Glancing around the room Martin said, "I wonder if I'm forgetting anything."
"Yourself," said Denise with exasperation. "You've been here for eighteen hours. Good gravy, let's go."
Since the Towers was part of the medical center, it was connected to the hospital by a well-lit and cheerfully painted basement tunnel. Power and heat traveled the same route, concealed in the tunnel's ceiling, behind acoustical tiles. As Martin and Denise walked hand in hand they passed first under the old medical school and then the new medical school. Farther on they passed branching tunnels leading to the Brenner Pediatric Hospital and the Goldman Psychiatry Institute. The Towers was at the end of the tunnel and represented the current limit of the cancerous spread of the medical center into the surrounding community. A flight of steps led directly into the lower foyer of the apartment house. A guard behind a bulletproof glass recognized Philips and buzzed them in.
The Towers was a posh residential address inhabited mostly by MDs and other professionals from the medical center. A few other professors from the university lived there as well but they generally found the rents on the expensive side. Of the physicians, most were divorced, although there was a rising contingent of young turks with their aggressively career-minded wives. There were almost no children except for weekends when it was Dad's turn with the kids. Martin also knew there were quite a few psychiatrists, and he'd noticed not an insignificant number of gays.
Martin was one of the divorced. It had happened four years previously after six years of matrimonial suburban stalemate. Like most of his colleagues Martin had married during his residency as a kind of reaction against his demanding academic life. His wife's name was Shirley and he had loved her, at least he thought he'd loved her. He'd been shocked at the time when she upped and left him. Luckily they'd had no children. His reaction to the divorce had been depression, which he'd dealt with by working even longer hours, if that was possible. Gradually as time passed he was able to view the experience with the necessary detachment to realize what had happened. Philips had been married to medicine, his wife had been the mistress. Shirley had picked the year he'd been appointed Assistant Chief of Neuroradiology as the time to leave because she'd finally understood his value system. Before his selection his excuse to his wife for his seventy hours per week was that he was shooting to become the Assistant Chief. Once he got the position his excuse for the same work week was that he was the Chief. Shirley had seen the light even if Philips hadn't. She had refused to be married and alone and so she left.
"Have you come to any conclusion about Marino's missing brain?" asked Denise, bringing Martin back to the present.
"No," said Philips. "But Mannerheim must have been responsible in some way."
They were waiting for the elevator beneath a huge, gaudy chandelier. The carpet was burnt orange with interlocking gold circles.
"Are you going to do anything about it?"
"I don't know what I can do. I sure wouldn't mind finding out why it was removed."
The nicest aspect of Philips' apartment was the view of the river and the graceful curve of the bridge. Otherwise it was very unremarkable. Philips had moved suddenly. He'd rented the apartment by telephone and had hired a rental firm to furnish it And that's what he got-furniture: a couch; a couple of end tables; a coffee table; a couple of chairs for the living room; a dinette set; and a bed with matching side table for the bedroom. It wasn't much, but it was only temporary. The fact that Philips had been living there for four years didn't occur to him.
Martin was not a drinker but tonight he wanted to relax so he splashed some scotch over ice. To be polite he held the bottle up for Denise but she shook her head as he'd expected. She only drank wine or an occasional gin and tonic, and certainly not while she was on call. Instead she got herself a tall glass of orange juice from the refrigerator.
In the living room Denise listened to Martin's chatter, hoping that he'd burn himself out quickly. She was not interested in talking about research or missing brains. She was remembering his admission of affection. The possibility of his being serious excited her and it allowed her to admit her own feelings.
"Life can be amazing," Martin was saying. "In a single day it can take such wonderful twists."
"What are you referring to?" Denise asked, hoping he was going to talk about their relationship.
"Yesterday, I had no idea we were so close to producing the X-ray reading program. If things go…"
Exasperated, she got up and pulled him to his feet and began pulling at his shirttails telling him that he should relax and forget the hospital. She looked up into his bemused face with a teasing smile, so that no matter what happened it wouldn't be awkward.
Philips agreed that he was wound up and said he'd feel better if he took a quick shower. It wasn't quite what she had in mind, but he encouraged her to come into the bathroom and keep him company. She watched him through the shower glass, which was frosted on one side and beveled on the other. The image of Philips' naked body was fractured and softened in a curiously erotic way as he twisted and turned under the jet of water.
Denise sipped her orange juice while Martin tried to carry on a conversation over the din of the water. She couldn't hear a word, which she thought was just as well. At the moment she preferred watching rather than listening. Affection welled up inside of her, filling her with warmth.
Finished, Martin turned off the water and, grabbing his towel, stepped out of the shower. To Denise's disgust he was still talking about computers and doctors. Annoyed, she snatched the towel and began to dry his back. When she was finished she turned him back around.
"Do me a favor," she said as if she were angry, "and shut up." Then she grabbed his hand, and pulled him out of the bathroom. Confused at her sudden outburst, Philips allowed himself to be led into the darkened bedroom. There in full view of the silent river and the dramatic bridge, Denise threw her arms around his neck and passionately kissed him.
Martin responded instantly. But before he could even undress Denise, her beeper filled the room with its insistent sound. For a moment they just held each other, postponing the inevitable, and enjoying their closeness. Without saying it, they both knew that their relationship had reached a new plateau.
It was 2:40 A.M. when a city ambulance pulled into the receiving area of the Medical Center. There were already two similar ambulances parked there, and the new one backed up between them until its bumper thumped the rubber guard. The engine choked and died before the driver and the passenger alighted from the cab. With their heads bowed against the steady April rain, they trotted back and leaped up on the platform. The thinner of the two swung open the rear door of the ambulance. The other more muscular man reached in and pulled out an empty stretcher. Unlike the other ambulances this one was not bringing an emergency. It had come to pick up a patient. Not an uncommon occurrence.
The men lifted the stretcher from each end and, like an ironing board, its legs dropped down. Instantly the stretcher was converted into a narrow but functional gurney. Together they pushed through the automatic sliding door of the emergency room and looking neither right nor left, turned down the main corridor and took an elevator to Neurology West on the fourteenth floor. There were two RNs and five LPNs assigned to the floor for the shift, but one of the nurses and three of the aides were on their break, so Ms. Claudine Arnette, RN, was in charge. It was to her that the thinner man presented the transfer documents. The patient was being moved to a private room at New York Medical Center, where her own doctor had admitting privileges.
Ms. Arnette checked the papers, swore under her breath because she had just finished her paper work on the admission and signed the form. She asked Maria Gonzales to accompany the men down to room 1420. Then she went back to her narcotic check before her own break. Even in the reduced light she'd noticed that the driver had amazingly green eyes.