In one corner was a Polaroid camera on a tripod. In another was a drafting table, set under a bright fluorescent light. A man with a shiny bald head sat at the table. He was wearing one of those green visors Adam remembered seeing on cardplayers in old westerns.
The thin man spoke. “This kid wants a driver’s license and a passport for sixty bucks.”
“What name?” asked the man with the green visor.
Adam quickly gave Smyth’s name, address, birth date, and social security number.
There was no more talk. Adam was positioned behind the Polaroid camera and several pictures were taken. Next, the man with the green visor went over to the drafting table and began to work. The thin man leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.
Ten minutes later Adam walked back through the store, clutching his phony IDs. He didn’t open them until he reached the car, but when he did he found they looked entirely authentic. Pleased, he turned the car toward the Village. He had only an hour or so to pack.
When he reached the apartment, he was surprised to find the police lock unengaged. He pushed open the door and saw Jennifer and her mother.
“Hi,” he said, quite amazed. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I was hoping to catch you before you went to Puerto Rico,” said Jennifer.
“I’m not going to Puerto Rico,” said Adam.
“I don’t think you should be going anyplace,” said Mrs. Carson. “Jennifer has had a shock and she needs your support.”
Adam put his things on the desk and turned to Jennifer. She did look pale.
“What’s the matter?” asked Adam.
“Dr. Vandermer gave her some bad news,” replied Mrs. Carson.
Adam did not take his eyes from Jennifer’s face. He wanted to tell Mrs. Carson to shut up, but instead he stood directly in front of his wife. “What did Dr. Vandermer say?” he asked gently.
“The amniocentesis was positive. He said our baby is severely deformed. I’m so sorry, Adam. I think I’ll have to have an abortion.”
“That’s impossible,” said Adam, slamming his fist into his palm. “It takes weeks to do the tissue cultures after an amniocentesis. What the hell is wrong with this Vandermer?”
Adam strode to the phone.
Jennifer burst into tears. “It’s not Dr. Vandermer’s fault,” she sobbed, explaining that the abnormality was so severe that tissue cultures weren’t needed.
Adam hesitated, trying to remember what he’d read. He couldn’t recall any cases where tissue culture wasn’t needed.
“That’s not good enough for me,” he said, putting through a call to the Julian Clinic. When he asked for Dr. Vandermer, he was put on hold.
Mrs. Carson cleared her throat. “Adam, I think that you should be more concerned about Jennifer’s feelings than about Dr. Vandermer.”
Adam ignored her. The Julian Clinic operator came back on the line and told Adam that Dr. Vandermer was doing a procedure but would call back. Adam gave his name and number and then dropped the receiver into its cradle.
“This is crazy,” he mumbled. “I had a strange feeling about the Julian Clinic. And Vandermer . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“I think the Julian Clinic is one of the finest hospitals I’ve ever been in,” said Mrs. Carson. “And except for my own doctor, I’ve never met a more caring man than Dr. Vandermer.”
“I’m going over there,” said Adam, ignoring his mother-in-law. “I want to talk to him in person.” Picking up his keys, Adam strode toward the door.
“What about your wife?” demanded Mrs. Carson.
“I’ll be back.” Then he left, slamming the door behind him.
Mrs. Carson was furious. She couldn’t believe that she had originally favored the marriage. Hearing Jennifer weep, she decided it was better not to say anything. She went over to her daughter, murmuring, “We’ll go home. Daddy will take care of everything.”
Jennifer didn’t object, but when she got to the door, she said, “I want to leave Adam a note.”
Mrs. Carson nodded and watched Jennifer write a short note at Adam’s desk, then put it on the floor by the door. It said simply: “Gone home. Jennifer.”
• • •
Adam drove uptown like an aggressive New York City cabbie, pulled directly in front of the Julian Clinic, and jumped out of the car. A uniformed security guard tried to stop him, but Adam merely called over his shoulder that he was Dr. Schonberg and it was an emergency.
