Angela instantly related personally to Rodger's situation and felt even more guilty about her reflex cynicism concerning his motives. His matrimonial history seemed uncannily similar to her own, barring the custody issue. Angela could only wish that she had full custody.
"I'm sorry I was so flippant," Angela said. "I assumed you were just another male in a midlife crisis."
"That's understandable. I'm sure you are hit on on a regular basis."
"That's hardly the case, but I have learned to be skeptical."
"So, can I look forward to seeing you when you might be free? It could even be tonight and at your convenience."
"As you can guess from my visit to your office this morning, this is not a good time, so I'm afraid I must decline. But I appreciate your thinking of me, and perhaps after the IPO, if you are still inclined, I'd love to have a drink, and the Modern would be fine. I haven't been many places over the years. I suppose I fall into that sad and narrow category of the hyper, narrow-minded, workaholic businessperson chasing and being chased by the almighty dollar."
"I hardly think that's the case," Rodger said. "Having a preteen daughter and you not having a spouse obviates that. But we'll stay in touch, and good luck to Angels Healthcare."
"Thank you. A bit of luck would certainly help."
Angela replaced the receiver. She could hear disappointment in Rodger's voice, which flattered her on one hand and saddened her on the other, especially hearing her own description of herself. For a brief moment, she lamented how she'd morphed from the person she was when she'd entered medical school to the person she was now, having abandoned committed altruism for equally committed but far less noble entrepreneurialism.
Angela's fleeting reverie was cut short by her insistent phone. Its discordant jangle rudely yanked her back to the exigencies of her company's plight. With more than a tinge of resentment, she snatched up the phone. Loren told her there was a Dr. Chet McGovern on the line who wanted to speak to her.
"What's it about?" Angela demanded, while she tried to place the doctor in one of the three Angels hospitals.
"He wouldn't tell me," Loren said.
For a second, Angela flirted with the idea of telling Loren to ask the man again what he wanted and if he refused, to tell him to… Angela caught herself and refused to even finish the thought. Profanity had been part of her rebellion in college, but she'd grown out of it, mainly because Michael had used it to such irritating excess.
With more than five hundred physician investors, there was no way for Angela to remember all their names. That reality, and the need for the doctors to be encouraged to admit more patients, meant Angela swallowed her pique and took the call. She assumed it would be about the MRSA death the previous day, and prepared herself mentally to describe everything being done to avoid any more infection in the future.
"First, I want to make sure the flowers arrived," the caller said.
Angela's gaze shifted to the roses and their mystery. All at once it dawned on her. She was speaking with the Chet McGovern she'd had the casual drink with the previous night at the club and had "used" to clear her mind and perhaps satisfy her transitory need for some sort of social contact, especially with a member of the opposite sex.
"The flowers arrived," Angela said. "Thank you. It was most unexpected. I hope they mean you have forgiven me."
"That goes without saying," Chet responded, "which brings me to the reason for the call. I thought it over, and after finding a spare two hundred thousand in my night table, I've decided to invest in Angels Healthcare."
There was a slight pause. "Really?" Angela questioned, with her mind momentarily stalled between what she knew was reality and what she wished to be reality.
Chet laughed. "Hey! I'm making a joke. I wish I had a spare two hundred G's, but such is not the case."
"Oh," Angela said. She wasn't laughing.
"I have a sneaking sense you didn't find that so funny."
"What is the real reason for the call?" Angela asked. There was a new edge to her tone.
"I was speaking with a couple of my colleagues, one of whom is a very savvy woman. I told them about meeting you last night and being turned down for dinner tonight. She told me to ask you again and to be direct, even if it meant putting my fragile ego on the line."
Angela smiled in spite of herself. "So you're admitting you have a fragile ego?"
"Absolutely Sometimes it takes me days to recover. With that said, I'm re-asking you to dinner tonight to stave off a depression."
Angela couldn't help but laugh. "You are persistent."
"I'm not sure that's accurate. Calling up like this and asking for more abuse is not my style."
"Well, your honesty and humor have intrigued me, though I didn't like the joke about the two hundred thousand. It was like you were mocking me."
"Absolutely not," Chet said.
"I wasn't joking about the need for short-term capital, and that is honestly why I cannot accept your gracious offer. I truly am distractedly busy. I wouldn't be good company even if I had the time."
"Well, I'm disappointed, but my ego is still intact, thanks to your diplomacy. I tell you what, if you are suddenly successful with your money-raising or depressed you are not, call me. I'll be available at a moment's notice."
When the call ended, Angela spun around in her chair, looking down the length of Fifth Avenue clogged with traffic. The unexpected dinner invites from two seemingly charming but different men, one obviously social and the other an apparent homebody, were remarkably unusual. And unsettling, in the way they made her question her choices and her lifestyle, causing her to wonder again about how she'd gotten sidetracked in her life. In a moment of insight, she sensed that the combination of the government reimbursement rules that caused her inner-city primary-care practice to go bankrupt and the demoralizing experience of divorce from Michael had worked to undermine her value system. She'd become jaded. Success from business, as measured by wealth and its trappings, had trumped notions of altruism, charity, and, apart from her daughter, the pleasures of interpersonal intimacy.
Angela swung back around to face her desk and the problems besieging Angels Healthcare. Pushing the flowers away from her work area, Angela moved the afternoon schedule to center stage. A moment later, Loren brought in a sandwich and a Coke. While she ate, Angela's mind switched back to the new problem about Paul Yang's whereabouts and the laptop with the 8-K file. It was like missing a loaded grenade with its pin half out.
With that thought in mind, Angela reached for her BlackBerry to e-mail Michael about what he might know of Paul's failure to show up for work. As her thumbs danced across the miniature keyboard, she applauded the ability the instrument gave her to communicate without having to talk to the man. It meant she could get the information she wanted without the aggravation she'd otherwise have to endure.
Once the message had been composed, she was about to send it when she had a second thought. She was well aware of Michael's background and childhood, and at times had had unsettling questions about some of his friends and their current lifestyles, including his so-called clients, but she'd never asked because at the time she didn't want to know. Now, as she was about to send the message to Michael, she had a similar feeling and wondered if she wanted to know the answer to what she was asking. Vaguely sensing she might not, she saved the message as a draft and put the BlackBerry aside. She'd deal with the issue later.
6
Michael Calabrese was in a foul mood from an amalgam of fear and anxiety as he pulled his black Mercedes SUV alongside a row of parked cars and then backed into an empty spot. From where he was parked, he could see the entrance to the Neapolitan Restaurant on Corona Avenue in Corona, Queens. Corona was the next town over from Rego Park, where he'd grown up in a largely Italian neighborhood. A lot of people thought all the Italians in New York lived in Little Italy in Manhattan, but it wasn't true. They had all moved out, many to Long Island, including Michael's grandfather Ziggy who'd started the family masonry-and-tile business in Rego Park.