Robin Cook (10 page)

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.