. Behind her she heard Larry start down the cellar stairs. The sound of his footsteps was distinct, as if he were moving very slowly and deliberately. A flickering light indicated he was carrying a flashlight.
   Knowing that she could never find the exit in the dark, Laura frantically realized that she’d have to hide. With all the rooms and junk that were there, she felt that she had a chance. She stepped through the doorway she’d found, and groped in the darkness. Almost at once her hands encountered window shutters leaning against the wall. Stepping around them, her foot hit a wooden object. It was a large barrel resting on its side.
   After first checking to make sure that the barrel was empty, Laura got down on her hands and knees and backed into it, pulling Ginger after her. She didn’t have long to worry if her hiding place were adequate. No sooner had she stopped moving than she heard Larry approach in the hallway. Although the barrel pointed away from the door opening, she could see dim evidence of his flashlight.
   Larry’s footsteps came closer and closer, and Laura struggled to breathe quietly. The flashlight beam entered the room and Laura held her breath. Then Ginger growled and barked. Laura’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the pump action of the shotgun. She felt Larry kick the barrel, rolling her upside down. Ginger yelped and fled. Frantically, Laura struggled to right herself.

Chapter 5

   The Eastern shuttle to Washington provided the first peace Adam had experienced since the previous night. After Jennifer had slammed the bedroom door, Adam tried lying down on the uncomfortable Victorian couch. He’d attempted to read about pancreatitis, but found it impossible to concentrate. There was no way he could stay in medical school if they lost Jennifer’s income. At dawn, after only a couple of hours of restless sleep, he’d called the hospital and had a note left for his intern saying he wouldn’t be in that day. One way or the other, Adam knew he had to come up with a solution.
   Adam stared out the window at the tranquil New Jersey countryside. The captain announced that they were passing over the Delaware River and Adam estimated it was another twenty minutes to Washington. That would put him in the city at eight-thirty; he could be at his father’s office at the Food and Drug Administration around nine.
   Adam was not looking forward to the meeting, especially under the present conditions. He hadn’t seen his father since the middle of his first year in medical school, and it had been a traumatic encounter. At that time Adam had informed the old man that he was definitely marrying Jennifer.
   Adam was still trying to decide how to open the conversation as he walked through the revolving door of his father’s building. As a child, Adam had not visited his father’s office often, but had gone enough times to leave him with a feeling of distaste. His father had always acted as if the boy were an embarrassment.
   Adam had been the middle child, sandwiched between an overachieving older brother, David, and a younger sister, Ellen, the darling of the family. David had been the outgoing child and had decided as a youngster to become a doctor like his father. Adam had never been able to make up his mind what he wanted to be. For a long time he thought he wanted to be a farmer.
   Adam got on the elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor. He could remember going up in the elevator with David when David was in medical school. David was ten years older than Adam and, as far as Adam was concerned, seemed more like an adult than a brother. Adam used to be left in his father’s waiting room while David was taken to meet doctor colleagues.
   Adam got off at the eighth floor and turned to the right. As the offices became larger and more attractive, the secretaries got plainer. Adam could remember that it was David who had pointed that out to him.
   Hesitating before the executive offices, Adam wondered what his relationship with his father would be like if David hadn’t died in Vietnam. Not too many doctors had been killed over there, but David had managed it. He’d always been one to volunteer for anything. It had been the last year of the war and Adam had been fifteen at the time.
   The event had crippled the family. Adam’s mother had gone into a terrible depression that required shock therapy. She still wasn’t her old self. Adam’s father hadn’t weathered the news much better. After several months of his withdrawn silence, Adam had gone to him and told him that he’d decided to become a doctor. Instead of being pleased, his father had cried and turned away.
   Adam paused in front of his father’s office, then screwing up his courage, walked up to Mrs. Margaret Weintrob’s desk. She was an enormous woman who swamped her swivel chair. Her dress was a tentlike affair made from a flower-print cotton. Her upper arms had enormous rolls of fat, making her sizable forearms appear slender by comparison.
   But, aside from her weight, she was exceptionally well groomed. She smiled when she saw Adam and, without getting up, extended a hand in greeting.
   Adam shook the slightly damp hand and returned the smile. They had always gotten along fine. She’d been Adam’s father’s secretary as far back as Adam could remember, and she’d always been sensitive to Adam’s shyness.
   “Where have you been?” she asked, pretending to be angry. “It’s been ages since you’ve visited.”
   “Medical school doesn’t allow for too much free time,” said Adam. His father kept few secrets from Margaret, and Adam was sure she knew why he hadn’t been around.
   “As usual, your father’s on the phone. He’ll be off in a minute. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
   Adam shook his head no, and hung his coat on a brass coatrack. He sat down on a vinyl bleacher. He remembered that his father did not like to give the impression that the government was wasting the public’s money on such frills as comfortable seating. In fact, the whole outer office had a utilitarian look. For Dr. Schonberg Senior it was a matter of principle. For the same reason, he refused the car and driver that came with his office.
   Adam sat trying to marshal his arguments, but he wasn’t very sanguine. When he had called early that morning to arrange the meeting, his father had been gruff, as if he knew that Adam was going to ask for money.
   There was a buzz. Margaret smiled. “Your father’s waiting for you.”
   As Adam grimly rose to his feet, she reached out and placed a hand on his forearm.
   “He’s still suffering from David’s death,” she said. “Try to understand. He does love you.”
   “David died nine years ago,” said Adam.
   Margaret nodded and patted Adam’s arm. “I just wanted you to know what’s going on in his mind.”
   Adam opened the door and went into his father’s office. It was a large square room with tall windows that looked out onto a pleasant inner garden. The other walls were covered with bookcases and in the middle of the room was a large oak desk. Two good-sized library tables were spaced perpendicularly on either side of it, creating a spacious U-shaped work area. In its center sat Adam’s father.
   Adam resembled his father closely enough for people to guess their relationship. Dr. Schonberg, too, had thick curly hair, though his was graying at the temples. The greatest difference between the two men was size, the father being more than five inches shorter than his son.
   As Adam came in and shut the door, Dr. Schonberg had a pen in his hand. Carefully he put it in its holder.
   “Hello,” said Adam. He noted that his father had aged since he’d last seen him. There were lots of new creases across his forehead.
   Dr. Schonberg acknowledged Adam’s greeting by nodding his head. He did not stand up.
   Adam advanced to the desk, looking down into his father’s heavily shadowed eyes. Adam didn’t see any softening there.
   “And to what do we owe this unexpected visit?” asked Dr. Schonberg.
   “How is mother?” asked Adam, sensing that his fears had been correct. The meeting was already going poorly.
   “Nice of you to ask. Actually, she’s not too good. She had to have shock treatment again. But I don’t want to trouble you with that news. Especially considering the fact that your marrying that girl had a lot to do with her condition.”
   “That girl’s name is Jennifer. I would hope after a year and a half you could remember her name. Mother’s condition started with David’s death, not my marrying Jennifer.”
   “She was just recovering when you shocked her by marrying that girl.”
   “Jennifer!” corrected Adam. “And that was seven years after David’s death.”
   “Seven years, ten years, what does it matter? You knew what marrying out of your religion would do to your mother. But did you care? And what about me? I told you not to marry so early in your medical career. But you’ve never had consideration for the family. It’s always been what you wanted. Well, you got what you wanted.”
   Adam stared at his father. He didn’t have the energy to argue in the face of such irrationality. He’d tried that on their last meeting one and a half years ago with no result whatsoever.
   “Don’t you care what is happening to me, how medical school is going?” asked Adam, almost pleading.
   “Under the circumstances, no,” said Dr. Schonberg.
   “Well, then I made a mistake coming,” said Adam. “We’re in a financial bind and I thought that enough time had passed to make it possible for me to talk to you about it.”
   “So now he wants to talk finances!” said Dr. Schonberg, throwing up his hands. He glared at his son, his heavy-lidded eyes narrowed. “I warned you that if you willfully went ahead with the marriage to that girl I was going to cut you off. Did you think I was joking? Did you think I meant for a couple of years only?”
   “Are there no circumstances that might make you reconsider your position?” asked Adam quietly. He knew the answer before he asked and decided not even to bother telling his father that Jennifer was pregnant.
   “Adam, you’re going to have to learn to take responsibility for your decisions. If you decide something, you have to stick to it. There is no latitude for shortcuts or compromises in medicine. Do you hear me?”
   Adam started for the door. “Thanks for the lecture, Dad. It will come in handy.”
   Dr. Schonberg came around from behind his desk. “You’ve always been a smart aleck, Adam. But taking responsibility for your decisions is one lesson you have to learn. It’s the way I run this department for the FDA.”
   Adam nodded and opened the door. Margaret backed up clumsily, not even bothering to pretend that she hadn’t been listening. Adam went for his coat.
   Dr. Schonberg followed his son into the waiting room. “And I run my personal life the same way. So did my father before me. And so should you.”
   “I’ll keep it in mind, Dad. Say hello to Mom. Thanks for everything.”
   Adam turned down the corridor and walked to the elevator. After pushing the button, he looked back. In the distance Margaret was waving. Adam waved back. He never should have come. There was no way he was going to get money out of his father.

   It wasn’t raining when Jennifer stepped from their apartment building, but the skies looked threatening. In many ways she thought that March was the worst month in New York. Even though spring was officially about to begin, winter still held the city firmly in its grip.
   Pulling her coat tighter around her body, she set off toward Seventh Avenue. Under the coat she was dressed for rehearsal in an old leotard, tights, leg-warmers, and an ancient gray sweater with the sleeves cut off. In truth, Jennifer didn’t know if she would be dancing, since she was planning on telling Jason that she was pregnant. She hoped he would allow her to continue with the troupe for a couple of months. She and Adam needed the money so badly, and the thought of Adam dropping out of medical school terrified her. If only he weren’t so stubborn about accepting help from her parents.
   At Seventh Avenue Jennifer turned south, fighting the rush-hour crowds. Stopping at a light, she wondered what kind of reception Adam was getting from his father. When she’d gotten up that morning she’d found the note saying he was off to Washington. If only the old bastard would help, thought Jennifer, it would solve everything. In fact, if Dr. Schonberg offered support, Adam would probably be willing to accept help from her parents.
   She crossed Seventh Avenue and headed into Greenwich Village proper. A few minutes later she turned into the entrance of the Cézanne Café, descended the three steps in a single bound, and pushed through the etched-glass door. Inside, the air was heavy with Gauloise cigarette smoke and the smell of coffee. As usual, the place was jammed.
   On her toes, Jennifer tried to scan the crowd for a familiar face. Halfway down the narrow room she saw a figure waving at her. It was Candy Harley, who used to be one of the Jason Conrad dancers but who now did administrative work. Next to her was Cheryl Tedesco, the company secretary, looking paler than usual in a white jumpsuit. It was customary for the three of them to have coffee together before rehearsal.
   Jennifer worked her way out of her coat, rolling it up in a large ball and depositing it on the floor next to the wall. On top she plopped her limp cloth bag. By the time she sat down, Peter, the Austrian waiter, was at the table, asking if she wanted the usual. She did. Cappuccino and croissant with butter and honey.
   After she’d sat down, Candy leaned forward and said, “We have good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?”
   Jennifer looked back and forth between the two women. She wasn’t in the mood for joking, but Cheryl was staring into her espresso cup as if she’d lost her best friend. Jennifer knew her as a rather melancholy twenty-year-old with a weight problem which seemed of late to be getting worse. She had pixieish features with a small upturned nose and large eyes. Her disheveled hair was a dirty blond. In contrast, Candy was strikingly immaculate in her appearance, her blond hair twisted neatly into a French braid.
   “Maybe you’d better tell me the good news first,” said Jennifer uneasily.
   “We’ve been offered a CBS special,” said Candy. “The Jason Conrad Dancers are going big time.”
   Jennifer tried to act excited, although she realized she’d probably be too far along in her pregnancy for television. “That’s terrific!” she forced herself to say with enthusiasm. “When is it scheduled for?”
   “We’re not sure of the exact date, but we’re supposed to tape the show in a few months.”
   “So, what’s the bad news?” asked Jennifer, eager to change the subject.
   “The bad news is that Cheryl is four months pregnant and she has to have an abortion tomorrow,” Candy stated in a rush.
   Jennifer turned to Cheryl. “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”
   “No one did,” added Candy. “Cheryl kept it a secret till she heard that I’d had an abortion. Then she confided in me, and it was a good thing she did. I sent her to my doctor, who suggested amniocentesis because Cheryl said she’d been doing drugs right through her second month. She hadn’t realized she was pregnant.”
   “What did the test show?” asked Jennifer.
   “That the baby is deformed. There’s something wrong with its genes. That’s what they look for when they do an amniocentesis.”
   Jennifer turned back to Cheryl, who was still staring into her expresso, trying not to cry.
   “What does the father think?” asked Jennifer and then was sorry, for Cheryl put her hands over her face and began to sob bitterly. Candy put her arm about Cheryl as Jennifer glanced around at the nearby tables. No one was paying attention. Only in New York could you have such privacy in a public place. Cheryl took a tissue from her purse and blew her nose loudly.
   “The father’s name is Paul,” she said sadly.
   “How does he feel about your having an abortion?” asked Jennifer.
   Cheryl wiped her eyes, examining a dark smudge of mascara on the tissue. “I don’t know. He took off and left me.”
   “Well,” said Candy, “that gives us a pretty good idea about how he feels. The bastard. I wish men could take on the burden of being pregnant, say every other year. I think they might be a little more responsible if that were the case.”
   Cheryl wiped her eyes again, and Jennifer suddenly realized how terribly young and vulnerable the girl was. It made the problem posed by her own pregnancy seem small in comparison.
   “I’m so scared,” Cheryl was saying. “I haven’t told anyone because if my father finds out, he’ll kill me.”
   “Well, I hope you’re not going to the hospital by yourself,” said Jennifer with alarm.
   “It won’t be so bad,” said Candy with some assurance. “I’d been worried before my abortion, but it went smoothly. The people at the Julian Clinic are outstandingly warm and sensitive. Besides, Cheryl will have the world’s best gynecologist.”
   “What’s his name?” asked Jennifer, thinking that she could not say the same about Dr. Vandermer.
   “Lawrence Foley,” said Candy. “I’d been turned on to him by another girl who had to have an abortion.”
   “It seems like he’s doing a lot of abortions,” said Jennifer.
   Candy nodded. “It’s a big city.”
   Jennifer sipped her cappuccino, wondering how to tell her friends that she herself had just found out she was pregnant. She postponed the moment by turning back to Cheryl and saying, “Perhaps you’d like it if I went with you tomorrow. Seems to me you could use some company.”
   “I’d love that,” said Cheryl, her face brightening.
   “Not so fast, Mrs. Schonberg,” said Candy. “We have rehearsal.”
   Jennifer raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Well, I have some news myself. I found out yesterday that I’m two and a half months pregnant myself.”
   “Oh, no!” exclaimed Candy.
   “Oh, yes!” said Jennifer. “And when I tell Jason, he may not care whether I come to rehearsal or not.”
   Candy and Cheryl were too stunned to speak. In silence, the three finished their coffee, paid the bill, and set off for the studio.
   Jason was not there when they arrived, and Jennifer felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. She removed her outer clothes and found a free area on the dance floor. Turning sideways, she lifted her sweatshirt so that she could see her profile. She had to admit that she already showed a little.