When he reached Gynecology, the receptionist acted as if he were expected.
“Adam Schonberg,” she said. “Dr. Vandermer said for you to wait in his office.” She pointed down another corridor. “It’s the third door on the left.”
Adam thanked the girl and went to the office she’d indicated. The room was impressive, the shelves filled with books and medical journals. Adam glanced at a row of model fetuses, feeling an uncharacteristic urge to vandalize the place. He wandered over to the desk. It was a large, inlaid affair with claw feet. On top was a pile of typed operative notes awaiting signatures.
Dr. Vandermer came in almost immediately. He was carrying a manila folder under his arm.
“Won’t you sit down?” he suggested.
“No, thank you,” said Adam. “This won’t take long. I just wanted to confirm my wife’s diagnosis. I understand you believe she’s carrying a chromosomally defective child.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Dr. Vandermer.
“I thought it took weeks to do tissue cultures,” said Adam.
Dr. Vandermer looked Adam directly in the eye. “Normally, that is true,” he said. “But in your wife’s case there were plenty of cells for us to examine directly in the amniotic fluid. Adam, as a medical student, I’m sure you understand these things happen. But as I told your wife, you’re both young. You can have other babies.”
“I want to see the slides,” said Adam, preparing himself for an argument. But Vandermer just nodded and said, “Why don’t you follow me?”
Adam began to wonder if he’d been too hasty in his judgment. The man seemed genuinely sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.
On the fourth floor Vandermer led Adam to the cytology lab. Adam blinked as they went through the door. Everything was white: walls, floor, ceiling, and countertops. At the back of the room was a lab bench with four microscopes. Only one was in use, and a middle-aged brunette woman looked up as Dr. Vandermer approached.
“Cora,” he asked, “I hate to bother you, but could you get us the slides on Jennifer Schonberg?”
Cora nodded and Vandermer motioned for Adam to sit down at a teaching microscope with dual viewing heads.
“I don’t know if you wanted to see the B scan ultrasonography or not,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but I brought it anyway.” He opened the folder he’d been carrying and handed the images to Adam.
As a medical student, Adam had not had any experience with ultrasonography, and the pictures looked like inkblots to him. Dr. Vandermer took the photo that Adam was examining, turned it over, and outlined the developing fetus with the tip of his finger. “The technique is getting better and better,” he said. “Here you can plainly see testicles. A lot of times at this age you can’t tell the sex by ultrasound. Perhaps this little guy takes after his father.”
Adam realized Vandermer was doing his best to be friendly.
The door swung open and Cora reappeared with a tray of slides. Each had a tiny cover glass over its center. Dr. Vandermer selected one that had been labeled with a grease pencil. He placed it under the optical head of the microscope, put a drop of oil on it, and lowered the oil-immersion lens. Adam sat up and looked through the eyepiece.
Dr. Vandermer explained that the specimens had been specially stained to make viewing of the chromatin material as easy as possible. He said they had to find a cell in the process of division. Finally, he gave up and asked for Cora’s assistance.
“I should have let you do this in the first place,” he said, changing seat
s with the woman.
It took Cora about thirty seconds to find an appropriate cell. By manipulating the hairline pointer, she showed Adam the chromosomal abnormality.
Adam was crushed. He had hoped the results would be ambiguous, but even to his inexperienced eye, the problem was clear. Cora continued pointing out other minor problems that had been noticed, including the fact that one of the X chromosomes also appeared slightly abnormal.
Finally, Cora asked if he would like to see another case that demonstrated a more common type of Down’s syndrome.
Adam shook his head. “No, but thanks for your time.” He put both hands on the lab bench and started to rise. Halfway up he stopped. Something was wrong. He leaned forward and peered into the microscope. “Show me that X chromosome abnormality again,” said Adam.
Cora leaned forward and put her face to the eyepiece. Soon the hairline pointer moved to a pair of identical chromosomes. Cora started to explain the suspected abnormality, but Adam interrupted her.
“Are those X chromosomes?” asked Adam.
