Prizes (22 page)

“I did indeed. And I didn’t believe a single one of them. You seem to be the only scientist in history who claims a hundred percent success rate. I mean, pretty soon you’ll be curing more patients than you treat.”

Robinson would not be roused to anger. The idea in medical politics was not to burn bridges, but to gather allies.

“Coopersmith,” the professor cajoled, “though our views are not the same, can’t you allow the possibility that my techniques—while different—might also be efficacious?”

Adam wondered how to handle this. It was late. But Robinson was such a crawler, he could not resist.

“Red, this isn’t like the wave and particle theories of light, which can coexist. Either you go my way—and fight an allogenic reaction by immunosuppression—or yours, which involves, to employ a cruder metaphor, using a hand grenade as a suppository.”

Robinson, sensing that he was rapidly losing ground, rose and bade his distinguished colleagues good night.

When Red was out of earshot, Al Redding addressed Adam. “Why the hell did you let him off so easy?”

“I couldn’t help it,” Adam answered. “He’s a prize asshole, but he’s incredibly sincere.” He changed the subject. “Why don’t we have one last drink? And just for a gag we could sign Robinson’s name on the check.”

“Better not,” one of the other doctors offered sheepishly. “He talked me into letting him stay in my room.”

As Adam fumbled with the key to his door, he could hear the telephone ringing persistently from within. It was Toni.

“My God,” he mumbled, slightly inebriated. “It must be nearly morning in Boston.”

“It isn’t exactly early in San Francisco either. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get you for the past three hours.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Your daughter’s in rather hot water at school,” she replied.

“How hot?” he inquired.

“Well, to give you some indication, Miss Maynard the headmistress actually made a house call this evening. It seems Heather and two friends were caught smoking in the girls’ room.”

“God,” Adam reacted angrily. “What kind of students do they have at that school?”

For a moment Toni did not reply. “That’s not the worst part,” she said somberly. “It’s true she was the youngest smoker, but Miss Maynard claims that Heather provided the cigarettes.”

He glanced at his watch. “Hey, listen, honey,” he said hastily, “these damn meetings go on for another day. Can you hold the fort till then?”

“Yes—I just don’t know if I can hold my temper.”

“Well, keep calm and get some sleep. Call me in the morning and we’ll talk again.”

Adam sat wearily on the bed, trying to decipher the enigma of Heather’s behavior. It couldn’t be coincidence that she picked the one day he was out of town to cry out for attention. He felt like calling her right now and saying he loved her.

He suppressed the urge, sensibly concluding that it
would probably be more destructive to wake her at this hour.

And then, after a few minutes, he began to see the positive side to this event. Their daughter’s misbehavior would be the ideal pretext to get some family counseling for all of them.

Lisl had long campaigned for this, believing that it would force Toni to confront her inadequacies as a mother.

And yet a part of Adam doubted that anyone could force her to do anything.

As he was brushing his teeth, he suddenly remembered his promise to call Anya. He knew she rose early, and as he started to dial he glanced at his watch. It was half past six in Boston—and she did not answer the phone.

Toni hit the roof.

“I bet that childless old witch put this into your head. I don’t want any shrinks butting into our lives,” she shouted. “We’re perfectly capable of dealing with Heather on our own—I am, anyway.”

Adam was taken aback by the vehemence of Toni’s reaction, which convinced him—if nothing had before—that their relationship needed, to put it mildly, fine-tuning.

Wisely, he waited a day and called her at the office, where—again buffered by the telephone—he convinced her that they owed it to their daughter at least to go through the motions of consulting a psychologist.

By now, having had time to reflect, Toni was more receptive to the idea. But under one condition—that the recommendation come from a full professor of psychology and not “that woman.”

Adam gladly accepted the compromise.

“Hello?” Her voice was toneless.

“Anya? It’s me—I mean, it’s Adam Coopersmith. I—”

“Oh, Doctor,” she replied, her mood immediately brightening. “It is nice of you to call.”

