“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.
• • •
When he got home slightly after six, he found the apartment in the same disorder in which he’d left it. His note, which said “Welcome home. I’m sorry. I love you,” was still on the floor by the door where he’d left it.
Glancing in the refrigerator, he remembered there was nothing in it, and he’d have to go out to eat. Before doing so, he dialed Jennifer’s parents’ number, hoping she’d answer.
Unfortunately, her mother answered the call. “Adam! So nice of you to call,” she said icily.
“Is Jennifer there?” asked Adam as politely as he could.
“She is,” said Mrs. Carson. “She’s been trying to call you since early this morning.”
“I’ve been working,” explained Adam, pleased that she wanted to reach him.
“Good for you,” said Mrs. Carson. “I should tell you that Jennifer had an amniocentesis test this morning. Everything went smoothly.”
Adam almost dropped the phone. “Oh my God, how is she.”
“Fine, no thanks to you.”
“Please put her on the phone,” said Adam.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Carson in a voice that suggested she wasn’t sorry at all, “but Jennifer is sleeping at the moment. When she awakens, I’ll mention that you called.”
There was a click as Mrs. Carson hung up.
Adam eyed the receiver for a moment as if it were responsible for his frustration. Controlling himself, he calmly replaced the instrument in its cradle, but the nervousness and fear that he’d felt after leaving the Julian came back in a rush. Why on earth hadn’t Vandermer mentioned Jennifer was in the clinic that morning?
CHAPTER
11
Jennifer never called, and the next morning Adam awoke still filled with anxiety. After shaving, he found himself pacing the bedroom floor. What was going on at the clinic? He was terrified at the thought of the strangely mechanical Vandermer continuing to treat Jennifer but didn’t know how to stop his wife from seeing him. If only he could figure out why the doctors changed so much after the cruises. If only he could go on one himself, maybe he’d be able to figure out a way of persuading Jennifer that Vandermer was dangerous.
Smyth had said his cruise was scheduled to leave from Miami this week. Adam wondered what would happen if he showed up instead.
“They’d tell me to get my ass off the boat,” he said out loud.
Suddenly he stopped pacing, went into the living room, and turned on the computer. By the time he got the phone hooked up to the modem, he was sure he was right.
In his usual two-fingered style, he called up Dr. Stuart Smyth’s file and was told again that the doctor was scheduled for a refresher course, a second cruise, that was to leave that very day.
Dressing quickly, Adam made up his mind. Christine had said he looked like Smyth, and he had seen the resemblance himself. He picked up the phone and dialed Miami information. When the operator answered, he requested the number for Arolen Cruises. The operator said in a nasal voice, “Sorry, but there is nothing listed under that name.”
Adam replaced the phone. Then he had another idea. This time he asked for a listing for the Fjord. No luck. There was a Fjord Travel Agency, but that didn’t sound promising.
Adam picked up his seersucker jacket and took it into the kitchen. The iron was on top of the refrigerator and he plugged it into the wall socket next to the sink. Folding a bath towel lengthwise, he put it on the kitchen card table and pressed out the jacket’s worst wrinkles. That was when he got the inspiration to call MTIC.
“There is no MTIC in the directory,” said the Miami operator, “but there is MTIC Cruise Lines.”
Elated, Adam took the number and tried to call. When a woman answered, he introduced himself as Dr. Stuart Smyth and asked if he were still expected on today’s cruise. His secretary had failed to confirm his reservation.
“Just one moment please,” said the woman. Adam could hear the faint sounds of a computer keyboard.
“Here it is,” she said. “Stuart Smyth of New York City. You’re expected with today’s OB-GYN group. You should be on board no later than 6:00 P.M.”
“Thank you,” said Adam. “Can you tell me one other thing? Do I need a passport or anything?”
“Any type of identification is fine,” said the woman. “You just need proof of citizenship.”
“Thanks,” said Adam, hanging up. How the hell was he going to get proof of Smyth’s citizenship?
For ten minutes Adam sat on the edge of the bed trying to make a decision. Except for the passport problem, the idea of impersonating Smyth on the Arolen cruise had a lot of appeal. There was no doubt in Adam’s mind that in order to change Jennifer’s impression of Vandermer he’d have to have damn good evidence of the man’s instability. Going on the cruise seemed the most promising course of action.
But could he impersonate a practicing OB man? And what if there were people on the cruise who were personal friends of Smyth? Impulsively, Adam decided he’d give it a try. What could he lose? If he ran into a personal friend of Smyth, he’d tell him that Smyth had sent him in his place. And if Arolen found him out, he’d simply say that he couldn’t function as a rep without more information. The worst they could do was fire him.
With the decision made, Adam jumped into action. His first call was to Clarence McGuire, whom he told that a family crisis would take him out of town for a few days. Clarence was instantly sympathetic, hoping that things would work out.
Adam’s next call was to the airlines to see what flight he could get to Miami. Between Delta and Eastern, he could go anytime he chose.