“Absolutely,” said Cora. “But . . .”
Adam again interrupted her and asked Dr. Vandermer to take a look. “Do you see the X chromosomes?”
“I do,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but like you, I can’t appreciate the abnormality that Cora is talking about.”
“I’m not concerned about the abnormality,” said Adam. “I’m concerned about the two X chromosomes. Just a moment ago on the ultrasound image you pointed out that my child is a boy. This slide we are looking at is a girl.”
Dr. Vandermer had straightened up when Adam had begun to talk. His face wiped clean of all expression.
Cora immediately turned to the microscope. “He’s right,” she said. “This slide is of a girl.”
Slowly Dr. Vandermer raised his right hand to his face. Cora flipped over the edge of the slide tray and checked the number. Then she checked the number on the slide. They matched. Getting the main register, she checked the number there. The name was Jennifer Schonberg. Looking very pale, Dr. Vandermer told Adam to wait for a moment.
“Has anything like this ever happened before?” asked Adam when the doctor had gone.
“Never,” said Cora.
Dr. Vandermer reappeared with a large man in tow. Like Dr. Vandermer, he was wearing a long white coat. Dr. Vandermer introduced him to Adam as Dr. Ridley Stanford. Adam recognized the name. He was the author of the textbook on pathology that Adam had used during his second year of medical school, and had been chief of pathology at University Hospital.
“This is a disaster,” said Dr. Vandermer after Dr. Stanford had taken a look.
“I agree,” said Dr. Stanford, his voice as emotionless as Vandermer’s. “I can’t imagine how this could have happened. Let me make some calls.”
Within a few minutes there were ten other people crowded around the microscope.
“How many amniocenteses were done yesterday?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
Cora glanced at the book. “Twenty-one,” she said.
“They all have to be repeated,” said Dr. Vandermer.
“Absolutely,” said Dr. Stanford.
Turning to Adam, Dr. Vandermer said, “We owe you a vote of thanks.” The others echoed his sentiments.
Adam felt as if a huge black cloud had been lifted from over his head. His child was not some kind of genetic monster. The first thing he wanted to do was call Jennifer.
“We would be honored if you would stay for lunch,” said Dr. Stanford. “There’s a fabulous pathology lecture on retroperitoneal tumors which you might find interesting.”
Adam excused himself and hurriedly descended to the main lobby. He couldn’t believe that in the face of the current disaster they wanted him to stay for lunch and a lecture! There was no question but the place was weird. Passing the front door en route to the telephone, Adam was pleased to see that his car was still where he’d left it.
Adam first called the apartment, but there was no answer. Thinking that Jennifer might have gone home with her mother, he dialed the Englewood number, but there was no answer there, either.
After a moment’s hesitation, Adam decided to go back to the apartment. He ran out of the Julian Clinic, got in his car, and started for home.
His excitement at the good news was beginning to give way to a heightened sense of uneasiness about the Julian Clinic and Dr. Vandermer. It had been only a lucky break that he’d noticed the discrepancy. What if he hadn’t and Jennifer had had an abortion!
Adam felt all his anxieties return in a rush. He’d narrowly averted one catastrophe, but unless he could get Jennifer to switch from both Vandermer and the clinic, there might be more. For a while he’d abandoned the thought of the Arolen cruise. Now it looked again as if it might be the only way to get the evidence to prove Vandermer was dangerous. Adam looked at his watch. It was twelve-twenty. Still time to make the Fjord by six o’clock.
Reaching his apartment door, Adam was disappointed to find the police lock engaged. He found Jennifer’s impersonal note and decided to call Englewood once again. He was pleased when Jennifer answered instead of her mother.
“I’ve got good news and bad.”
“I’m in no mood to play games,” said Jennifer.
“The good news is that they got your specimen mixed up at the clinic. Someone else’s baby has the bad chromosomes. They mixed up the slides.”
For a moment Jennifer was afraid to ask if Adam were telling the truth or if this were just some sort of plot to make her lose faith in Vandermer. The news seemed too good to be true.