   Adam washed his hands in the men’s room on the first floor of the hospital complex. Catching a glimpse of his haggard face in the mirror, he realized he looked exhausted. Well, maybe it would make the dean more sympathetic. After his disastrous meeting with his father, Adam had decided his only recourse was an additional student loan from the medical center. Straightening his frayed button-down collar, he thought he certainly looked poor and deserving, and that he should go directly to the dean’s office before he lost his courage.
   Bursting into the secretary’s office to demand an appointment, Adam was almost dismayed when the woman said she thought the dean had a few moments between appointments. She went in to check. When she returned, she said Adam could go right in.
   Dr. Markowitz stood as Adam crossed his office threshold. He was a short, stocky man with dark curly hair not unlike Adam’s. He had a deep tan, even though it was just March. He approached Adam with his hand outstretched. When they shook hands, his other hand grasped the back of Adam’s.
   “Please, sit down.” The dean gestured to a black academic chair in front of his desk.
   From his chair Adam could see a manila folder with his name on the tab. Adam had met the dean only a few times, but each time Dr. Markowitz had acted as if he were intimately aware of Adam’s situation. He had obviously pulled the file in the minute or two Adam had been kept waiting.
   Adam cleared his throat. “Dr. Markowitz, I’m sorry to take your time, but I’ve got a problem.”
   “You’ve come to the right place,” said Dr. Markowitz, although his smile relaxed an appreciable amount. Adam recognized that the dean was more politician than doctor. He had an unhappy feeling that this meeting would be no better than the one with his father. He crossed his legs and gripped his ankle to keep his hands from shaking.
   “I just found out my wife is pregnant,” he began, watching Dr. Markowitz’s face for signs of disapproval. They weren’t subtle. First, the dean’s smile vanished. Then his eyes narrowed as he folded his arms guardedly across his chest.
   “Needless to say,” continued Adam, trying to keep up his courage, “this is going to put us in a financial bind. My wife and I depend on her income, and now with a child on the way…” Adam’s voice trailed off. You didn’t need to be a fortune-teller to know the rest.
   “Well,” said Dr. Markowitz with a forced laugh, “I’m an internist, not an obstetrician. Never was very good at delivering babies.”
   Some sense of humor, thought Adam.
   “My wife sees Dr. Vandermer,” said Adam.
   “He’s the best,” offered Dr. Markowitz. “Can’t get better obstetrical care than Dr. Vandermer. He delivered our two children.”
   There was an awkward pause. Adam became aware of the ticking of an antique Howard clock hanging on the wall to his left. Dr. Markowitz leaned forward and opened the folder on his desk. He read for a moment, then looked up.
   “Adam, have you considered that this might not be a good time to start your family?”
   “It was an accident,” said Adam, wanting to avoid a lecture if that was what the dean had intended. “A birth control failure. A statistic. But now that it has happened, we have to deal with it. We need additional financial support or I have to drop out of school for a year or so. It’s as simple as that.”
   “Have you thought about terminating this pregnancy?” asked Dr. Markowitz.
   “We’ve thought about it, but neither one of us is willing to do so.”
   “What about family support?” questioned Dr. Markowitz. “I don’t think that dropping out of school is a wise move. You have a lot invested in getting to where you are today. I’d hate to see that put in jeopardy.”
   “There’s no chance of family support,” said Adam. He didn’t want to get into a conversation about his father’s intransigence or his in-laws’ interference. “My only hope is to borrow more money from the school. If not, I’ll have to take a leave of absence.”
   “Unfortunately, you are already borrowing the maximum allowed,” said Dr. Markowitz. “We have limited resources in regard to student loans. We have to spread around what we have so everyone who needs support has access to it. I’m sorry.”
   Adam stood up. “Well, I appreciate your time.”
   Dr. Markowitz got to his feet. His smile reappeared. “I wish I could be more help. I hate to see you leave us. You have an excellent record up until now. Maybe you should reconsider the advisability of allowing the pregnancy to go to term.”
   “We’re going to have the child,” said Adam. “In fact, now that the shock of it all is over, I’m looking forward to it.”
   “When would you start your leave?” asked Dr. Markowitz.
   “I’m finishing Internal Medicine in a few days,” said Adam. “As soon as it is over, I’ll look for a job.”
   “I suppose if you’re going to take a leave, it is as good a time as any. What do you plan to do?”
   Adam shrugged. “I hadn’t made any specific plans.”
   “I might be able to get you a research position here at the medical center.”
   “I appreciate the offer,” said Adam, “but research doesn’t pay the kind of money I’m going to need. I’ve got to get a job with a decent salary. I was thinking more about trying one of the big drug firms out in New Jersey. Arolen gave our class all those leather doctor bags. Maybe I’ll give them a try.”
   Dr. Markowitz flinched as if he’d been struck. “That’s where the money is,” he said, sighing. “But I must say I feel as if you were deserting to the enemy. The pharmaceutical industry has been exerting more and more control over medical research recently, and I for one am legitimately concerned.”
   “I’m not wild about the idea,” admitted Adam. “But they are the only people who might be seriously interested in a third-year medical student. If it doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll be back for that research position.”
   Dr. Markowitz opened the door. “I’m sorry we don’t have more resources for financial aid. Best of luck, and let me know as soon as you can when you plan to get back to school.”
   Adam left, determined to call Arolen that afternoon. He would worry about pharmaceutical pressure on research once he had cashed his first paycheck.

   “You’re what!” shouted Jason Conrad, the head of the Jason Conrad Dancers. He threw up his hands in exaggerated despair.
   For the four years that Jennifer had known him, Jason had always tended toward histrionics, whether he was ordering lunch or directing the dancers. Consequently, she had anticipated such a reaction.
   “Now, let me get this straight,” he moaned. “You’re telling me that you’re going to have a child. Is that right? No, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this is just a bad dream. Please!”
   Jason looked at Jennifer with a pleading expression. He was a tall man—six feet three—who looked boyish despite his thirty-three years. Whether he was gay or not, Jennifer had no idea. Neither did any of the other dancers. Dance was Jason’s life, and he was a genius at it.
   “I’m going to have a baby,” confirmed Jennifer.
   “Oh, my God!” cried Jason, letting his head sink into his hands.
   Jennifer exchanged glances with Candy, who had hung around for moral support.
   “This is not happening to me,” wailed Jason. “At the moment of our big break, one of the lead dancers gets herself pregnant. Oh, my God!”
   Jason stopped pacing. Holding up his index finger, he looked at Jennifer. “What about an abortion? Surely this isn’t a planned child.”
   “I’m sorry,” said Jennifer.
   “But you can always have another child,” protested Jason.
   Jennifer just shook her head.
   “You won’t listen to reason?” wailed Jason. He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest and began to take deep breaths as if he were experiencing severe chest pain. “You prefer to torture me like this, straining my heart. Oh God, the pain is awful.”
   Jennifer felt guilty about getting pregnant just when the troupe was receiving its big break. She hated to let anyone down. But Jason’s response was a selfish one, and she resented his trying to manipulate her this way into something as serious as an abortion.
   Candy took Jason’s arm. “I hope you’re kidding about this chest pain.”
   Jason opened one eye. “Me kidding? I never kid about something like this. This woman’s driving me to an early grave and you ask if I’m kidding?”
   “I can probably dance for another month or so,” offered Jennifer.
   “Oh, no, no, no!” said Jason, instantly forgetting his chest pain. He began pacing back and forth in front of the old ticket booth. “If you, Jennifer, are insensitive enough to abandon us at this juncture, we have to make an adjustment immediately.” He stopped and pointed to Candy. “What about you? Could you dance Jennifer’s part?”
   Candy was caught off guard. “I don’t know,” she stammered.
   Jason watched Jennifer out of the corner of his eye. He knew that Jennifer and Candy were friends. He thought that jealousy might accomplish what reason couldn’t. He needed Jennifer at least until the TV show was taped, but Jennifer did not respond. She remained silent as Candy finally replied, “I guess I’m in good shape. I’ll certainly try and give it my best.”
   “Hooray,” said Jason. “It’s good to hear that someone around here is willing to make some sacrifices.” Then to Jennifer he said, “Maybe you should head into the office and have Cheryl take you off the payroll. We aren’t a welfare organization.”
   Candy spoke up. “She should get her base salary for another two weeks. That’s only fair.”
   Jason waved his hand as if he didn’t care. He started back for the gym floor.
   “Also,” called Candy after him, “I think it would be easier for our accounting if we put her on maternity leave.”
   “Whatever,” said Jason with little interest. He opened the door into the gym. They could hear the other dancers going through their routines. “Let’s get to work, Candy,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared through the door.
   The two women looked at each other. Both felt a little awkward. Candy shrugged. “I never guessed that he’d offer me a dance position.”
   “I’m happy for you,” said Jennifer. “Really.”
   Together, they returned to the gym.
   Jason’s high-pitched voice reverberated around the large room. “OK, let’s take dance variation number two from the top. Positions!” He clapped his hands and the echo sounded like the report of a gun. “Come on, Candy,” he yelled.
   For a few minutes Jennifer watched the rehearsal. Then, trying to shake off her feelings of regret, she headed down the hall to Cheryl’s office.
   Cheryl was leaning back, reading a paperback romance novel.
   “You’re supposed to put me on maternity leave,” said Jennifer with resignation.
   “I’m sorry,” said Cheryl. “Did Jason throw a fit?” She put her book down. Jennifer could see the title: The Flames of Passion.
   “One of his best,” admitted Jennifer. “But I suppose it’s understandable. This is a bad time for me to take a leave.” She sank into the chair in front of the desk. “Jason agreed to let me draw base pay for another two weeks. Of course, I still get my percentages from past performances.”
   “What are you going to do?” asked Cheryl.
   “I don’t know,” said Jennifer. “Maybe I can get a temporary job. Do you have any ideas? How did you find this position?”
   “I went to an agency,” said Cheryl. “But if you’re looking for part-time work, try one of the temporary secretarial services. They always need people.”
   “I couldn’t type to save my life,” said Jennifer.
   “Then try one of the big department stores. A lot of my girlfriends have done that.”
   Jennifer smiled. That sounded promising.
   “Are you still going to come with me tomorrow?” asked Cheryl.
   “Absolutely,” said Jennifer. “I wouldn’t think of letting you go by yourself. Were you alone when you had the amniocentesis?”
   “Yup,” said Cheryl proudly. “It was a breeze. Hardly hurt at all.”
   “Sounds like you have more courage than I,” said Jennifer. Jennifer thought again about her mongoloid brother and wondered if she should ask to have the test.
   Cheryl leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Like Candy said, I used to do a lot of drugs. Pot, acid, you name it. Dr. Foley said that I should have the test to check the chromosomes. But he made it easy. If you have to have it, don’t worry. I was really nervous, but I’d do it again in a flash.” She sat back, pleased with herself.
   Jennifer stared at Cheryl, remembering Dr. Vandermer and his chauvinistic attitude. “And this Dr. Foley, you like him?”
   Cheryl nodded her head. “Dr. Foley is the nicest doctor I’ve ever met. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have done anything. And his nurses are nice, too. In fact, the whole Julian Clinic is just great. I’m sure Candy would call and make an appointment for you if you’d like.”
   Jennifer smiled. “Thanks, but my husband sent me to someone at the medical center. Now, to get back to business. What do I have to do to put myself on maternity leave?”
   Cheryl wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I’ll have to ask Candy.”
   After making plans to meet Cheryl the following morning, Jennifer got her coat and bag and went out into the street. Walking to the subway, she struggled against an almost overwhelming depression. She had always expected pregnancy to be a wonderful experience, but now that she was bearing a child, instead of feeling happy, she was confused and angry. And worst of all she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to share such feelings with anyone because she was certain no one would understand.
   Biting her lower lip, Jennifer decided to try Macy’s first.

