She laughed. ‘Goodnight, Barney.’
‘And one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘You could always dye your hair a frumpy color.’
It was a foregone conclusion that Laura’s Fellowship would be renewed. To their credit the directors knew a national asset when they saw one. For Laura was moving in circles above theirs and meeting people socially whom they met only once yearly, when they pleaded poverty and begged for increased funding.
Meanwhile, Laura showed team spirit and genuinely lobbied for more NIH funding.
She was so euphoric that she did something totally unprecedented for her – she threw a party in her woefully under-furnished apartment.
Gifted though she was, Laura did not count cuisine among her many virtues. Here she relied totally upon the sage advice of Milton – of the Deli of the same name in the Silver Spring Shopping Center. On the afternoon of the festivities, he loaded his van with dips and sandwiches and cakes. Milton was even wise enough to ask if Laura had sufficient cutlery – which naturally she did not. So he brought her several dozen plastic forks and knives.
‘Now you’re set,’ Milt pronounced. ‘The only thing you have to do is make the punch, from which I know nothing – and greet the guests, from whom I also know nothing. Goodbye, good luck, and I’ll be back for all the garbage in the morning.’
‘Thank you, Milt,’ said Laura. ‘Have I forgotten anything?’
‘Yes,’ Milt answered. ‘In my humble opinion you have forgotten to get married. Goodnight.’
It occurred to Laura as she was mixing enormous quantities of punch (her laboratory expertise made her adept at measurements) that in all the time she and Palmer were man and wife, they never had a single party. Was she ever really married?
Barney, who had of course been the first to be invited, had been a fount of praise. ‘This is a real step forward for you, Castellano.’
Actually, this time even Barney did not notice the nuance. For in truth the party was not in honor of the real Laura, but rather the Public Image of Ms Laura Castellano, M.D.
Barney had arrived from New York early the morning of the party, helped Laura set up, and – since he saw her growing tense – insisted that she jog with him.
‘So who’s coming tonight that I should be especially nice to?’ he asked as they ran along.
‘I want you to be nice to everyone, Barn, because frankly I think I’ve invited everybody. We may have a thousand people if they all show up.’
‘God, wouldn’t that be something – a thousand doctors in a single room.’
‘Hey now,’ she cautioned, ‘the purpose of this affair is not to give you more material for analyzing the medical profession. It’s so I can get to see what all my colleagues are like when they’re dead drunk.’
‘Okay, that could be educational as well.’
No one will ever know exactly how many people were milling in and out of Laura’s apartment and on the lawn two floors below.
Milton’s catering had envisaged fifty. Everything was gone in the first hour. Fortunately, Laura had presumed that every guest would be a lush. The punch – its vodka content growing more predominant as her supplies of juice and ginger ale ran out – flowed endlessly.
A little after nine, Florence (the power behind the pediatrics throne) came up to Laura and shouted above the din, ‘Laura, darling, everybody’s here. You should feel flattered – even Dr Rhodes has left his laboratory for this.’
‘You mean he’s here? Paul Rhodes, the big enchilada of all the Institutes, is here in person?’
Laura had forgotten she’d been brash enough to drop an invitation at the Supreme Director’s office. And he actually had come!
She scanned the faces in her apartment, unable to find his. Then she went out to the lawn where Rhodes was holding court. When he spied her, he called out, ‘Ah Laura, what a lovely party, do come join us.’
God, she thought, in awe, he’s tipsy. One of the greatest medical minds in the world and he might fall over on my front lawn.
Surrounding him was the equivalent of his round table. Shining knights, themselves subservient only to God and Rhodes (and not necessarily in that order), they were all of middle age – except for one man in his early thirties. And notwithstanding the warm weather, all wore ties and jackets. That is, all except the younger man – who was in tennis shorts.
Laura could not help looking at him. Who, she wondered, would dare confront Paul Rhodes in sweaty tennis gear – for he had clearly come straight from the court.
