Doctors (70 page)

He also had the enviable job of winning the hearts and minds of a steady stream of distinguished visitors, who were flying in and out on so-called fact-finding missions. Palmer always saw to it that whatever else they might have seen, they at least knew that a place like La Renaissance was still flourishing, so the war couldn’t be
that
bad.

He was therefore not surprised when upon arrival in HQ one morning, there was a message for him to call the chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee.

“Will you get Senator Forbes on the phone for me?” Palmer asked Marie-Claire, his Eurasian secretary. “I’ll take it in my office.”

“No, Major. He specifically requested that you use one of the ‘safe’ phones. It must be something of a high security nature.”

As he walked toward the soundproof room where the “scrambler” phone was kept, Palmer took a cursory glance at the message she had handed him—it was the Senator’s home, not his office, that Palmer was to contact urgently.

The call went through in a matter of seconds.

“Hello, Senator, this is Palmer Talbot in Saigon.”

“Oh, Palmer, good man. Thanks for calling. I guess it’s already tomorrow where you are.”

“Yes, sir. May I be of help to you, Senator?”

“Matter of fact, you can, Major. You can do me an enormous favor.”

“What’s that, sir?”

The Senator paused momentarily and then replied laconically, “Marry Jessica.”

“Jessica?” Palmer asked, slightly off balance.

“That’s right, Major Talbot. My daughter, Jessica, whom you got pregnant while you were being briefed at my estate. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to announce it to the press immediately.”

“But that’s impossible, sir,” he stammered. “I’m already married and I can’t abandon my wife.”

“It’s nice to hear you so protective, Major. But that’s the way I also feel about my little girl. I would advise you in the strongest possible terms to see things my way.”

The unspoken message was loud and clear. Forbes had enough power to have Palmer sent to the front lines where the mortality rate of officers could be measured in minutes.

“Now don’t you worry, Major Talbot,” the Senator continued. “I realize there’ll be a stumbling block or two on the way to the matrimonial aisle. But if the current Mrs. Talbot is the generous person I’m sure she is, she’ll agree to a quickie Mexican divorce and we’ll be high and dry.”

Palmer was shaken. He didn’t want to hurt Laura. And he especially did not want to confront her fiery Spanish temper.

“Uh, Senator, with due respect,” he mumbled, “you’re asking me to do an outrageous thing.”

“And do you not regard what you did to my Jessica as outrageous?”

Palmer was at a loss. “Sir, I’d like a little time to organize my thoughts before—”

“I quite agree,” the legislator replied. “That’s why you’ll be receiving ten days furlough as of 0900 hours today. If you hurry—and I dearly hope you will—you can be in San Francisco by tomorrow. And in Boston the day after. Meanwhile, to expedite matters I’ll have one of my former law partners begin to draw up the necessary papers. Is that all right with you, Major?”

“Uh, sir, yes, fine.”

But when the conversation ended, Palmer sat there in a state of shock, his head buried in his hands, murmuring over and over to himself, “Laura, oh Laura. What should I do?”

Contrary to popular belief, it is possible for a human being to live normally in New York at night.

For as the sky grows darker the metabolism of the city slows down, its hypertensive pulse rate decreases, and the general mood descends from daytime manic to a relatively tranquil hypomania.

Barney walked out to the terrace and gazed down at the city, which seemed like a hive of glowworms.

Emily was in Switzerland, covering the European ski championships. To fill the lonely hours he had planned to finish a paper on schizophrenic thought disorder. But then Laura had called, and now he was agitated and unable to concentrate.

She had been too distraught to be specific. All he could gather was that something terrible had happened between her and Palmer and she could not bear to be alone in Boston.

Barney naturally insisted that she fly to New York as quickly as possible. She had protested that Emily would not like it. But on learning that Emily was away on assignment, Laura said she would try to make the last shuttle from Boston.

Just after eleven o’clock the doorman buzzed him that Miss Castellano was on her way.

Her eyes.