“I hope you didn’t think I forgot. But I tried you this morning and you weren’t in.”

“Yes, I like to schedule my hours to avoid Dmitri—so I went to work at dawn.”

Adam felt relieved that her reasons were professional and not personal. “Still, I’m late and I apologize.”

“That’s all right, a friendly voice is never late.”

“Siberian proverb?”

“No,” she answered playfully. “I just made it up myself.”

There was a sudden awkward silence, which Adam finally broke.

“I think we should have another chat as soon as possible. I don’t know my exact schedule, but may I phone you at your lab?”

“Of course.”

“Do I ask for ‘Dr. Avilov’?”

“No. Dmitri insists that because I am, for the moment, only a technician, I should merely be called Anya.” She was silent for a second, then added, with another display of levity, “At least in this case it has an advantage—there is no chance you will reach him by mistake.”

Adam laughed sympathetically. “You’re right. That’s a blessing. And, in any case, it might be prudent if I just referred to myself as ‘a friend.’ I mean, we wouldn’t want people to misunderstand.”

“No,” she agreed. “We certainly would not.”

For Heather’s sake, Adam forced himself to sit on the other side of the desk and accept the criticisms, as he viewed them, of Malcolm Schonberg, M.D.

After the initial interview, the psychiatrist deemed a weekly meeting essential, “to reestablish the lines of communication among all the parties.”

Ever the lawyer, Toni came to these sessions with a case already prepared in her own defense.

“I can’t help it, Doctor,” she pleaded. “I can’t fight the Oedipus complex. My daughter insists on Adam driving her to school.”

“Because
he
talks to me,” Heather shouted at Schonberg. “
He
actually asks me what I think about things.”

“But darling,” Toni addressed her, “I take just as keen an interest.”

“That’s bull, Mom. I admit you talk—that is, your lips move—but you interrogate me like a witness. I sometimes think you’re warming up for court.”

Again Toni turned to the arbiter. “You see, Doctor, how can I compete with this? I’m up against a perfect father.”

“He’s not perfect,” Heather acknowledged. “But at least he tries. I mean, he actually listens to what I say. I hate it when you ask me things like what all my ‘little friends’ think about the Republicans’ chances. I don’t give two screws about politics. Maybe things’ll be better if you take that Georgetown offer.”

“What Georgetown offer?” Adam interrupted, glaring at his wife.

Caught by surprise, Toni answered defensively, “It’s just come up. Heather happened to walk into the room while they were sounding me out on the phone—”

“Hey, you guys,” Heather exploded. “Why don’t you fight this out later? Right now you’re supposed to be concentrating on
me.
”

Both Adam and Toni were suddenly shame-faced, casting self-conscious glances at Dr. Schonberg.

Heather burst into tears.

As she continued to sob uncontrollably, Adam embraced her and glared at Toni.

They drove home in glacial silence. In addition to the humiliation, Adam was furious at having to learn so indirectly that Toni had been making important plans behind
his back. But he would deal with that later. For the moment, he had to make things better for his daughter.

“Hey, guys,” he said jauntily. “I just had a terrific idea. I know it’s a little while away, but why don’t we plan to go skiing during the Christmas vacation?”

Toni began to defrost. “That’s great.”

“And listen to this,” Adam continued, enormously relieved that his gesture of conciliation had garnered at least one vote. “I’ve heard about a terrific place in Canada, near Lake Huron. It has lots of cabins and a great indoor pool. It would be a long haul, but I’m willing. What about you, Heather? I could give you those diving lessons I’ve been promising.”

From the back of the car the sound of his daughter’s voice suggested that she was Daddy’s girl again.

“Oh,” she said with artless gratification, “I’d really love that, Dad.”

Adam had no illusions that his other problem would be so easily resolved.

Emotionally exhausted, Heather barely picked at her food, then went up to her room to prepare for bed.

