Implant. Part 10

Weak as a kitten, she says." Gin flipped through the chart. "All her numbers still look good."

"Perfect."

"You think there might be some secondary gains here? Like maybe she gets more attention here than at home? " "No. She's a real independent old lady. Hates it here. I think she's got some sort of postinfection asthenia. I've seen it before, especially after a pneumonia like hers. You can't see it, can't touch it, there's no lab test to confirm it. Mostly a diagnosis by exclusion."

"The administration still on your back? " "That's only half the story." He shook his head wearily. "It's getting a little ugly.

They've brought in reinforcements. I've had calls from the head of the family practice section and from the chief of staff himself. Nothing's been said in so many words, but they've dropped broad hints that I might have a rough time moving up to full attending here if I don't prove myself to be a team player." No wonder he looked harried.

"You can't get any family involved? " "Called the daughter in San Diego. Talked to her myself. She can't get away. It's not a good time' for her." '"So what's your next step? " "Same as ever. Screw em. She stays till she's ready to go. ' He closed the chart in front of him, left it where the charge nurse could review it, and pushed away from the counter.

"See you, Panzella."

"Hang in there, " she said as she watched him go.

Gin was worried. He could be headed for trouble here if he didn't back down soon.

Her thoughts'drifted back to Gerry and what he'd said earlier about Duncan's patients. Lane, Schulz, and now Allard . . . Gerry seemed to suspect a connection. What would he think if Gin told him that Duncan had been on the Capitol portico this morning, talking to Allard just before he fell? That he'd mentioned his dead daughter's name as a parting shot?

But how could she describe the frightening look in Duncan's eyes as he'd turned away from the congressman. The memory still gave her a chill.This was silly. What connection could there be between Congressman Allard and Duncan's daughter? She died five years ago. Gin was pretty d.a.m.n sure from the presurgical history and physical she'd done on the congressman that he'd never met Duncan until he'd come in for a surgical consultation.

But still . . . it bothered her. She promised herself that when she had some time she'd do a little independent research on the late Lisa Lathram.

Gin was just stepping out of the stairwell on the first floor when she got paged again. She called the switchboard from the doctors lounge.

"Personal call, " said the operator. "Long distance. ' Who, she wondered, would be calling her here, long distance?

"Gin? " came a familiar drawl. "Gin, is that you? " "Peter! How did you find me here? " ' Wasn't easy .

She sat on the bunk and leaned back. Peter Hanson's dark eyes and strong, angular features floated before her.

"It's so good to hear your voice. ' "I miss you, Gin."

"Oh, and I miss you." She felt almost guilty now about dinner with Gerry tonight and enjoying it so much. They were two different types, really Why was she thinking about Gerry with Peter on the phone?

He was talking about how empty their old apartment was without her, how lonely he was.

'"We really could use another internist here, Gin. Someone with your talent, your personality, and, being a woman to boot, I guarantee you'd have a beautiful practice in three months. We need you, Gin. I need you." Needed . . . wouldn't that be nice. No one seemed to need her around here.

She'd spent the last two years of her residency with Peter. He joined a multispecialty medical group in Baton Rouge. Gin had had an offer from the same group but turned it down. She'd felt she had to come to Was.h.i.+ngton and wanted Peter to come with her. They'd gone around and around with it until she'd finally left to return east.

As she listened to his voice she realized how much she missed him, missed Louisiana with its slower pace and rich, spicy food. And Peter.

And now, after the cool reception at Senator Marsden's offhce and still no call, it was so tempting to call it quits here and run back to New Orleans.

She ached to be with him but she couldn't go back. Not even for a visit. She might never leave, might never have the strength to say good-bye again.

"Peter, I need to see if I can work things out with this committee. "

"You don't need a d.a.m.n committee, Gin. You need to be practicing medicine." They'd had this conversation dozens of times and it always ended the same, Peter angry and Gin upset.

How could she say it without hurting him?

I still care very deeply for you, Peter, bxt the power here, the enormity of the decisions being made every day . . . it's an adrenaline bgzz like nowhere else in the world. It's, well, it's intoxicating.

She opted for her old standby instead.

"We've been over this so many times, Peter. I'm not ready to commit myself to a practice yet. There are a few things I want to try first, and this is the only place I can try them."

"How long am I supposed to wait? " he said with a hint of an edge in his voice.

