"You didn't. That's what these muscles are telling you."
"Are you a witch?"
Tern stopped her massage. "Maybe," she said.
"What'd the lady want?"
"She was looking for her brother. She had a bunch of posters with his picture on them, and she wanted us to- Wait a second." He noticed Norma Cullinet crossing from the waiting room, and motioned her over.
"Hey, Norma," he said, "did you put up those posters from that woman, Laura?"
"Laura, hub?" Tern Dillard murmured.
Beneath the rouge on her cheeks, Norma Cullinet paled.
"I I didn't want to post anything without getting Dr. Silver's approval," she said.
"That rule doesn't apply to the lounges," Eric countered. "Do you still have one?"
Norma hesitated and then quickly pulled the folded fliers from her pocket and opened one up.
"See," Tern said, "you're in luck. Laura Enders.
There's her phone number. Right there." She and Eric continued to examine the photograph, — unaware of Norma, anxiously watching their reactions.
"Looks like he's wearing a wet suit," Tern noted.
"It's possible.-His sister's a diving instructor in the Caribbean," Eric said.
Tern glanced up at him and smiled. "I can see that you took no notice whatsoever of how good-looking she was." 'Witch." 'So, any bells?" Norma asked.
"it's a lousy photo."
"Yeah," said Tern, "but I've seen that guy. I swear I have."
"Norma," Eric asked. "why don't you stick one up on our bulletin board and one'in the nurses' lounge?
Maybe Tern'll think of where she saw him. Who knows, Ter, maybe you'll get the reward."
Tern Dillard pointed to the telephone number.
"Maybe you will, too," she said, "if you can get your head out of medicine long enough to make a call."
"Fat chance."
"no," Norma said cheerily, "let me know if you figure out who this fellow is,"
"Sure," Tern said. "But why?"
"No reason. I'm just interested. There was something about his sister that… that reminded me of one of my favorite students."
At that moment the corridor doors flew open, and a large group of surgical residents and medical students entered the E.R. Leading the entourage, erect as a post, was Dr. Sara Teagarden.
"So, where's this bleeder of yours, Dr. Najarian?" she asked.
She was wearing a knee-length clinic coat over her scrubs, and paper booties over her O.R. shoes.
And as usual when she entered a room, the idle chattering and random movement of people lessened dramatically. Although he didn't particularly like her, Eric had to acknowledge that Grendel was a forceone hell of a presence.
"He's in Four, Dr. Teagarden," he said.
Teagarden motioned her team toward the room with a shake of her head.
"How many units so far?" she asked, nudging her gold-rims back onto the bridge of her nose.
"Probably six by now."
"We would have preferred being called at three."
"I understand."
In spite of himself, Eric felt intimidated by the woman. Five units before a surgical referral was pretty much standard practice, but he made no comment.
"You called the GI fellow down to scope him?"
"We thought he might be able to get at the bleeding point," Eric responded, already sensing the next volley.
He had, under the stress of a life-threatening emergency, made certain decisions. And now, even though the patient had been skillfully stabilized, those decisions were being challenged by one of the three people in the hospital he least wanted to confront.
"We'd rather scope our own patients," Teagarden said. "I thought I'd made that clear at the last residents'meeting."
"What can I say?"
Teagarden looked at him coolly.
"What you can say, Dr. Najarian, is that when a system is in place with established guidelines, and you have contracted to be part of that system, you are willing to follow those guidelines." Eric felt himself flush at the surgical chief's rebuke. To either side of him, Tern DiBard and Norma Cullinet were statues. He swallowed the urge to defend his actions and to point out how effective they had been. Teagarden knew as well as he did that he had given the patient good care.
Then, without smiling, the surgical chief reached out a fleshy finger and flicked the pin on Eric's lapel.
"That's a most attractive pin, Dr. Najarian," she said. "The caduceus-symbol of everything that is noble about our profession. I would suggest that if you are going to continue wearing it, You commit yourself to conformity with the rules. Now, if you'd care to accompany me, we shall see what needs to be done for that patient of yours."
Darden… Silve… Teagaden.. — Seated alone in the residents' lounge, Eric doodled the three names over and over again on a blank patient-history form, circling each one. Then he crumpled the sheet up and angrily threw it into the wastebasket.
It was nearing three in the afternoon. The E.R. was in a rare lull.
Ordinarily he could take advantage of such a spell by stretching his legs out on a folding chair and napping. This day he couldn't come close. For years the hospital had been a constant refuge for him. For years, Problems outside of work money, family, women-were all but banished the moment he entered the place. But now, thoughts of Caduceus were making it hard to concentrate fully on anything else.
After the confrontation with Sara Teagarden he had followed her into Room Four and had watched as she guided her surgical team through the evaluation and treatment of the GI bleeder. Eventually, as he knew she would, the surgical chief abandoned attempts at medical therapy and called the O.R. In just minutes an operating room had been readied.
As the patient was being wheeled from the room Teagarden had turned and looked at him in a most peculiar way.
"I know the choices we must make on this job aren't always easy, Eric," she said, with a mellowness in her voice that he had never heard before.
Then, before he could respond, she turned quickly and left.
"Thinking about that brunette?"
Eric stopped rubbing at his eyes and looked up.
Tern Dillard was standing in the doorway.
"No. As a matter of fact I was wondering whom I might call to take out a contract on a certain gargantuan surgical chief."
"You might have to wait in line… I don't know why she needs to behave like that. There was no excuse for talking to you the way she did. None at all."
Eric shrugged.
"I've been able to brush it off by imagining how hard it must be for her to stand-in front of a mirror after she showers," he said.
"Ouch."
"Hey, forget I said that. I long ago vowed that when it came to nasty remarks, a person's family of origin and body habitus were off limits."
"Forgotten. Although I have to admit, the is sort of… amusing."
"That's not exactly the word I would have picked."
"Well, guess what. I've been looking at that poster, and I think I remember where I saw that woman's brother."
Tern poured herself half a cup of coffee, sat down beside him, and smoothed the flier out on the table.
Eric stared at the photo for a time, then shook his head.
"Think back," she said. "Remember that day you and your friend used your laser?"
"Sure."
"Remember the Code Ninety-nine in the other?" room.
Eric's eyes narrowed. "This guy?"
"Or a twin," Tern said.
"I don't see it."
"Of course you don't. You were only in there for a few minutes, and-don't take this wrong, now-you had other things on your mind."
"Tern, that guy was beyond saving," he said, with more defensiveness in his voice than he had intended.
"He was dead before he hit the door."
"Hey, easy, Eric. You know that's not what I was saying."
"Sorry. That scene with goddam Teagarden still has me on edge.
Besides, the-man in this photo is a computer troubleshooter. That guy was a drunk. He had a bottle of T-bird in his pocket."