Robin Cook (6 page)

“The bad news is that Cheryl is four months pregnant and she has to have an abortion tomorrow,” Candy stated in a rush.

Jennifer turned to Cheryl. “I'm sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I didn't even know you were pregnant.”

“No one did,” added Candy. “Cheryl kept it a secret till she heard that I'd had an abortion. Then
she confided in me, and it was a good thing she did. I sent her to my doctor, who suggested amniocentesis because Cheryl said she'd been doing drugs right through her second month. She hadn't realized she was pregnant.”

“What did the test show?” asked Jennifer.

“That the baby is deformed. There's something wrong with its genes. That's what they look for when they do an amniocentesis.”

Jennifer turned back to Cheryl, who was still staring into her expresso, trying not to cry.

“What does the father think?” asked Jennifer and then was sorry, for Cheryl put her hands over her face and began to sob bitterly. Candy put her arm about Cheryl as Jennifer glanced around at the nearby tables. No one was paying attention. Only in New York could you have such privacy in a public place. Cheryl took a tissue from her purse and blew her nose loudly.

“The father's name is Paul,” she said sadly.

“How does he feel about your having an abortion?” asked Jennifer.

Cheryl wiped her eyes, examining a dark smudge of mascara on the tissue. “I don't know. He took off and left me.”

“Well,” said Candy, “that gives us a pretty good idea about how he feels. The bastard. I wish men could take on the burden of being pregnant, say every other year. I think they might be a little more responsible if that were the case.”

Cheryl wiped her eyes again, and Jennifer suddenly realized how terribly young and vulnerable the girl was. It made the problem posed by her own pregnancy seem small in comparison.

“I'm so scared,” Cheryl was saying. “I haven't told anyone because if my father finds out, he'll kill me.”

“Well, I hope you're not going to the hospital by yourself,” said Jennifer with alarm.

“It won't be so bad,” said Candy with some assurance. “I'd been worried before my abortion, but it went smoothly. The people at the Julian Clinic are outstandingly warm and sensitive. Besides, Cheryl will have the world's best gynecologist.”

“What's his name?” asked Jennifer, thinking that she could not say the same about Dr. Vandermer.

“Lawrence Foley,” said Candy. “I'd been turned on to him by another girl who had to have an abortion.”

“It seems like he's doing a lot of abortions,” said Jennifer.

Candy nodded. “It's a big city.”

Jennifer sipped her cappuccino, wondering how to tell her friends that she herself had just found out she was pregnant. She postponed the moment by turning back to Cheryl and saying, “Perhaps you'd like it if I went with you tomorrow. Seems to me you could use some company.”

“I'd love that,” said Cheryl, her face brightening.

“Not so fast, Mrs. Schonberg,” said Candy. “We have rehearsal.”

Jennifer raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Well, I have some news myself. I found out yesterday that I'm two and a half months pregnant myself.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Candy.

“Oh, yes!” said Jennifer. “And when I tell Jason, he may not care whether I come to rehearsal or not.”

Candy and Cheryl were too stunned to speak. In silence, the three finished their coffee, paid the bill, and set off for the studio.

Jason was not there when they arrived, and
Jennifer felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. She removed her outer clothes and found a free area on the dance floor. Turning sideways, she lifted her sweatshirt so that she could see her profile. She had to admit that she already showed a little.

• • •

Adam washed his hands in the men's room on the first floor of the hospital complex. Catching a glimpse of his haggard face in the mirror, he realized he looked exhausted. Well, maybe it would make the dean more sympathetic. After his disastrous meeting with his father, Adam had decided his only recourse was an additional student loan from the medical center. Straightening his frayed button-down collar, he thought he certainly looked poor and deserving, and that he should go directly to the dean's office before he lost his courage.

Bursting into the secretary's office to demand an appointment, Adam was almost dismayed when the woman said she thought the dean had a few moments between appointments. She went in to check. When she returned, she said Adam could go right in.

Dr. Markowitz stood as Adam crossed his office threshold. He was a short, stocky man with dark curly hair not unlike Adam's. He had a deep tan, even though it was just March. He approached Adam with his hand outstretched. When they shook hands, his other hand grasped the back of Adam's.

“Please, sit down.” The dean gestured to a black academic chair in front of his desk.

From his chair Adam could see a manila folder
with his name on the tab. Adam had met the dean only a few times, but each time Dr. Markowitz had acted as if he were intimately aware of Adam's situation. He had obviously pulled the file in the minute or two Adam had been kept waiting.

Adam cleared his throat. “Dr. Markowitz, I'm sorry to take your time, but I've got a problem.”

“You've come to the right place,” said Dr. Markowitz, although his smile relaxed an appreciable amount. Adam recognized that the dean was more politician than doctor. He had an unhappy feeling that this meeting would be no better than the one with his father. He crossed his legs and gripped his ankle to keep his hands from shaking.

“I just found out my wife is pregnant,” he began, watching Dr. Markowitz's face for signs of disapproval. They weren't subtle. First, the dean's smile vanished. Then his eyes narrowed as he folded his arms guardedly across his chest.

“Needless to say,” continued Adam, trying to keep up his courage, “this is going to put us in a financial bind. My wife and I depend on her income, and now with a child on the way . . .” Adam's voice trailed off. You didn't need to be a fortune-teller to know the rest.

“Well,” said Dr. Markowitz with a forced laugh, “I'm an internist, not an obstetrician. Never was very good at delivering babies.”

Some sense of humor, thought Adam.

“My wife sees Dr. Vandermer,” said Adam.

