Fertile Ground (5 page)

Lisa frowned. “What do you mean, ‘hysterical women’?”

“They’re not making sense. Reporters are here, too. With cameras. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Tossing her green, sterile paper gown, cap, and booties into a cardboard box at the entrance to the lab. Lisa raced up the wide flight of stairs to the ground floor. Though Selena had warned her, she was startled to see the long,

narrow hall crowded with people who seemed to be talking at once.

“Dr. Brockman? Is it true what they’re saying?”

Turning, she saw Diane Clerman. “Is what true?”

Yesterday Diane had been euphoric, effusive in her gratitude. Now Lisa heard anger and panic in her unnaturally high-pitched voice. Within seconds she was surrounded by more than two dozen men and women, several of whom were her patients and their husbands, and by two men and a woman who elbowed their way around the others and snapped her picture.

The media photographers. “What’s going on?” Lisa demanded, blinking at the barrage of flashes. Pinpoints of light danced in her eyes.

“That’s what / want to know!” yelled a woman Lisa didn’t recognize. “Where’s Dr. Gordon? Why isn’t he here to answer our questions?”

A chorus of “Yeah, where is he?” assaulted Lisa.

“Would you care to comment on the allegations made against the clinic?” another woman asked.

A reporter, not a patient. Behind her, a jeans-clad, ponytailed man was balancing a minicam on his shoulder. Wonderful, Lisa thought. I’ll be on the eleven o’clock news, and I don’t even know why. “I can’t comment about an allegation I know nothing about,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm.

The people around her weren’t calm. Their voices were a rising cacophony of agitation and hysteria. Lisa scanned the hall for help, but neither Matthew nor any of the other doctors or staff were in sight.

“This is my baby, isn’t it. Dr. Brockman?” demanded another patient. Her hands rested on her swollen midriff.

What had Matthew said? One whiff of suspicion… and we can close the doors. Was this what he’d feared? Lisa felt her stomach muscles knotting but made her voice sound reassuring. “Of course the baby you’re carrying is yours, Cheryl.”

“Can you be certain. Dr. Brockman?” a male reporter asked. “According to reliable sources, this clinic has been

switching embryos and committing other related violations.”

“That’s ridiculous!” It was ridiculous. There were too many safeguards. She craned her neck and looked around. Where was Matthew? He should be here to deal with the patients, with the media. Where was Sam Davidson? Or Ted Cantrell? And where was Selena?

“Is it ridiculous. Dr. Brockman? Then where is Dr. Gordon? Somewhere south of the border?”

Lisa glared at the reporter. “That’s an insulting and totally unwarranted insinuation.”

He was referring to two doctors who had left the country when their Irvine, California, fertility clinic had come under investigation. The clinic had ultimately been shut, and the scandal had reverberated, placing the entire community of infertility specialists under scrutiny.

“I knew they gave my eggs to someone else!” another woman cried. “I knew it!” She grabbed Lisa’s arm.

“Mrs. Alien, calm down,” Lisa said firmly yet gently, loosening the woman’s tourniquet like grip. She spotted the tall, black-haired office manager at the far end of the hall and had to yell, “Selena!” several times before the woman heard her and hurried to her side.

Selena was breathless. Her chest was heaving beneath her pale blue cotton sweater, and her round face was flushed. “Dr. Gordon phoned Grace early this morning and told her he’d be late,” she whispered to Lisa. “She’s paged him several times, but he hasn’t phoned back. Dr. Cantrell was here earlier, but he’s doing surgery at another hospital. And Dr. Davidson—”

“I want my babies!” Cora Alien pulled at Lisa’s arm.

“Someone stole your babies?” the same reporter asked the woman. Behind him, the minicam motor whirred.

Putting her arm around the woman. Lisa piloted her away from the reporter and the cameraman. “Cora, I don’t blame you for being upset. Selena will take you to a room where you can relax. I’ll be in to talk to you soon.”

The woman jerked away from Lisa. “I don’t need to relax. I need my babies’. I want to know who has them!”

Her face was streaked with tears and mascara tracks.

Selena put her arm around the woman. “Please come with me, Mrs. AlLen,” she said in her softly accented voice. “Everything will be fine.” Murmuring soothingly, she led her away.

“We want to speak to Dr. Gordon!” Hank Clerman yelled. “We have a right to know what’s going on!” Angry red blotches had molded his face, which was beaded with perspiration.

