F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 (26 page)

 
          
With
that thought bright and warm in her mind, Gin dozed off.

 
          
Gin
was almost dressed when Gerry woke up. Dawn was moments away. He winced at the
light. She could tell he had a headache.

 
          
"What're
you doing?"

           
"Got to get home and get
showered. Surgery this morning with
Duncan
."

 
          
"At
least stay for coffee. I can put on,''

           
"I think it's better if Martha
doesn't find me here when she wakes up."

 
          
"Maybe
you're right," he said, "but I won't be getting her up for a while
yet."

 
          
"Still,
I've got to go." They embraced. She didn't want to let go, didn't want to
leave. She wanted to spend the morning with Gerry having coffee and bagels and
then making love again and showering together and then, maybe only then, think
about assisting on cosmetic surgery.

 
          
"My
place next time. We can scream and shout all we want. Nobody in Adams Morgan
notices that sort of thing." On her way home, the sun was just peeking
over the horizon and silhouetting the spire of the
Washington
Monument
as she crossed the
Arlington
Memorial
Bridge
.

 
          
Again
she worried that she was rushing things with Gerry. But no . . . this felt
right.

 
          
Does
it get any better than this? she wondered. She was assisting Duncan Lathram,
she was legislative aide to Senator Marsden on health-care matters, she was
making love to Gerry Canney. Finally, all the pieces of her life seemed to be
falling into place.

 
          
No.
It did not, could not, get any better than this.

CONSULTATIONS

            
MRS. JABLONSKY WANTED A BREAST
REDUCTION. SHE SAT topless on the examination table, lifting her large,
pendulous breasts and letting them drop . . . lifting and dropping . . .

 
          
"I'm
sixty-eight years old," she told
Duncan
. "I've had these since I was fourteen.
I used to be proud of them, but now they're quite literally a pain. They're
weighing me down, making me stoop-shouldered, giving me backaches. I want them
gone."

           
"Surely not gone,"
Duncan
said.

 
          
"No,
of course not. Just less of them. If they droop any farther I'll be able to
tuck the damn things into my waistband." Duncan laughed.

 
          
"That
doesn't sound too comfortable. We'll trim them to a more manageable size for
you. But what . . . ?" He'd noticed a large number of white and pink
lesions all over her trunk. He touched one, then another. They looked and felt
like the aftereffects of cryosurgery.

 
          
"Oh,
those. That's Dr. Suer's work. You know, the dermatologist? He's been removing
my lesions."

 
          
"Your
lesions?"

           
"That's what he calls these
things." She pointed to a halfinch area of seborrheic keratosis on her
upper arm. "He says they're not cancerous but they could change
anytime."

 
          
"These
things? He said they might turn cancerous?"

           
"Yes. And I had loads of
them."

           
Duncan
felt his jaw muscles tighten. "How
many of these lesions' has he removed?"

           
"Oh, fifty at least. He had me
coming back every week to take off a few more. We're just about done. It's been
quite a trial, but it's such a relief to know I won't have to worry about skin
cancer anymore."

 
          
"Must
have cost you a fortune."

 
          
"Oh,
no. He just billed Medicare. He accepts insurance. Not like you."

 
          
"You're
right there, Mrs. Jablonsky. I'm nothing like Dr. Suer."

 
          
He
lowered his voice and muttered, "Probably graduated from the
Ingraham."

 
          
"I
beg your pardon?"

           
"Nothing."
Duncan
ground his teeth. The medical mountebank.
Freezing off perfectly benign keratoses and billing for removal of precancerous
lesions.

 
          
What
a world. All a doctor had to do was practice straight, ethical medicine, and he
was guaranteed a decent living. But that wasn't enough for the avaricious slugs
who left a trail of slime across the profession. It drove him up the wall.

 
          
Congress
had no exclusive on greed. There were doctors who deserved an implant as well.

 
          
Duncan
's thoughts began to wander a new path,
wondering if there might be a way . . .

 
          
He
shook it off. No sense in letting matters get completely out of hand.

 
          
He
scheduled Mrs. Jablonsky for surgery, then went on to the next patient. The
chart sat in a pocket on the outside of the exam-room door.

 
          
He
glanced at the intake sheet as he reached for the doorknob, and stopped. Hugh
K. Marsden. Could it . . . ?

 
          
His
gaze jumped a couple of lines down to the occupation box,
U. S.
senator.

 
          
Duncan
leaned against the doorjamb. This was too
much. The chairman himself?

 
          
Could
it be . . . was someone on to him? Was he being set up?

 
          
But
they'd never use a
U. S.
senator to try and trap him. Still . . .
hard to believe Marsden's presence was mere chance.

 
          
Well,
he'd pretend not to recognize Marsden and see how the consultation played out.

 
          
"Mr.
Marsden, " he said, entering and extending his hand. "Dr. Lathram."
Marsden's handshake was firm. And he didn't correct
Duncan
's failure to address him as Senator.

 
          
"Glad
to meet you, Doctor. You come highly recommended."

 
          
"That's
always good to hear." He pretended to glance through the medical history
on the intake form he'd already perused outside the door.