   It was nearly six o’clock when Jennifer trudged up the stairs to their apartment. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find Adam on the couch. He usually wasn’t home this early. Then she realized he must have taken the rest of the day off after seeing his father.
   “How did the meeting go?” she asked, making an effort to be pleasant. “Was your father helpful?”
   “He was a delight,” snapped Adam. “He gave me a valuable lecture about responsibility and consistency.”
   Jennifer hung up her coat and went over and sat next to Adam. His eyes were red with dark circles. “Was it that bad?”
   “Worse,” said Adam. “Now he believes I’m the cause of my mother’s depression.”
   “But her depression started with your brother’s death.”
   “He seems to have forgotten that.”
   “What did he say when you told him that we are going to have a child?”
   “I didn’t,” said Adam. “I never had a chance. He made it very clear that I was on my own before I could even broach the subject.”
   “I’m sorry,” said Jennifer.
   Jennifer examined Adam’s face. She didn’t like what she saw. He seemed distant and cold. She wanted to ask him about Dr. Lawrence Foley but decided to put it off. “I think I’ll take a shower,” she said with a sigh as she stood up and walked into the bedroom.
   At first, Adam sat and brooded. Gradually, he realized that he was acting like an adolescent. Getting up, he went into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes. Then he opened the door to the bathroom. “Leave the water on,” he shouted over the sound of the shower. While he was brushing his teeth, Jennifer got out of the shower and, without looking at him, took her towel and went into the bedroom. Although she left the water going as he requested, it was obvious that she was irritated.
   Adam had always found it difficult to apologize. Maybe they should do something crazy, like go out to dinner. Stepping into the shower, he decided to take Jennifer to a restaurant called One by Land, Two by Sea. It was close enough so they could walk. They’d never eaten there, but one of Adam’s classmates had gone with his parents and had said it was fantastic and expensive. What the hell, thought Adam. He was going to have a real job soon and they needed to celebrate.
   “Got a great idea,” said Adam when he came into the bedroom. “How about going out for dinner?”
   Jennifer looked away from the TV and gloomily shook her head.
   “What do you mean, no?” said Adam. “Come on. We need to get out. It will be a real treat.”
   “We can’t afford it,” said Jennifer. She returned to the TV as if the matter were closed.
   Adam towel-dried his hair while he considered this unexpected negative response. Jennifer was usually ready to try most anything. He sat down next to her and turned her head from the screen. “Hello,” he said. “I’m trying to talk with you.”
   Jennifer raised her face, and he noticed that she looked as exhausted as he did.
   “I hear you,” she said. “I bought groceries. As soon as the news is over, I’ll make dinner.”
   “Tonight I want something different than Hamburger Helper,” said Adam.
   “I didn’t get Hamburger Helper,” said Jennifer irritably.
   “I meant that as a figure of speech,” said Adam. “Come on. Let’s go out for dinner. I think we need a break. I went to see the dean this afternoon and made sure we can’t borrow any more money. So I told him I’m taking a leave of absence.”
   “You don’t have to leave school,” said Jennifer. “I already got another job.”
   “What kind of job?” asked Adam.
   “At Macy’s. In the shoe section. The only problem is that I will have to work alternate weekends, but hopefully we can coordinate that with your on-call schedule. Surprisingly, I’ll be making the same salary as I did dancing. Anyway, you don’t have to drop out of school.”
   Adam stood up from the bed. “You’re not working at Macy’s and that’s final.”
   “Oh,” said Jennifer, widening her eyes in mock surprise. “Has the king spoken?”
   “Jennifer, this is hardly the time for sarcasm.”
   “Isn’t it?” said Jennifer. “Seems to me you were being sarcastic just a few moments ago. It’s OK for you but not for me?”
   “I’m in no mood for an argument,” said Adam, as he went to the bureau for clean underwear. “You are not going to work at Macy’s. I don’t want you standing for long hours while you’re pregnant. Subject’s closed.”
   “You are forgetting that this is my body,” said Jennifer.
   “That’s true,” said Adam. “But it is also true that it is our child.”
   Jennifer felt the blood rise into her face.
   “In any case, I’ve made up my mind,” said Adam. “I’m taking a leave of absence so that I can work for a year or two. Your job will be to take care of yourself and the baby, and that doesn’t mean standing around in a department store.” Hoping to end the dialogue, Adam stepped into the living room. Because of the small size of the bedroom closet, his clothes were in the hall closet.
   “Why can’t you stay here and discuss this?” Jennifer called out.
   Adam came back into the bedroom. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”
   “Oh yes there is,” said Jennifer, giving vent to her anger. “I have as much to say about all this as you do. No one agrees with you about leaving medical school and the reason is simple: you shouldn’t. I’m perfectly capable of working right up until the last month, even the last week. Why do both of us have to interrupt our careers? Since I obviously can’t continue dancing, it’s only sensible that I get the new job. Your staying in school will be best for all of us in the long run. Besides, I already have a position and you don’t have any idea of what you could do.”
   “Oh yes I have,” snapped Adam. “I’m going to Arolen Pharmaceuticals in New Jersey. I called this afternoon and they are eager to see me. I have an interview tomorrow.”
   “Why are you being so bullheaded about this?” said Jennifer. “You don’t have to leave school. I can work.”
   “If you call bullheadedness my desire to keep you healthy and keep your parents from interfering in our life, then, yes, I’m bullheaded. One way or the other, the issue is closed, the discussion is over. I’m leaving school and you are not working at Macy’s. Any questions?” Adam knew he was taunting Jennifer, but he felt she deserved it.
   “I’ve got plenty of questions,” said Jennifer. “But I realize that it is useless to ask them. I wonder if you realize how much like your father you are.”
   “Just shut up about my father,” shouted Adam. “If anybody around here is going to criticize my father, I’ll do it. Besides, I’m not like my father in the slightest.”
   He kicked the bedroom door shut with a bang. For a moment he stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what he could break. Then, instead of doing something stupid, he finished dressing and drying his hair. Calmer, he decided to try and make peace with Jennifer. He started to open the bedroom door and was shocked to find it locked.
   “Jennifer,” he called over the sound of the TV. “I’m going to go out and get something to eat. I’d like you to go with me.”
   “You go ahead,” called Jennifer. “I want to stay by myself for a while.”
   Adam could tell that she’d been crying and he felt guilty.
   “Jennifer, open the door,” he begged. The TV played on. “Jennifer, open the door.”
   Still no answer. Adam felt his anger return in a rush. Stepping back, he eyed the door. For a second it seemed symbolic of all his problems. Without thinking, he raised his right foot and kicked with all his strength. The wood around the latch gave, and the door flew open, crashing against the bedroom wall. Jennifer drew herself up in a tight ball against the headboard.
   Adam could tell that she was terrified, and he immediately felt stupid. “They don’t make doors the way they used to,” he said lamely and tried to laugh. Jennifer didn’t say anything. Adam pulled the door away from the wall. Where the doorknob had struck, there was a hole in the plaster.
   “Well, that was stupid,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “Anyway, as I was saying. Let’s go out and get something to eat.”
   Jennifer shook her head no.
   Adam looked around self-consciously, embarrassed by his tantrum. “OK,” he said meekly. “I’ll be back later.”
   Jennifer nodded but didn’t speak. She watched Adam leave and heard the door to the hall close and lock. What was happening to them, she wondered. Adam seemed like a different person. He’d never been violent, and violence terrified her. Was this pregnancy going to change everything?

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.

Chapter 7

   Two days later, Adam was waiting on the street in front of his apartment house for the Arolen rep to pick him up. McGuire had called the preceding evening and said that a Percy Harmon would meet Adam at eight-thirty and take him on a round of sales calls.
   Adam had been standing outside for nearly twenty minutes, but despite the cold drizzle he was glad to be out of the apartment. Although he and Jennifer had patched up their quarrel, she was still upset that he had dropped out of medical school and taken a job at a drug company. He knew part of the reason her reaction bothered him so much was his own ambivalence about working for Arolen. Still, it wasn’t forever and it did solve their financial problems. Maybe his in-laws would even tell her he’d done the right thing when she went out to visit today, but he doubted it.
   A blue Chevy was slowing in front of him. The driver stopped and rolled down the window. “Can you tell me where 514 is?”
   “Percy Harmon?” called Adam.
   “You betcha,” answered the driver as he leaned over and opened the passenger-side door.
   Closing his jacket against the rain, Adam ran down the steps and ducked into the car.
   Percy apologized for being late, explaining that traffic on the FDR Drive had been murderous due to an accident at the Forty-ninth Street exit.
   Adam liked Percy immediately, appreciating his friendliness. He was a little older than Adam and was dressed in a dark blue suit with a red polka-dot tie and matching handkerchief. He looked businesslike and successful.
   They turned north on Park Avenue and headed uptown.
   “Clarence McGuire was pretty enthusiastic about you on the telephone,” said Percy. “What’s your secret?”
   “I don’t know for sure,” said Adam, “but I suppose it’s because I was a third-year medical student at the medical center.”
   “Good God, of course that’s it!” said Percy. “No wonder they loved you. With your background, you’ll be way ahead of us laymen.”
   Adam was far from convinced. He’d learned a lot of facts about bones and enzymes, and the function of T-lymphocytes. But how useful was that information to Arolen? Besides, such facts had a disturbing way of dropping out of Adam’s mind after a particular test was over. He glanced around the inside of Percy’s car. There were pamphlets in boxes on the back seat. Next to the boxes were looseleaf notebooks, computer printouts, and a pile of order forms. Printed memoranda were stuck into the recesses on the dash. The car had the look of a busy office. Adam was not convinced that his medical-school background would be of any use in his new job. He glanced over at Percy, who was busy navigating the New York City traffic. The man looked relaxed and confident and Adam felt envious.
   “How’d you get involved with Arolen?” asked Adam.
   “I was recruited straight out of business school,” said Percy. “I’d taken some health economics courses in college and was interested in the health field. Somehow Arolen found out and contacted me for an interview. I researched the company and was impressed. Being a sales rep has been fun, but I’m looking forward to the next step. And thanks to you, I’m heading off for the managerial training in Puerto Rico.”
   “What do you mean ‘thanks to me’?”
   “Clarence told me that you were going to be my replacement. I’ve been trying to go to Puerto Rico for a year.”
   “They offered me the same opportunity,” said Adam.
   “To go straight to Puerto Rico?” exclaimed Percy. “My God, man, take them up on it. I don’t know if you know it but Arolen is owned by an extremely fast-growing financial group. About ten years ago some clever guys started an organization called MTIC to invest in the health industry. Arolen was one of their first acquisitions. When they got control of the company, it was an inconsequential drug house. Now it is challenging the biggies like Lilly and Merck. Joining now, you’ll still be getting in on the ground floor. Who did you meet out at Arolen besides Clarence McGuire?”
   “Bill Shelly and Dr. Nachman.”
   Percy whistled and took his eyes off the traffic long enough to give Adam an appraising glance. “You got to meet two of the original MTIC founders. Both are rumored to be on the board of directors of MTIC as well as having executive positions with Arolen. And how did you meet Nachman? He is the head of research down in Puerto Rico.”
   “He was here for some meeting,” explained Adam curtly. Percy’s response made him wonder anew if Arolen was interested in him or, despite their assurances, his father.
   “The other thing about Puerto Rico,” Percy was saying, “is that the center there is as luxurious as a resort. I’ve only been there once, but it is out of this world. I’m looking forward to training there. It’s going to seem like a paid vacation.”
   Watching the rain beat on the windshield, Adam wondered what kind of maternity facilities they had in Puerto Rico. The idea of bright sun as well as the chance to get Jennifer away from her parents had certain appeal. He sighed. It was nice to daydream, but the fact of the matter was that he wanted to stay as near to the medical center as possible. Puerto Rico was out of the question.
   “Here we are,” said Percy, guiding the car over to the curb in front of a typical midtown New York City apartment building. He parked in a “No Standing” tow zone, opened the glove compartment and took out a small sign that read: “Visiting Physician.” “This represents a slight distortion of the usual meaning of this phrase, but it’s nonetheless true,” he said, smiling at Adam. “Now let’s plan the attack. The idea here is for you to get some idea of what it’s like to call on a typical physician. This fellow’s name is Dr. Jerry Smith. He happens to be a very successful Park Avenue obstetrician. He’s also a horse’s ass. He thinks of himself as some intellectual giant, so it will be extremely easy to butter him up. He also likes free samples, a predilection which we will be happy to indulge. Any questions before we go to battle?”
   Adam said no, but Dr. Markowitz’s comment about defecting to the enemy haunted him as he got out of the car. Percy opened the trunk and gave Adam a large umbrella to hold while he got out a bunch of drug samples.
   “Smith’s favorites are tranquilizers,” said Percy. “Whatever he does with them all, I have no idea.” Percy loaded a small cardboard box with a variety of drugs, then closed the trunk.
   Dr. Smith’s office was packed with women. The air was close and smelled of damp wool.
   Adam hurried after Percy, who went straight to the receptionist. Reluctantly, Adam glanced around and saw many pairs of eyes regarding him over the tops of magazines.
   “Hello, Carol,” Percy was saying. “What a stunning outfit. And your hair! There’s something different. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You got a perm. God, it looks terrific. And how’s that little boy of yours? Good, huh. Well, let me introduce you to Adam Schonberg. He’s going to be taking over my customers. Now, would you mind if he looked at that dynamite photo you have of your boy? The one on the bear rug.”
   Adam found himself holding a cube of plexiglass with different photos on each side. Percy adjusted it in his hand so that he was looking at a chubby baby lying on a bath towel.
   “And Carol, what about your father?” asked Percy, taking the picture cube out of Adam’s hands and putting it back down on the desk. “Is he out of the hospital yet?”
   Two minutes later Percy and Adam were standing in the doctor’s consultation room, waiting for Smith to appear. “That was an amazing performance,” whispered Adam.
   “Piece of cake,” said Percy with a wave of his hand. “But I’ll tell you something. The receptionist or nurse is the person you have to impress in the doctor’s office. She controls access to the physician and if you don’t handle her properly, you’ll die of old age waiting to get in.”
   “But you acted like you were good friends with that woman,” said Adam. “How did you know all those things about her personal life?”
   “Arolen provides you with that kind of information,” said Percy simply. “Arolen keeps a complete record on every member of each physician’s staff as well as the doctor himself. You feed it into the computer. Then when you have questions, you can get the answers. Nothing mysterious about it. It’s just attention to detail.”
   Adam glanced around Smith’s office. It was elegantly furnished, composed of dark lacquered cabinets and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Facing into the room was a large mahogany desk, piled high with journals. Adam glanced at the date on the top issue of the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology. It was more than a year old. A paper mailing binder was still around the magazine. It had never been opened.
   The door opened. Dr. Smith stopped on the threshold and called down the hall. “Put the next patients into rooms six and seven.”
   A voice answered, but it was too far away to hear.
   “I know I’m behind schedule,” shouted Dr. Smith. “So what else is new? Tell them I’ve got an important conference.” He came into the office and kicked the door shut behind him. “Nurses, shit!” He was a big man with an impressive paunch. His heavy jowls made him look like an old bulldog.
   “Dr. Smith, how are you?” beamed Percy. Smith allowed the rep to shake his hand and then quickly retreated behind his desk, where he brought out a pack of filter-tipped Camels. He lit one and blew the smoke out through his nostrils.
   “I’d like you to meet Adam Schonberg,” continued Percy, gesturing toward Adam. “He’s started training for Arolen and I’m taking him around to meet a few of my more prestigious clients.”
   The doctor smiled and said, “Well, what do you boys have for me this morning?”
   “All sorts of samples,” said Percy, putting the cardboard box on the edge of the desk and opening it. Dr. Smith eagerly moved forward on his chair.
   “I know how much you like Marlium, Arolen’s top-selling tranquilizer, so I brought you a good supply. You’ll notice that the packaging has been improved. Patients love these new bright yellow bottles. I also have a reprint for you. Studies just completed at the Julian Clinic here in New York indicate that Marlium has the fewest side effects of any tranquilizer on the market today. But I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve been telling us the same thing for as long as I can remember.”
   “Damn right,” said Dr. Smith.
   Percy lined up the other drug samples in neat rows on Dr. Smith’s desk, all the time maintaining a running commentary on the proven excellence of the various products. At every possible juncture he complimented Dr. Smith’s perspicacity in prescribing Arolen drugs for his patients.
   “And last but not least,” said Percy, “I’ve brought you fifty starter samples of pregdolen. I know I don’t have to convince you of the virtues of this drug for morning sickness. You were one of the first to recognize its value. However, I do have a reprint of a recent article that I’d like you to read when you get a chance. It compares pregdolen with other similar drugs on the market and shows that pregdolen is cleared by the liver faster than anything put out by the competition.”
   Percy put a glossy reprint on top of one of the piles on Dr. Smith’s desk.
   “By the way, how is that boy of yours, David? Isn’t he a junior now up at Boston University? Adam, you should meet this kid. Looks like Tom Selleck, only better.”
   “He’s doing very well, thanks,” beamed Dr. Smith. He took one last drag on his cigarette before crushing it in a beanbag ashtray. “The kid is premed, you know.”
   “I know,” said Percy. “He’s not going to have any trouble getting into medical school.”
   Fifteen minutes later Adam found himself climbing back into the passenger side of the Chevy Celebrity. Percy slid the umbrella in on the floor of the back seat and then got behind the wheel. There was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper.
   “Oh, well,” said Percy. “That sign of mine doesn’t always work.” He turned on the wipers and the ticket disappeared. “Ta-da!” he said, raising his hands as if he’d just done a magic trick. “The car is registered to Arolen and the legal department takes care of that sort of thing. Now, let’s see who’s next.” He picked up the clipboard and turned to the next computer printout.
   The morning passed quickly as Adam watched Percy expertly handle receptionists and push Arolen products onto busy practitioners. Adam was amazed at how effective Percy was with the physicians. Having talked with Percy all morning, he was aware of how little scientific information Percy had to draw on. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. Percy knew just enough to make it sound as if he knew a great deal, and armed with a lot of current drug information, he was able to snow the physician. Adam began to appreciate the low regard that Arolen had for the intelligence of the average doctor.
   Around eleven-thirty, after leaving the office of an internist on Sutton Place South, Percy got into the car and rested his head on the steering wheel. “I think I’m having a hypoglycemic crisis. I gotta get something to eat. Is it too early for you?”
   “It’s never too early for me,” said Adam.
   “Great!” said Percy. “Since Arolen is paying, we’re going to do it right.”
   Adam had joked in the past about the Four Seasons restaurant as being a symbol of the rich, though he’d never been in the place. When Percy had suggested they go there, Adam thought he was joking. When he led the way into the Grill Room, Adam almost passed out.
   Putting his linen napkin on his lap, Adam tried to remember what it was like in the crowded hospital cafeteria. It seemed a million miles away. A waiter asked Adam if he wanted a drink. Not sure of himself, he looked over at Percy who calmly ordered a martini. What the hell, thought Adam, who quickly said he’d have the same.
   “So what is your impression of the business now that you’ve gotten your feet wet?”
   “It’s interesting,” said Adam evasively. “Do you eat here every day?”
   “No, to tell you the truth. But McGuire said to impress you.”
   Adam laughed. He liked Percy’s candor. “I’m impressed enough with your abilities. You’re very good.”
   Percy shook his head. “It’s easy. Like catching fish at a trout farm. For some inexplicable reason, doctors know very little about drugs. Maybe you can tell me the reason.”
   Adam thought for a moment. He’d had courses in pharmacology like everyone else, but it was true that he knew very little about the actual use of the drugs. He’d only been taught about their action on a cellular level. What little he knew about prescribing he’d picked up on the wards. Before he could answer Percy’s question, their drinks arrived.
   “Here’s to your career with Arolen,” said Percy, holding up his glass.
   “What about this pregdolen you’ve been pushing?” asked Adam, remembering Jennifer’s recent complaints. “My wife has been having some trouble with morning sickness. Maybe I should take a couple of those starter samples.”
   “I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Percy, suddenly serious. “I know Arolen sells a ton of it, and a lot of people think it’s the best thing since sliced bread, but I don’t think the drug works and there’s a possibility it’s toxic.”
   “What do you mean?” asked Adam.
   “It’s been written up in several of the more important medical journals,” said Percy, taking another sip of his drink. “Of course, I don’t refer to those articles when I call on the doctors. Obviously the doctors haven’t read them because they keep prescribing the stuff like crazy. It sure explodes the myth that doctors get their drug information from the medical journals. For most practitioners that’s bullshit. They get their drug information, what little they get, from the likes of me, and I only tell them what I want to tell them.”
   Percy shrugged when he noticed Adam’s shocked expression. “You more than anyone must know that doctors prescribe out of hunch and habit. Our job is to try to make Arolen part of that habit.”
   Adam slowly turned his glass and watched the olive revolve. He was beginning to realize what he’d have to close his eyes to in this line of work.
   Sensing Adam’s misgivings, Percy added, “To tell you the honest truth, it will be a relief to get away from the sales end of the business.”
   “Why?” asked Adam.
   Percy sighed. “I don’t know how much of this I should be telling you. I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm. But some weird things have been going on in my area. For instance, a number of doctors that I’d been seeing on a regular basis have been taken off my sales list. At first I thought that they’d moved away or died, but then I found out that most of them had gone on an Arolen Conference Cruise, come back, and given up their practices to go to the Julian Clinic.”
   “Julian Clinic” evoked a strange response in the pit of Adam’s stomach, as he remembered the name from Jennifer’s story.
   “Some of those doctors I’d gotten to know pretty well,” continued Percy, “so I went to see them even though the Julian Clinic isn’t part of my territory. What struck me was that they had all changed somehow. A good example was a Dr. Lawrence Foley I’d been seeing since I began working for Arolen. He didn’t have much use for Arolen products, but I saw him because I liked the man. In fact, we played tennis about twice a month.”
   “The Lawrence Foley who just committed suicide?” asked Adam.
   “That’s the one,” said Percy. “And his suicide is part of the kind of change I’m talking about. I really felt I knew the man. He was a partner in one of the busiest OB-GYN practices in town. Then he went away on an Arolen cruise, came back, and gave up everything to work at the Julian Clinic. When I went to see him, he was a different man. He was so preoccupied with work, he couldn’t take the time to play tennis. And he was not the suicidal type. The man had never been depressed a day in his life, and he loved his work and his wife. When I heard what happened, I couldn’t believe it. After shooting his wife he put the shotgun in his mouth and…”
   “I get the picture,” said Adam quickly. “What’s the story about these Arolen Conference Cruises?”
   “They are very popular medical seminars that are given on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. The lecturers are the most famous professors and researchers in their various fields. The meetings have the best reputation of any medical conventions in the country,” said Percy. “But that’s all I know. Being curious, I asked Clarence McGuire about them, but he said he didn’t know much more except that they were organized by MTIC.”
   “If you’re really curious,” said Adam, “why not ask Bill Shelly? If what you told me is true about Arolen liking information about doctors, it seems to me they’d be fascinated by your observations. Besides, I can tell you that Bill Shelly is a surprisingly young and personable guy.”
   “No kidding,” said Percy. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll go over there this afternoon. I’ve always wanted to meet Mr. Shelly and this could be my chance.”