Their glances met, and Laura disliked her unknown guest at once. He was one of those attractive men, muscular, brown curly hair, whose attitude showed they knew they were attractive.
‘Hello,’ he said in what he probably thought was a sexy baritone.
‘I’ve seen your picture in the papers, but I don’t believe you’ve seen mine – at least not yet. I’m Marshall Jaffe.’
‘Hi, I’m Laura,’ she said unenthusiastically.
‘Oh, please, we all know you, our hostess and the pin-up of the Institutes.’
‘Oh,’ said Laura dismissively, ‘do you work there, too?’
‘In a menial capacity,’ Marshall replied.
‘Just what is your capacity?’
‘For love? It’s endless,’ he replied.
Under normal circumstances she would have brushed him off like a mosquito. ‘Just what is it you do, Mr Jaffe?’
‘Well,’ Marshall answered slowly, ‘it’s Dr Jaffe, actually. In fact, to be precise it’s Doctor-Doctor Jaffe – M.D., Ph.D. Are you impressed?’
‘Why should I be? Almost everybody at this party’s got a double doctorate. So what’s your field-field, then?’
Marshall put his arm around the shoulder of Paul Rhodes, the Institutes’ director, and announced, ‘Paul’s just seduced me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, up until last June, I was a microbiologist at Standford. Now I’m a Senior Fellow, and that means I do just about whatever takes my fancy. Even try to build a better mousetrap. But I’d be really interested to know what you would like me to do.’
There was no doubt about it – he was an egomaniac. But he was fascinating – the way a rattlesnake is fascinating. And, if Rhodes had made him a Senior Fellow, he’d have to have the goods. He’d have to be as brilliant as he said he was.
‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, Doctor-Doctor, I have got other Doctor-Doctors’ glasses to refill.’
‘The name is Marshall. Don’t forget it, Laura.’
It won’t be for lack of trying, she thought to herself.
44
‘I’m not here, Harvey. Tell him I’m out to lunch.’
‘But it’s only nine-thirty, Laura,’ her lab mate protested.
‘I don’t care, tell him I got hungry early. Only keep that balloon-head off my back.’
Harvey transmitted Laura’s message to the caller and hung up. As he returned to his lab station he casually inquired, ‘What’s wrong with the guy, Laura? I mean, I saw him at the party and he seemed like a nice enough guy. And I guess you know what everybodys says about him.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Jaffe’s Paul Rhodes’ fair-haired boy. He’s grooming him as his successor.’
‘But he’s just a child,’ she said incredulously.
‘Yeah,’ Harvey remarked, ‘that’s what’s so amazing. The guy is maybe thirty-three at most.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Laura, thinking to herself, He’s younger than I am. And then aloud, ‘Especially since he’s got the mind of an adolescent. By the way, what was his answer when you gave him my message?’
‘He said he’d go over to the cafeteria and look for you.’
Half an hour later Marshall Jaffe was standing next to her, holding a small white paper bag.
‘Good morning, Laura,’ he said merrily.
She frowned. ‘What brings you here, Dr Wonderful?’
‘Well, it’s
obvious since the cafeteria was closed you didn’t get the breakfast you wanted, so I sweet-talked George the chef out of two cups of coffee and some rolls.’
‘Thanks. I’ll take one of the coffees,’ she replied.
‘I only brought you one, the other is for me. It’s pretty nice out – want to drink it on the steps?’
‘Look, Marshall, I don’t know about you, but I like to get some work done in the morning. So if you don’t mind—’
‘I don’t mind, Laura. But you’ll work a hell of a lot better with some carbohydrates in you, and you’ll make up for lost time. Besides, I’d like to hear how your research is going.’
Minutes later they were sitting outside in the hazy morning sun, having rolls and coffee.
‘How come you already know so much about my research?’ Laura asked.
‘Well, I work with Paul and spend at least an hour every day discussing how things are going. I happened to see your application on his desk—’
‘And you sneaked a look at it?’
Marshall was offended.