The clinic’s air-conditioning couldn’t accommodate the crush of people in the narrow hall, now stuffy and uncomfortably warm. Lisa was perspiring, too, and her head was beginning to throb.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please? Ladies and gentlemen?” Making herself heard was difficult, but after a moment the crowd quieted. “First, I want to assure you that nothing irregular has been going on at the clinic. You—”

“If nothing’s wrong, where’s Dr. Gordon?” Clerman demanded. “Why isn’t he here to answer our questions?”

“Dr. Gordon will be here soon,” Lisa said, hoping she was telling the truth. Matthew hadn’t mentioned that he’d be late, but he had said he needed answers soon. Was he searching for them right now? “False rumors have oBviously been spread about the clinic,” she continued, careful to make eye contact with the reporters. “We intend to find and expose their source.”

“How do we know they’re false?” a woman asked. “They switched embryos before, at that other clinic.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“But not here.” Lisa cleared her throat. “These rumors are unfounded. In the meantime, we need your cooperation. If you’re here for a scheduled appointment, please wait in Reception. If not, there’s really no reason for you to stay.” A polite way of saying. Go home.

“I’m not leaving until I have answers!” Clerman yelled.

Lisa continued to speak, to reassure. She was interrupted several more times by women and men shrill with anger and fear, but after a while the accusations stopped,

and though only a few people took her advice and went home, she felt she’d achieved a relative calm. With help from Selena and Grace and the other nurses, she dispatched the more agitated patients and their spouses to examining rooms.

On the other side of the still-packed hall, she saw a familiar face topped with a thatch of wavy, dark brown hair. At six feet two inches, Sam Davidson towered above the crowd, and she could easily read his mouthed “What the hell’s going on?” God, she was happy to see him! A moment later he was at her side.

“Nice of you to show up!” she whispered, her relief tempered with irritation. “It’s almost ten o’clock.” She felt as if a day had passed, not a little over an hour.

“Flat tire. Sorry—I tried phoning in, but the lines were jammed or something.” He scanned the crowd. “What’d we do? Advertise a Wednesday half-off special on in vi tros?”

“I wish. Rumor is we’ve been switching embryos.”

Sam pushed his wire-rimmed eyeglasses back against his nose. “Bull!” he exclaimed, but concern flickered in his gray eyes. He looked around again. “They all seem pretty calm.”

“You should’ve seen them twenty minutes ago.” She adjusted her banana clip and wiped her brow. Her throat ached from speaking so loudly and she was desperate for a cup of coffee.

“Why are you handling this?” Frowning, he centered his black suede yarmulke on his head. “Where’s Matt? And where’s Ted?”

She shrugged. “Grace said Matt phoned and told her he’d be late. Ted was in earlier, but left to do a procedure at another hospital. How’s your schedule today?”

“Tight, and that’s without the nine o’clock I missed. But I’m all yours if you want me. Professionally, of course.” He winked, then smiled reassuringly.

“I need Ava, but she’s somewhere up the coast, lucky woman.” Lisa sighed. “I tried to persuade everyone without an appointment to go home, but most of them won’t budge. You can help with that. If they insist on staying,

have them wait in Reception. I figure we can see our regular patients and divide today’s emergencies among you, me, and Ted when he gets back.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control. Not that I’m surprised.” He smiled again. “Mart’s lucky to have you—personally and professionally.”

“Thanks.” Sam always made her feel good. For the first time since she’d left the lab, her spirits rose. “I’m going to check on Cora Alien. She’s had two failed IVFs, poor woman, and thinks someone stole her eggs and gave them to someone else. One more thing—if you can, get rid of the media.” The reporters were still there, approaching patient after patient in search of a story.

“Easier to find a cure for cancer.”

Three hours later she was exhausted. Selena had sent her from examining room to examining room, providing her with updates, folders, encouraging smiles, Dixie cups with water, a granola bar, and two rest-room breaks. Lisa had passed Sam and Ted Cantrell several times in the hall—they’d looked equally tired. Sam had managed to retain his good humor. Ted hadn’t.

“Where the hell is your fiance?” Cantrell barked at her now. “At the racetrack?”