Finally, he worked up his courage to call Jennifer. His mouth went dry as he heard the connection go through. One ring. Another. Then Mrs. Carson picked up the phone.
Using all the graciousness he could muster, Adam said good morning and asked if he could talk with his wife.
“I’ll see if she is awake,” said Mrs. Carson coolly.
Adam was relieved when Jennifer said hello.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Adam.
“I wasn’t asleep,” said Jennifer.
“Jennifer,” said Adam. “I’m sorry about the other night. I don’t know what happened to me. But I want you to come home. The only trouble is that I have to go out of town for a few days for work.”
“I see,” said Jennifer.
“I’d prefer not to explain right now, but it is probably best for you to stay with your parents for a few more days.”
“I suppose you’re going down to Puerto Rico,” said Jennifer icily.
“No, I’m not,” said Adam.
“Where are you going?” asked Jennifer.
“I’d rather not say,” said Adam.
“Fine,” said Jennifer. “Have it your way. Incidentally, just in case you’re interested, I had the amniocentesis yesterday.”
“I know,” said Adam.
“How did you know?” asked Jennifer. “I tried calling you from seven in the morning on. You were never in.”
Adam realized that Mrs. Carson had not even told Jennifer that he’d phoned the previous evening. Getting his wife back was going to be an uphill b
attle.
“Well, you have a wonderful time on your trip,” said Jennifer coldly, and she hung up before Adam could even tell her how much he loved her.
• • •
Jennifer put down the phone wondering what could be so important that Adam would leave her at this difficult time. It had to be Puerto Rico, and yet Adam had never lied to her before.
“Anything new?” questioned Mrs. Carson.
Jennifer turned to face her parents.
“Adam is going on some kind of trip,” she said.
“How nice for him,” said Mrs. Carson. “Where is he going?”
“I don’t know,” said Jennifer. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Could he be having an affair?” asked Mrs. Carson.
“By George, he better not be,” said Mr. Carson, who lowered his Wall Street Journal and glared at the two women.
“He’s not having an affair,” said Jennifer irritably.
“Well, he’s surely acting inappropriately,” said her mother.
Jennifer got some Raisin Bran cereal and cut up a banana. Since she’d started the pregdolen, her nausea had all but disappeared. She carried her breakfast to the table and sat in front of the TV.
The phone rang again, and she leaped up, thinking it was Adam calling, having changed his mind about the trip. But when she picked up the phone, it was Dr. Vandermer on the other end.
“I’m sorry to be calling so early,” he said, “but I wanted to be certain to get you.”
“It’s all right,” said Jennifer, her stomach doing a flip-flop.
“I’d like you to come back to the clinic today,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I need to talk to you. Could you make it this morning some time around ten? I’m afraid I have surgery this afternoon.”
“Of course. I’ll be there at ten,” said Jennifer. She hung up the phone, afraid to ask what he wanted to talk about.
“Who was it, dear?” asked Mrs. Carson.
“Dr. Vandermer. He wants to see me this morning.”
“What about?”
“He didn’t say,” said Jennifer softly.
“Well, at least it can’t have anything to do with the amniocentesis,” said Mrs. Carson. “He told us the results take about two weeks.”
Jennifer dressed quickly, her mind trying to guess what Dr. Vandermer was going to tell her. Her mother’s comment about the amniocentesis test made her feel a bit better. The only other thing she could think of was that one of the blood tests had shown she was low on iron or some vitamin.
Mrs. Carson insisted on driving Jennifer to the Julian Clinic and going in with her for her appointment. They were escorted immediately to Dr. Vandermer’s new office, which smelled of fresh paint.
Dr. Vandermer stood when they entered and motioned for Jennifer and her mother to take the two chairs in front of his desk. Looking at his face, Jennifer knew that something was seriously wrong.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said in a voice that betrayed no emotion.
Jennifer felt her heart leap. All at once the room felt intolerably hot.
“Normally it takes two weeks to get the results of an amniocentesis,” said Dr. Vandermer. “The reason is that tissue cultures have to be made in order to see the nuclear material properly. Occasionally, however, the abnormality is so apparent that the free cells in the amniotic fluid tell the story. Jennifer, like your mother, you are carrying a baby with Down’s syndrome. The karyotype is of the most severe type.”
Jennifer was speechless. There had to be a mistake. She couldn’t believe that her body would deceive her and produce some sort of monster.
“Does that mean that the child won’t live more than a few weeks?” Mrs. Carson asked, struggling with her own memories.
“We believe that the infant wouldn’t survive,” said Dr. Vandermer. He walked over to Jennifer and put his arm on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news. I would have waited for the final results, but it is better for you to know now. It gives you more time to make a decision. It may not seem much consolation to you, but try to remember that you are a very young woman. You can have lots of other children and, as you mentioned yourself, this is not the best time for you and Adam to have a baby.”
Jennifer listened in shocked silence. Dr. Vandermer turned and caught Mrs. Carson’s eye.