They were the first thing that struck him when he opened the door. Her eyes were huge red circles, as if they had been bruised in a fight. She had obviously been crying for several hours. Her voice was hoarse, as if she had exhausted all its strength.

“Hi,” she said softly.

He took the suitcase and said, “Come in. Sit down. I think you could use a stiff drink.”

She nodded.

“For chrissake, Laura, what’s the matter?”

“Palmer showed up …” she began and then burst into tears again. “I can’t, Barn. It’s too unbelievable.”

“I thought he was in Vietnam. How come he’s suddenly home—was he wounded or something?”

“No, Barney,” Laura answered, “it’s
me
who’s wounded. He wants a divorce.”

“Hell, I’ve seen that coming for a while. I’m sure you must have, too.”

She shook her head. “No, no, we had sort of a reconciliation. Everything was fine and then he just shows up and shoves a piece of paper in my face.”

“What kind of paper?”

“Consent to a
rápido
Mexican divorce.”

“Hey, this is crazy, Castellano. What’s the goddamn hurry?”

Laura told him haltingly.

Barney was unable to retain his professional objectivity.

“You know what, Castellano? I say good riddance to the bastard. Any guy that isn’t faithful to you isn’t really good enough to be your husband.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his wife.”

Barney could not bear this self-deprecation.

“Laura, for chrissake,” he shouted, “just because he treated you like shit doesn’t mean that
you
have to go along with his opinion. Screw him, Castellano! Let him go to hell and some day you’ll find someone worthy of you.”

She shook her head. “No way, Barney. I’m convinced that as far as men are concerned I’m a born loser.”

He sent her to bed in the guest room. Then he gave her a glass of water and two pills, and sat down next to her. “I know you won’t believe me, but I promise you that the sun will come up tomorrow morning. And that’ll mean you’ll have one day of recuperation to your credit.”

She took the pills and, emotionally exhausted, lay back on the pillow.

“Thank you, Barn,” she whispered softly.

He sat with her till he was sure she was asleep, then tiptoed out.

And went back to his typewriter, ripped out the unfinished schizo piece, put in a new sheet, and began to type.

And he brought it to her with a cup of coffee the next morning.

Barney was on the telephone when Laura entered the living room. He hung up and smiled. “You look better already, Castellano.”

“I bet,” she answered wryly. “I just took a look at myself in the mirror. I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali.”

“No, you don’t,” he corrected her. “Ali is a
clean
fighter.” And then he imperiously pointed to the sofa and said, “Sit down.”

When she had obeyed he told her, “I’ve been on the phone to your Chief of service and explained—without really explaining—that you’re ill and have to have a week or so to recuperate. He was very understanding.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meanwhile?”

“Take long walks, think nice thoughts. In fact, why not buy yourself a whole new wardrobe?”

“This hardly seems like professional advice, Barn.”

“Listen, Castellano, just for this morning I’ve had a temporary switch of roles. Look upon me not as a doctor, not even as a friend, but as a parent. You’re going to listen to me and do what’s best for you.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a wan smile. “But have you retired from the medical profession? I mean, don’t you have any patients to see?”

“I had the secretary cancel everything before lunch, but if you’re okay, I’ll see my afternoon people.”

“I’m okay, Barn. I’m okay. You don’t have to screw up your life just because I’ve screwed up mine.”

“No back talk,” Barney retorted. “Remember, today I’m the parent.”

He left her after lunch, certain that she was sufficiently better to be able to undertake a trip to, say, the Museum of Modern Art—anything rather than letting her sit around.

When he returned at seven-thirty, he was surprised to see that Laura had prepared dinner.

“Well, I didn’t actually do anything more than heat the stuff up. It’s amazing what precooked goodies you can buy on Fifty-seventh Street. So sit down and tell me how your day was.”

Barney gave a verbal sketch of the four cases he had been treating that afternoon, as well as the boisterous meeting he had attended at the hospital.

“I mean, Castellano, if a master psychiatrist ever walked into our hospital while we were having one of our staff get-togethers, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish between the doctors and the nuts.”

