Robin Cook - Contagion

“I hope you reassured him we’re both normal,” Jack said.

“Don’t be impertinent on top of everything else,” Bingham said.

“To tell you the honest truth,” Jack said, “I haven’t the slightest idea why the administrator got upset. Maybe the pressure of this plague episode has gotten to everybody over there, because they’re all acting weird.”

“So now everyone seems weird to you,” Bingham said.

“Well, not everyone,” Jack admitted. “But there’s something strange going on, I’m sure of it.”

Bingham looked up at Calvin, who shrugged and rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand what Jack was talking about. Bingham’s attention returned to Jack.

“Listen,” Bingham said. “I don’t want to fire you, so don’t make me. You’re a smart man. You have a future in this field. But I’m warning you, if you willfully disobey me and continue to embarrass us in the community, I’ll have no other recourse. Tell me you understand.”

“Perfectly,” Jack said.

“Fine,” Bingham said. “Then get back to your work, and we’ll see you later in conference.”

Jack took the cue and instantly disappeared.

For a moment Bingham and Calvin remained silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

“He’s an odd duck,” Bingham said finally. “I can’t read him.”

“Nor can I,” Calvin said. “His saving grace is that he is smart and truly a hard worker. He’s very committed. Whenever he’s on autopsy, he’s always the first one in the pit.”

“I know,” Bingham said. “That’s why I didn’t fire him on the spot. But where does this brashness come from? He has to know it rubs people the wrong way, yet he doesn’t seem to care. He’s reckless, almost self-destructive, as he admitted himself yesterday. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Calvin said. “Sometimes I get the feeling it’s anger. But directed at what? I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve tried to talk with him a few times on a personal level, but it’s like squeezing water out of a rock.”

Terese and Colleen climbed out of the cab on Second Avenue between Eighty-ninth and Eighty-eighth streets a few doors away from Elaine’s and walked to the restaurant. They couldn’t get out right in front because of several limos inconveniently double-parked.

“How do I look?” Colleen asked as they paused under the canvas awning. She’d pulled off her coat for Terese’s inspection.

“Too good,” Terese said, and she meant it. Colleen had discarded her signature sweatshirt and jeans for a simple black dress that revealed her ample bust to perfection. Terese felt dowdy by comparison. She still had on her tailored suit that she’d worn to work that day, not having found time to go home to change.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Colleen admitted.

“Relax,” Terese said. “With that dress Dr. McGovern doesn’t stand a chance.”

Colleen gave their names to the maître d’ who immediately indicated recognition. He motioned for the women to follow him. He started to the rear.

It was an obstacle course of sorts to weave among the densely packed tables and scurrying waiters. Terese had the sensation of being in a fishbowl. Everyone, male and female alike, gave them the once-over as they passed.

The men were at a tiny table squeezed into the far corner. They got to their feet as the women approached. Chet held out Colleen’s chair. Jack did the same for Terese. The women draped their coats over the backs of the chairs before sitting down.

“You men must know the owner to have gotten such a great table,” Terese said.

Chet, who misinterpreted Terese’s remark as a compliment, bragged he’d been introduced to Elaine a year previously. He explained she was the woman seated at the cash register at the end of the bar.

“They tried to seat us up in the front,” Jack said. “But we declined. We thought you women wouldn’t like the draft from the door.”

“How thoughtful,” Terese said. “Besides, this is so much more intimate.”

“You think so?” Chet questioned. His face visibly brightened. They were, in reality, packed in like proverbial sardines.

“How could you question her?” Jack asked Chet. “She’s so sincere.”

“All right, enough!” Chet said good-naturedly. “I might be dense, but eventually I catch on.”

They ordered wine and appetizers from the waiter who’d immediately appeared after the women had arrived. Colleen and Chet fell into easy conversation. Terese and Jack continued to be teasingly sarcastic with each other, but eventually the wine blunted their witticisms. By the time the main course was served, they were conversing congenially.

“What’s the inside scoop on the plague situation?” Terese asked.

“There were two more deaths at the General,” Jack said. “Plus a couple of febrile nurses are being treated.”

“That was in the morning news,” Terese said. “Anything new?”

“Only one of the deaths was actually plague,” Jack said. “The other resembled plague clinically, but I personally don’t think it was.”

Terese stopped a forkful of pasta midway to her mouth. “No?” she questioned. “If it wasn’t plague, what was it?”

Jack shrugged. “I wish I knew,” he said. “I’m hoping the lab can tell me.”

“The Manhattan General must be in an uproar,” Terese said. “I’m glad I’m not a patient there now. Being in the hospital is scary enough under the best of circumstances. With the worry of diseases like plague around, it must be terrible.”

“The administration is definitely agitated,” Jack said. “And for good reason. If it turns out the plague originated there, it will be the first modern episode of nosocomial plague. That’s hardly an accolade as far as the hospital is concerned.”

“This concept of nosocomial infections is new to me,” Terese said. “I’d never thought much about it before you and Chet talked about this current plague problem last night. Do all hospitals have such problems?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “It’s not common knowledge, but usually five to ten percent of hospitalized patients fall victim to infections contracted while they are in the hospital.”

“My God!” Terese said. “I had no idea it was such a widespread phenomenon.”

“It’s all over,” Chet agreed. “Every hospital has it, from the academic ivory tower to the smallest community hospital. What makes it so bad is that the hospital is the worst place to get an infection because many of the bugs hanging out there are resistant to antibiotics.”

“Oh, great!” Terese said cynically. After she thought for a moment she asked, “Do hospitals differ significantly in their infection rates?”

“For sure,” Chet said.

“Are these rates known?” Terese said.

“Yes and no,” Chet said. “Hospitals are required by the Joint Commission of Accreditation to keep records of their infection rates, but the rates aren’t released to the public.”

“That’s a travesty!” Terese said with a surreptitious wink at Colleen.

“If the rates go over a certain amount the hospital loses its accreditation,” Chet said. “So all is not lost.”

“But it’s hardly fair to the public,” Terese said. “By not having access to those rates people can’t make their own decisions about which hospitals to patronize.”

Chet opened his hands palms up like a supplicant priest. “That’s politics,” he said.

“I think it’s awful,” Terese said.

“Life’s not fair,” Jack said.

After dessert and coffee Chet and Colleen began campaigning to go someplace where there was dancing, like the China Club. Both Terese and Jack were disinclined. Chet and Colleen tried their best to change their minds, but they soon gave up.