“Over the last two and a half years I’ve come to believe the pharmaceutical companies have more to offer the patient than the individual doctor has. I think I can do more for people if I work for Arolen than if I stay in medicine.”
Adam leaned back on the sofa. He thought what he had said sounded pretty good.
“Interesting,” said McGuire. “It sounds as if you have given this a lot of thought. However, I must tell you that our usual method of starting people like yourself is in our sales force. What the medical professional likes to call ‘detail men.’ But I don’t know if that would give you the sense of service you are seeking.”
Adam leaned forward. “I assumed that I would start in sales, and I know it would be a number of years before I could really make a contribution.” He watched McGuire for signs of skepticism, but the man continued to smile.
“One thing that I particularly wanted to ask . . .” said McGuire. “Is your father with the Food and Drug Administration?”
Adam felt the muscles of his neck tighten. “My father is David Schonberg of the FDA,” he said, “but that has no bearing on my interest in Arolen. In fact, I am barely on speaking terms with my father, so I certainly couldn’t influence his decisions in any way.”
“I see,” said Mr. McGuire. “But I can assure you that we are interested in you and not your father. Now, I would like to hear about your schooling and work experience.”
Crossing his legs, Adam began from the beginning, starting with grammar school and leading up to medical school. He described all his summer jobs. It took about fifteen minutes.
“Very good,” said Mr. McGuire when Adam had finished. “If you’ll wait outside for a few minutes, I’ll be out shortly.” As soon as the door closed, McGuire picked up the phone and called his boss, William Shelly. Shelly’s secretary answered, and McGuire told Joyce to put the VP on the line.
“What is it?” asked Bill Shelly, his voice crisp and commanding.
“I just finished interviewing Adam Schonberg,” said Mr. McGuire, “and you were right. He is David Schonberg’s son, and he’s also one of the best candidates I’ve seen in five years. He’s perfect Arolen executive material, right down to his philosophies about current medical practice.”
“Sounds good,” agreed Bill. “If he works out, you’ll get a bonus.”
“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for finding him,” said Clarence. “The kid called me.”
“You’ll get the bonus just the same,” said Bill. “Give him some lunch and then bring him up to my office. I’d like to talk with him myself.”
Clarence hung up the phone and returned to the waiting area outside his office. “I just spoke with the vice-president in charge of marketing who is my boss and he’d like to talk with you after lunch. What do you say?”
“I’m flattered,” said Adam.
• • •
Jennifer turned away from the window in Cheryl’s room and looked at her friend. She seemed almost angelic with her white skin and freshly washed blond hair. The tranquilizer that she’d been given had obviously taken effect. Cheryl was asleep, her head comfortably elevated on a pillow.
Jennifer didn’t know what to do. Cheryl had been brought back from the treatment room and told about Dr. Foley’s death. Marlene Polaski had tried to convince Cheryl that Dr. Stephenson was as good a doctor as Dr. Foley and that Cheryl should go ahead and have the procedure done. She reminded Cheryl that every day that passed made the abortion more risky.
Jennifer eventually had agreed with Marlene and had tried to change Cheryl’s mind, but the girl continued to insist that no one was going to touch her except Dr. Foley. It was as if she refused to believe the man had committed suicide.
Staring at the still form on the bed, Jennifer noticed that her friend’s eyes were slowly opening.
“How do you feel?”
“Fine,” said Cheryl sleepily.
“I think I should be going,” said Jennifer. “I’ve got to get dinner ready before Adam gets home. I’ll give you a call later. I can come back tomorrow if you’d like. Are you sure you don’t want Dr. Stephenson to do the procedure?”
Cheryl’s head lolled to the side. When she spoke, her words were slurred. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you exactly.”
“I said I think I’ll be going,” said Jennifer, smiling in spite of herself. “Did they give you some champagne before they brought you back here? You sound drunk.”
“No champagne,” murmured Cheryl as she fumbled with the bed covers. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.” Cheryl threw back the blanket, inadvertently jerking the IV line that was still attached to her left arm.
“I think you’d better stay where you are,” said Jennifer. Her smile disappeared, and she felt the initial stirring of fear. She reached out to restrain Cheryl.
But Cheryl already had her legs over the side of the bed and was pushing herself up into a shaky sitting position. At that point she noticed that she had pulled out her IV and was bleeding from the spot where the tube had entered her arm.
“Look what I did,” Cheryl said. She pointed to the IV and in doing so, lost her balance.
Jennifer tried to grab her shoulders, but in a limp, fluid movement, Cheryl slipped off the bed onto the floor. All Jennifer could do was to ease her down. She ended up bent double, her face resting on her knees.
Jennifer didn’t know what to do: call for help or lift Cheryl. Since Cheryl was in such an unnatural position, she decided to help her back to bed and then get the nurses, but when she raised Cheryl’s arms, all she saw was blood.
“Oh God!” she cried. Blood was pouring from Cheryl’s nose and mouth. Jennifer turned her on her back and noted that the skin around her eyes was black and blue, as if she’d been beaten. There was more blood on her legs, coming from beneath the hospital gown.
For a few seconds Jennifer was paralyzed. Then she lunged for the nurse’s call button and pressed it repeatedly. Cheryl still had not moved. Abandoning the call button, Jennifer dashed to the door and frantically called for help. Marlene appeared almost immediately and pushed past Jennifer, who flattened herself against the wall of the corridor, her hands pressed to her mouth. Several other hospital nurses rushed into the room. Then someone ran out and issued an emergency page over the previously silent PA system.
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.