They were in the middle of the hall, and patients were within earshot. Lisa clenched her hands. “I don’t know.” She didn’t like the handsome, divorced forty-four-year old doctor—she found him arrogant and difficult—but told herself he had a right to be annoyed. She was annoyed, too, and worried. Matthew was always punctual. She was surprised he hadn’t called in.

“Nice of him to leave us to deal with this crap. I’m sick of fending off the press and trying to calm hysterical women.” His black eyes were smoldering coals.

Sam rested his hand on Cantrell’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re all tired, Ted. Lighten up. You’ll live longer.”

Cantrell scowled and shrugged off the hand. He faced Lisa. “I’ve seen twenty patients in the past three hours. How many have you seen? Or are you just administratin g:’

“Get off her case, Ted,” Sam said quietly.

“What are you, her white knight?” Cantrell glared at him, then stomped down the hall, the coattails of his gray medical coat flapping behind him.

“Nice guy,” Sam said, watching Cantrell. “He’s been awfully tense lately, have you noticed?” He turned to Lisa. “Any word from Matt?”

She shook her head. “He told Grace something important came up.” I’m going to play detective. Had he discovered something? Even so, why hadn’t he phoned?

“It’s not like him to be late,” the petite, blond nurse had told Lisa. “He phoned at seven and said he’d be home for about half an hour, that he had to take care of something important. I’ve been paging him all morning, and he still hasn’t called back. I hope nothing’s wrong, Dr. Brockman.” Grace had been clutching a stack of folders against her chest. The skin around her pale blue eyes had been creased with worry, and she’d seemed on the verge of tears.

“He’ll probably phone soon,” Sam said. He kneaded the back of his neck, then rotated his head several times. “I wonder what’s number three.”

Lisa frowned. “Number three?”

“You know—bad things come in threes? That’s what my sister says. First this clinic patient is murdered. Now some nut’s accusing us of egg switching. What’s next? They’ll find out we’re doing illegal human cloning?”

“Didn’t your sister also tell you not to borrow trouble?” Lisa said lightly, but she was a little uneasy, and annoyed with Sam for making her feel that way.

From her office she phoned Matthew’s home and left a message on his machine. She left a message on his pager, too, and tried reaching him on his cellular phone.

On an impulse she punched her own number and waited for her answering machine to go on. She heard a message from a company trying to interest her in winning a trip to Hawaii, then Matthew’s voice against a background of static and street noise.

“It’s six forty-five…. thought I might catch you at home … didn’t want to phone you at the clinic in case … listening in on the line … may be onto something … not

to worry. I’m stopping at my condo, then checking out some things. Don’t say anything to anyone. Talk to you later. Love you.”

He sounded excited, pumped up. That had been early this morning.

She wondered where he was now.

She wondered, too, who he thought might be listening in on the line, and suddenly felt uncomfortable in her own office.

“Absolutely unfounded, I can tell you that,” Edmond Fisk said calmly into his receiver as he waved Lisa to a seat and swiveled back and forth in his burgundy leather armchair.

The chairman of the board of directors was an imposing, large-framed man in his early sixties with thick, silvery, Phil Donahue hair and a handsome, square face dominated by deep-set steel-blue eyes. According to Matthew, Fisk had overcome his impoverished childhood and made his first million in real estate even before he met his beautiful, stately wife, Georgia, who had brought her own family money to the marriage.

The Fisks were childless. Lisa suspected that was one of the reasons Edmond had been so enthusiastic when Matthew approached him five years ago about building a fertility clinic that would provide hope for thousands of couples yearning for children; and, of course, Matthew’s prospectus outlining the potential financial success had been compelling. Fisk had invested significant sums of his own money and convinced several business associates to do the same.

Lisa had seen Fisk only three times since their initial meeting the day after her two-hour interview with Matthew: on her first day at work; at the kosher champagne

and-pizza fete Sam had arranged to celebrate her engagement to Matthew; and at the lavish, black-tie dinner-dance engagement party Edmond and Georgia had hosted in the tented gardens of their Holmby Hills estate. Matthew had insisted on buying Lisa a royal blue Valentine gown at Neiman Marcus to wear to the party. He’d looked so happy and proud, introducing her to everyone, that her misgivings about the extravagant expense had evaporated. She’d wished her parents had been there—Matthew had offered to send them tickets—but her father had claimed that he couldn’t leave the business, and her mother hadn’t wanted to come alone. Lisa hadn’t really believed either excuse, but hadn’t pressed.