Robin Cook - Contagion

“Is that part of that long story you alluded to?” Jack asked.

“That’s the one,” Laurie said. “I came this close to being fired.” She held up her thumb and index finger about a quarter inch apart. “It was all because I didn’t take Bingham’s threats seriously. Don’t make the same mistake.”

As soon as Laurie had gone Chet wanted a verbatim recounting of everything Bingham had said. Jack related what he could remember, including the part about the mayor and the Commissioner of Health calling Bingham to complain about him.

“The complaints were about you specifically?” Chet asked.

“Apparently,” Jack said. “And here I was being the Good Samaritan.”

“What in God’s name did you do?” Chet asked.

“I was just being my usual diplomatic self,” Jack said. “Asking questions and offering suggestions.”

“You’re crazy,” Chet said. “You almost got yourself fired for what? I mean, what were you trying to prove?”

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” Jack said.

“I don’t understand you,” Chet said.

“That seems to be a universal opinion,” Jack said.

“All I know about you is that you were an ophthalmologist in a former life and you live in Harlem to play street basketball. What else do you do?”

“That about sums it up,” Jack said. “Apart from working here, that is.”

“What do you do for fun?” Chet asked. “I mean, what kind of social life do you have? I don’t mean to pry, but do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, not really,” Jack said.

“Are you gay?”

“Nope. I’ve just sorta been out of commission for a while.”

“Well, no wonder you’re acting so weird. I tell you what. We’re going out tonight. We’ll have some dinner, maybe have a few drinks. There’s a comfortable bar in the neighborhood where I live. It will give us time to talk.”

“I haven’t felt like talking much about myself,” Jack said.

“All right, you don’t have to talk,” Chet said. “But we’re going out. I think you need some normal human contact.”

“What’s normal?” Jack questioned.

Chet turned out to be extraordinarily resolute. No matter what Jack said, he insisted that they have dinner together. Finally Jack relented, and just before eight he’d ridden his bike across Central Park to meet Chet in an Italian restaurant on Second Avenue.

After dinner Chet had been equally insistent about Jack’s accompanying him for a few drinks. Feeling beholden to his officemate since Chet had insisted on paying for the dinner, Jack had gone along. Now, as they mounted the steps to the bar, Jack was having second thoughts. For the past several years he’d been in bed by ten and up by five. At ten-fifteen after a half bottle of wine, he was fading fast.

“I’m not sure I’m up for this,” Jack said.

“We’re already here,” Chet complained. “Come on in. We’ll just have one beer.”

Jack leaned back to look at the facade of the bar. He didn’t see a name. “What’s this place called?” he asked.

“The Auction House,” Chet said. “Get your ass in here.” He was holding open the door.

To Jack the interior looked vaguely like his grandmother’s living room back in Des Moines, Iowa, except for the mahogany bar itself. The furniture was an odd mishmash of Victorian, and the drapes were long and droopy. The high ceiling was brightly colored embossed tin.

“How about sitting here,” Chet suggested. He pointed toward a small table set in the window overlooking Eighty-ninth Street.

Jack complied. From where he was sitting Jack had a good view of the room, which he now noted had a high-gloss hardwood floor, not the usual for a bar. There were about fifty people in the room either standing at the bar or sitting on the couches. They were all well dressed and appeared professional. There was not one backward baseball cap in the group. The mix was about even between male and female.

Jack mused that perhaps Chet had been right to have encouraged him to come out. Jack had not been in such a “normal” social environment in several years. Maybe it was good for him. Having become a loner carried its burdens. He wondered what these attractive people were saying to one another as their easy conversations drifted back to him in a babble of voices. The problem was he had zero confidence he could add to any of the discussions.

Jack’s eyes wandered to Chet, who was at the bar, supposedly getting them each a beer. Actually he was in a conversation with a well-endowed, long-haired blonde in a stylish sweatshirt over tight jeans. Accompanying her was a svelte woman in a revealingly simple dark suit. She was not participating in the conversation, preferring to concentrate on her glass of wine.

Jack envied Chet’s outgoing personality and the ease with which he indulged in social intercourse. During dinner he’d spoken of himself with utter ease. Among the things Jack learned was that Chet had recently broken off a long-term relationship with a pediatrician and hence was what he called “in between” and available.

While Jack was eyeing his officemate, Chet turned toward him.

Almost simultaneously the two women did the same, and then they all laughed. Jack felt his face flush. They were obviously talking about him.

Chet broke away from the bar and headed in Jack’s direction. Jack wondered if he should flee or merely dig his fingernails into the tabletop. It was obvious what was coming.

“Hey, sport,” Chet whispered. He purposefully positioned himself directly between Jack and the women. “See those two chicks at the bar?” He pointed into his own abdomen to shield the gesture from his new acquaintances. “What do you think? Pretty good, huh? They’re both knockouts and guess what? They want to meet you.”

“Chet, this has been fun, but…” Jack began.

“Don’t even think about it,” Chet said. “Don’t let me down now. I’m after the one in the sweatshirt.”

Sensing that resistance would have required considerably more energy than capitulation, Jack allowed himself to be dragged to the bar. Chet made the introductions.

Jack could immediately see what Chet saw in Colleen. She was Chet’s equal in terms of blithe repartee. Terese, on the other hand, was a foil for them both. After the introductions, she’d given Jack a once-over with her pale blue eyes before turning back to the bar and her glass of wine.

Chet and Colleen fell into spirited conversation. Jack looked at the back of Terese’s head and wondered what the hell he was doing. He wanted to be home in bed, and instead he was being abused by someone as unsociable as himself.

“Chet,” Jack called out after a few minutes. “This is a waste of time.”

Terese spun around. “Waste of time? For whom?”

“For me,” Jack said. He gazed curiously at the rawboned yet sensuously lipped woman standing in front of him. He was taken aback by her vehemence.

“What about for me?” Terese snapped. “Do you think it’s a rewarding experience to be pestered by men on the prowl?”

“Wait just one tiny second!” Jack said, with his own ire rising. “Don’t flatter yourself. I ain’t on the prowl. You can be damn sure about that. And if I were I sure wouldn’t…”

“Hey, Jack,” Chet called out. “Cool it.”

“You, too, Terese,” Colleen said. “Relax. We’re out here to enjoy ourselves.”

“I didn’t say boo to this lady and she’s jumping all over me,” Jack explained.

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Terese said.

“Calm down, you guys.” Chet stepped between Jack and Terese, but eyed Jack. “We’re out here for some normal contact with fellow human beings.”