Traynor was about to get back to the subject of their proposed rendezvous when Caldwell and Cantor spotted them and approached. Caldwell was in a particularly cheerful mood.
"I guess you've already heard how well the bonus program is working," he said to Traynor. "The August figures are encouraging."
"No, I haven't heard," Traynor said, turning to Beaton.
"It's true," Beaton said. "I'll be presenting the stats tonight. The balance sheet is okay. August CMV admissions are down four percent over last August. That's not a lot, but it's in the right direction."
"It's warming to hear some good news once in a while," Traynor said. "But we can't relax. I was talking with Arnsworth on Friday, and he warned me that the red ink will reappear with a vengeance when the tourists leave. In July and August a good portion of the hospital census has been paying patients, not CMV subscribers. Now that it's past Labor Day, the tourists will be going home. So we cannot afford to relax."
"I think we should reactivate our strict utilization control," Beaton said. "It's our only hope of holding out until the current capitation contract runs out."
"Of course we have to recommence," Traynor said. "We don't have any choice. By the way, for everyone's information, we have officially changed the name from DUM to DUC. It's now 'drastic utilization control.' "
Everyone chuckled.
"I have to say I'm disappointed," Cantor said, still chuckling. "As the architect for the plan I was partial to DUM." Despite the long, sunny summer his facial pallor had changed very little. The skin on his surprisingly slender legs was paler still. He was wearing bermuda shorts and black socks.
"I have a policy question," Caldwell said. "Under DUC, what's the status of a chronic disease like cystic fibrosis?"
"Don't ask me," Traynor said. "I'm no doctor. What the hell is cystic fibrosis? I mean, I've heard the term but that's about all."
"It's a chronic inherited illness," Cantor explained. "It causes a lot of respiratory and GI problems."
"GI stands for gastro-intestinal," Caldwell explained. "The digestive system."
"Thank you," Traynor said sarcastically. "I know what GI means. What about the illness; is it lethal?"
"Usually," Cantor said. "But with intensive respiratory care, some of the patients can live productive lives into their fifties."
"What's the actuarial cost per year?" Traynor asked.
"Once the chronic respiratory problems set in it can run twenty thousand plus per year," Cantor said.
"Good Lord!" Traynor said. "With that kind of cost, it has to be included in utilization considerations. Is it a common affliction?"
"One in every two thousand births," Cantor said.
"Oh, hell!" Traynor said with a wave. "Then it's too rare to get excited over."
After promises to be prompt for the executive board meeting that night, Caldwell and Cantor went their separate ways. Caldwell headed over to a volleyball game in the process of forming on the tiny beach at the edge of the pond. Cantor made a beeline for the tub of iced beer.
"Let's get to the food," Traynor said.
Once again they set out toward the tent that covered the rows of charcoal grills. Everyone Traynor passed either nodded or called out a greeting. Traynor's wife was right: he did love this kind of public occasion. It made him feel like a king. He'd dressed casually but with decorum; tailored slacks, his elevator loafers without socks, and an open-necked short-sleeved shirt. He'd never wear shorts to such an occasion and was amazed that Cantor cared so little about his appearance.
His happiness was dampened by the approach of his wife. "Enjoying yourself, dear?" she asked sarcastically. "It certainly appears that way."
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked rhetorically. "Walk around with a scowl?"
"I don't see why not," Jacqueline said. "That's the way you are most of the time at home."
"Maybe I should leave," Beaton said, starting to step away.
Traynor grabbed her arm, holding her back. "No, I want to hear more about August statistics for tonight's meeting."
"In that case, I'll leave," Jacqueline said. "In fact, I think I'll head home, Harold, dear. I've had a bite and spoken to the two people I care about. I'm sure one of your many colleagues will be more than happy to give you a lift."
Traynor and Beaton watched Jacqueline totter away through the deep grass in her pumps.
"Suddenly I'm not hungry," Traynor said after Jacqueline had disappeared from sight. "Let's circulate some more."
They walked down by the lake and watched the volleyball game for a while. Then they strolled toward the softball diamond.
"What is it you want to talk about?" Traynor asked, marshaling his courage.
"Us, our relationship, me," Beaton said. "My job is fine. I'm enjoying it. It's stimulating. But when you recruited me, you implied that our relationship would go somewhere. You told me you were about to get a divorce. It hasn't happened. I don't want to spend the rest of my life sneaking around. These trysts aren't enough. I need more."
Traynor felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. With everything else going on at the hospital, he couldn't handle this. He didn't want to stop his affair with Helen, but there was no way he could face Jacqueline.
"You think about it," Beaton said. "But until something changes, our little rendezvous in my office will have to stop."
Traynor nodded. For the moment it was the best he could hope for. They reached the softball field and absently watched. A game was in the process of being organized.
"There's Dr. Wadley," Beaton said. She waved and Wadley waved back. Next to him was a young, attractive woman with dark brown hair, dressed in shorts. She was wearing a baseball cap turned jauntily to the side.
"Who is that woman with him?" Traynor asked, eager to change the subject.
"She's our newest pathologist," Beaton said. "Angela Wilson. Want to meet her?"
"I think that would be appropriate," Traynor said.
They walked over and Wadley did the honors. During his lengthy introduction, he extolled Traynor as the best chairman of the board the hospital had ever had and Angela as the newest and brightest pathologist.
"I'm delighted to meet you," Angela said.
A yell from the other players took Wadley and Angela away. The game was ready to start.
Beaton watched as Wadley shepherded Angela to her position at second base. He was playing shortstop.
"There's been quite a change in old Doc Wadley," Beaton commented. "Angela Wilson has evoked the suppressed teacher in the man. She's given him a new lease on life. He's been on cloud nine ever since she got here."
Traynor watched Angela Wilson field practice ground balls and lithely throw them to first base. He could well understand Wadley's interest, only unlike Beaton, he didn't attribute it purely to a mentor's enthusiasm. Angela Wilson didn't look like a doctor, at least not any doctor Traynor had ever met.
10
Even though David and Angela had spent four years in Boston during their residencies, they hadn't truly experienced the full glory of a New England fall. In Bartlet it was breathtaking. Each day the splendiferous color of the leaves became more intense, as if trying to surpass the previous day's efforts.
Besides the visual treats, fall brought more subtle pleasures associated with a sense of well-being. The air turned crisp and crystal clear and more pure to breathe. There was a feeling of invigoration in the atmosphere that made waking up in the morning a pleasure. Each day was filled with energy and excitment; each evening offered cozy contentment, with the sound of a crackling fire to keep the nighttime chill at bay.
Nikki loved her school. Marjorie Kleber became her teacher and, as David had surmised, she was superb. Although Nikki had always been a good student, she now became an excellent one. She looked forward to Mondays when a new schoolweek would commence. At night she was full of stories about all she had learned that day in class.