‘No,’ he said with much less flippancy than usual, ‘I may be arrogant but I’m not the Watergate type. I don’t nose around in other people’s business. If you can credit this, Miss Holier-Than-Thou Castellano, Paul gave it to me to look over and see what I thought.’
Aha, she said to herself, now he’s trying the power game with me. I can screw you with the boss.
‘And what was your opinion, Dr Jaffe?’
‘I think it’s great. I mean, it’s not that cosmically imaginative, but it’s intelligent, pragmatic. And the proof is that you’re getting good results.’
Laura had not heard the second, complimentary part of his remark, for she had fixed upon the inference that her project was not at all that original.
‘Well,’ she said, a little defensively, ‘we’re already making healthy babies out of what, even half a year ago, would have been very sick ones.’
‘I know, I know,’ Marshall protested. ‘I’m a father. I appreciate these things.’
‘Oh,’ she said, reluctant to confess – even in thought – that she was disappointed by his last remark.
‘I’m married, Laura, in case you’re wondering.’
‘I’m sure your wife appreciates how lucky she is. And of course, you’re always right there with your brilliant bibliography if it should slip her mind.’
‘We don’t discuss that sort of thing,’ he answered. His voice was strangely hollow. Then he explained simply and undramatically. ‘She’s got MS.’
‘Oh,’ said Laura, chastened. ‘I’m sorry, Marshall.’
‘Yeah,’ he sighed, ‘I’m sorry, too. It’s really worse for our two kids. I mean, Claire has long stretches of remission when she’s absolutely fine. But then that damn disease attacks again and it’s like their mommy’s gone away. Fortunately we found an old-fashioned nanny and pressed her into service. Otherwise we’d all go nuts—’
‘And so you can keep your tennis game up,’ Laura said – and was bewildered by her own sarcastic outburst.
His jaw tightened. ‘Hey, look,’ he said, ‘it’s obvious you’ve lived a cozy, insulated life. But let me tell you, smashing a ball with a racket is my tranquilizer. Because with everything I’m carrying on my shoulders, if I couldn’t sweat it out I’d probably be taking pills to freak it out. My kids both understand that I’ve just gotta have a safety valve to keep my head screwed on.’
He lowered his voice and then said un-self-consciously, ‘And Claire knows that I date.’
Laura did not know what to think. Liberated though she thought she was, she found notion that Marshall ‘cheated’ openly more than a little distasteful. And yet she had a curious admiration for his honesty.
He stood up. ‘Okay, Doctor, coffee break’s over. Let’s both go back and save the world from pestilence and athlete’s foot.’
‘Yeah,’ Laura replied, still filled with conflicting feelings. ‘See you, Marshall,’ she said blankly.
He paused and answered softly, ‘I would like that very much.’
She could not concentrate all afternoon. As usual, she blamed herself for being callous and misjudging Marshall’s brashness. And she hadn’t even acted like a true professional and asked him what his research was. Good going, Castellano, half a dozen conversations more like this and you’ll be a total creep.
Barney was almost ready to call up Fritz Baumann and ask for professional help.
Yet there was an irony to it all. In his valiant struggle to remain professionally aloof, he had succeeded too well. He had ‘suspended’ his attention to the extent that Shari was aware of his emotional involvement but not of his romantic inclinations.
He thus had created the ideal analytic environment and hastened the day when this lovely bird who had come to him broken-winged would fly off.
She had rapidly regained her artistic self-confidence and had been chosen as understudy to Odette/Odile in Swan Lake, a definite step upward – albeit backstage.
Barney could not keep from thinking that Tchaikovsky’s ballet was yet another tale of an impossible love that ends in tragedy. Although, he concluded, the lovers are united in the end – by leaving life on earth together.
Could that not also be a way for him and Shari? Could they both leave New York – and their professions – and go to some Arcadia and live forever after as two happy swans?
‘Brice,’ he reported one day at the coffeemaker, ‘if you hear shrieks from my office, call the hospital, because I think I’m on the verge of cracking up.’
‘Still the same girl?’ his colleague asked.
