Robin Cook - Mindbend

Christine Morgan was a tightly permed woman with frightened-birdlike mannerisms. She slid back the glass and asked if she could help him.

“I’m Adam Schonberg from Arolen,” he said with as big a smile as he could muster as he gave out his first Arolen business card. She returned the smile and motioned for him to come into the reception area. After he’d admired her most recent photos of DJ, Christine led him back to one of the empty examining rooms, promising that she would let the head nurse know that he was there.

Adam sat down on the stool in front of the small white desk. He eyed the examination table with its stainless-steel stirrups. It was hard to imagine Jennifer there as a patient.

Several moments later the door burst open and Dr. Clark Vandermer walked in. To pass the time Adam had pulled out a desk drawer and was casually looking at the collection of pens, prescription pads, and lab slips. Now flushing a deep crimson, he shut the drawer and stood up.

“Was there something in particular you were looking for?” asked Dr. Vandermer sarcastically. He was holding Adam’s business card and glanced back and forth between the card and Adam’s embarrassed face. “Who the hell let you in here?”

“Your staff,” managed Adam, purposefully vague.

“I’ll have to talk to them,” said Dr. Vandermer as he turned to leave. “I’ll have someone show you out. I have patients to see.”

“I have some samples for you,” said Adam quickly. “Also a Cross pen.” Hastily he fished out the pen and held it toward Vandermer who was about to tear Adam’s business card in half.

“Are you by chance related to Jennifer Schonberg?” asked Dr. Vandermer.

“She’s my wife,” said Adam eagerly, adding, “and a patient of yours.”

“I thought you were a medical student,” said Dr. Vandermer.

“That’s true,” said Adam.

“Then what the hell kind of nonsense is this?” Vandermer said, waving the business card.

“I’ve taken a leave from medical school,” said Adam defensively. “With Jennifer pregnant, we needed the money.”

“This is not the time for you people to be having a baby,” said Vandermer pedantically. “But if you are foolish enough to do so, your wife can still work.”

“She’s a dancer,” said Adam. Remembering Vandermer’s own personal problems, Adam didn’t think it fair for the doctor to offer easy solutions.

“Well, it’s a crime for you to leave medical school. And working as a detail man for a drug firm. My God, what a waste!”

Adam bit his lip. Vandermer was beginning to remind him of his father. Hoping to end the lecture, he asked Vandermer if there wasn’t something that could be done for Jennifer’s morning sickness.

“Fifty percent of my patients get morning sickness,” said Dr. Vandermer with a wave of his hand. “Unless it causes nutritional problems, it is best to treat it symptomatically. I don’t like to use drugs if I can avoid it, especially not Arolen’s pregdolen. And don’t you start playing doctor and give her any of that crap. It’s not safe, despite its popularity.”

Adam’s opinion of Dr. Clark Vandermer rose a little. He might be unpleasantly brusque, but at least he was up-to-date in his medical reading.

“As long as you are here,” said Dr. Vandermer, “you can save me a phone call. I’m scheduled to lecture next week on the Arolen Conference Cruise. What’s the latest I can board the ship in Miami?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” admitted Adam.

“Wonderful,” said Dr. Vandermer, reassuming his sarcastic tone. “Now would you come with me.”

Grabbing his briefcase, Adam followed the man out of the examination room and down the narrow corridor. After about twenty steps Vandermer stopped, opened a door, and stepped aside to allow Adam to pass. As he did, Vandermer unceremoniously thrust the Arolen business card into Adam’s hand, then closed the door behind him. Blinking, Adam found himself back in the crowded waiting room.

“Did you see the doctor?” asked Christine.

“I did indeed,” said Adam, wondering why in hell they hadn’t discussed the Arolen cruises during the sales course. If he had known the answer to Vandermer’s question, he might have been able to make his pitch.

“I told you I could get you in,” said Christine proudly.

Adam was about to ask if he could see either of the other doctors in the group, when he noticed the nameplates on the wall behind the receptionist. In addition to Vandermer, Baumgarten, and Stens, Dr. Lawrence Foley and Dr. Stuart Smyth were also listed. Adam didn’t remember seeing a Dr. Smyth in Vandermer’s file.

Reaching into his pocket, Adam pulled out the Cross pen. “Got a little surprise for you,” he said, handing it to Christine. Brushing off her thanks, he pointed to Dr. Smyth’s name. “Is he a new associate?”

“Oh, no,” said Christine. “Dr. Smyth has been an associate for fifteen years. Unfortunately, he’s very sick. But I never did see too much of him. He scheduled most of his patients at the Julian Clinic.”

Adam looked back at the nameplates. “Is this the Dr. Foley who committed suicide?”

“Yes. What a tragedy,” said Christine. “He was my favorite doctor. But we didn’t see too much of him either during the last six months. He also began scheduling his patients at the clinic.”

Christine’s comment jogged Adam’s memory. Percy Harmon had been upset that so many doctors, including Foley, were abandoning their practices to go to the Julian Clinic.

“Were you here when Dr. Foley left?” asked Adam.

“Unfortunately,” admitted Christine. “It was a nightmare because all of his patients had to be called and rescheduled.”

“Had he been on a trip before he moved?” asked Adam.

“I think so,” said Christine. “If I remember correctly he’d been to some kind of medical meeting. I think it was a cruise.”

“What about Dr. Baumgarten and Dr. Stens?” asked Adam. “Are they here today?”

“Sorry,” said Christine. “They’re both in surgery.”

“I don’t understand,” Adam said two hours later, waving his chopsticks at Jennifer. “How come you were too sick to drive out to Arolen this morning, but well enough to go shopping with your mother all afternoon?”

Jennifer lowered her eyes, pushing her stir-fried vegetables around on her plate. Earlier she had tried to explain to Adam why it was important for her to talk with her mother. But Adam had shrugged off her explanation, and now, rather than say anything nasty, she decided to say nothing at all.

Adam drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. Ever since Jennifer had learned she was pregnant, they seemed unable to talk rationally about anything. Adam was afraid that if he criticized her further, she would start to cry.

“Look,” he said, “forget about today. Let’s just enjoy dinner. You look beautiful. Is that a new dress?”

She nodded, and he guessed it was a present from her mother.

“It’s sure pretty,” he said diplomatically, but Jennifer was not to be soothed.

“The dress may be OK, but I look awful. I thought being pregnant would make me glow with femininity, but I just feel fat and unattractive.” When Adam didn’t answer, she added, “I think a lot of it has to do with this awful nausea. I don’t know why they call it morning sickness when it seems to last all day.”

Adam reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Hoping to cheer her up, he began telling her about his disastrous visit to Dr. Vandermer. While he talked, her face began to relax.

“I told you he had a dreadful bedside manner,” laughed Jennifer. “Did he say anything useful about the nausea.”