Adam walked into the kitchen and confronted Toni. “What the hell is this Georgetown business?”

“It’s pretty flattering, really,” she replied, trying to gloss over the fact that she had kept it from him. “A visiting lecturer in Con Law just finked out on them, until the end of next term. I
was
going to talk it over with you tonight.”

“What do you mean ‘talk it over’? You’ve obviously decided yourself.”

“As a matter of fact I have. I could do the whole thing in a single day and be back the same night. I think I deserve a chance to spread my wings a little bit, don’t you? Especially since I could revive some of my flagging Washington contacts.”

“But what about Heather?” he asked, furious.

“I’ve got a lead on a fabulous nanny who’s willing to come in on her day off,” Toni replied.

“Nanny? I thought we agreed not to be parents by proxy.”

“Okay,” she said firmly, “then you can stay home every Wednesday.”

“Come on, you know that’s impossible,” he protested. “I’ve got a lab to run and patients who have unscheduled emergencies.”

“Well, she’s
our
child, you offer another solution.”

Adam paused for a moment, and then, smoldering, backed down. “Maybe we should see if this nanny’s any good.”

Mrs. Edwina Mallory turned out to be such a pleasant and efficient woman that it sometimes seemed as if their daughter actually looked forward to her Wednesday visits.

By the time Toni returned at ten-thirty
P.M.
, the gray-haired nanny would have served dinner, the kitchen would be immaculate, and Heather would be fast asleep having—rare occurrence—done all her homework.

Toni’s weekly absence afforded Adam the opportunity to have regular phone conversations with Anya. He was able to monitor her mood—and lift it when necessary.

He was sometimes tempted to propose a meeting. But then, he did not trust his feelings. Or, more accurately, he did not want to surrender to them.

One Wednesday evening in mid-October, when Mrs. Mallory was still tidying the kitchen, Toni phoned to say that she had missed the last flight back to Boston.

Irritated, Adam glanced at his watch and frowned. “Don’t tell me you gave a six-hour seminar.”

“Not a chance,” she replied good-humoredly. “But I dropped in on a cocktail party for a special guest and sort of lost track of time. I’ll stay at the Marriott and
take the first plane tomorrow. With luck I’ll be there to see Heather before she leaves for school.”

She paused and then added quietly, “Hey, I’m sorry about this.”

“Listen, these things happen,” he commented without much conviction.

Moments after he hung up, a thought suddenly struck him. Wasn’t Toni’s one-time patron, the former Attorney General, now a professor at Georgetown Law School?

At first he blamed himself for even entertaining such untrusting fantasies. After all, he had never cheated during his own solo journeys.

Nonetheless, a half hour later he found himself dialing the number of the Marriott Hotel at National Airport.

“Hello.” Toni’s voice sounded surprised.

Adam was relieved. “I’m just calling to say I miss you,” he said, in what he hoped was a convincing tone.

“Thanks, Adam,” she replied. “I’m really glad you did.”

“Anyway, I hope you won’t make a habit of this,” he cautioned. “Have you had a good dinner?”

She laughed. “Stop talking like a mother. Yes, I had soup and a sandwich in my room.”

They chatted idly for a few more minutes, then exchanging endearments, bade each other good night.

After he hung up, Adam could not help thinking that there was still the possibility that someone else might have been with her. And in a curious way, the notion suited him. For now he dialed Anya to propose a change in their plans.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m so happy it’s Wednesday night.”

“Me too. I was just wondering—if I can get Mrs. Mallory to stay, I might be able to come over and pay a personal visit. Does that sound all right to you?”

“Do you even have to ask?” she replied.

21
 

During his first three undergraduate years at MIT, Sandy Raven’s social pleasures were—to be precise—nonexistent. During summer vacations he redressed this imbalance by dedicated hedonism on the West Coast. But by the time he was a senior, he had made up his mind that he would no longer be a winter monk and a summer satyr.