Dante's Dilemma (3 page)

“Do you need help with it?” Carol asked. “Yelena's downstairs getting a hot wax.”

It figured. Yelena's beauty breaks tended to fill the better part of the working day. This time, however, I was relieved to find her AWOL, which prevented the whole office from hearing immediately about the package. Though most of my colleagues were now aware I had a child named Louis, I tried to keep gossip about him to a minimum.

“That's OK,” I said. “I . . . was expecting it. It's just some tax forms I need to sign. I'll get to them myself later.” And back at home, where I didn't have to worry about the presence of prying eyes.

I slipped the package into my backpack and trudged down the hall to my office, holding my rigid, nonfoldable cane—the one I used for extended travel—in a stationary position a little out in front and to my side. It was different grip than I commonly used outdoors, where I swung the cane from side to side just ahead of my feet. The cane's nearly five feet of length gave me ample time to react to drop-offs without falling and alerted even the dimmest of drivers to the fact I might have trouble spotting them. Indoors, however, I either dispensed with the cane entirely, or employed it as I was then doing, in a mildly defensive capacity.

Which may explain why, just before the door, I collided with something that shouldn't have been there. The hard surface, jutting out some inches above the floor, sent shock waves through my tibia and pitched my upper body onto what initially felt like an oversized punching bag. “What the—?” I swore as I pulled back and righted myself. No one answered, so I moved in to inspect, discovering from a cane and manual exploration that it was the well-worn leather sofa from my office. I'd purchased it and two matching armchairs shortly after my residency and held on to them out of nostalgia throughout the years. Now, for some cryptic reason, they were sitting on top of a dolly.

I maneuvered around the obstruction and headed over to the central administrative station, discovering several similar items—some belonging to me and some not—along the way.

“Would someone be good enough to explain why my sofa is sitting in the middle of the hall?” I called out upon arrival. “You know how I hate it when the furniture gets rearranged.”

Lori, Sep's former assistant, answered me apologetically. “I'm sorry. I meant to phone to warn you. Dr. Frain has me running in so many different directions I can't even find time to visit the restroom.”

“I'm not blaming you. But what the hell is going on?”

“Office makeover. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one. New furniture for all the doctors is being delivered tomorrow.”

“You're saying everyone's stuff is being replaced?”

“Uh-huh. But not until the new carpeting is installed.”

“You've got to be kidding. The rugs are being torn up, too?”

“Hard to believe, isn't it? But Dr. Frain felt the current decorating scheme didn't project his image for the department.”

I could only guess at what image that might be. “Don't tell me,” I said. “We're going for the frozen-tundra look.”

“Not bad,” Lori said. “Pretty much white on white all over.”

“I'm surprised we're not repainting the walls, too. Wait, I remember. They're already white.”

Lori laughed. “There wasn't enough money for painting left over after the commissioned artwork. The one going over your credenza is against the wall. It's not that bad, actually. Like a Jackson Pollock, but more monochrome.”

I wouldn't be missing anything, then. “But how'd he push this through without anyone voting on it? I thought we were all supposed to agree on things like office accents.”

Lori lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Well, you didn't hear it from me, but rumor has it that he landed a big donor who agreed to fund the project if his wife got the commission.” Lori named a name I recognized as the sole proprietor of a Gold Coast firm that had recently been lauded—or excoriated, depending on your point of view—for a costly renovation of the mayor's office. “Dr. Frain also got the powers that be to agree to the redo as part of his contract. By the way, he wants to speak to you.”

“Do you know why?”

“No. But he said, and I quote, ‘Kindly inform Dr. Angelotti that I expect to see him in my office the moment he gets in.' I left you a voicemail.”

“Did he allow for the possibility that I might have a patient or two to keep me occupied this morning?”

“Yes, but I checked your appointments first. You're clear until two.”

“How'd you—” As far as I was aware, Yelena was the only one privy to my schedule, and she was as zealous about guarding her turf as an NFL linebacker. It was one of her better attributes.

“Another change,” Lori said. “All personnel calendars have to be uploaded to an executive database twice daily. For keeping track of productivity and so forth. The IT crew was here all weekend getting it set up.”

And I thought maybe I'd gone too far in likening Jonathan's takeover to
Julius Caesar
.
1984
was starting to seem more like it.

I ignored the summons and went straight to the coffee lounge, still holding on to my cane, coat, and backpack. It was too early in the day for a real drink, but I was reeling from all the sudden upsets. I didn't particularly feel like surveying the wreckage of my office and thought a cup of tea might steady my nerves.

Alison and Josh were already waiting for me at a table in the corner.

“I guess you heard,” Alison said when she saw my face.

Josh got up heavily from his seat and guided me to an empty one. I sat down and put my things on the floor beside me. “‘Heard' is putting it mildly. I walked into my sofa just as it was being hauled off to storage.”

Josh chuckled. “That's where you think it's headed? Funny, I never took you for an optimist.”

“We're talking about my personal property. The last I knew, taking it from me against my will is called theft.”

“That's because you couldn't see the memo. It was tacked to our doors this morning. Unless you object in writing, it's all being donated to charity. As a gesture of the institution's commitment to serving the needy. And if you don't mind my saying so, your stuff was looking pretty needy, too.”

Alison slipped a cup of something warm into my hand. “Chamomile,” she said. “I think you should stay away from caffeine this morning. You look enough on edge as it is.”

I shook my head. “This is worse than a horror movie. What's next—
The Stepford Doctors
?”