"I'm waiting, too, Peter. I'm going half crazy waiting." He sighed.

"Fine. Keep me hanging. Let me know when you find out what you're going to do. As soon as you find out.

"I will. And I'm sorry."

"That makes two of us. Bye, Gin. Call me soon." She sat in the doctors lounge for a long time with the phone in her lap, wondering how she could be right if everyone else thought she was wrong. Her beeper chirped before she came up with an answer.

They wanted her on Two South.

THE WEEK OF SEPTEMBER LM GINA OVER A WEEK NOW SINCE THE INTERVIEW AND.

STILL no word from Senator Marsden's office. Chances of a call from Joe Blair seemed slim to none but Gin kept hoping the senator himself might intervene. Because throughout her meeting with Blair she'd got the impression that he was deigning to interview her only because his boss wanted it.

The waiting was affecting her concentration. She had to resist the urge to call her answering machine every hour. The Guidelines committee started hearings in another week. Time was getting short.

True to her promise, though, she wasn't forgetting about looking into Lisa Lathram. The question was how. She had a feeling Oliver had said all he was going to say, and she couldn't very well ask Duncan.

Wouldn't the sudden death of the daughter of a prominent local warrant some newspaper coverage?

Yes, it would. She called the D. C. Public Library and they connected her with their periodicals section. They were most L cooperative but could come up with only one reference to Lisa Lathram.

In the August 17 issue of the Was.h.i.+ngton Post, her obituary. Gin stopped in the main branch on G Street and found it on microfilm.

No help there. Except for mention of the survivors, it might as well have been a high school yearbook entry.

Gin would have liked to surf through the microfilm but she was due at Lynnbrook to do her house-doctor thing, so she left that for another day.

She wasn't giving up on this. When Gin had left for medical school, Duncan was a top Virginia vascular surgeon with a wife and two children, when she returned from residency he was a divorced Maryland plastic surgeon with one child.

Something had happened in that interval to turn his life upside down.

Lisa's death? Maybe. Or maybe that was just a part of it. There had to be more. And Gin made up her mind to find out what it was.

While on Three North at Lynnbrook she pa.s.sed Mrs. Thompson's room and decided to stick her head in the door to see how she was doing. She saw the old woman shuffling between the chair and the bed. She tottered forward and would have hllen if she hadn't caught hold of the metal footboard.

Gin stepped into the room as Harriet eased herself onto the bed.

"You should call for a nurse before you try anything like that, " Gin said as she helped her under the covers.

"I'm practicing. I've got to go home. I don't want to get Dr. Conway in trouble." Curious, Gin sat on the end of the bed. "What makes you think he's in trouble? " "I overheard two of the nurses talking.

They said the TRO and the hospital were on his back because of me. "

"That's PRO Physician Review Organization. And don't you worry about Dr. Conway. He can take care of himself. You just worry aboutgetting stronger."

"Don't worry. I'll be strong enough to go home real soon. You can count on that. Real soon."

"Good for you, " Gin said. "And remember, Call the nurse when you need to get up. You fall and break a hip you'll never get out of here."

"That will never happen. I'll not be a burden on anyone.

I'll be out of here sooner than you think."

"That's the spirit." Gin liked the old woman's determination. Maybe things would work out for Dr. Conway after all.

A September storm was drenching the city when Gin dragged herself into her apartment around half past eight. As she pa.s.sed the bedroom she noticed the message light on her -. answering machine blinking.

Probably Gerry again. She'd been playing telephone tag with him since Taco Bell. Their schedules weren't mes.h.i.+ng.

When he was free, she was moonlighting. But they'd managed to connect last Friday when Gerry delivered on his promise to take her out to 'a real restaurant for a real dinner." That turned out to be a delightful evening. A little French place on Ma.s.sachusetts. Good wine, good food, and good conversation. They talked and talked, lingering over coffee until the maitre d' informed them that the place was closing.

She learned that Gerry Canney was not only a dedicated father, he was a dedicated FBI agent as well.

She yawned. Tired. This was no way to live. The rest of the city was up and about and starting the day while hers was just finis.h.i.+ng.

Luckily she didn't have to a.s.sist Duncan today.

She sat in the bay window, watched the rain splatter and run down the panes, then sifted through her mail. Mostly "Occupant" fliers and the throwaway medical journals that had tracked her down and followed her from Tulane. The pile yielded two letters, both from medical headhunters looking for board-certified or board-eligible internists or family pract.i.tioners to fill primary-care slots. She averaged half a dozen offers a week.

