Leaning forward, Craig looked over at the plaintiff's table and eyed Tony Fasano. Craig had disliked a few people in his life, but he had never hated anyone as much as he'd come to hate Tony Fasano. Even the way Tony looked and dressed, in his trendy gray suits, black shirts, black ties, and clunky gold jewelry added to his loathing. To Craig, Tony Fasano, appearing like a sleazy mafioso understudy, was the tawdry stereotype of the modern-day personal-injury, ambulance-chasing lawyer out to make a buck over someone else's misfortune by squeezing millions out of rich, reluctant insurance companies. To Craig's disgust, Tony even had a website bragging as much, and the fact that he might ruin a doctor's life in the process made no difference in the world.
Craig's eyes switched to Randolph 's aristocratic profile as the man concentrated on the voir dire proceeding. Randolph had a slightly hooked, high-bridged nose not too dissimilar to Tony's, but the effect was altogether different. Whereas Tony looked at you from beneath his dark, bushy eyebrows, his nose directed downward partially covering a cruel smirk on his lips, Randolph held his nose straight out in front, maybe slightly elevated, and regarded those around him with what could be considered by some to be mild disdain. And in contrast to Tony's full lips, which he wetted frequently with his tongue as he talked, Randolph 's mouth was a thin, precise line, nearly lipless, and when he talked, a tongue was all but invisible. In short, Randolph was the epitome of the seasoned and restrained Boston Brahmin, while Tony was the youthful and exuberant playground entertainer and bully. At first Craig had been pleased with the contrast, but now, looking at the prospective jurors, he couldn't help but wonder if Tony's persona would make more of a connection and have more influence. This new concern added to Craig's unease.
And there was plenty of reason for unease. Randolph 's reassurances notwithstanding, the case was not going well. Of particular note, it had been in essence already found for the plaintiff by the statutory Massachusetts tribunal, which had ruled after hearing testimony that there was sufficient, properly substantiated evidence of possible negligence to allow the case to go to trial. As a corollary to this finding, there was no need for the claimant, Jordan Stanhope, to post a bond.
The day that Craig had learned this news was the blackest for him of the whole pre-trial period, and unbeknownst to anyone, he had for the first time in his life considered the idea of suicide. Of course, Randolph had offered the same pabulum that Craig had been given initially; namely, that he should not take the minor defeat personally. Yet how could he not take the finding personally, since it had been rendered by a judge, a lawyer, and a physician colleague? These were not high-school dropouts or stultified blue-collar laborers; they were professionals, and the fact that they thought he had committed malpractice, meaning he had rendered care that was substandard, was a mortal blow to Craig's sense of honor and personal integrity. He had literally devoted his entire life to becoming the best doctor he could be, and he had succeeded, as evidenced by stellar grades in medical school, by stellar evaluations during the course of his residency at one of the most coveted institutions in the country, and even by the offer to become part of his current practice from a celebrated and widely renowned clinician. Yet these professionals were calling him a tortfeasor. In a very real sense, the entire image of his self-worth and self-esteem had been undermined and was now on the line.
There had been other events besides the tribunal's ruling that had seriously clouded the horizon. Back at the beginning, even before the interrogatories had been completed, Randolph had strenuously advised that Craig make every effort to reconcile with his wife, Alexis, give up his in-town, recreational apartment (as Randolph had referred to it), and move back to the Newton family home. It had been Randolph 's strong feeling that Craig's relatively new, self-indulgent (as he called it) lifestyle would not sit well with a jury. Willing to listen to experienced advice although chafing at the dependency it represented, Craig had followed the recommendations to the letter. He'd been pleased and thankful that Alexis had been willing to allow him to return, albeit to sleep in the guest room, and she'd been graciously supportive as evidenced by her sitting at that very moment in the spectator section. Reflexively Craig twisted around and caught Alexis's eye. She was dressed in a casually professional style for her work as a psychologist at the Boston Memorial Hospital, with a white blouse and blue cardigan sweater. Craig managed a crooked smile, and she acknowledged it with one of her own.
Craig redirected his attention to the voir dire. The judge was castigating a frumpy accountant who was intent on being excused for hardship. The man had claimed clients couldn't do without him for a week's trial, which was how long the judge estimated the proceeding would take considering the witness list, which was mostly the plaintiff attorney's list. Judge Davidson was merciless as he told the gentleman what he thought of his sense of civic responsibility but then dismissed him. A replacement was called and sworn and the process continued.
Thanks to Alexis's personal generosity, which Craig attributed primarily to her maturity and secondarily to her training as a psychologist, things had gone reasonably well at home over the last eight months. Craig knew it could have been intolerable if Alexis had chosen to behave as he probably would have if the situation had been reversed. From his current vantage point, Craig was able to view his so-called "awakening" as a juvenile attempt to be someone he wasn't. He was born to be a doctor, which was an encompassing calling, and not a Brahmin socialite. In fact, he'd been given his first doctor kit by his doting mother when he was four, and he could remember administering to his mother and older brother with a precocious seriousness that foreshadowed his clinical talent. Although in college and even the first years of medical school he'd felt his calling was basic medical research, he would later realize he had an inherent gift for clinical diagnosis, which impressed his superiors, and thereby pleased him as well. By the time he graduated from medical school, he knew he was to be a clinician with an interest in research, not vice versa.
Although Alexis and his two younger daughters – Meghan, eleven, and Christina, ten – had been forgiving and seemingly understanding, Tracy had been another story. At age fifteen and in the throes of adolescence, she had been overtly and persistently unable to forgive Craig for abandoning the family for six months. Perhaps associated, there had been some unfortunate episodes of rebelliousness with disturbing drug use, open violation of curfews, and even sneaking out of the house at night. Alexis was concerned, but since she had an open communication with the girl, she was reasonably confident that Tracy would come around. Alexis urged Craig not to interfere under the circumstances. Craig was happy to oblige, since he would have had no idea how to handle the situation under the best of circumstances and was intellectually and emotionally preoccupied with his own disaster.
Judge Davidson struck two potential jurors for cause. One was openly hostile to insurance companies and thought they were ripping off the country: ergo sayonara. Another had a cousin who'd been in Craig's former practice and had heard Craig was a wonderful doctor. Several other juror prospects were dismissed when the counselors began using some of their peremptory challenges, including a well-dressed businessman by Tony and a young African-American male dressed in elaborate hip-hop gear by Randolph. Four more veniremen were called from the jury pool and sworn. The questions continued.