“Cheer up,” Josh said patting me on the back. “Most of the department is as upset about the Stasi tactics as you are. Alison and I are already organizing the loyal resistance.”

“I want in,” I said.

“Not a chance,” Josh said. “This needs to be done on the q.t., and you getting involved would be on a par with Che massing his troops to storm the presidential palace without anyone noticing.”

“You two seem awfully blasé about this,” I said. “How's Debbie going to feel when you can't even hang pictures of the family ski trip on the wall?”

Josh was as unruffled as always. “I'm not worried. If this keeps up, I figure it's only a matter of time before Jonathan hangs himself.”

“If so, I want to be there to kick the chair out from under him.”

“Like I said, buddy, no dice.”

“You're not even going to let me in on what you two are plotting?”

“Your aura, like Brutus's, would betray you.”

Just then Lori reappeared out of the mist with a summons. “Dr. Angelotti? I'm so sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Frain insisted I come get you. He said . . . well, I'm not going to repeat what he said. I thought it was uncalled for.”

“Go ahead,” Josh said. “Might as well get it over with. We'll be here waiting with the triage kit when you're through.”

“If not with the defibrillator,” Alison said merrily.

I got to my feet. “Thanks, guys. I'm glad someone else is finding this as hilarious as I am. ‘My master calls me, I must not say no,' to quote a different play. But do me a favor. Keep the funeral arrangements simple. I wouldn't want to give the bastard the pleasure.”

THREE

Fifteen minutes later, after an unnecessary trip to the men's room and as much additional dawdling as I thought I could get away with, I was seated on an uncomfortably hard chair in Jonathan's office.

“You're not going to offer me a cigar?”

“Filthy habit,” Jonathan said. “They ought to be banned. Along with fast food and soft drinks.”

I had a momentary vision of him marching in a modern Christian Temperance Union rally, filled with righteous indignation over the unhealthy habits of his fellow citizens—a soft, undisciplined, and therefore despicable lot. It made me wonder why he'd chosen medicine as a career in the first place. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. I've been reviewing your personnel file. There are certain items I need clarified.”

I could have predicted this would be the first order of business. I visualized him on the other side of his vacuum-tidy desk, gloating over his newfound license to interrogate me. He was one of those tall people whose heads are too small for their midsections, giving him the appearance of a flesh-colored Michelin Man. A bad hair transplant, tight white jacket, and tortoise-framed glasses completed the picture.

“Which items, exactly?”

“How you came to join us, for instance. I've always wondered what prompted the career move.”

“I was getting stale where I was.” My stock explanation.

He ruffled some papers on his desk. “Really? According to your file, you were making high six-figures, and on the eve of another promotion. Some might find it unbelievable that you departed out of boredom.”

“As you point out, I wasn't fired. So what's the issue?”

“Only that I have the department's interests to consider now. If there's a skeleton in your closet—one that might emerge to cause us embarrassment—I have a responsibility to find out what it is.”

A skeleton.
My thoughts immediately flashed to the small, white headstone resting in a Hudson River estate near Poughkeepsie. But this was no time for wrestling with my demons. “Are you questioning Sep's judgment? Because I'm sure he'd be interested to hear about it.”

“Of course not. But my predecessor was sometimes guilty of allowing his sympathies to interfere with sound management. I intend to change all that. Starting with more rigorous background investigations of new hires. The legal department is already drawing up the guidelines.”

“If you're in touch with the lawyers, you must know what thin ice you're skating on right now.”

“I'm well aware of the rules. Especially as they pertain to . . . certain individuals.”

I almost laughed. He'd stopped just short of calling me a cripple.

“Careful,” I warned. “Even
your
job's not that safe.”

Jonathan quickly realized his mistake and retreated to a safer position. “No one's
forcing
you to reveal anything,” he snapped. “Though I had hoped you would share the information voluntarily. As a gesture of your good faith and willingness to put my concerns to rest. Of course, if you have some reason to fear being honest with a superior . . .”

The message was loud and clear. Why would I be reluctant to talk if I had nothing to hide? I briefly considered giving him the finger and walking out. Or tendering my resignation there and then. I'd already been flirting with the idea of finding another job, one that would put me in closer proximity to Louis. But quitting just then would limit my options, as well as give Jonathan a victory he didn't deserve.

“I would have thought it was obvious,” I said, looking straight at him—or as straight as I could pull off. “I got divorced.”

“And?”

“And that's it. After the papers were signed, I needed a change of scene. Don't tell me you didn't suspect something like it.”

“Of course. But I find it hard to believe that's the whole story. There wasn't something else, too—a little too much love for the bottle or sex with an attractive intern, say?”

My patience was nearing an end. “Cut the crap, Jonathan. If you've looked at my file, you've seen all the references.” Though I deserved much of the praise, the glowing letters sent on my behalf weren't solely a reflection of my performance. Roger Whittaker, my former boss and ex-father-in-law, had done everything in his power to speed my exit from his employ.

“So you won't have any objection if I contact Dr. Whittaker myself? Just to complete my due diligence?”

“Be my guest.” If that's all he wanted, I was in safe territory. Roger hated me with a passion, but he came from the kind of family stock that aired its dirty laundry where it belonged: in the maid's annex. I smiled to myself, anticipating just how expertly he would put an end to Jonathan's snooping. “Is there anything else you wanted to know? Like whether I sleep in my socks or drown kittens for a hobby?”

“We're just getting started. But my time today is short. I have a luncheon appointment with a member of the board in half an hour. So I'll cut to the main reason I wanted to see you.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

“You're being relieved of your duties.”