"Tired of being on call? Need a change of scenery? " As a matter of fact, yes.

"Move to sunny Nevada." She read on. A new Las Vegas megahotel was opening an on-premises clinic for its ten thousand employees.No thanks.

The other letter played coy with the precise location, but guaranteed $ 1 20,000 plus benefits to start as the fifth member of a family practice group "located just ninety minutes from beach, mountains, and D. C. " Gin thought about $120,000 to start . . . wouldn't that be nice. The profession had been running low on primary-care docs for years, probably because they occupied the bottom rung in prestige and income. But The growth of managed care had created a sudden demand for the lowly generalist. Over twenty-three hundred dollars a week, probably for fewer hours than she was working now. Tempting.

But not yet.

She dropped the letters into her lap and gazed down at the street watching the fallen yellow leaves swirl as they floated down the gutter toward 18th Street. Was she kidding herself? Was this whole idea of hooking up with the Guidelines committee a fool's errand? Was Peter right? Wasn't she wasting her training by doing presurgical medical clearance on Duncan's patients when she could be in a real practice treating her own patients?

Maybe. But this wouldn't last forever.

She spoke silently to the city beyond her window.

I know it looks like I'm just treading water, folks, but trust me, I really do have a direction. It's just that lately the cgrrent always seems to be running against me. But don't worry. The tide will change.

At least she hoped it would.

I've got the blues, she thought. And why not? It's a damp, chilly, crummy morning, I've been up all night, my energy has bottomed out, and I'm overtired.

Not the best time to make big decisions.

She tossed the headhunters letters and occupant mail into the wastebasket, and put the journals aside to skim later. Then she hit the b.u.t.ton on her answering machine. It would be good to hear Gerry's voice.

- But instead of Gerry it was an unfamiliar woman's voice. "Ms.

Panzella. This is Senator Marsden's office. Mr. Blair asked me to call and inform you that Senator Marsden wishes to personally interview you tomorrow afternoon at four P. M. If you cannot make it at that time, the senator will not be able to reschedule. Please call to confirm that you will be there. ' She left a number and anextension.

Gin realized with a start that the message had been left sometime yesterday. "Tomorrow" was today.

She replayed it. She'd only met Joe Blair once, but she could smell him all over that message. "His. "incapable of calling her "Doctor.

" The arbitrary time and no rescheduling. She could almost hear his voice, Do or die, Panzella.

She sensed some sort of a power struggle. What was it? The senator choosing new staff and his chief of staff resisting an intrusion into his bailiwick? That could make for a tense atmosphere. Did she want to get caught in the middle of that? Come in on the wrong side of Joe Blair and have to buck him from the get go?

She'd love it.

Smiling tightly, Gin reached for the phone and jabbed in the number.

After confirming her meeting, she strode back to the window and looked out on Kalorama Road.

See, fol/2s? What'd I tell you? The tide's turning.

DUNCAN M AMAZED, SAID SENATOR VINCENT. EVEN IN THE close confines of a doctor's examining room he spoke as if he was delivering a speech.

"I'd been told how incredibly rapid your surgery healed, but didn't appreciate exactly how rapid until I'd seen it with my own eyes.

Truly amazing." Duncan refrained from reacting to the man's condescension and continued inspecting the hairline incisions under The chin through an illuminated magnifier. Yes, the beta-3 was doing its work. Only a week post-op and, except for some fading ecchymosis, virtually all traces of the procedure were gone.

Too bad I coaldn't have done the Hogg reconstrsction. Then you'd really be amazed.

Sometime since the surgery, Vincent had had his hair per med. It stuck out from his head in frizzy tendrils, making him look like one of those Chi Pets they hawked on TV.

Duncan backed up, examined Vincent's throat from the left, then the right. "d.a.m.n, I do good work! " Vincent laughed nervously. "So I guess it will be safe to go on TV next week.""Oh? " Duncan said with all the ingenuousness he could muster. "Face the Nation? " '"No.

More important. The hearings. On the Guidelines bill."

"Next week?

I didn't realize you'd be getting started so soon."

"Oh, yes. We're pressing on without Lane and Allard. The first hearing is Wednesday.

" Got your sights set on any particular targets? Duncan wondered.

Who's life are you going to ruin this time around?