As Rothman strode toward his private office, the eyes of the technicians followed him. It was immediately apparent to all of them what had brought Rothman out of the biosafety unit. Catching sight of Pia, he had motioned for her to follow him. As the office door closed, the lab technicians exchanged knowing looks with a tinge of collective jealousy. All of them knew that with the pressure of the upcoming Lancet article, Rothman would never have left the biosafety unit specifically to talk to them. In their minds Pia was a kind of teacher’s pet made worse by her not being all that friendly. Similar to Rothman, she was always too busy for small talk and kept to herself. On top of that, they all thought she was a bit too good-looking to be a medical student and thought captiously she would have been better suited to playing one on TV. Pia was an enigma to the laboratory staff, made more interesting by the gossip that had it she was going to be a nun.
If the lab technicians had had the opportunity to view the scene inside Rothman’s office, they might not have felt any jealousy whatsoever. It appeared more like Rothman and Pia were engaged in an arcane ritual, rather than having an actual conversation. Neither looked at the other throughout the entire, brief encounter. After Rothman told her he wanted her to edit the current salmonella study for The Lancet that day, he picked up one of two copies of the paper from his desk, which he was now studying intently. Pia appeared equally distracted, her arms crossed, looking at her feet. The uninitiated might sense a social ineptness on both sides as the awkward silence extended; a clinical psychologist, given enough time, might talk more in diagnostically precise language.
Finally Rothman, half standing, leaned over his desk and handed a copy of the Lancet paper to Pia. “Make sure this is up to snuff. I’ll want it by morning. Tomorrow we’ll talk again about what you will be doing for the month.” He still did not look at her. “Let me say that I know you have always been more interested in my stem cell work than my salmonella work, and I’m fine with that. You’ve earned it, considering you finally know something practical about genetics rather than the garbage they taught you in class. And one other thing: Two fourth-year students have been foisted on me for a month of elective by the damn dean. So I want you to give some thought to what they can do while they’re here. It’s not going to be easy. I’m sure they’ll be worthless.”
“Where are they and how can I meet them?”
“They are supposed to start tomorrow. Dr. Yamamoto will introduce you. The main thing is that I don’t want them tying up a lot of Junichi’s time as he seems to enjoy that kind of crap. I need him to concentrate on our work.”
“I can’t do anything with that maintenance man in my office.”
“My understanding is that he’ll be done sometime today. So, tomorrow then.” Rothman was never much interested in the details of running his massive lab. Suddenly he was again absorbed in the Lancet manuscript.
Ignoring Rothman’s dismissal, Pia said, “There is something I want to tell you. The residency matching results came in. I’m going to be here at Columbia doing a combined program getting a Ph.D. in cellular biology with you, as you so generously offered, and completing a residency in internal medicine. I hope you’re pleased.”
“Well, I’m not!” Rothman said with emotion, his infamous ire rising. “I’m disappointed. If I told you once I told you a dozen times that for you, doing an internal medicine residency would be a complete waste of time, just like it was for me. I think it is totally apparent that you, like me, are cut out for research, not clinical medicine. You should be here in the lab full-time! I said as much in my letter of recommendation for the Ph.D. program.”
A level of tension hung in the air. For a few beats neither spoke, nor did they so much as exchange a glance.
“But I have the sisters to think of,” Pia said. Pia’s education had been partly underwritten by the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart, an international religious order situated in Westchester County. Pia had fled to the order for emotional safety after aging out of foster care at age eighteen. Although initially Pia had thought briefly of joining the order as a nun, after finishing her high school equivalency and a portion of college at New York University, she had changed her mind. Consequently the relationship with the sisters, particularly the mother superior, had become more transactional. Although Pia would complete her medical training and still go to Africa to help with the organization’s missionary work, she would not become a novitiate.
Although Pia had received full scholarships from New York University and Columbia Medical School, the Sisters’ contribution had been considerable. She felt justifiably obligated. “I don’t think I can renege on a plan I made ten years ago. Although I’ve come to agree with you that my personality is more suited to research, I think I have to go through with the original plan to become a doctor and, at least for a time, serve the order’s needs.”
A rush of mumbled profanity escaped from Rothman’s lips. He shook his head in disbelief. “Here I am offering you a part in making medical history with my stem cell research, and I have to be concerned about a bunch of nuns in Westchester.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “What kind of money are we talking about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on. Don’t be obtuse. What do you think you owe them in dollars?”
“I’m not sure I can think of it in those terms.”
“Let’s not be difficult. Give me a figure however you want to create it.”
Pia thought for a moment. It was not an easy task. She’d never put a figure on how the sisters had nurtured her and given her a sense of protection from the evils of her foster care experience. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe fifty thousand. Something like that.”
“Done,” Rothman said. “You’ll get a loan from my bank to the tune of fifty thousand, and I’ll cosign for it.”
Pia found herself momentarily speechless. Never in her life had someone stood up for her financially, especially to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. She didn’t know how to react. “I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled.
“Then don’t say anything! We’ll revisit this issue, but for today I want you to jump on this paper for Lancet. It needs another set of eyes and the statistics checked. I know you are a whiz with statistics.”
Rothman got up from behind his desk. With his attention buried in the piece of paper he’d been intermittently studying, he walked out of his office. Pia was stunned. Rothman had just essentially lent her a large sum of money and asked for her help on a vitally important paper.
“Okay,” Pia said to herself, “I’ve got work to do. Now I just have to get that man out of my work space.” Following Rothman out through the door, she headed back to the lab bench where she had set up her temporary work space.
2.
CONVENT OF THE SISTERS OF THE SACRED HEART WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK FEBRUARY 28, 2011, 7:20 P.M.
Armed with Dr. Rothman’s pledge of financial support, Pia made an appointment with the mother superior of the convent of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart for that same evening. It wasn’t a meeting she looked forward to. Pia recalled how years before the mother superior had found her as a teenager sitting on the convent wall after getting into a fight with her foster family at the time, who lived a couple of miles away. She had brought Pia inside, and they had talked. The result was that Pia returned the very next weekend, with her family’s permission, to help out in an unstructured fashion. The rest was history, culminating in Pia’s decision, when she aged out of foster care, to join the convent with the idea of possibly becoming a novitiate.