   When Adam asked Percy to drop him off at the medical center late that afternoon, he had the feeling he was not going to be the same doctor after working for Arolen. They had visited sixteen physicians’ offices and had, according to Percy, dispensed over five hundred bottles of sample drugs. Most of the doctors had been like Smith: eager to get the samples, quick to accept Percy’s pitch.
   Adam went into the hospital through the medical school entrance and headed up to the periodical room at the library. He wanted to look up pregdolen in the recent journals. Percy’s comments had made him curious, and he did not like the idea of selling a drug with really bad side effects.
   He found what he wanted in a ten-month-old issue of the New England Journal of Medicine. It would have been hard for a practicing OB man to have missed it.
   Just as Percy had suggested, pregdolen had proved inefficacious when tested against a placebo. In fact, in all but three cases the placebo had done a better job in controlling morning sickness. More importantly, the studies showed that pregdolen was often teratogenic, causing severe developmental abnormalities in fetuses.
   Turning to the Journal of Applied Pharmacology, Adam found that despite the adverse publicity, pregdolen’s sales had shown a steady increase over the years, with an especially impressive surge in the last year. Adam closed the journal, wondering if he were more awed by Arolen’s marketing abilities or the average obstetrician’s ignorance.
   Putting the magazine back, he decided it was a tossup.

   Percy Harmon felt like he was on top of the world as he drove out of the parking area of his favorite Japanese restaurant with a fabulous meal of steak sukiyaki under his belt. The restaurant was located in, of all places, Fort Lee, New Jersey, but at that hour of the night, ten-thirty, it wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to return to his apartment in Manhattan.
   He did not notice the nondescript man in a blue blazer and tan slacks who’d stayed at the bar the entire time Percy had been in the restaurant. The man watched until the blue Chevy disappeared from sight, then made for the nearby phone booth. “He’s left the restaurant. Should be at the garage in fifteen minutes. I’ll call the airport.”
   Without waiting for an answer, the man cut the connection and dropped in two more coins. He pushed the buttons slowly, almost mechanically.
   Driving down the Harlem River Drive, Percy wondered why he had never thought of going to Bill Shelly before. Not only had the man welcomed Percy’s observations, he’d been downright friendly. In fact, he’d taken Percy to meet the executive vice-president, and making those kinds of contacts within an organization like Arolen was invaluable. Percy felt that his future had never looked so promising.
   Percy stopped in front of the garage Arolen had found for him just four blocks from his Seventy-fourth Street apartment. The only time it was inconvenient was when it was raining. It was in a huge warehouselike structure that dominated the potholed street. The entrance was barred by an imposing metal grate. Percy pressed the remote control device that he kept in the glove compartment and the grate lifted. Above the entrance was a single sign that said simply “Parking, day, week, or month,” followed by a local telephone number.
   After Percy had driven inside, the metal grille reactivated and with a terrible screeching closed with a definitive thud. There were no assigned spots, and Percy made a hopeful swing around before heading down the ramp to the next level. He preferred to park on the ground floor; the ill-lit spaces of the substreet levels always made him nervous.
   Because of the late hour, Percy had to descend three levels before finding a spot. He locked the car and walked toward the stairwell, whistling to keep his spirits up. His heels echoed against the oil-stained cement floor and in the distance he could hear water dripping. Reaching the stairs, he yanked open the door and almost fainted with shock. Two men with old-fashioned crew cuts and wearing plain blue blazers faced him. They didn’t move, they didn’t speak. They just stood blocking his way.
   Fear spread through Percy’s body like a bolt of electricity. He let go of the door and stepped backward. One of the men reached out and with a bang sent the door crashing against the wall. Percy turned and fled, racing for the stairwell at the opposite end of the garage. His leather-soled shoes skidded on the concrete, making it hard for him to keep his balance.
   Looking over his shoulder, he was relieved to see that neither of the two men was in pursuit. He reached the door of the far exit and tried to pull it open. The handle didn’t budge. His heart sank. The door was locked!
   All he could hear was the rasping sound of his own breath and the constant drip of water. The only other way out was the ramp and he started toward it. He was almost there when he saw one of the men standing immobile at the base of the sloping driveway, his arms at his side. Percy ducked behind a parked car and tried to think what to do. Obviously the men had split up; one was watching the stairwell, the other the ramp. It was then that Percy remembered the old automobile elevator in the center.
   Keeping low, he moved toward it stealthily. When he reached it, he raised the wooden gate, ducked under, then lowered it after himself. The other three walls of the elevator were enclosed with a heavy wire mesh. The only light came from a bare overhead bulb. Percy’s shaking finger pushed the button marked “1.”
   The elevator activated with a snapping noise, followed by the high-pitched whine of an electric motor. To Percy’s relief, the platform jolted, then slowly started to rise.
   The elevator moved at an agonizingly slow rate, and Percy was no more than six feet from street level when the two men materialized beneath him.
   Without haste, one of them walked over to the elevator control and, to Percy’s horror, reversed its direction. Panic-stricken, Percy repeatedly pushed the button, but the elevator relentlessly continued its descent. Gradually, he realized that they had planned for him to use the elevator. That was why they had not chased him. They wanted to trap him.
   “What do you want?” he shouted. “You can have my money.” Desperately, he pulled out his wallet and tossed it through the wooden lattice to the garage floor. One of the men bent and picked it up. Without looking through it, he pocketed it. The other man had pulled out what Percy first thought was a gun. But as he drew closer he realized it was a syringe.
   Percy backed to the rear of the elevator, feeling like a trapped animal. As the machinery ground to a stop, one of the men reached out and raised the wooden gate. Percy screamed in terror and slid to the floor.
   Just over an hour later, a blue van pulled onto the tarmac at Teterboro Airport and rolled to a stop in front of a Gulf Stream jet. Two men got out, walked to the rear of the van, and hefted out a sizable wooden crate. Silently, the cargo door on the plane slid open.

Chapter 8

   There must have been more than a hundred people in the conference room. All had come to watch their friends and relatives graduate the Arolen sales course. Arnold Wiseman, the man who’d been in charge of the course, sat in the front of the podium next to Bill Shelly. To their right was a large limp American flag.
   Adam was somewhat embarrassed by the ceremony, aware that Arolen was making more of a production than the four weeks of classes deserved. Yet it was fitting, since Adam had learned that nine-tenths of what the drug rep sold was pure show.
   When he thought about it, Adam was amazed at how quickly those four weeks had gone. From the first day, he had realized that his two and a half years of medical school put him ahead of everyone else. Half of the other twenty students had degrees in pharmacology, five had master’s degrees in business administration, and the rest were from various departments of Arolen Pharmaceuticals.
   Adam searched the crowd for Jennifer, thinking she might have changed her mind at the last minute and come, but even as he searched he realized it was a vain hope. She’d been against his working for Arolen from the beginning, and even if she had overcome her distaste for his new job, her morning sickness had become so severe that she could rarely leave the apartment before noon. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from staring at all the dark-haired women in the audience in case by some miracle she had arrived.
   Suddenly his roving gaze stopped short at a small man with dark curly hair dressed in a black raincoat. He was standing by the entrance with his hands thrust into his pockets. Plain, wire-rimmed eyeglasses rested on his aquiline nose.
   Adam turned away, thinking his eyes were playing a trick on him. Then he slowly turned to look at the man again. There was no doubt. It was his father.
   Adam spent the rest of the ceremony in a state of shock. When the formalities were concluded and the reception had begun, he pushed his way toward the door where the man was standing. It was his father all right.
   “Dad?” said Adam.
   Dr. Schonberg turned around. He was holding a shrimp on the end of a toothpick. There was no smile on his lips or in his eyes.
   “What a surprise,” said Adam, unsure how to act. He was flattered that his father had come, but nervous too.
   “So it is true,” said Dr. Schonberg sternly. “You’re working for Arolen Pharmaceuticals!”
   Adam nodded.
   “What happened to medical school?” asked Dr. Schonberg angrily. “What am I going to say to your mother? And after I went to such lengths to be sure you would be admitted!”
   “I think my A average had something to do with that,” said Adam. “Besides, I’ll go back. I’ve just taken a leave of absence.”
   “Why?” demanded Dr. Schonberg.
   “Because we need the money,” said Adam. “We are going to have a child.”
   For a moment Adam thought he saw a softening in his father’s expression. Then Dr. Schonberg was looking about the room with distaste. “So you have allied yourself with this…” He gestured at the sumptuously appointed hall. “Don’t tell me you are unaware that business interests are trying to take over the medical profession.”
   “Arolen provides a public service,” said Adam defensively.
   “Spare me,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I’m not interested in their propaganda. The drug houses and the holding companies that control them are out to make money like any other industry, yet they waste millions of PR dollars trying to convince the public otherwise. Well, it is a lie. And to think that my own son has become a part of it and because of that girl he married…”
   “Her name is Jennifer,” snapped Adam, feeling the blood rise to his face.
   “Dr. David Schonberg.” Bill Shelly had come up behind Adam, champagne glass in hand. “Welcome to Arolen. I’m sure you are as proud of your son as we are. My name is Bill Shelly.”
   Dr. Schonberg ignored the hand. “I know who you are,” he said. “And to be perfectly honest, I am appalled rather than proud to see my son here. The only reason I responded to your invitation was to make certain that Arolen is not expecting any special considerations because Adam here has joined your organization.”
   “Dad,” sputtered Adam.
   “I’ve always appreciated honesty,” said Bill, withdrawing his hand, “and I can assure you that we did not hire Adam because his father is with the FDA.”
   “I hope that is true,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I wouldn’t want you to think that Arolen will have an easier time getting new drugs approved.”
   Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Schonberg tossed his shrimp into a wastebasket and pushed through the crowd toward the door.
   Adam shook his head in disbelief. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Bill Shelly.
   “There is no need to apologize,” interrupted Bill. “You’re not responsible for your father’s beliefs. He’s had lots of experience with the less honest companies in our field. I’m only sorry that he’s not had enough contact with Arolen to appreciate the difference.”
   “That may be true,” said Adam, “but it still does not excuse his behavior.”
   “Maybe someday we could convince your father to take one of the Arolen Conference Cruises. Have you heard of them?”
   Adam nodded, remembering Percy Harmon. He had not thought about the man for over a month, but now Adam wondered why the genial rep had not kept in touch as he’d promised.
   “We’ve invited your father many times,” continued Bill. “Not only on the cruise, but also to visit our research facilities in Puerto Rico. Perhaps you might be able to talk him into accepting our invitation. I’m certain that if he did, his opinion about Arolen would change.”
   Adam forced a laugh. “At this point in my life I couldn’t talk my father into accepting a free Rembrandt painting. We’re barely on speaking terms. Frankly, I was shocked to see him here today.”
   “That’s a shame,” said Bill. “We’d love your father to be one of our featured lecturers. You know that the seminars have the best reputation in the country. And, of course, all your father’s expenses would be paid if he agreed to speak.”
   “Sounds like you should try to appeal to my mother,” laughed Adam.
   “Spouses are not invited,” said Bill as he guided Adam toward the champagne table.
   “Why not?” asked Adam, taking a drink.
   “The cruises are strictly academic,” said Bill.
   “Yeah, sure,” said Adam.
   “I mean it,” said Bill. “The cruises are sponsored by Arolen, but they are run by MTIC. The only reason the company chose a ship was to keep the doctors from their usual interruptions: no telephone, no patients, and no stockbrokers. Each cruise concentrates on a particular clinical or research topic, and we invite the top men in each field to lecture. The quality of the seminars is really superb.”
   “So the ship just goes out to sea and anchors?” asked Adam.
   “Oh, no,” said Bill. “The ship leaves from Miami, travels to the Virgin Islands, then to Puerto Rico, then back to Miami. Some of the guests, usually the lecturers, disembark in Puerto Rico to visit our research institute.”
   “So it’s all work and no play. Not even any gambling?”
   “Well, just a little gambling,” admitted Bill with a smile. “Anyway, your father would enjoy the experience, so if you have any influence as far as that might be concerned, you might try to use it.”
   Adam nodded, but he was still thinking about Percy Harmon. He’d seemed so sincere that Adam was surprised that he’d not called. He was about to ask Shelly when the rep had left Manhattan, but Bill was saying, “Have you given any more thought to our managerial training offer?”
   “To tell the truth,” said Adam, “I’ve been completely absorbed by the sales course. But I promise to think about it.”
   “Do that,” said Bill, his eyes gleaming over the rim of his champagne glass.

