“Hmm. That could possibly put a different spin on the situation down the road,” Patrick pondered. “At the same time, I wouldn’t count on it influencing this current case. What I can do is run it by a malpractice attorney friend of mine, provided you give me the okay.”
“Sure, if you think it is appropriate.”
“I’ll give it more thought,” Patrick said. “Meanwhile, I’ll start the process of getting you a court date.” He stood up, and Brian did the same, interested to meet his very first medical billing advocate.
Chapter 18
September 1
Conveniently it took Brian mere minutes to go from Patrick McCarthy’s office down to Megan Doyle’s on the ground floor. But the change was substantial. In contrast to Patrick’s space, there was a generous-sized waiting room and a receptionist, suggesting that Megan was doing significantly better financially than Patrick. Business for Megan was apparently brisk in spite of the pandemic, or maybe because of it.
To Brian, the elderly receptionist looked strikingly similar to the librarian of his middle school, and he was tempted to ask if she was related but couldn’t remember the librarian’s name. In keeping with the needs of the pandemic, a plexiglass shield had been added to the woman’s desk. Combining that barrier with his mask, he had to speak up when he gave his name.
“Miss Doyle will see you as soon as she can between patients,” the receptionist responded equally loudly. “Meanwhile, please fill out this form so we have all your contact information.”
Armed with the form on a clipboard, Brian turned to look for the most appropriate spot to sit in the waiting area. Despite it being as early as it was, there were two people waiting who had chosen opposite corners of the room beneath the windows that looked out on Broadway. In keeping with social distancing requirements, Brian went to the other end of the room.
As he was filling out the form, he thought about the receptionist calling Megan’s clients “patients.” It struck him as mildly bizarre that Megan was considered an integral part of the medical community, suggesting that dealing with a ridiculous hospital bill was somehow akin to setting a broken bone.
As he finished with the form, a fourth person came into the waiting area. What caught Brian’s attention was the woman’s age. Although the man and the woman under the windows were somewhere near his mother’s age of seventy, this newly arrived individual was closer to Brian’s thirty-six. She was dressed in biking shorts and a bright pink jersey with white stripes. And similar to Brian, when she gave her name to the receptionist behind the plexiglass, she spoke up to make sure she was heard. Her name was Jeanne Juliette-Shaw. Then the receptionist told her the same thing she’d said to him, indicating she, too, was being squeezed in. The only difference was that she was not given a form to fill out, implying that she was an existing client.
Despite the circumstance of being in a medical billing advocate’s office, his life in total disarray, and it being in the middle of a pandemic, Brian couldn’t help but be intrigued with this stranger on three accounts. The first was the woman’s youth, which suggested that similar to Brian, she shouldn’t be struggling with a difficult hospital bill. Second was her obvious French accent. When she pronounced her given name, it was “jhân,” not “jēēn,” suggesting that she had grown up in France just like Aimée. And third was her family name: Juliette-Shaw, calling to mind his daughter’s given name.
Jeanne retreated to the remaining corner of the room, relatively close to him although certainly more than the required six feet away. As she sat down, she nodded a greeting to Brian, who couldn’t help but closely watch her despite recognizing he might be acting mildly impolite. She then took out her phone from a pocket on the back of her bike jersey and became engrossed.
“Excuse me,” Brian said, unable to restrain himself. “I couldn’t help but hear the first part of your hyphenated family name, Juliette. It’s quite...” For a brief moment he didn’t know what to say, as he had spoken impulsively and hadn’t planned ahead. Finally, after an awkward pause, he added: “It’s quite beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, but quickly reverted her attention back to her phone.
“It caught my attention because it’s my four-year-old daughter’s name,” Brian added, in an attempt to initiate a conversation.
Jeanne looked up again. Because of her face mask, he couldn’t be sure of her reaction, but there was a faint crinkle of the corners of her eyes at least suggesting a smile, but to his dismay she didn’t speak, forcing Brian to stumble ahead: “The reason we chose the name is that it was my mother’s maiden name. My mother grew up in France. She didn’t come here to the United States until college age, actually to go to Barnard College, where she met my father, who was going to Columbia on a hockey scholarship and then had us kids.”
Brian felt distinctly uncomfortable, which was why he’d carried on so long. Although social to a fault, he’d never been particularly comfortable talking with women he didn’t know.
“Juliette is not that common as a surname,” Jeanne said. “Even in France. Where in France did your mother come from?”
“Normandy,” Brian said, relieved to be asked a question. “Near Bayeux.”
“That’s a very interesting part of France.”
“Have you been there?”
“Of course. Everyone visits Bayeux because of the tapestries.”
“I suppose you are right,” he said. “Even I have seen the tapestries: several times, in fact. My mother took me and my brothers and sister to France every year to visit our French grandparents. To make it easier, she even got us all French passports so we could zip through immigration. My middle name is Yves, after my mother’s dad.” Brian didn’t know why he felt pressured to keep speaking. Being a private person normally, it was unlike him to be so revealing about himself.
“You and your siblings were very lucky,” Jeanne said.
“We were,” Brian agreed. Then, in hopes of turning the conversation away from himself, he said: “You have a distinctive and charming accent. Are you French?”
“Yes and no,” she said. “Like your mother, I grew up in France. I, too, came here to the USA to attend college but ended up staying and becoming a citizen. I consider myself American as well as French.”
“As you should. Could you be related to my mother’s family since, as you say, Juliette is not a common family name?”
“I doubt it,” Jeanne said. “I grew up in a totally different area of France that’s not that well known outside of the country. It’s called the Camargue. It’s way in the south, and all my relatives have lived there forever.”
“You are right, I’ve never heard of the Camargue, but I’ll ask my mother.”
“She’ll know of it; it’s the Rhône River delta,” Jeanne explained. “It’s marshy and agricultural with more birds, cattle, and horses than people.”
“I’ll check it out with Google,” he said. “I should introduce myself. My name is Brian Murphy.”
“Nice to meet you, Brian,” she said. “I’m Jeanne Juliette-Shaw.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. If you don’t mind, let me ask you a question about Megan Doyle. Is this your first visit, like it is mine?”
“No, she’s been working with me for a number of months. I’m just here to sign some final paperwork.”
“Has she been helpful?”
“She’s been most definitely helpful,” Jeanne confirmed. “I just wish I had come to her sooner. I wasn’t even aware such people existed.”
“Nor was I, not until a few days ago.”
“One of the main things I miss about France is the healthcare system,” she said. “It is so, so much better. Here it can be a disaster, and I am living proof.”