Robin Cook - Mindbend

Suddenly his roving gaze stopped short at a small man with dark curly hair dressed in a black raincoat. He was standing by the entrance with his hands thrust into his pockets. Plain, wire-rimmed eyeglasses rested on his aquiline nose.

Adam turned away, thinking his eyes were playing a trick on him. Then he slowly turned to look at the man again. There was no doubt. It was his father.

Adam spent the rest of the ceremony in a state of shock. When the formalities were concluded and the reception had begun, he pushed his way toward the door where the man was standing. It was his father all right.

“Dad?” said Adam.

Dr. Schonberg turned around. He was holding a shrimp on the end of a toothpick. There was no smile on his lips or in his eyes.

“What a surprise,” said Adam, unsure how to act. He was flattered that his father had come, but nervous too.

“So it is true,” said Dr. Schonberg sternly. “You’re working for Arolen Pharmaceuticals!”

Adam nodded.

“What happened to medical school?” asked Dr. Schonberg angrily. “What am I going to say to your mother? And after I went to such lengths to be sure you would be admitted!”

“I think my A average had something to do with that,” said Adam. “Besides, I’ll go back. I’ve just taken a leave of absence.”

“Why?” demanded Dr. Schonberg.

“Because we need the money,” said Adam. “We are going to have a child.”

For a moment Adam thought he saw a softening in his father’s expression. Then Dr. Schonberg was looking about the room with distaste. “So you have allied yourself with this…” He gestured at the sumptuously appointed hall. “Don’t tell me you are unaware that business interests are trying to take over the medical profession.”

“Arolen provides a public service,” said Adam defensively.

“Spare me,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I’m not interested in their propaganda. The drug houses and the holding companies that control them are out to make money like any other industry, yet they waste millions of PR dollars trying to convince the public otherwise. Well, it is a lie. And to think that my own son has become a part of it and because of that girl he married…”

“Her name is Jennifer,” snapped Adam, feeling the blood rise to his face.

“Dr. David Schonberg.” Bill Shelly had come up behind Adam, champagne glass in hand. “Welcome to Arolen. I’m sure you are as proud of your son as we are. My name is Bill Shelly.”

Dr. Schonberg ignored the hand. “I know who you are,” he said. “And to be perfectly honest, I am appalled rather than proud to see my son here. The only reason I responded to your invitation was to make certain that Arolen is not expecting any special considerations because Adam here has joined your organization.”

“Dad,” sputtered Adam.

“I’ve always appreciated honesty,” said Bill, withdrawing his hand, “and I can assure you that we did not hire Adam because his father is with the FDA.”

“I hope that is true,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I wouldn’t want you to think that Arolen will have an easier time getting new drugs approved.”

Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Schonberg tossed his shrimp into a wastebasket and pushed through the crowd toward the door.

Adam shook his head in disbelief. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Bill Shelly.

“There is no need to apologize,” interrupted Bill. “You’re not responsible for your father’s beliefs. He’s had lots of experience with the less honest companies in our field. I’m only sorry that he’s not had enough contact with Arolen to appreciate the difference.”

“That may be true,” said Adam, “but it still does not excuse his behavior.”

“Maybe someday we could convince your father to take one of the Arolen Conference Cruises. Have you heard of them?”

Adam nodded, remembering Percy Harmon. He had not thought about the man for over a month, but now Adam wondered why the genial rep had not kept in touch as he’d promised.

“We’ve invited your father many times,” continued Bill. “Not only on the cruise, but also to visit our research facilities in Puerto Rico. Perhaps you might be able to talk him into accepting our invitation. I’m certain that if he did, his opinion about Arolen would change.”

Adam forced a laugh. “At this point in my life I couldn’t talk my father into accepting a free Rembrandt painting. We’re barely on speaking terms. Frankly, I was shocked to see him here today.”

“That’s a shame,” said Bill. “We’d love your father to be one of our featured lecturers. You know that the seminars have the best reputation in the country. And, of course, all your father’s expenses would be paid if he agreed to speak.”

“Sounds like you should try to appeal to my mother,” laughed Adam.

“Spouses are not invited,” said Bill as he guided Adam toward the champagne table.

“Why not?” asked Adam, taking a drink.

“The cruises are strictly academic,” said Bill.

“Yeah, sure,” said Adam.

“I mean it,” said Bill. “The cruises are sponsored by Arolen, but they are run by MTIC. The only reason the company chose a ship was to keep the doctors from their usual interruptions: no telephone, no patients, and no stockbrokers. Each cruise concentrates on a particular clinical or research topic, and we invite the top men in each field to lecture. The quality of the seminars is really superb.”

“So the ship just goes out to sea and anchors?” asked Adam.

“Oh, no,” said Bill. “The ship leaves from Miami, travels to the Virgin Islands, then to Puerto Rico, then back to Miami. Some of the guests, usually the lecturers, disembark in Puerto Rico to visit our research institute.”

“So it’s all work and no play. Not even any gambling?”

“Well, just a little gambling,” admitted Bill with a smile. “Anyway, your father would enjoy the experience, so if you have any influence as far as that might be concerned, you might try to use it.”

Adam nodded, but he was still thinking about Percy Harmon. He’d seemed so sincere that Adam was surprised that he’d not called. He was about to ask Shelly when the rep had left Manhattan, but Bill was saying, “Have you given any more thought to our managerial training offer?”

“To tell the truth,” said Adam, “I’ve been completely absorbed by the sales course. But I promise to think about it.”

“Do that,” said Bill, his eyes gleaming over the rim of his champagne glass.

Later that afternoon Adam was in McGuire’s office, going over his sales territory. “You’ll be taking over Percy Harmon’s area,” said McGuire. “Normally we’d assign a more experienced rep, but as you know we have great confidence in you. Here, let me show you.”

Clarence opened up a map of Manhattan with a large portion of the east side outlined in yellow marking pencil. It started at Thirty-fourth Street and ran north, bounded on the west by Fifth Avenue and on the east by the river. Adam was disappointed that it did not include his medical center, but New York Hospital, Mount Sinai, and the Julian Clinic were within the border.

As if reading Adam’s mind, Clarence said, “Of course you understand that you are not responsible for hospitals or large health maintenance organizations like the Julian Clinic.”

“Why not?” questioned Adam.

“You are eager!” Clarence laughed. “But I can assure you that you will be busy enough with the private MDs in your area. All hospitals are handled by the main office.”

“The Julian Clinic is more than a hospital,” said Adam.

“That’s true,” said Clarence. “In fact, there is a special relationship between Arolen and the Julian, since both are controlled by MTIC. Consequently, the Julian provides Arolen with direct access to clinical information, and Arolen provides the Julian with special educational opportunities.”