   Later that afternoon Adam was in McGuire’s office, going over his sales territory. “You’ll be taking over Percy Harmon’s area,” said McGuire. “Normally we’d assign a more experienced rep, but as you know we have great confidence in you. Here, let me show you.”
   Clarence opened up a map of Manhattan with a large portion of the east side outlined in yellow marking pencil. It started at Thirty-fourth Street and ran north, bounded on the west by Fifth Avenue and on the east by the river. Adam was disappointed that it did not include his medical center, but New York Hospital, Mount Sinai, and the Julian Clinic were within the border.
   As if reading Adam’s mind, Clarence said, “Of course you understand that you are not responsible for hospitals or large health maintenance organizations like the Julian Clinic.”
   “Why not?” questioned Adam.
   “You are eager!” Clarence laughed. “But I can assure you that you will be busy enough with the private MDs in your area. All hospitals are handled by the main office.”
   “The Julian Clinic is more than a hospital,” said Adam.
   “That’s true,” said Clarence. “In fact, there is a special relationship between Arolen and the Julian, since both are controlled by MTIC. Consequently, the Julian provides Arolen with direct access to clinical information, and Arolen provides the Julian with special educational opportunities.”
   Leaning forward, Clarence picked up a computer printout and put it on Adam’s lap. “If you have any concern about not being busy enough, just take a quick glance at this list of your clients.”
   The weight of the material in Adam’s lap was considerable. The front page said: “Upper East Side Manhattan MD Listing.” Under that was written: “Property of Arolen Pharmaceuticals, Montclair, New Jersey”; and in the lower right-hand corner was the single word “Confidential.”
   Adam flipped through the sheets and saw an alphabetical list of physicians followed by their addresses and phone numbers. The first name on the last page was Clark Vandermer, 67 East 36th Street.
   As Adam considered what it would be like calling on Jennifer’s obstetrician, McGuire launched into a long description of the kinds of doctors Adam would be seeing.
   “Any questions?” he said at last.
   “Yes,” said Adam, remembering the one he’d forgotten to ask Shelly that morning. “Do you know what happened to Percy Harmon?”
   Clarence shook his head. “I’d heard that he was to take the managerial course in Puerto Rico, but I don’t know if he actually did. I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
   “No particular reason,” said Adam.
   “Well, if you don’t have any other questions, you can be on your way. We’re always available if you need us, and don’t let me forget, here are the keys to your Arolen car. It’s a Buick Century.”
   Adam took the keys.
   “And here is the address of a parking garage. It’s as near to your apartment as my staff could arrange. We pick up the rent.”
   Adam took the paper, again awed by his company’s generosity. A parking place in the city was worth as much as a car.
   “And last but not least, here’s your computer access code, as was explained to you during the sales course. Your personal computer is in the trunk of the car. Good luck to you.”
   Adam took the final envelope and shook hands once again with the district sales manager. He was now officially an Arolen detail man.

   After tuning the radio to an FM rock station, Adam rolled down the window and jauntily stuck out an elbow. Traveling at fifty miles an hour, he felt unaccountably light-headed. Then he recalled his father’s sneering disbelief and his smile faded.
   “We need the money!” he said out loud. “If you’d helped us, I’d still be in medical school.”
   His mood did not improve when he reached the apartment only to find it empty, a short note taped to the refrigerator: “Gone home.” Adam tore it off and threw it across the room.
   He pulled open the refrigerator door and looked inside. There was a little leftover roast chicken. He took it out along with a jar of mayonnaise and two pieces of rye. After making a sandwich, he went into the living room and set up his personal computer. Turning it on, he keyed in his access code. What doctor should he look up? Hesitating a moment, he keyed in Vandermer’s name. Then he took the telephone off the cradle and hooked it up to the modem. When everything was ready, he pushed the execute button, leaned back, and took a hefty bite from his sandwich. Small red lights appeared on the modem, indicating that he was attached to the Arolen mainframe.
   The screen in front of Adam shimmered, then some text appeared. Adam stopped chewing for a moment and leaned forward to read.

Clark Vandermer, M.D., F.A.C.O.G.

   ___Biographical data
   ___Personal data
   ___Economic data
   ___Professional data
   ___Pharmaceutical usage data
   (press space bar to select)

   His interest aroused, Adam pressed the space bar until the cursor was next to “Personal data.” Then he pressed the execute key. Again he got an index:


Personal Data:

   ___Family history (past) includes parents and siblings
   ___Family history (present) includes wife and children
   ___Interests and hobbies
   ___Likes and dislikes
   ___Social history (includes education)
   ___Health history
   ___Personality profile
   (press space bar to select)

   My God, thought Adam, this is Orwell’s 1984. He moved the cursor to “Family history (present)” and again pushed the execute button. Immediately the screen filled with extensive text. For the next ten minutes Adam read about Clark Vandermer’s wife and children. It was mostly insignificant detail, but there were some important things as well. Adam learned that Vandermer’s wife had been hospitalized on three occasions for depression following the birth of their third child. He also discovered that his middle child, a female, was diagnosed as having anorexia nervosa.
   Adam looked up from the screen, appalled. There was no reason for a drug firm like Arolen to have such a complete file on a doctor. He suspected everything they could use was summarized under the single category “Pharmaceutical usage data.” To prove his point, Adam called up that category and got what he expected, namely an analysis of Vandermer’s prescribing habits, including the amounts of each type of drug he prescribed each year.
   Returning to the index, Adam asked the computer to print out on the high-speed dot-matrix printer a full report on Dr. Vandermer. The printer sprang to life, and Adam went back to the kitchen for a Coke.
   It was thirty-two minutes before the printer fell silent. Adam tore off the last sheet and gathered the long train of paper that had formed behind the computer. There were almost fifty pages. Adam wondered if the good doctor had any idea of the amount of material Arolen had amassed on him.
   The content of the report was dry and tediously complete. It even included Vandermer’s investments. Adam skimmed until he got to a description of Vandermer’s practice. He learned the doctor was a co-founder of GYN Associates along with Lawrence Foley! Lawrence Foley, the doctor who had committed suicide so unexpectedly. Adam wondered if Jennifer knew Foley had once been in partnership with her own doctor.
   Reading on, Adam discovered that Vandermer’s current associates were Dr. John Stens and Dr. June Baumgarten.
   His curiosity piqued, Adam decided that Dr. Vandermer would be his first customer. Remembering Percy Harmon’s advice that the way to the doctor was through his receptionist, Adam punched her up on the computer. Her name was Christine Morgan. She was twenty-seven, married to David Morgan, a painter, and had one male child, David Junior, nicknamed DJ.
   Trying to conjure up Percy Harmon’s confident air, he dialed GYN Associates. When Christine answered, he explained that he was taking over for Harmon. He mentioned in passing that the rep had spoken so warmly of her handsome son. He must have done something right because Christine told him to come right down. She’d try and get him in.
   Five minutes later Adam was heading north on Park Avenue, trying to remember which Arolen drugs he was supposed to push on OB-GYNs. He decided he’d concentrate on the generic line of vitamins that Arolen advertised for pregnancy.
   In the neighborhood of Thirty-sixth Street and Park Avenue even unoccupied tow zones were hard to come by. Adam had to be content with a fire hydrant space between Park and Lexington. After locking the car, he went around the back and opened the trunk. It was outfitted with a full complement of Arolen samples, reprints, and other paraphernalia. There were a dozen Cross pens emblazoned with the Arolen insignia. Adam was to give them out at his discretion.
   Adam selected an appropriate sample of the drugs and reprints and tossed them into his briefcase. He slipped one of the Cross pens into the side pocket of his jacket. Locking the trunk, he set off at a brisk pace for Vandermer’s office.
   Christine Morgan was a tightly permed woman with frightened-birdlike mannerisms. She slid back the glass and asked if she could help him.
   “I’m Adam Schonberg from Arolen,” he said with as big a smile as he could muster as he gave out his first Arolen business card. She returned the smile and motioned for him to come into the reception area. After he’d admired her most recent photos of DJ, Christine led him back to one of the empty examining rooms, promising that she would let the head nurse know that he was there.
   Adam sat down on the stool in front of the small white desk. He eyed the examination table with its stainless-steel stirrups. It was hard to imagine Jennifer there as a patient.
   Several moments later the door burst open and Dr. Clark Vandermer walked in. To pass the time Adam had pulled out a desk drawer and was casually looking at the collection of pens, prescription pads, and lab slips. Now flushing a deep crimson, he shut the drawer and stood up.
   “Was there something in particular you were looking for?” asked Dr. Vandermer sarcastically. He was holding Adam’s business card and glanced back and forth between the card and Adam’s embarrassed face. “Who the hell let you in here?”
   “Your staff,” managed Adam, purposefully vague.
   “I’ll have to talk to them,” said Dr. Vandermer as he turned to leave. “I’ll have someone show you out. I have patients to see.”
   “I have some samples for you,” said Adam quickly. “Also a Cross pen.” Hastily he fished out the pen and held it toward Vandermer who was about to tear Adam’s business card in half.
   “Are you by chance related to Jennifer Schonberg?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
   “She’s my wife,” said Adam eagerly, adding, “and a patient of yours.”
   “I thought you were a medical student,” said Dr. Vandermer.
   “That’s true,” said Adam.
   “Then what the hell kind of nonsense is this?” Vandermer said, waving the business card.
   “I’ve taken a leave from medical school,” said Adam defensively. “With Jennifer pregnant, we needed the money.”
   “This is not the time for you people to be having a baby,” said Vandermer pedantically. “But if you are foolish enough to do so, your wife can still work.”
   “She’s a dancer,” said Adam. Remembering Vandermer’s own personal problems, Adam didn’t think it fair for the doctor to offer easy solutions.
   “Well, it’s a crime for you to leave medical school. And working as a detail man for a drug firm. My God, what a waste!”
   Adam bit his lip. Vandermer was beginning to remind him of his father. Hoping to end the lecture, he asked Vandermer if there wasn’t something that could be done for Jennifer’s morning sickness.
   “Fifty percent of my patients get morning sickness,” said Dr. Vandermer with a wave of his hand. “Unless it causes nutritional problems, it is best to treat it symptomatically. I don’t like to use drugs if I can avoid it, especially not Arolen’s pregdolen. And don’t you start playing doctor and give her any of that crap. It’s not safe, despite its popularity.”
   Adam’s opinion of Dr. Clark Vandermer rose a little. He might be unpleasantly brusque, but at least he was up-to-date in his medical reading.
   “As long as you are here,” said Dr. Vandermer, “you can save me a phone call. I’m scheduled to lecture next week on the Arolen Conference Cruise. What’s the latest I can board the ship in Miami?”
   “I don’t have the slightest idea,” admitted Adam.
   “Wonderful,” said Dr. Vandermer, reassuming his sarcastic tone. “Now would you come with me.”
   Grabbing his briefcase, Adam followed the man out of the examination room and down the narrow corridor. After about twenty steps Vandermer stopped, opened a door, and stepped aside to allow Adam to pass. As he did, Vandermer unceremoniously thrust the Arolen business card into Adam’s hand, then closed the door behind him. Blinking, Adam found himself back in the crowded waiting room.
   “Did you see the doctor?” asked Christine.
   “I did indeed,” said Adam, wondering why in hell they hadn’t discussed the Arolen cruises during the sales course. If he had known the answer to Vandermer’s question, he might have been able to make his pitch.
   “I told you I could get you in,” said Christine proudly.
   Adam was about to ask if he could see either of the other doctors in the group, when he noticed the nameplates on the wall behind the receptionist. In addition to Vandermer, Baumgarten, and Stens, Dr. Lawrence Foley and Dr. Stuart Smyth were also listed. Adam didn’t remember seeing a Dr. Smyth in Vandermer’s file.
   Reaching into his pocket, Adam pulled out the Cross pen. “Got a little surprise for you,” he said, handing it to Christine. Brushing off her thanks, he pointed to Dr. Smyth’s name. “Is he a new associate?”
   “Oh, no,” said Christine. “Dr. Smyth has been an associate for fifteen years. Unfortunately, he’s very sick. But I never did see too much of him. He scheduled most of his patients at the Julian Clinic.”
   Adam looked back at the nameplates. “Is this the Dr. Foley who committed suicide?”
   “Yes. What a tragedy,” said Christine. “He was my favorite doctor. But we didn’t see too much of him either during the last six months. He also began scheduling his patients at the clinic.”
   Christine’s comment jogged Adam’s memory. Percy Harmon had been upset that so many doctors, including Foley, were abandoning their practices to go to the Julian Clinic.
   “Were you here when Dr. Foley left?” asked Adam.
   “Unfortunately,” admitted Christine. “It was a nightmare because all of his patients had to be called and rescheduled.”
   “Had he been on a trip before he moved?” asked Adam.
   “I think so,” said Christine. “If I remember correctly he’d been to some kind of medical meeting. I think it was a cruise.”
   “What about Dr. Baumgarten and Dr. Stens?” asked Adam. “Are they here today?”
   “Sorry,” said Christine. “They’re both in surgery.”