 
          
"Looks
like you've been in pretty good health. What can we do for you here?"

           
Marsden turned his head and touched
the top of the auricle of his left ear. "I have it on good authority that
this needs attending to."

           
Duncan
stepped closer and saw the pink nodule in
question He touched it, smooth, firm. He pulled an illuminated magnifying glass
from a drawer and bent for a closer look. Fine capillaries crisscrossed the
opalescent surface. A positive Tyndall effect with the light. He palpated it
again, pressing around the edges. It was bigger than he'd initially thought.

 
          
"Your
authority is a good one. You've got a basal cell carcinoma there. No risk of
distant spread, but if left to its own devices it will continue to grow and
eventuall ulcerate and bleed. My advice is to have it out now, while it's
small."

 
          
"That's
why I'm here."

           
Duncan
placed the magnifier on the counter. "Sorry.
I don't do therapeutic surgery, only cosmetic work. But I can recommend,"

           
"You were recommended."

 
          
"I
won't argue with that, but I don't do what you need . . . done."

 
          
"But
I do need a cosmetic repair. I don't want a notch out of my ear."

           
"I appreciate that, but,"

       
    
"Dr. Panzella told me you're the
best."

           
"Gin? She sent you to me?"
Why? he wondered, irritably. She should know better.

 
          
"Not
really. It. seems we have something in common, she works for each of us. She
spotted this thing on my ear, called it a lesion, and told me to have it looked
at. Since many of my colleagues on the Hill speak highly of you, and since Gin
seems devoted to you, I figure you're the man."
Duncan
's mind raced. He felt awkward. But this
explained Marsden's presence, the Gin connection.

 
          
All
right. Maybe it was time to stop playing completely dumb and move to slightly
dumb.

 
          
"Marsden
. . . " he said slowly. "Good Lord, you must be Senator Marsden.
Forgive me for not making the connection. Of course. You're chairing the",
he snapped his fingers, "the . . . "

 
          
"The
Guidelines committee."

           
"Right! The Joint Committee on
Medical Ethics and Practice Guidelines."

           
Marsden smiled. "You know the full
title. So few people do."

           
"I read a lot. You're group
has had some trouble recently, it seems."

 
          
"Yes.
Poor Harold. He's quite ill, I'm afraid."

           
"Any idea as to if or when
he'll be back?"

           
"No. No definite word
yet." Marsden was playing it close to the vest. Not revealing anything. As
he should do.
Duncan
was trying to sort out his feelings for this man. He had nothing
personal against him. If he weren't chairing a committee that had no right to
exist, he might even like him.

 
          
"A
bit of bad luck, wouldn't you say?"

          
 
"Quite a lot more than a bit. It's almost
as if some sort of curse was hanging over this committee."

           
"You don't know if any of your
members went poking into a pharaoh's tomb, do you?"

           
Marsden's smile was wan.
"You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?"

           
"Does that mean you're now out
of the Guidelines business?"

           
"Only for a little while. I'm
doing my damnedest to fill those empty seats. We should be rolling again in no
time"

 
          
"Will
you now?"
Duncan
said, feeling his jaw muscles bunch. "How interesting."

           
"But back to the matter at
hand," Marsden said. "I'd like you to do the surgery. And the reason
is, quite frankly, cosmetic. I understand you have a method that heals many
times faster than regular surgery. I need that."

           
"Do you?"

           
"Yes. Depending on the
president, the hearings could be up and running again in a matter of weeks. I
don't want to be there on national TV with a cauliflower ear, or an ear that
looks like someone took a bite out of it. You know the press. There'll be
speculation about it, and once they find out, there'll be story after story on
my skin cancer, then TV specials on the prevalence of skin cancer and how to
avoid it."

 
          
"Nothing
wrong with that."

 
          
"No.
But I don't want the press to center on me and my minor skin disorder. They
should focus on the Guidelines committee and what we're trying to do."
Just what are you trying to do?
Duncan
wanted to ask.

 
          
Marsden
continued, "With your reputed skill and accelerated healing methods, I
believe you're just the man for the job."

           
Oh, I am, Senator,
Duncan
thought. I am that.

 
          
"Very
well, Senator. Because of your connection with Dr. Panzella, who speaks very
highly of you, by the way, I'll make an exception. But I will not make an
exception about not dealing with any insurance company. You pay my outrageous
fee up front. In return you will get the finest cosmetic surgery in the world,
with absolute discretion. Ours is a doctor-patient relationship. It does not
involve Medicate, Medicaid, Blue Cross, HMOs, PPOs, IPAs, or any of the rest of
the alphabet soup. I do not fill out forms, talk to utilization committees or
quality assurance coordinators or nurse-bureaucrats insisting on a second or
third opinion. I speak to you, you speak to me. No other parties
involved."

           
Marsden's expression reflected
fascination rather than consternation. "I take it then that you're not a
participant in any of the managed-care systems."

 
          
"You're
looking at an endangered species, Senator."

           
"If you want, I can have you
put on the Department of the Interior's protected list."

           
"Too late for that, I
think."

 
          
"Well,
the sale of my company left me with a bit of money. I can afford to spend some
of it on my ear."