As Angela approached, she sized him up. She'd forgotten his engaging, nonchalant smile as well as his boyish appeal. She never would have suspected he was a physician, and certainly not a medical examiner. During her medical training, pathology had not been her favorite course. She couldn't help but wonder why anyone would choose to make a career of it.
When she reached the table, Chet surprised her by stepping out and giving her a hug. She limply hugged back. After all, this was business, even if he didn't know it.
"Thanks for coming out, knowing how busy you are."
"Thanks for having me. I'm not sure I would have gotten much dinner had you not been so persistent."
"As I said, you have to eat."
They sat down.
"First things first," Chet said. "This is my treat."
"I think I'm going to get the best of this exchange," Angela said. She knew that in keeping with its quality, San Pietro was not inexpensive.
They engaged in superficial banter for a time, after which Angela signaled for the waiter. She was committed to having a short evening.
The youthful, smiling waiter came over and rattled off an impressive description of more than a dozen appetizer specials and more than a dozen entree specials. Then he handed out the menus.
"That was incredible," Chet whispered to Angela. "How does he remember all that?"
After they had made their selections, including a bottle of 1995 Brunello, they went back to their conversation. As had been the case the night before, Angela found Chet an extremely facile conversationalist, and she couldn't help but enjoy his humor and refreshing candor. He was, as he openly admitted, an irrepressible lothario. Yet by admitting it so freely, it seemed to erase its usual tawdry shallowness. Once again, as was the case the previous evening and in spite of all the pressure she was under, she began to enjoy herself. Of course, the wine significantly helped, as it was truly delicious to the point of making her feel a bit guilty: She imagined the bottle was pricey.
As the conversation proceeded, and not wanting to be rude by essentially delving into her true interest for coming out to dinner namely, to find out about Laurie Montgomery, she took advantage of Chet's openness by asking him why he chose medicine and why forensics.
"You want the expurgated version or the truth?" Chet said, flashing one of his playful smiles.
"The truth!" Angela said with exaggerated forcefulness. She took another sip of the heavenly wine.
"Most people, like ninety-eight percent, go into medicine because they are truly motivated to help people. Not me. I had no idea what I wanted to be until about the eighth grade."
"What happened?"
"One of my friends, whom I thought of as somewhat of a nerd – I mean, he was the chairman of the chess club – suddenly decided he truly wanted to be a doctor, and for the standard reason. And do you know what happened?"
"I cannot wait to hear."
"Overnight, he became really popular with the girls. I couldn't believe it. It was like a metamorphosis. Even the girl I was trying to date, Stacey Cockburn, suddenly wanted to date Herbie Dick. Really, those were the names. I'm not joking."
Angela suppressed a laugh.
"So, suddenly I wanted to be a doctor," Chet continued. "And it worked. Two weeks later, I took Stacey to the Saturday-night dance."
"But was the motivation enough to make you actually study medicine?"
"It was for me. I'd always liked biology so medicine wasn't generally contrary to my interests. And having a real sense of direction at that age was somehow reassuring. And my parents and sisters were wild about me being a doctor, because in a small midwestern town, the doctor is still considered a rather respectable individual."
"Okay," Angela said. "But why forensics?"
"I suppose because I like puzzles and I like to learn new things. For me, that's what forensics is all about. Also, in medical school I sensed I wasn't all that good with patients, especially when they were alive."
Angela smiled and nodded. She could understand to a degree philosophically what he was saying, but not the part about having to do the autopsy itself.
"Okay, it's your turn," Chet said. "Why did you choose business?"
Angela hesitated for a moment, thinking how she cared to answer. Her first inclination was to brush the question off by offering some pat answer, but a combination of Chet's forthrightness, her recent misgivings about her motivations, and even perhaps the wine made her want to be frank. "I guess I should ask you the same question you asked me," she said. "Do you want the stereotypical version or the honest one?"
"The honest one for sure."
"Actually, I never wanted to be a businesswoman, at least not until about five years ago."
"What did you want to be?"
"I wanted to be a doctor."
"No shit?" Chet questioned, as a wry, uncertain smile appeared on his face.
"No shit," Angela echoed. "And I was part of the herd. I was part of the ninety-eight percent you mentioned. I truly wanted to take care of and hopefully cure people. It might sound overly sappy, but I even had it in mind to bring medicine into the inner city like a kind of modern-day Dr. Livingstone."
"How come you didn't do it?"
"I did do it," Angela said. "I went the whole nine yards. I did a residency in internal medicine, got my boards, and opened a practice in Harlem."
Chet sat back and put his fork down. He was momentarily at a loss for words. He'd sensed from the moment he'd begun talking with Angela at the health club that there was something special about her, but he never would have guessed she was a doctor. The shocking news challenged his self-esteem, since being an M.D. and a high-level businesswoman certainly trumped his being only a doctor. But at the same time, the news fanned his interest in Angela.
"Are you surprised?" Angela asked. Chet looked as if a cannon had gone off next to him.
"I'm flabbergasted."
"Why?"
"I don't really know," Chet stammered.
"I'm surprised myself," Angela admitted. "But perhaps my motivations for medicine weren't quite as altruistic as I've always believed."
"Oh?" Chet voiced. He leaned forward. "Why not?"
"Part of the reason I wanted to go to medical school, and I suppose to take care of people, because that's generally what you do after you graduate, was to get back at my father."
"Really?"
"Really!" Angela repeated. In truth of fact, she was as surprised by her statement about her father as Chet was. It wasn't that the idea hadn't vaguely occurred to her in rare moments over the years, but rather because she'd never truly visited the issue.
"Forgive me if I'm being too personal," Chet said, readjusting himself in his seat. "Why would you want to get back at your father? For some reason, I guess I just assumed you experienced an idyllic childhood."
"In all outward appearances, it was," Angela said. She was again surprised at herself. As a private person, she was admitting things she'd admitted only to a few close girlfriends while in college. "And it was important for my father that it appeared that way. But our perfect little family had its secrets." Angela paused, unsure if she wanted to go on. "I hope I'm not boring you. Are you sure you want to hear this?"
"Oh, come on!" Chet complained. "I'm fascinated. And if it is a concern for you, I give you my word that whatever you feel comfortable telling me will go no further."
"I appreciate that," Angela said. She took a sip of wine, thought for a moment, and then said, "Regrettably, my father abused me, not in any sexual sense but rather in an emotional sense. Of course, I had no idea of this as a child. It was only after I'd matured to whatever degree I have. When I was very young, I was the apple of my father's eye. I remember it very well, and I was crazy about him. But with my father's guarded emotions and reliance on appearances, the cost for me, and for my mother, for that matter, was absolute, pet-like allegiance. As long as I was his little automaton darling doll, everything was picture-perfect. The problem was that I was slowly growing up, and the moment I expressed any autonomy by being my own person, he turned away from me and dropped small comments about me abandoning him, which made me feel horribly guilty. For a time, I tried desperately to please him, but invariably I'd disappoint him as my interests turned progressively away from home and more toward my friends and school. My poor mom, who had remained entirely allegiant, perhaps suffered the most, because he seemed to become bored with her and had the stereotypic midlife crisis, complete with affairs and alcohol. Of course, he never took responsibility. He blamed both my mother and myself for his need to act out, claiming no one cared about him. For some reason, which I'll never understand, my poor mom stayed with him until he divorced her for a younger woman."