“I think you should go home and discuss the situation with your family,” Dr. Vandermer continued. “Believe me, it’s better to come to a decision now than after a lengthy and difficult labor and delivery.”
“I can vouch for that,” said Mrs. Carson. “Dr. Vandermer’s right, Jennifer. We’ll go home and talk. Everything is going to work out fine.”
Jennifer nodded and even managed a smile for Dr. Vandermer, whose face finally revealed a trace of emotion.
“Please call me whenever you want,” he said as they left.
The two women passed through the clinic, descended into the parking garage, and retrieved their car in silence. As they drove up the ramp, Jennifer said, “I want to go home to my apartment.”
“I thought we’d go right back to New Jersey,” said Mrs. Carson. “I think your father should know about this.”
“I’d like to see Adam,” said Jennifer. “He didn’t say what time he was leaving. Maybe I can catch him.”
“Maybe we should call first,” said Mrs. Carson.
“I’d prefer just to go,” said Jennifer.
Deciding this was not the time to argue, Mrs. Carson drove her daughter downtown. When they went up to the apartment, Jennifer saw that Adam’s two suitcases were still in the closet and none of his clothes seemed to be missing. She felt reasonably confident that he had not left.
“Well, what do you want to do?” asked her mother.
“Wait and talk to him,” said Jennifer in a tone that brooked no further debate.
• • •
“I’m going to have to charge you a fee if this happens again,” teased the porter at the university information booth.
Adam took the white coat and slipped it on.
“I just can’t stay away from this place. I’m homesick.” The sleeves were two inches too short and there was a big yellow stain on the pocket. “Is this the best you can do?” he joked.
Confident in his medical disguise, Adam took the elevator to Neurology, went directly to the nurses’ station, smiled at the ward clerk, and again pulled Smyth’s chart from the rack.
All he really wanted was the information on the front sheet. Turning his back to the clerk, Adam copied down all the personal information he could find on Smyth: health insurance information, social security number, wife’s name, and birth date. That was a good start.
Returning the chart to the rack, Adam took the elevator back down to the library on the main floor. A research assistant directed him to a compendium of American physicians. Looking up Stuart Smyth, Adam checked the schools the man had attended from college through residency and was interested to note that he’d done a year of surgical training in Hawaii. Adam also memorized all of Smyth’s professional associations.
His final act before leaving the medical center was to call Christine at GYN Associates under the pretext of setting up an appointment with Baumgarten and Stens the following week. He managed to learn that Smyth was an avid tennis player, a lover of classical music, and a movie buff.
Back in the Buick, Adam drove across town and tumed right on Eighth Avenue. As he approached Forty-second Street, the city changed from office buildings and warehouses to garish movie theaters with harsh neon lights and adult bookstores advertising twenty-five-cent X-rated flicks. Streetwalkers in high-heeled sandals and miniskirts beckoned to him as he parked his car.
Adam wandered east, lingering in front of magazine stands. After many offers of drugs, he was approached by a thin man wearing one of those narrow mustaches that Adam remembered from thirties films.
“You interested in a real lady?” asked the man.
Adam wondered if a real
lady was the opposite of the kind that you had to inflate. He was tempted to ask but wasn’t sure if the thin man would appreciate his humor.
“I’m interested in some ID cards,” said Adam.
“What kind?” asked the man as if it were an everyday request.
Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a driver’s license and a voter’s registration card.”
“A voter’s registration card?” repeated the thin man. “I never heard of somebody asking for that.”
“No?” said Adam. “Well, I’m sort of new at this. I want to go on a cruise, and I don’t want anyone to know who I really am.”
“Then you want a friggin’ passport,” said the man. “When do you need it?”
“Right now,” said Adam.
“I trust you got cash.”
“Some,” said Adam. He’d been careful to lock most of his money, plus his own identification cards, into the glove compartment of the car.
“It will cost you twenty-five for the driver’s license and fifty for the passport,” said the thin man.
“Wow,” said Adam. “I only have fifty on me.”
“Too bad,” said the man. He turned and started toward Eighth Avenue.
Adam watched him for a moment, then continued walking toward Broadway. After a few steps he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Sixty bucks for both,” said the thin man.
Adam nodded.
Without another word the man led Adam back toward Eighth Avenue and into one of the many stores that were plastered with hand-lettered signs reading “Going Out of Business! Last Three Days! Everything Reduced!” Adam noticed that the “Last Three Days!” sign was brittle with age.
The store sold the usual assortment of cameras, calculators, and videotapes and a handful of “authentic Chinese ivories.” A center table supported a line of miniature Empire State Buildings and Statues of Liberty, plus coffee mugs with “I Love New York” on the sides.
None of the salesmen even looked up as the thin man led Adam through the length of the store and out the rear door. In the back of the building was a hall with doors on either side. Adam hoped he wasn’t getting himself into something he couldn’t handle. The thin man knocked on the first door, then opened it and motioned Adam into a small, dark room.