   “I don’t understand,” Adam said two hours later, waving his chopsticks at Jennifer. “How come you were too sick to drive out to Arolen this morning, but well enough to go shopping with your mother all afternoon?”
   Jennifer lowered her eyes, pushing her stir-fried vegetables around on her plate. Earlier she had tried to explain to Adam why it was important for her to talk with her mother. But Adam had shrugged off her explanation, and now, rather than say anything nasty, she decided to say nothing at all.
   Adam drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. Ever since Jennifer had learned she was pregnant, they seemed unable to talk rationally about anything. Adam was afraid that if he criticized her further, she would start to cry.
   “Look,” he said, “forget about today. Let’s just enjoy dinner. You look beautiful. Is that a new dress?”
   She nodded, and he guessed it was a present from her mother.
   “It’s sure pretty,” he said diplomatically, but Jennifer was not to be soothed.
   “The dress may be OK, but I look awful. I thought being pregnant would make me glow with femininity, but I just feel fat and unattractive.” When Adam didn’t answer, she added, “I think a lot of it has to do with this awful nausea. I don’t know why they call it morning sickness when it seems to last all day.”
   Adam reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Hoping to cheer her up, he began telling her about his disastrous visit to Dr. Vandermer. While he talked, her face began to relax.

  “I told you he had a dreadful bedside manner,” laughed Jennifer. “Did he say anything useful about the nausea.”
   “No, just that it would go away and you were doing fine.”
   Jennifer sighed. As they walked back from the restaurant, she said little and as soon as they got home she got into bed and turned on Dynasty.
   Depressed by his first day as a rep and upset by his wife’s silence, Adam restlessly turned on his computer. Idly he called up GYN Associates, thinking he would add Dr. Smyth’s name. To his surprise, it was already there. Wondering if he had made a mistake that afternoon, he went back to the printout on Vandermer. Smyth’s name was not listed. To cross-check, Adam called up the other associates, Stens and Baumgarten. Neither Smyth nor Foley appeared in their files.
   Adam bit his lower lip. There had to be checks in the program that would catch such an omission. Or maybe the programmers forgot to put in a cross-check. If that were the case, Adam felt he should probably tell Arolen.
   Wondering which associates appeared in Smyth’s file, Adam punched the doctor’s name. The monitor blinked, then displayed a curt message: “OB-GYN Cruise course 9/9/83. Refresher course scheduled 6/5/84 with planned visit to Puerto Rico Research Center.” Adam rubbed the corners of his mouth. The computer obviously knew about Smyth but apparently had no file on him. Adam couldn’t understand it.
   He opened his list of customers and ran his finger down the list. Smyth wasn’t mentioned. Adam decided that Arolen serviced Smyth at the Julian Clinic, even though he was technically a member of GYN Associates. Still, it all seemed very peculiar.
   Puzzled, Adam decided to retrieve Lawrence Foley’s file. The machine printed out a single word: “Terminated.”
   Pretty sick humor on the part of some programmer, thought Adam.

   Over the next three weeks Adam’s proficiency as a salesman improved significantly. As long as he loaded the doctors on his list with samples, most of them were pleased to hear him extol the virtues of Arolen Pharmaceuticals. They rarely questioned his claims or inquired about possible side effects. Adam cheerfully pushed Arolen’s full line of drugs with one exception: pregdolen. The journal article and Vandermer’s warning had impressed him, and he did not want to be responsible for encouraging the use of such a potentially dangerous drug.
   In the evenings he would look up on the computer the doctors he planned to see next, but just for information to help sales. He decided not to worry about any possible omissions or inaccuracies like the one involving GYN Associates.
   Then, just when he was relaxing into his new routine, something happened that aroused his misgivings. He had an appointment to see a group of busy internists, but when he reached the office, the receptionist told him they all had to cancel. One of the partners had just returned from an Arolen cruise and announced he was quitting the practice and going to work at the Julian Clinic. The other doctors were furious and at their wits’ end trying to accommodate his patients.
   Adam walked away remembering how Percy Harmon had described a similar incident. And that reminded him that he had never learned why Percy had failed to call him. When he’d asked in New Jersey, no one had seemed sure where Harmon was, though he apparently had not gone as planned to Puerto Rico. Knowing how excited Percy had been about the management program, Adam found this extremely disturbing.
   One afternoon when he finished his rounds early, he decided to run out to headquarters and see if Bill Shelly could answer some of his questions. He’d become increasingly curious about the mysterious Arolen cruises. While he wasn’t ready to move to Puerto Rico, he thought a five-day medical seminar at sea might be fascinating. It would make him feel as if he were back in medical school. And maybe a little vacation would put his marriage back in perspective. Jennifer’s nausea had worsened, and she was spending more and more time at her parents’. When Adam tried to interest her in his new job or to persuade her to call some of her friends, she just put him off.
   It was nearly three-thirty when Adam pulled into the Arolen parking lot. Shelly had said on the phone that he’d be available until four. A uniformed guard checked with Shelly’s office before buzzing Adam through. When Adam reached the executive floor, Bill’s secretary Joyce was waiting by the receptionist.
   “Good to see you, Mr. Schonberg,” she said. “Bill is upstairs. Would you follow me?”
   At the end of the hall, Joyce unlocked the door to a small elevator. She stepped inside and, using the same key, selected the twenty-first floor. Adam was startled to find himself riding up the outside of the building in a glass cage. It was not a pleasant sensation, and he closed his eyes to the Jersey countryside until the elevator came to a stop.
   He was greeted by a heavily muscled man in a tee shirt and khaki trousers.
   “Adam Schonberg?” he asked before leading Adam down a sun-drenched corridor. The entire exterior wall was glass, and Adam edged as far away from it as possible. He wasn’t exactly afraid of heights, but he didn’t enjoy them. He felt better when they entered an empty lounge. A television screen was turned to the news. Beyond the lounge was a Nautilus room and beyond that, a locker room lined with massage cubicles. A wide door at the opposite end led to the pool.
   The man in the tee shirt held the door but did not follow Adam through it. For a moment the light was so strong, Adam could barely see. One entire wall was glass, rising for two stories and curving back to form a portion of the roof. The floor was made of glistening white marble, and the pool itself was constructed of white tile with blue markings.
   A lone swimmer was vigorously doing laps. As he turned, he caught sight of Adam and swam over to the edge. He was wearing tiny goggles that just covered his eyes and a black rubber racing cap.
   “How about a swim?” said Bill Shelly.
   Adam shook his head. “Sorry, but I forgot my bathing suit.”
   “No need for a suit right now. It’s the men’s hour. Come on, give it a try. I’m sure Paul can rustle up a towel.”
   Adam wavered. There really was no reason to refuse, and the chance to swim twenty-some stories off the ground did not come along every day.
   “OK,” said Adam. “How do I find Paul?”
   “Go back into the locker room. You’ll see a buzzer on the wall. Push it and Paul will appear like a genie.”
   Adam did as he was told. Paul showed him to a locker and supplied him with an enormous towel and a white terry-cloth robe.
   Adam stripped off his clothes and put on the robe. Walking back outside, he was acutely aware of his winter white body, and he wondered again how Shelly maintained his tan. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Adam dropped the protective robe and dove in. The water was ice cold.
   “We keep the pool cool so that it is stimulating,” explained Bill when he caught the pained expression on Adam’s face.
   After he began swimming, Adam felt better, but when he tried to emulate Bill’s tumbling turns, he only succeeded in getting a nose full of water. He came up coughing and sputtering.
   Bill took pity on him and led him back to the locker room, suggesting they both have a short massage.
   “What is it you wanted to see me about?” Bill asked when they were settled on adjoining tables.
   Adam hesitated. Even though Bill had always been nice to Adam, he never dropped his cool executive manner.
   “I wanted to learn more about the Conference Cruises,” said Adam as Paul indicated he should roll on his back. “My customers always ask about them.”
   “What do they want to know?”
   “Who can go. How you schedule the various specialties. Whether there’s someone at Arolen they can call for information.”
   “They can call the toll-free MTIC number,” said Bill stiffly. “I was hoping you were going to tell me you’d decided to take the managerial training course.”
   “Not just yet,” said Adam as Paul continued to knead his shoulders. “But I was wondering if you would consider sending me on one of the cruises. Do any of the sales reps go?”
   “I’m afraid not,” said Bill, getting up and starting to dress. “There are a lot of people here who would like to go. Unfortunately, the Fjord is not that big a ship. Anyway, you’d find it boring. Since the purpose of the program is to supply continuing education to the practicing physician, most of the entertainment areas of the ship have been converted into lecture halls.”
   “I’d still like to go.”
   “I’m sorry,” said Bill, who was obviously losing interest in the subject. He went to a mirror to put on his tie. “I think it would be smart for you to concentrate on the work that you are supposed to be doing.”
   Adam decided this was not the moment to ask about the doctors who had given up their practices after going on a cruise. It was obvious that Bill Shelly was becoming irritated by Adam’s questions. As he dressed and followed Bill to the elevator Adam was careful to answer questions, not ask them. But later, driving back to New York, Adam continued to ponder some of the strange occurrences he now associated with the Arolen cruise. Percy Harmon’s disappearance in particular was disturbing. When Adam had learned Percy had not gone to Puerto Rico, he’d tried calling him but no one ever answered. As he drove into the city through the Lincoln Tunnel, Adam decided to stop by Percy’s apartment. Maybe one of his neighbors knew where he was.
   Percy lived in a rundown brownstone four doors in from Second Avenue. Adam found Percy Harmon’s name next to the button for 3C. He pushed it and waited.
   Diagonally across the street, a man in a rumpled blue suit threw down a cigarette and ground it under the heel of his shoe. Looking in both directions, he started across to the brownstone, his hand moving toward his breast pocket.
   Adam shifted his weight and pushed the button for the superintendent. Almost immediately the small foyer filled with a raucous buzz and Adam opened the door. The interior was dilapidated but much cleaner than in Adam’s building. On the floor below, Adam heard a door open. He walked to the head of the stairs and looked down. An unshaven man in a sleeveless undershirt was on his way up.
   “Whaddaya want?” said the super.
   “I’m looking for Percy Harmon,” said Adam.
   “You and everybody else,” said the super, obviously unimpressed. “He ain’t here, and I haven’t seen him for more than a month.”
   “Sorry to bother you,” said Adam as the super went back down. Turning to leave, Adam hesitated by the stairs. He heard the super’s door close and on a sudden impulse quietly climbed to the third floor. He knocked on 3C, but there was no answer. He tried the door, but it was locked. He was debating leaving a note when he noticed a window at the end of the corridor leading to the fire escape.
   Although he had never done anything like this in his life, Adam opened the window and climbed out. He had an intuitive feeling something had happened to Percy. He wanted to look into Harmon’s apartment to see if there was any sign of how long he’d been away.
   The fire escape was old and rusted, and Adam tried not to look down through the metal grate at the concrete courtyard below. After inching along with his hands pressed against the building, Adam finally reached Percy’s window. It was ajar about two inches. Hoping no one would see him and call the cops, Adam raised the window. Having come this far, he figured he had nothing to lose and climbed inside Percy’s musty bedroom.
   Heart pounding, Adam walked around the unmade bed and opened the closet door. It was filled with clothes. Turning, he looked inside the bathroom. The water level in the toilet was low, suggesting that it had not been used for some time.
   Adam walked back through the bedroom and into the living room. There was a newspaper on the coffee table with a seven-week-old date. Moving into the kitchen, Adam saw that the dishes in the sink were covered with a fuzzy black mold. Obviously, Percy Harmon had planned to return. And that was exactly what Adam had feared. Something unexpected must have happened to the man.
   Adam decided to get out and call the police. Before he could leave the kitchen, a soft noise made him freeze. It was the distinctive sound of a door closing.
   Adam waited. There was only silence. He peered out into the living room. The security chain on the front door was slowly swinging back and forth.
   Adam almost passed out. If it had been Percy who’d come in, why was he hiding? Adam stayed glued to his spot in the kitchen, straining to hear additional noise. When the refrigerator kicked on next to him, he moaned with fright. Finally, deciding that at least ten minutes had passed, that maybe it was all his imagination, he walked into the living room and glanced into the bedroom. He could see the open window to the fire escape. The curtains were slowly billowing in the draft. Adam estimated that it would only take a second to cross the room and climb out.
   He never made it. As he ran for the window, a figure appeared from the closet. Before Adam could respond, a fist slammed into his abdomen, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Chapter 9

