The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [5]
“David, do you have something you want to tell me? she said.
“Pardon?” He stretched for one last bit of insouciance.
Lauren smiled. “My college roommate once had a surprise party for me. Just before everyone jumped out and yelled, she had the same expression on her face as you do now.”
“Well, I guess I do have a little good news,” he said, his nonchalance now a parody. “Dr. Wallace Huttner—the Dr. Wallace Huttner—is leaving town tomorrow for a few days.”
“And?”
“And … he’s asked me to make rounds with him this evening and to take over his patients until he gets back.”
“Oh, David, that’s wonderful,” Lauren said. “Wallace Huttner! I’m impressed. The most widely acclaimed pair of hands to come out of Boston since Arthur Fiedler.”
“Well, now we know that he’s smart enough to recognize true surgical talent when he sees it. I’m covering his practice until he gets back from a three-day conference on the Cape.”
“And there you sit, trying to impress me with how blasé you can act about the whole thing. What a funny duck you are, David.”
The scrambled eggs, none too appetizing to begin with, remained on her plate as Lauren fired one question after another at him.
“Huttner was written up in Time, do you know that?”
“So he’s operated on a few sheiks and prime ministers. He still puts his scrub suit on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us.”
“Be serious for once, will you? Could this mean more money for you?”
David’s eyes narrowed. He studied her face for a few seconds, looking for more than superficial interest behind her question. Although his lack of a typical surgeon’s salary came up infrequently, a battle of some sort was sure to follow whenever it did. Lauren seemed unable or unwilling to accept the fickle economic realities of a medical specialty that was dependent on referrals from other physicians, especially in a city like Boston with its surfeit of doctors.
Even after two years at Boston Doctors Hospital he realized that many of his colleagues still had reservations about him. Word had filtered back. “Shelton? Oh, yes, I suppose I could refer this woman to him. But she’s not the easiest person to deal with and, frankly, I’m just not sure he could handle her. I mean that trouble he got into, going to pieces after his wife and kid died. I’d like to help him out, I really would. But what would I look like to my patient if I send her to a surgeon and he up and comes unglued?”
It wasn’t easy. He had never expected it would be. Lauren’s concern over his financial situation was understandable, albeit somewhat discouraging. It would take time, he tried to explain. That’s all—just some time.
Her expression appeared nonjudgmental. Still, David tiptoed around the issue. “Well, Huttner is chief of the department. It should mean more acceptance from the doctors who refer patients to surgeons.” Any acceptance from most of them would be an improvement, he reflected ruefully. He still appeared in the operating room so infrequently that the nurses sometimes stood around after he entered, waiting for the surgeon to arrive.
“Is he grooming you to be his partner?”
“Lauren, the man hardly knows me! He just saw the chance to throw a few crumbs in the direction of a doc who’s struggling some, that’s all.”
“Well, Mr. Ice Water,” she said, smiling, “you can act any way you want to. I’ll stay excited enough for both of us. What time do you take over for him?”
“I’m meeting him at the hospital at six. We should be done by eight or nine and … God, that reminds me. The Rosettis invited us for dinner, either tonight or tomorrow. I told them we’d—”
“I can’t make it,” Lauren said. “I mean I have to work. ”
“You don’t like them, do you?”
“David, please, we’ve been over this before. I think the Rosettis are very nice people.” Her words were hollow. David’s unsuccessful attempts to draw her into