“Some of our conferences up in Boston are like that,” she replied, “By the way, I think the paper you’re writing is terrific.”

“You mean the schizo thing?”

“It shows a lot of new insights. When are you going to finish it?”

“Well, it’s overdue already. But it’s so late, I might as well leave it another few days.”

“No, Barn,” Laura said firmly, “let
me
play parent now. When we finish this magnificent banquet, I want you to march over to your typewriter and finish the article. And that’s an order.”

Barney smiled. “Yes, Mother.”

Three hours later Laura was perusing his final pages and expressing her approval.

“Good job, Livingston. I think you’ve got a future in medicine.”

“So do I, kiddo. Now while I stay up and proofread, I want you to go and get another good night’s sleep.”

She rose like an obedient child, kissed him on the forehead, and went to bed.

They had a swift and early breakfast the next morning before Barney left for his full day’s agenda.

It was then that Laura told him, “I’m not going back to Boston.”

“What?”

“I just can’t. I know I couldn’t walk into that house and I wonder if I could even walk into Children’s Hospital without feeling—I don’t know—humiliated. Can you understand that?”

“Certainly the house part. But what are you going to do?”

“As soon as you leave, I’m going to sit at your desk and start making phone calls to see if maybe somewhere there’s an opening in a neonatal unit.”

“Not in the middle of the year, Castellano—the places will all be taken.”

“Ah, Barney,” she grinned, “you obviously know nothing about the world of hospital medicine. Even as we speak, some doctor somewhere is slitting his or her wrist or freaking out or something. I mean—look at me.”

Barney called Laura from his office at noon. She sounded almost happy.

“You may not believe this, but I think I’ve got a job.”

“That was pretty quick. How’d you manage that?”

“Well, actually, my old pediatrics supervisor called a friend at Queen’s Hospital, Toronto. And even though they’re not starting their program till next year, they’ve already got the funds—so I can start any time.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“I can hardly believe it myself,” she replied. “But to make sure it doesn’t disappear, I’m going to fly to Toronto tonight.”

“Come on, Castellano, not so fast,” he cautioned. “You’ve just been hit with the atom bomb, you need at least another twenty-four hours to get back your equilibrium. Besides, I’ve booked a great Indian restaurant.”

“I don’t think—”

“That’s precisely right, Laura, don’t think. I’ll be doing that for you till you’re released from my care. So just be ready by seven-thirty.”

She decided he was right. She needed at least another day to get her logistics straight—and to buy some clothes for the harsh Toronto weather.

Fifteen minutes later, as she was completing her shopping list, the front door opened.

And in walked Emily, struggling with a large suitcase.

She caught sight of Laura sitting comfortably at Barney’s desk and was struck dumb.

Neither of them could find the appropriate words.

At last, Laura said simply, “Can I help you with that bag, Emily?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, her facial muscles still frozen.

As Emily carried the valise toward the bedroom, Laura remarked, “Barney wasn’t expecting you till tomorrow.”

“I can see that,” she said quietly. “I got a hitch with the ABC plane. I didn’t realize that by coming home a day early I would be an unwelcome intruder.”

“Emily, you don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

“I mean—Palmer and I are divorcing. Actually we’re divorced already, thanks to the government of Mexico.”

“That also stands to reason,” Emily replied frostily.

“I was going to leave tomorrow,” Laura continued, still trying to get Emily to unlock the gates of her prejudgment.

“Well, don’t hurry on my account,” Emily retorted. “I’m leaving now.”

Trying to avert catastrophe for Barney, Laura gathered all her strength and shouted, “Wait, goddammit, Emily—I want to say something to you!”

With the door half open, she turned to Laura, “Okay, talk.”

“I was in trouble,” Laura began softly, “very bad trouble. And there wasn’t anybody in the world I could call but Barney. He let me stay out of pity, that’s all. I slept in the guest room. I mean, Emily, please—he was the only person I could turn to.”

Laura suddenly ran out of words. She realized that in this situation the truth seemed like the wildest fiction. How much better it would have been had she concocted some extravagant lie.