“He's the best,” offered Dr. Markowitz. “Can't get better obstetrical care than Dr. Vandermer. He delivered our two children.”

There was an awkward pause. Adam became aware of the ticking of an antique Howard clock
hanging on the wall to his left. Dr. Markowitz leaned forward and opened the folder on his desk. He read for a moment, then looked up.

“Adam, have you considered that this might not be a good time to start your family?”

“It was an accident,” said Adam, wanting to avoid a lecture if that was what the dean had intended. “A birth control failure. A statistic. But now that it has happened, we have to deal with it. We need additional financial support or I have to drop out of school for a year or so. It's as simple as that.”

“Have you thought about terminating this pregnancy?” asked Dr. Markowitz.

“We've thought about it, but neither one of us is willing to do so.”

“What about family support?” questioned Dr. Markowitz. “I don't think that dropping out of school is a wise move. You have a lot invested in getting to where you are today. I'd hate to see that put in jeopardy.”

“There's no chance of family support,” said Adam. He didn't want to get into a conversation about his father's intransigence or his in-laws' interference. “My only hope is to borrow more money from the school. If not, I'll have to take a leave of absence.”

“Unfortunately, you are already borrowing the maximum allowed,” said Dr. Markowitz. “We have limited resources in regard to student loans. We have to spread around what we have so everyone who needs support has access to it. I'm sorry.”

Adam stood up. “Well, I appreciate your time.”

Dr. Markowitz got to his feet. His smile reappeared. “I wish I could be more help. I hate to see you leave us. You have an excellent record up
until now. Maybe you should reconsider the advisability of allowing the pregnancy to go to term.”

“We're going to have the child,” said Adam. “In fact, now that the shock of it all is over, I'm looking forward to it.”

“When would you start your leave?” asked Dr. Markowitz.

“I'm finishing Internal Medicine in a few days,” said Adam. “As soon as it is over, I'll look for a job.”

“I suppose if you're going to take a leave, it is as good a time as any. What do you plan to do?”

Adam shrugged. “I hadn't made any specific plans.”

“I might be able to get you a research position here at the medical center.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Adam, “but research doesn't pay the kind of money I'm going to need. I've got to get a job with a decent salary. I was thinking more about trying one of the big drug firms out in New Jersey. Arolen gave our class all those leather doctor bags. Maybe I'll give them a try.”

Dr. Markowitz flinched as if he'd been struck. “That's where the money is,” he said, sighing. “But I must say I feel as if you were deserting to the enemy. The pharmaceutical industry has been exerting more and more control over medical research recently, and I for one am legitimately concerned.”

“I'm not wild about the idea,” admitted Adam. “But they are the only people who might be seriously interested in a third-year medical student. If it doesn't work out, maybe I'll be back for that research position.”

Dr. Markowitz opened the door. “I'm sorry we
don't have more resources for financial aid. Best of luck, and let me know as soon as you can when you plan to get back to school.”

Adam left, determined to call Arolen that afternoon. He would worry about pharmaceutical pressure on research once he had cashed his first paycheck.

• • •

“You're what!” shouted Jason Conrad, the head of the Jason Conrad Dancers. He threw up his hands in exaggerated despair.

For the four years that Jennifer had known him, Jason had always tended toward histrionics, whether he was ordering lunch or directing the dancers. Consequently, she had anticipated such a reaction.

“Now, let me get this straight,” he moaned. “You're telling me that you're going to have a child. Is that right? No, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that this is just a bad dream. Please!”

Jason looked at Jennifer with a pleading expression. He was a tall man—six feet three—who looked boyish despite his thirty-three years. Whether he was gay or not, Jennifer had no idea. Neither did any of the other dancers. Dance was Jason's life, and he was a genius at it.

“I'm going to have a baby,” confirmed Jennifer.

“Oh, my God!” cried Jason, letting his head sink into his hands.

Jennifer exchanged glances with Candy, who had hung around for moral support.

“This is not happening to me,” wailed Jason. “At the moment of our big break, one of the lead dancers gets herself pregnant. Oh, my God!”

Jason stopped pacing. Holding up his index
finger, he looked at Jennifer. “What about an abortion? Surely this isn't a planned child.”

“I'm sorry,” said Jennifer.

“But you can always have another child,” protested Jason.

Jennifer just shook her head.

“You won't listen to reason?” wailed Jason. He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest and began to take deep breaths as if he were experiencing severe chest pain. “You prefer to torture me like this, straining my heart. Oh God, the pain is awful.”

Jennifer felt guilty about getting pregnant just when the troupe was receiving its big break. She hated to let anyone down. But Jason's response was a selfish one, and she resented his trying to manipulate her this way into something as serious as an abortion.

Candy took Jason's arm. “I hope you're kidding about this chest pain.”

Jason opened one eye. “Me kidding? I never kid about something like this. This woman's driving me to an early grave and you ask if I'm kidding?”

“I can probably dance for another month or so,” offered Jennifer.

“Oh, no, no, no!” said Jason, instantly forgetting his chest pain. He began pacing back and forth in front of the old ticket booth. “If you, Jennifer, are insensitive enough to abandon us at this juncture, we have to make an adjustment immediately.” He stopped and pointed to Candy. “What about you? Could you dance Jennifer's part?”

Candy was caught off guard. “I don't know,” she stammered.

Jason watched Jennifer out of the corner of his eye. He knew that Jennifer and Candy were friends.
He thought that jealousy might accomplish what reason couldn't. He needed Jennifer at least until the TV show was taped, but Jennifer did not respond. She remained silent as Candy finally replied, “I guess I'm in good shape. I'll certainly try and give it my best.”