Robin Cook - Shock

Christine had remembered Joanna from the introduction the previous day in the dining room. She also had a copy of Joanna's employment questionnaire sitting on the corner of her desk.

"Come right it and sit down, Prudence!" Christine said. She removed some folders from the chair pressed up against the side of her desk. "Welcome to the Wingate."

Joanna sat as requested and eyed the office manager. She was a woman cast from a similar mold as Helen Masterson, with the same solid build and broad, spadelike hands suggesting her immediate forebears could have been farmers. She had a kind face with natural florid patches that appeared like dabs of rouge on her broad cheekbones.

In a no-nonsense manner Christine informed Joanna what would be expected of her and what her initial duties would be. As Joanna had anticipated, she would be doing data entry for billing purposes for the clinic side of the Wingate operation. She was told that her duties and responsibilities would be expanded in the near future if working at the Wingate continued to be mutually satisfactory.

"Any questions?" Christine asked.

"What is the office policy on coffee breaks?" Joanna asked. She smiled. "I suppose that sounds like asking about vacation on the first day, but I should know."

"It's a very reasonable question," Christine said. "We're not strict about coffee breaks, and we encourage people to do what's best for them. The important thing is to get your work done. Generally speaking, most people take a half hour in the morning and another half hour in the afternoon, either at one time or broken into several shorter periods. Lunch is also a half hour, but again, we're not sticklers for that."

Joanna nodded. She liked the idea of being able to take a half hour, especially if she were able to coordinate it with Deborah. That was when she'd try to get into the server room. If that didn't work, then she'd have to use the lunch period.

"I should remind you there is no smoking," Christine said. "If you do smoke, you have to go out to your car."

"I don't smoke," Joanna said. "No problem there."

"In your application it says you have a lot of computer experience," Christine said. "So I suppose we don't have to go over anything about our system. It is rather straightforward, and I know you. have spoken with Randy Porter."

"I think I'll be fine in that regard," Joanna said.

"Well, let's get you started," Christine said. "I've got a clear cubicle for you and a full in-basket."

Christine led Joanna to a work space pressed up against the common wall with the main hall. The cubicle was as far from the windows as possible. It had a standard metal desk, a file cabinet, a desk chair, a side chair, and a wastebasket. On the desk was an in-basket which was brimming, an out-basket, a keyboard with a monitor and a mouse, and a telephone. The partition walls were completely bare.

"I'm afraid it's not very cozy, Prudence," Christine admitted.

"But you are welcome to bring in any decorative items you wish to personalize the space."

"It's fine," Joanna said. She put her purse on the desk and smiled back at the office manager.

Christine then introduced Joanna to the other workers who occupied the immediately adjacent cubicles. They seemed a pleasant and hospitable group who readily reached over the chest-height dividers to shake Joanna's hand.

"Well, then," Christine said. "I think that covers the basics. Remember! I'm here to help, so just give a yell."

Joanna said she would and waved as Christine took her leave. Turning to the desk, Joanna took her cell phone out of her purse and immediately dialed Deborah's number. She got Deborah's voice mail and assumed Deborah was still going through her introduction. She left a message for Deborah to call her back whenever she had a free moment.

Next, Joanna sat down at the keyboard. After swiping her blue card through the slot, she got a window on the monitor requesting her to set up a new password. Joanna used the word Anago; it was her favorite Boston restaurant. Once on the network, Joanna spent a quarter hour checking what kind of access she had. As she had expected, it was very limited, and the donor files in which she was interested were unavailable.

At that point Joanna turned her attention to the in-basket. It was her intent to get as much of the required busywork out of the way as possible so that when she had the opportunity to get into the server room, no one would be looking for her for mundane, work-related reasons.

Joanna hadn't been working very long before she was concretely aware of how much money the clinic was able to generate, and she was looking at only a small portion of a single morning's receipts. Even without knowledge of costs, she gathered the infertility business was an enormously appealing investment.

DEBORAH NODDED EVERY SO OFTEN TO MAKE IT SEEM LIKE she was listening. She was sitting in Megan Finnigan's postage-stamp-sized office just off the main laboratory room. Shelves lined all four walls and were filled with manuals, laboratory source books, and loose stacks of papers. The laboratory supervisor was a rail of a woman with gray-streaked, mousy-colored hair that continually fell into her line of sight. Every minute and a half, with metronomic regularity, she tossed her head to whip the errant strands away from her face. The tic made it hard for Deborah to keep her eyes on the woman without reaching out, grabbing her by the shoulders, and telling her to stop.

Deborah's mind couldn't help but wander as the woman gave her a canned lecture about laboratory techniques. Deborah wondered how Joanna was making out.

"Do you have any questions?" Megan asked suddenly.

As if having been caught napping, Deborah sat up straighter. "I don't think so," she said quickly.

"Good," Megan said. "If any occur to you, you know where I am. Now I'll turn you over to one of our more experienced technicians. Her name is Maureen Jefferson. She'll be training you in nuclear transfer."

"Sounds good to me," Deborah said.

"As a final point," Megan said, "I'd like to suggest you wear more sensible shoes."

"Oh?" Deborah asked innocently. She glanced down at her high heels, which looked good despite the previous day's rigors. "You have a problem with these?"

"Let's just say they are inappropriate," Megan said. "I don't want you slipping on the tile and breaking a leg."

"I wouldn't want that either," Deborah said.

"As long as we understand each other," Megan said. She glanced briefly at Deborah's skirt, which was revealing a lot of leg, but didn't say anything. Instead she stood up, and Deborah did the same.

Maureen Jefferson was a twenty-two-year-old African American woman whose color was like coffee with a lot of cream. There was a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She wore her hair bobbed, which showed off to maximum advantage an impressive collection of pierced earrings. Her eyebrows were quite arched, giving her an expression of continual amazement.

With the introductions complete, Megan took her leave. At first Maureen didn't say anything but merely shook her head as Megan walked back down the central aisle. It wasn't until Megan disappeared into her office that Maureen turned to Deborah: "She's a piece of work, wouldn't you say?"

"She is a bit rote," Deborah said.

"My guess is she gave you her stock lecture on laboratory cleanliness."

"I'm not sure," Deborah said. "I didn't listen to too much of it."

Maureen laughed. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine, girl. What do you go by Georgina or what?"

"Georgina," Deborah said. Using the alias always made her pulse quicken.

"My friends call me Mare, like a female horse," Maureen said.

"Then Mare it is," Deborah said. "Thank you."

"Let's get down to business. I've got a double-headed dissecting microscope set up here so we can be looking at the same field. Let me get some eggs from the incubator."