“Jennifer, did you hear me?”
“Is it true?” asked Jennifer tentatively.
“Yes,” said Adam, and he described how he’d noticed the discrepancy in relation to the sex of the cell.
“What did Dr. Vandermer say?” asked Jennifer.
“He said that all the amniocenteses done that day have to be repeated.”
“Is that the bad news you were referring to?” asked Jennifer.
“No,” said Adam. “The bad news is that I’m still going out of town, unless you promise me something.”
“What do I have to promise?” asked Jennifer skeptically.
“Promise to see Dr. Wickelman for the remainder of your pregnancy and stop taking pregdolen.”
“Adam . . .” said Jennifer, drawing out his name impatiently.
“I’m more convinced than ever that there is something strange about the Julian Clinic,” said Adam. “If you agree to see Dr. Wickelman, I’ll promise not to interfere with anything he suggests.”
“Mistakes happen every day in hospitals,” said Jennifer. “Just because one happened at the Julian Clinic doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go there. It seems like the ideal place to have my baby now that I’ve gotten over that episode with Cheryl Tedesco. I like the people there and the atmosphere.”
“Well,” said Adam. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Where are you going?” asked Jennifer.
“I’d rather not say,” said Adam.
“Under the circumstances,” said Jennifer, “don’t you think that you should stay here? Adam, I need you.”
“That’s a little hard to believe with you at your parents’ and me alone in the apartment. I’m sorry, but I have to run. I love you, Jennifer.”
Adam hung up and called Eastern Airlines before he had time to have second thoughts. He booked a seat on a flight leaving for Miami from LaGuardia in forty-eight minutes.
Adam got his small Samsonite suitcase from the closet and began packing. Just as he was cramming in his toilet articles, the phone rang. Adam reached out his hand, but then, for once in his life, ignored the sound. Even a minute’s delay would make him miss his flight.
• • •
Jennifer waited, letting the phone ring on and on. Finally, she hung up. Right after speaking with Adam, she’d decided that she’d be willing to see this Dr. Wickelman if it meant so much to Adam. She could at least give the man
a chance, and if she didn’t feel comfortable with him, she could always go back to Dr. Vandermer. But Adam had apparently left. Jennifer felt abandoned. Before she took her hand off the receiver, the phone rang again. Hoping it was Adam, she picked it up before the first ring was complete. It was Dr. Vandermer.
“I assume you have heard the good news.”
“Yes, Adam just told me,” said Jennifer.
“We are very grateful to your husband,” said Dr. Vandermer. “It is unusual for someone to notice a secondary abnormality in the face of an overwhelmingly positive finding.”
“So it is true that I am not carrying a defective child,” said Jennifer.
“I’m afraid I can’t go so far as to say that,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Unfortunately, we have no idea of the result of your amniocentesis. We’ll have to repeat the procedure. I’m terribly sorry this happened. There were twenty people besides yourself who had amniocentesis that day, and all of them have to be repeated. Obviously it will be done at the clinic’s expense.”
“When do you want to repeat the test?” asked Jennifer. She appreciated Dr. Vandermer’s willingness to accept responsibility even though the error was undoubtedly made by someone in the lab.
“As soon as possible,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Remember, we are up against a time constraint if there really is a problem.”
“How about if I get back to you in the morning?” said Jennifer.
“That will be fine. There’s no rush, but the sooner we do it, the better.”
CHAPTER
12
The flight to Miami was uneventful. As soon as Adam was airborne, he removed his own driver’s license from his billfold and replaced it with Smyth’s. Then he studied the addresses in the passport. If someone asked him where he lived, he wanted to be able to rattle it off by heart.
The plane landed at five minutes after four, and since Adam had carried his luggage aboard, he was at the taxi stand by four-fifteen. The taxi was an old broken-down Dodge station wagon and the driver spoke only Spanish, but he recognized the name of the Fjord and understood that Adam was going on a cruise.