‘Yeah. She’s had to suspend therapy. The company’s been touring on the West Coast. And now they’re all going to Europe for the rest of the summer. Brice, what should I do?’
‘Thank God I’m not your shrink – you couldn’t afford me, anyway – but I’ll give you a little seed you might plant inside your head and see if anything blossoms …’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure you’re not just cathecting on this girl?’
Barney was offended by this suggestion. ‘Why do you think so, Brice?’
‘What matters is what you think, Barney.’
At this moment both their intercoms were buzzed.
‘Well,’ his office-mate said, smiling, ‘back to the salt mines.’
‘Did you say “back to assault minds,” Brice?’
‘No, I didn’t, but it’s valid either way.’
Even as she walked into the office, Shari Lehmann somehow seemed transformed. She had called from the coast to book a single session en route to London.
‘I feel wonderful, Dr Livingston,’ she announced. ‘And I’ll never know how to repay you. What you’ve given me is – how can I say it – a second birth.’
So I’m her mother, Barney glumly thought.
‘I guess I won’t be seeing you after this week,’ she added with a smile.
‘I know,’ he answered quietly, ‘your company is touring in Europe.’
‘Yes, but I’m not going.’
Wait, Livingston, he thought, all is not lost. Perhaps she’s leaving me-the-doctor so she can have a relationship with me-the-man.
‘I never thought a thing like this could happen,’ she continued effervescently. ‘I mean, it’s so unlike me. Up till now I’ve always been attracted to men like Leland, who would use me for a mop. But now, thanks to you, I’ve learned to know myself a little better and I’m sure I haven’t made the same mistake again.’
Barney waited. The news was either going to be very good or very, very bad. Either way he held on to his chair.
‘Kenneth is a very special man.’
‘Who?’ asked Barney.
‘Oh, I guess I’m so excited I didn’t start from the beginning. I’m in love. I could almost say for the first time. I mean that now I know that what I had with Leland sure as hell wasn’t really love. Coincidentally, he’s a doctor – professor of Neurology at Santa Barbara – Kenn
eth Glover. Have you heard of him?’
‘Mmm,’ Barney answered.
‘I know you’re thinking that I’m acting hastily. But Doctor, Ken and I have spent at least part of every day with each other for the last six weeks. That may not seem a lot by psychiatric timetables – or whatever you use to gauge these things – but I honestly feel I know him. You’d like him. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of you.’
And Barney asked himself, Why is she settling for margarine when she could have real butter? I mean, here I am, melting away.
There was a momentary pause.
‘Doctor,’ Shari said, ‘would you just this once answer a specific question? Please. Please tell me if you think I’m doing the wrong thing.’
Thank God for training, Barney thought, because I can just read out from the standard textbook farewell ceremony.
‘If we’ve really accomplished something here,’ he said, ‘then you should be able to determine what’s right for you by making contact with your inner feelings. After all, the purpose of our work was not to make you depend on me, but rather to make you independent. If you feel confident –’
‘I do, I do,’ she quickly answered. ‘But I’m glad you’re not ambivalent—’ she stopped herself and said apologetically, ‘I didn’t mean “ambivalent.” I mean if you have doubts about my judgment—’
There were still a few minutes left. But Barney rose and said, ‘I’ve always thought of you as someone basically mature, who only needed – shall we say – a little psychological first aid after a nasty crash.’
He held out his hand.
‘Good luck, Miss Lehmann.’
‘Doctor,’ Shari asked, ‘is it against the rules for me to kiss you?’
Before he could reply, it was too late. She had pecked him on the cheek.
And danced out of his life.
Barney’s and Laura’s love lives seemed like a seesaw. When she was up he was down, and vice versa.
‘Down’ was not the word for what he felt that evening. ‘Rock bottom’ came close, ‘six feet under’ might have been even more appropriate.
‘Castellano, I think I’ve lost the will to go on,’ he said melodramatically. ‘I mean, without Shari, what is there to live for?’