   When Jennifer arrived at GYN Associates for her monthly checkup, she noticed there were fewer people waiting than on any of her previous visits. Sitting on one of the couches, which she had all to herself, she took out a magazine to read but couldn’t concentrate. Instead, she marveled that nothing untoward had happened to her or her unborn child while Dr. Vandermer had been out of town attending his convention. She’d been sure that she’d start bleeding while he was away, and even though she still was not reconciled to his gruff manner, she didn’t want to have to see a new doctor.
   In less than fifteen minutes, Jennifer was taken to an examination room. As she took off her street clothes and put on the paper robe, she asked the nurse if Dr. Vandermer had enjoyed his vacation.
   “I guess so,” said Nancy without enthusiasm. She handed Jennifer the urine container and motioned toward the lavatory door.
   Something in her tone bothered Jennifer, but when she came out of the bathroom, Dr. Vandermer was waiting.
   “I haven’t finished with Mrs. Schonberg,” said Nancy. “Please, give me another few minutes. I still have to draw her hematocrit and weigh her.”
   “I just wanted to say hello.” His voice was unusually soft, without his normally brusque overtone. “How are you, Jennifer? You look well.”
   “I’m fine,” said Jennifer, surprised.
   “Well, I’ll be back as soon as Nancy’s done.” He closed the door, and Nancy stood for a moment staring after him. “God!” she said. “If I didn’t know him better, I’d swear he was on something. Ever since he came back, he’s been weird. He’s much nicer to his patients, but he’s made my job ten times more difficult. Oh well…” Nancy turned back to Jennifer. “Let’s get your blood and weight.”
   She had just finished when Dr. Vandermer returned. “I’ll take over,” he said in the same flat voice. “Your weight is fine. How have you been feeling in general?”
   “I haven’t examined her yet,” interrupted Nancy.
   “That’s all right,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Why don’t you run the hematocrit while I talk to Jennifer.”
   With an audible sigh, Nancy took the hematocrit tubes and left the room.
   “So how have you been feeling?” asked Dr. Vandermer again.
   Jennifer stared at the man facing her. He had the same polished good looks, but his face was slack, as if he were exhausted. His hair was also a little different. It seemed bushier, and instead of his usual hurried manner, he gave Jennifer the impression that he actually wanted to know what was on her mind.
   “I guess I’ve been feeling pretty good,” she said.
   “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
   “Well…,” said Jennifer, “I’m less tired, but the morning sickness has gotten worse, no matter what I do about diet.”
   “How do you feel about this pregnancy?” asked Dr. Vandermer. “Sometimes emotions play a role in our well-being.”
   Jennifer looked at Dr. Vandermer’s face. He seemed genuinely concerned. “To tell the truth,” she said, “I feel very ambivalent about being pregnant.” Up until that moment she’d been unwilling to admit it, even to her mother. But Dr. Vandermer did not seem disapproving.
   “Second thoughts are very common,” he said gently. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”
   Encouraged by his attitude, Jennifer found herself telling him all of her fears about her career and her relationship with Adam. She admitted that Vandermer had been right; it wasn’t the proper time for them to have a child. She talked for nearly ten minutes, saved from tears only by an odd lack of affect in Vandermer’s expression. He was concerned but in some way remote.
   When she finished, he said softly, “I appreciate your confiding in me. It’s not healthy to bottle up your feelings. In fact, they may be related to your continued morning sickness, which should have abated by now. I think that we will have to try you on some medication.” Turning to Nancy, who had just returned to the room, he said, “Would you go down to the supply room and bring back a handful of pregdolen samples?”
   Nancy left without a word.
   “Now then,” said Dr. Vandermer, “let’s get a good look at you.”
   The examination included ultrasonography, which Dr. Vandermer described as a method by which images were produced as ultrasonic waves echoed off the baby’s tissues. Jennifer wasn’t sure she understood, but Dr. Vandermer assured her it was both painless and harmless to mother and fetus alike, and indeed it was. Although a technician came in to run the unit, Dr. Vandermer insisted on doing the test himself. On a screen much like a television’s Jennifer saw the outline of her baby.
   “Do you care to know the sex of the child?” asked Dr. Vandermer, straightening up.
   “I guess,” said Jennifer, not having given the matter much thought.
   “I can’t be sure,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but if I had to guess it looks like a boy.”
   Jennifer nodded. For the moment it didn’t make any difference if it were a boy or a girl, but she wondered how Adam felt.
   Back in the examination room, Dr. Vandermer sat down at the small desk and began to write up his findings. He dismissed Nancy, who left without a word, obviously displeased to have had her job curtailed.
   Jennifer sat on the table, wondering whether she should dress. Finally, Dr. Vandermer turned to face her. “Aside from the morning sickness, you’re doing fine, and maybe this will stop the nausea.” He stacked the samples next to her and wrote out a prescription as well. “Take one pill three times a day.”
   Jennifer nodded. She was willing to try anything.
   “Now,” said Dr. Vandermer in his new monotone voice, “there are two things I want to discuss with you. First, the next time I see you it will be at the Julian Clinic.”
   Jennifer felt her heart skip a beat. The image of Cheryl slumping to the floor flashed before her. She could see the blood and feel the icy panic.
   “Jennifer, are you all right?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
   “Maybe I should lie down,” said Jennifer, feeling suddenly dizzy.
   Dr. Vandermer helped her to lie back.
   “I’m terribly sorry,” said Jennifer. “I’m all right now. Why will I be seeing you at the Julian Clinic?”
   “Because I’ve decided to join their staff,” said Dr. Vandermer, checking her pulse. “I’m no longer interested in private practice. And I can assure you that as a patient you will get better care at the Julian Clinic. Now, do you feel all right?”
   Jennifer nodded.
   “Is this the first time in your pregnancy you’ve felt faint like this?”
   “Yes,” said Jennifer and went on to describe Cheryl’s unexpected death.
   “What an awful experience for you,” Dr. Vandermer said. “Especially being pregnant. Fortunately, such a clotting disorder is extremely rare, and I hope you don’t blame the Julian Clinic. I heard about that case and I happen to know that Miss Tedesco had withheld certain aspects of her medical history. Her extensive drug usage had caused hematologic problems that did not show up in routine lab work. Had Miss Tedesco been more forthright, she’d undoubtedly be alive today. I’m only telling you this so you won’t have any doubts about the clinic.”
   “I’d heard good things about it before I went with Cheryl. And I must admit I was impressed with the staff’s caring attitude.”
   “That’s one of the reasons I’m going there. The doctors aren’t involved with any of the competitive nonsense associate with private practice.”
   Jennifer sat up, relieved to find that the dizziness had completely passed.
   “Are you going to be all right now?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
   “I think so,” said Jennifer.
   “The second thing I wanted to discuss with you is the possibility of doing amniocentesis.”
   Jennifer felt another rush of light-headedness, but this time it passed quickly. “You’ve changed your mind,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
   “That is true,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Initially, I was convinced that your brother’s problem had been congenital, meaning a chromosomal change after conception. But I got the slides from the hospital where your brother died, and the lab thinks the problem may be hereditary. Given that possibility, it would be a mistake not to take advantage of all the technology at our disposal.”
   “Would the test show if my child had the same problem?” asked Jennifer.
   “Absolutely,” said Dr. Vandermer. “But we should do it soon, since it takes several weeks to get the results. If we wait too long, it will be difficult to do anything if the result is positive.”
   “By ‘doing anything’ you mean an abortion?” said Jennifer.
   “Yes,” said Dr. Vandermer. “The chances of a problem are very small, but with the ambivalence you’ve voiced, I think that you would be able to handle such an eventuality.”
   “I’ll have to talk with my husband and my parents,” said Jennifer.
   She left the office nervous about the prospect of amniocentesis but glad she had a doctor as caring as Vandermer. She’d have to tell Adam that she’d totally reversed her original impression of the man.

   Adam never quite lost consciousness. He was vaguely aware of being dragged into Percy’s living room and unceremoniously dumped onto the couch. He felt his wallet being removed, and then replaced. That little sequence didn’t jibe with his expectations, and puzzling it over, he shook off his stupor.
   The first thing he did was search for his glasses, which were suddenly thrust into his hand. He put them on and the room came into focus. Sitting in front of him was a heavyset man in a blue suit and a white shirt open at the collar.
   “Good morning,” said the man. “Welcome back.”
   Adam moved. Nothing hurt, which was surprising.
   “Unless you want to ride down to the police station, Mr. Schonberg, you’d better tell me what you were doing in this apartment.”
   “Nothing,” croaked Adam. He cleared his throat.
   “You’re going to have to do better than that,” said the man, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
   “I could say the same for you,” said Adam.
   The stranger reached over and grabbed Adam’s shirt front, almost lifting him off the couch. “I’m not in the mood for wisecracks,” he snarled.
   Adam nodded.
   As suddenly as he’d grabbed him, the man let him go. “OK,” said the stranger. “Let’s start again. What were you doing in this apartment?”
   “I am a friend of Percy Harmon,” said Adam quickly. “Well, sort of a friend. I was starting work for Arolen Pharmaceuticals and he took me around to teach me the routine.”
   The man nodded slightly, as if he accepted the story so far.
   “Percy was supposed to call me,” Adam said. “He never did and he never answered his phone. So I came over to see if he was here.”
   “That doesn’t explain why you broke into the apartment,” said the stranger.
   “It was an impulse,” said Adam meekly. “I wanted to see if he was all right.”
   The man didn’t say anything. The silence and the tension quickly began to wear on Adam. “I liked Percy,” he said. “I was worried about him. He was supposed to go to Puerto Rico for a training course, but he never got there.”
   The man remained silent.
   “That’s all I know,” said Adam. “I never saw him again.”
   “I believe you,” said the man, after a pause.
   “Thank you,” said Adam, relieved to the point he could have cried.
   The man stubbed out his cigarette. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a card and extended it to Adam. It said “Robert Marlow, Private Investigator.” In the lower right-hand corner was a telephone number.
   “About six weeks ago Percy Harmon left a Japanese restaurant in Fort Lee, New Jersey. He never got home. I’ve been hired by the family to see what I can find out. I’ve been watching the apartment. Aside from a couple of young ladies, you’re the only one to show up.”
   “Do you have any idea of what could have happened to him?” asked Adam.
   “Not the foggiest,” said Mr. Marlow. “But if you happen to hear anything, I’d appreciate a call.”

   Adam still felt shell-shocked when he got back to his empty apartment. Jennifer’s absence irritated him. He was upset and he wanted to talk to her, but he guessed she was off with her mother again. He flung himself down on the bed and turned on the news. Slowly he began to unwind.
   The next thing Adam knew, he heard the front door close and for a moment thought he was back in Harmon’s apartment.
   “Well, well,” teased Jennifer. “Lying down on the job.”
   Adam didn’t answer.
   “What’s the matter?” she asked.
   “I suppose you’ve been to Englewood,” Adam snapped unreasonably.
   Jennifer stared at him. She wasn’t up to one of Adam’s moods. She resented having to apologize for seeing her parents. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “Yes, I did go home.”
   “I guessed as much,” said Adam, turning to the television.
   “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Jennifer.
   “Nothing in particular,” said Adam.
   “Look,” said Jennifer, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I had good reason to go home. Dr. Vandermer suggested I have amniocentesis. I went home to discuss whether or not to do it.”
   “That’s nice,” said Adam sarcastically. “You discuss it with your parents even though it is our child.”
   “I knew I couldn’t get hold of you during the day,” explained Jennifer, trying to be reasonable. “Of course I planned to discuss it with you. But I wanted to talk to my mother because she experienced the trauma of giving birth to a Down’s baby.”
   “I still think the decision is ours alone,” said Adam.
   He rolled over and put his feet on the floor, knowing he was being unfair. “Besides, I thought Vandermer said you didn’t need amniocentesis.”
   “That’s true,” said Jennifer. “But today he told me that after checking the slides on my brother, he thinks I should have it.”
   Adam got to his feet and stretched. From the little he knew about genetics, he didn’t think that Jennifer needed amniocentesis. “Maybe you should get a second opinion. When I initially asked around for an OB man, people also recommended Herbert Wickelman.”
   Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t need to see anyone else. Another opinion would just confuse the issue further. I’m happy with Dr. Vandermer and I have confidence in him, particularly since his manner has improved so much.”
   “What do you mean?” asked Adam.
   “Since he returned from his medical conference, he seems to have more time and interest,” said Jennifer. “He isn’t so rushed.”
   Adam forgot his anger. “Has he changed in any other way?” he asked.
   “He says he’s tired of private practice,” said Jennifer, taking off her dress and heading into the bathroom. “He’s decided to go to the Julian Clinic, and I’m to see him there from now on.”
   Adam slowly sank back on the bed.
   “I never thought I’d go back to the Julian after Cheryl died,” Jennifer called out, “but Dr. Vandermer has convinced me of its excellence. And you know I was impressed by the staff.”
   Adam heard the sound of water in the bathroom sink. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Jennifer about Percy Harmon’s disappearance or any of his other suspicions about Arolen, but now that it seemed as if Vandermer was involved, Adam knew he had to do something.
   Adam walked to the bathroom, where Jennifer was washing her face. “I’m going to insist that you see Dr. Wickelman. I don’t like the idea of Vandermer going to the Julian Clinic.”
   Jennifer looked up, surprised. There were times lately when Adam acted very strangely.
   “I’m serious,” he began, but stopped in mid-sentence, glimpsing a familiar bottle on the edge of the sink.
   “What the hell is this?” he demanded, grabbing it.
   Jennifer glanced from his face to the small bottle he held in his hand. Then she turned and silently hung up her towel.
   “I asked you a question,” yelled Adam.
   “I think the answer is obvious. It’s pregdolen. For my morning sickness. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She started for the bedroom. Adam grabbed her arm.
   “Where did you get this?” he demanded, holding the bottle directly in front of her.
   Jennifer pushed it away. “If you must know, from Dr. Vandermer.”
   “That’s impossible,” said Adam. “Vandermer would never prescribe this stuff.”
   Jennifer pulled her arm free. “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”
   Adam returned to the bathroom and poured some of the blue-and-yellow capsules into his hand. It was pregdolen all right.
   “Did you hear me?” demanded Jennifer.
   “I don’t want you taking this drug,” he said. “Do you have any more of it?”
   “I’m going to follow my doctor’s orders,” said Jennifer. “Since I started taking these pills, I’ve had the first nausea-free day in months. And remember, you are the one who sent me to Dr. Vandermer in the first place.”
   “Well, you’re definitely not going back,” said Adam. He lifted Jennifer’s tote bag from the shelf above the toilet and looked inside. The additional packages of pregdolen were right on top.
   Trying to grab the purse, Jennifer shouted, “I like Dr. Vandermer and I trust him. Give me my bag!”
   Adam fished out the other samples before letting it go. “Listen!” he said. “I don’t want you taking this stuff. It’s dangerous.”
   “Dr. Vandermer wouldn’t give it to me if it were dangerous,” said Jennifer. “And I intend to take it. After all, I’m the one who is suffering, not you. And I think that you should remember that you are not a doctor. In fact, all you are right now is a drug salesman.”
   Adam opened the sample packages while he lifted the lid of the toilet with his foot.
   “Give me my medicine!” yelled Jennifer, realizing what he was doing.
   Adam dumped the contents of the first bottle into the toilet.
   Desperately, Jennifer snatched a bottle from Adam’s hand and ran into the bedroom. Stunned, Adam hesitated, then ran after her. For a minute they stood face to face. Then Jennifer dashed back into the bathroom and tried to lock the door. But she wasn’t fast enough. Adam got his foot beyond the door, and a brief shoving match ensued. Slowly the door inched open until Jennifer gave way. She backed up against the shower stall, hiding the bottle behind her.
   “Give me the pregdolen,” ordered Adam.
   Jennifer shook her head. Her breath was coming in short gasps.
   “OK!” snapped Adam as he reached out and roughly pulled her hands from behind her back.
   “No!” shouted Jennifer.
   One by one he peeled back her fingers, took the bottle, and emptied it into the toilet. Jennifer began pounding his back. To protect himself, Adam threw up his right hand, accidentally hitting the side of her head. The blow sent her reeling against the wall, momentarily stunned.
   Adam dumped the remaining samples into the bowl and flushed them away. Then he turned to apologize to Jennifer, but she was so furious she wouldn’t listen.
   “You’re not my doctor,” she screamed. “I’m tired of being sick every day, and if he gives me medication to feel better, I’m going to take it.”
   She tore into the bedroom and pulled her suitcase down from the top of the closet.
   “Jennifer, what are you doing?” asked Adam, though it was pretty clear what she had in mind. Jennifer didn’t answer but began rolling up clothes and throwing them into the case.
   “Jennifer, we can have disagreements without your running away,” said Adam.
   Jennifer turned to face him, her cheeks flushed.
   “I’m going home. I’m tired, I don’t feel well, and I can’t stand this bickering.”
   “Jennifer, I love you. The only reason I took those pills away is to protect our child.”
   “I don’t care why you did it. I have to get away for a few days.” She picked up the phone and Adam listened while she called her father and made arrangements to take a cab to his office so he could drive her home.
   “Jennifer, please don’t do this,” he begged as she went back to her packing, but she refused to look at him while she closed the case, picked up her purse, and stalked out of the apartment.
   Alone, it took Adam a few minutes to believe she had actually gone. Dazed, he wandered into the living room and sat down at the computer. Turning it on, he connected with the Arolen mainframe and tried to call up Vandermer’s file. He intended to see if Dr. Vandermer’s prescribing habits had changed, but the screen remained blank save for the stark message: “Transferred to Julian Clinic.”
   Shocked, Adam wondered if any other files had been erased from the computer. He pulled the printout McGuire had given him and then asked the machine to relist the doctors in his assigned territory. Not only had the computer dropped Vandermer’s file, but six other doctors had been taken off the list.
   Frantically, Adam began calling up each of the expunged doctors’ names. None of them had files! Four had entries like Dr. Smyth’s—“Refresher course scheduled…”—suggesting that if a doctor went on an Arolen cruise, he didn’t have to be detailed any longer. Two had entries like Vandermer’s: “Transferred to Julian Clinic.” Adam wondered if the Cruise Conferences pitched the Julian Clinic as well as Arolen products.
   More confused than ever, Adam asked the computer to list all the physicians on staff at the Julian Clinic. Dutifully the dot-matrix printer sprang to life and spewed out a sizable roster. Adam ran his eyes over the list of names and stopped short at an entry halfway down the sheet: Dr. Thayer Norton! What the hell was Norton doing at the Julian Clinic? He was chief of Internal Medicine at the university.
   Slowly Adam typed Thayer Norton’s name into the computer and requested his file. All he got was “Transferred to Julian Clinic”!
   The idea that the old battle-ax would give up his coveted medical chair at the university was unthinkable. Adam wondered if Norton had recently taken a Conference Cruise.
   Going back to the computer, Adam tried to access statistical data about the Julian. He discovered that of the six doctors who had transferred, four were OB-GYN specialists. Maybe that proved something. For another half hour Adam fed questions into the computer, but most of his requests were returned with the message that his access code was not recognized for the material he was requesting. Switching tactics, he asked for the number of times amniocentesis was done at the Julian in the previous calendar year. He got the number: 7,112. When he asked how many had shown an abnormality in the fetus, the computer again refused his access code. Adam finally asked how many therapeutic abortions had been performed during that time period: 1,217.
   Totally mystified, Adam turned off the computer and went to bed, where he spent the night confronting an outraged Jennifer in his dreams.

