“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 country
side 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 est
imated 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.”