Chapter 10

   The next morning Adam was so upset to wake up and find Jennifer’s side of the bed empty, that he left the apartment without even bothering to have a cup of coffee. By eight-thirty he was pacing restlessly outside GYN Associates, waiting for the office to open. The moment he saw Christine he began pressing the bell.
   “Hello, Adam Schonberg.”
   Adam thought it was propitious that she’d remembered his name. He adjusted his dark blue knit tie and said with the sincerest smile he could muster, “I was in the neighborhood so I thought I’d drop by and get an update on DJ’s batting average.”
   “He’s doing terrific,” said Christine. “Better than even I anticipated. In fact, last Friday…”
   Adam tuned out as he tried to organize his thoughts. When Christine paused for breath, he said, “What are the chances that you can get me in to see Dr. Vandermer?”
   “Dr. Vandermer is at the Julian Clinic,” she said.
   “He’s gone already?”
   “Yup. The whole office is a disaster. Yesterday was his last day here, even though he has hundreds of patients scheduled for the next six months. I’ll be on the phone from now until Christmas.”
   “So it wasn’t expected?” asked Adam.
   “Hardly,” said Christine. “He came back from his cruise and told Dr. Stens and Dr. Baumgarten that he was leaving. He said he’d had it with private practice.”
   That was exactly what Percy had said about Foley, thought Adam, as Christine turned away to answer the phone.
   “What a mess,” she said once she’d hung up. “And all the patients are mad at me.”
   “Did Dr. Vandermer behave strangely when he got back from the cruise?” asked Adam.
   “I’ll say,” laughed Christine. “Nothing we did was good enough for him. He drove us all crazy, though in some ways he was a lot more considerate. Before, he’d always been pretty abrupt.”
   Remembering his own meeting with the doctor, Adam felt that “abrupt” was a generous description of the man’s manner.
   “The strangest thing about the affair,” continued Christine, “is that Dr. Vandermer’s partner, Dr. Foley, did the very same thing. And at the time it made Dr. Vandermer furious. But it wasn’t so bad when Dr. Foley left because there were four doctors to take up the slack. Now there are only two because poor Dr. Smyth is still in the hospital with his weird disease.”
   “What kind of disease?” asked Adam.
   “I don’t know the name,” she said. “It’s some kind of trouble with his nerves. I remember when it started.” She lowered her voice as if what she was saying were a secret. “One moment he was normal, the next he was making strange faces. It was grotesque. And very embarrassing.”
   A woman entered the office and came up to the reception desk, and Adam stepped out of the way, thinking that Smyth’s problem was similar to the case of tardive dyskinesia that he had discussed in his presentation at the medical school. In that case the cause was an unexpected reaction to tranquilizers.
   “Do you know if Dr. Smyth had any psychiatric problems?” Adam asked once the patient was seated.
   “I don’t think so,” said Christine. “He was one of the nicest young men. Looks a little bit like you. Dark, curly hair.”
   “What hospital is he in?” asked Adam.
   “He was admitted to University, but I heard one of the nurses say that he was going to be transferred to the Julian Clinic.”
   The phone rang again, and Christine reached for it.
   “One last question,” said Adam. “Did Foley or Smyth go on a Conference Cruise like Dr. Vandermer?”
   “I think they both did,” said Christine, lifting the phone. “GYN Associates, could you please hold?” Turning back to Adam, she asked, “Would you like to see either Dr. Stens or Dr. Baumgarten?”
   “Not today,” said Adam. “Another time, when things aren’t quite so hectic. Give my best to DJ.”
   Christine gave Adam a thumbs-up sign and pushed the blinking button on the telephone.
   Leaving the office, Adam felt he could no longer ignore the strange coincidences relating to the Julian Clinic. Why had so many doctors abruptly left their practices to work there? And why, after doing so, had Vandermer suddenly decided to prescribe pregdolen to Jennifer? As unpleasant as this last interview would be, Adam felt he had no choice but to confront the obstetrician. He had to convince him either to treat Jennifer without medication or to relinquish her as a patient. Adam knew he couldn’t persuade his wife to change physicians on his own.
   As he approached the southern limits of Harlem, he saw the clinic towering over the surrounding tenements. Admiring its mirrored surface, Adam realized that it must have been designed by the same architects who had built Arolen headquarters. The office building was better suited to its surroundings. The clinic struck Adam as a twenty-first-century vision flung into a two-hundred-year-old setting.
   A half block away Adam found a parking spot and backed into it. Taking his briefcase in case he needed to disguise his visit as a sales call, he jogged up the broad steps to the clinic’s entrance.
   The moment he walked inside his suspicions dissipated. He had intended to march through the lobby to the OB-GYN section as if he were a member of the staff. From his experience as a medical student he knew that if someone acted as if he belonged, he could go anywhere in a hospital. But the relaxed atmosphere of the Julian changed his mind. He walked directly up to the large information booth and said he wished to speak with Dr. Vandermer.
   “Certainly,” said the receptionist. She picked up a phone and relayed Adam’s request. “The doctor is in,” she said, smiling broadly. “Do you know how to get to the GYN clinic?”
   “Maybe I should ask the doctor if he has time to see me. I want to talk to him about my wife.”
   “Of course he’ll see you,” she said, as if Adam had lost his senses. “Let me call one of the orderlies.” She pressed a small bell on the counter and a young man in blue shirt and white chino pants appeared. The receptionist gave him instructions.
   He led Adam down a long central hallway, past a flower shop, a bookstore, a pleasant-looking cafeteria.
   “This is an impressive place,” said Adam.
   “Yes,” said the young man mechanically.
   Adam glanced at him as they walked. He had a broad, expressionless face. Looking more carefully, Adam thought he seemed drugged; he was probably a psychiatric case. A lot of the chronic patients worked in hospitals. It made them feel more confident.
   The man left Adam in a lounge that resembled a private living room rather than a hospital waiting room. There was a couch, two chairs, and a small desk. Strange clinic, thought Adam as he walked to the window. The darkened glass gave a peculiar cast to the row houses across the street. He felt as if he were looking at an old photograph.
   He wandered back to the couch and began leafing through one of the magazines. A few minutes later the door opened and Dr. Vandermer came in. Adam got hastily to his feet.
   The man was imposing, especially in his starched white coat. But he seemed less hostile than at their first meeting.
   “Adam Schonberg, welcome to the Julian,” he said.
   “Thank you,” said Adam, relieved and at the same time taken aback by Vandermer’s cordiality. “I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you were very happy in your practice.”
   “I was at one time,” said Dr. Vandermer. “But fee-for-service medicine is a thing of the past. Here we try to keep people well, instead of just trying to cure them when they are sick.”
   Adam noticed that Vandermer’s voice had an oddly flat inflection, as if he were reciting from memory. “I wanted to talk about Jennifer,” he said.
   “I assumed as much,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I asked the geneticist to come by.”
   “Fine. But first I want to discuss the pregdolen.”
   “Has it helped your wife’s nausea?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
   “She thinks so,” said Adam. “But I suspect it is simply a placebo effect. What surprises me is that you gave it to her.”
   “There are a number of drugs on the market,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but I think pregdolen is the best. Normally, I don’t like to use drugs for morning sickness, but your wife’s had gone on too long.”
   “But why pregdolen?” said Adam tactfully. “Especially after the negative report in the New England Journal.”
   “That was a poorly designed study,” said Dr. Vandermer. “They didn’t use the proper controls.”
   Unwilling to confront Vandermer directly, Adam finally said, “But you told me the last time we spoke that pregdolen was dangerous. What’s made you change your mind?”
   Dr. Vandermer shook his head, puzzled. “I’ve never said the drug was dangerous. I’ve been using it for years.”
   “I distinctly remember…” began Adam as two other doctors entered the lounge. One was a tall, thin man with gray hair. He was introduced as Dr. Benjamin Starr, the Julian Clinic’s geneticist.
   “Dr. Starr and I were just discussing your wife’s case this morning,” said Dr. Vandermer.
   “Indeed,” said Dr. Starr, launching into a detailed description of the case. His voice had the same flat inflection as Vandermer’s, making Adam wonder if all the doctors at the Julian Clinic worked themselves to death.
   Adam tried to understand what Starr was saying, but the man seemed to be speaking deliberately over Adam’s head. After trying to make sense out of the reasons given for Jennifer’s amniocentesis, Adam decided he was wasting his time. It was as if both Vandermer and Starr were trying to confuse him. As soon as he could, Adam said he had to leave. Dr. Vandermer offered to buy him lunch in the cafeteria, but Adam insisted he had to go.
   Walking down the hall, he decided Jennifer was right. Dr. Vandermer was a changed man, and it made Adam nervous. In fact, the whole clinic struck a false note. Looking at the beautifully decorated rooms, he could understand why the Julian had such appeal. It seemed the ideal hospital environment. At the same time, it was almost too nice and, to Adam’s mind, slightly sinister.
   Back in the car, Adam hesitated before turning on the ignition. There was no doubt in his mind that Vandermer had originally proclaimed pregdolen dangerous and all that super-scientific rhetoric about Jennifer needing amniocentesis alarmed him. With his wife sequestered at her parents’, his hands were tied. The only thing he was sure of was that he did not want Jennifer taking pregdolen, which meant that he didn’t want her to keep seeing Vandermer. The problem was that she obviously trusted Vandermer and didn’t want to change doctors.
   Pulling out into the street, Adam realized that Jennifer was right on two counts: he wasn’t a doctor and he knew nothing about obstetrics. He realized that if he hoped to change Jennifer’s mind, he’d better study up on the subject.
   There were no parking places within blocks of the university hospital, so Adam pulled the Buick into the hospital parking garage. After he’d found a space, he went down to the medical center. The Irish fellow at the information booth recognized him and lent him a white jacket.
   In the library, he selected several recent textbooks on obstetrics and began looking up both morning sickness and amniocentesis. When he was finished, he turned to a chapter on fetoscopy—the visualization of the fetus within the uterus—and stared in wonder at the photos of what his child must look like at this stage in its development.
   Returning the books to the desk, Adam made his way to the hospital. After the soft carpets and gleaming paint at the Julian, the university medical center looked like a set for Dante’s Inferno. It was uniformly drab with peeling paint and stained floors. The nurses and staff appeared rushed, and their expressions indicated that their patients’ psychological well-being was not high priority.
   Adam took the main elevator to Neurology on the tenth floor. Pretending that he was still a student, he marched to the nurses’ station and positioned himself squarely in front of the chart rack. There were three nurses, two ward clerks, and a resident standing about talking, but none of them so much as looked at Adam.
   Dr. Stuart Smyth’s chart was in the slot for room 1066. After a furtive glance at the nurses, Adam grasped the metal-backed record, pulled it out of the rack, and stepped back into the relative quiet of the chart room. There was a doctor there, but he was on the phone making a tennis date. Adam sat down at the desk.
   Curiously, Smyth was diagnosed as having tardive dyskinesia. Reading over the history, Adam learned that Dr. Smyth had no past record of psychotropic drugs. The cause of his illness was still listed as unknown, and most of the workup involved sophisticated attempts to isolate a virus.
   The only positive test Adam found was the EEG, but the resident had written that the results, though slightly abnormal, were nonspecific. In short, Dr. Smyth had been poked, prodded, and bled for a myriad of tests, yet the source of his troubles still had not been discovered. He’d been in and out of the hospital for two and a half months. On a happier note, he had started to improve, though no one knew why.
   Adam returned the chart and walked down the hall to room 1066. Unlike the other rooms, the door was shut. Adam knocked. After hearing what sounded like “Come in,” he pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
   Stuart Smyth was seated near the window, surrounded by books and periodicals. As Adam entered, he looked up and adjusted rimless glasses.
   Adam immediately saw that Christine’s observation that he and Smyth looked alike was true, and it pleased Adam because Stuart was a handsome man.
   Adam introduced himself as a medical student, and Smyth, whose face was periodically contorted by a grimace, asked Adam to sit down and explained that he was making the best of his confinement by reviewing the entire field of OB-GYN. His speech was difficult to understand because his lips and tongue were also affected by distorting spasms.
   Despite his impediment, Dr. Smyth was eager for company and not at all shy about his illness. Adam waited patiently as he slowly recounted the details, most of which Adam had already gleaned from the chart. He did not mention the Arolen cruise, and Adam got around to the subject by first mentioning that Dr. Vandermer was taking care of Jennifer.
   “Vandermer is a great obstetrician,” said Dr. Smyth.
   “He was recommended by one of the OB residents,” said Adam. “Apparently he handles a lot of the house staff.”
   Dr. Smyth nodded.
   “I suppose you’ve heard that he’s just returned from an Arolen cruise?”
   Dr. Smyth nodded as his face bunched in a spasm.
   “Did you ever go on one of the cruises?” asked Adam.
   The book Smyth had been reading slid from his lap and thumped on the floor. He reached down and picked it up, but when he started to answer, his tongue wouldn’t cooperate and he ended up just nodding his head.
   Adam was afraid of tiring Smyth with more questions, but when he stood to go the doctor waved him back to his seat, making it clear that he wanted to talk.
   “The cruises are wonderful,” Smyth managed at last. “I went on one six months ago and was scheduled to go again this week. This time I was invited to stop in Puerto Rico. I was looking forward to it, but obviously I’m not going to make it.”
   “When you are discharged,” said Adam, “I’m sure you’ll be able to reschedule.”
   “Maybe,” said Smyth. “But it is difficult to get a reservation, especially for Puerto Rico.”
   Adam next asked about the Julian Clinic. Smyth offered a few superlatives, but then was taken by a series of contortions so severe he finally motioned Adam to leave.
   Adam thought about returning in a few minutes, but was so far behind in his Arolen calls that he decided he’d better get to work. Even if he were suspicious about the drug company, he didn’t want to get fired.