He backed out of the long driveway quickly, drove up the street, and stopped at the light. He hoped the needle of the fuel gauge was still just working its way upward to its correct reading. The light changed, and he turned left to drive the familiar route back to the hospital.
When he reached his reserved parking space he found a big black Mercedes had been backed into it. He paused for a moment with his foot on the brake, then drove on into the visitors’ parking lot, took a parking ticket, and found a space. As he walked toward the building, the argument the muscles of his mouth and tongue were rehearsing was that taking a surgeon’s space in a hospital parking lot could cost the driver’s child the five minutes that might have saved his life some time. He clamped the argument to the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He wasn’t going to say it. He wasn’t going inside to save anybody’s life. He was going in there to kiss that Mercedes owner’s rich ass with enthusiasm and sincerity, and hope it bought the hospital a new children’s wing.
It was probably somebody he had met before. Around Buffalo, most big money was old money, handed down from the days of the Erie Canal, or at least the days of Civil War profiteering, enhanced by practices like buying up the tax liens on family farms in the surrounding countryside during the Depression and turning them into suburbs.
He walked into the foyer and glanced into the garden. He could see a few fat penguins and their bejeweled consorts loitering out there, flicking cigarette ashes into the shrubbery and sipping drinks where their cardiologists couldn’t catch them at it.
He caught a glimpse of Lily Bortoni, the wife of his friend Leo, an orthopedic surgeon. She looked as serene and elegant as she always did at these affairs, every shining chestnut hair in place and with just enough makeup so her skin looked like the smooth surface of a sculpture. She was staring unperturbed through a cloud of cigar smoke at a potential donor as though he were saying something important, so Carey couldn’t catch her eye.
As he walked on, a series of conflicting thoughts flashed through his mind. The sight of Lily made him miss Jane and feel annoyed with her at the same time. He felt sorry for himself for having to show up here alone, felt guilty that Leo’s wife, Lily, had to work the crowd while Jane escaped it, dreaded having to explain ten times in the next hour why Jane wasn’t here. Then he remembered that she could be running for her life right now. He forced the idea out of his mind: she was out finding a new address for some moron. It was unfair to Carey and inconvenient for her, but the danger was over. She was doing what she felt she had to do, and he would just have to cover for her until it was over.
He stepped into the cafeteria, and a hand patted his arm. He turned to look down at Marian Fleming. She had managed to confine herself in a beige evening gown with metallic filigree on the front that looked as though its purpose was to protect her from body blows. Her blond hair was sprayed and sculpted into a spun-sugar helmet, and her ice-blue eyes fixed him with a stare that told him he was not about to be offered any choices. “There’s somebody you’ve got to meet,” she said.
Carey understood the words “got to,” so he waited.
“Where’s Jane?” Her eyes flicked around behind him.
“She’s out of town,” he answered. “I’m on my own tonight.”
He did not miss the tiny twitch above her eye as Marian’s mind punched Jane’s card. She was already pivoting to push him along toward someone, still talking. “Here’s the doctor I told you about.”
“You did?” asked Carey.
“Susan Haynes, this is Carey McKinnon. He went to Cornell too.” She gave Carey a perfectly benign empty look. “So did his wife, but she’s not with us tonight, so he’ll have to do.”
Carey looked at the woman and smiled. Her blond hair beside Marian’s was the difference between polished gold and yellow paint. Her eyes were big, a bright green with flecks in them like malachite, and her lips were full, with a natural upturn at the corners. She gave a reserved smile, as though she were bestowing tiny portions of a powerful spice.
“Hello, Dr. McKinnon,” said Linda.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Haynes. I have a feeling you must have shown up in Ithaca after my time. I would have remembered.”
She looked as though she was not surprised by anything men said to her, just mildly disappointed. “I was Sue Preston then.”
“It doesn’t help,” he said. “I’ve been out about ten years, and you’re only twenty …” He squinted at her. “Eight.”
The big green eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
“I’m a specialist in looking at people as bundles of cells. Yours are twenty-eight.”
She looked around her, but nobody was nearby bursting to explain it. “This is some kind of trick.”
He shook his head. “Nope. You weigh one hundred and twenty-two pounds, right?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t weigh myself every day.” She lowered her head and conceded from behind her eyelashes, “That’s close, though.”
He leaned closer, and she turned her ear to listen. “Those guys at carnivals who guess your age and weight?”
“What about them?”
“They’re all old doctors.”
He could tell she was getting used to him now. She just smiled, showing perfect teeth and spilling a prodigal supply of the precious spice into the room, but it was all for him. “Now I know it’s a joke.”
“Some do it to save up for their malpractice insurance, some just hate golf. I think some of them do it just to get away from these.” He showed her his beeper. “Ever have one of these?”
“I’m not the kind of person anybody needs urgently.”
“Good. Don’t ever start.” He put his beeper away. “Well, I should introduce you to more people. Or you should introduce me. Just because I haven’t met you at one of these things doesn’t mean I know more people than you do.”
“This is my first time,” she said.
Marian Fleming drifted up with Harry Rotherberg. “There,” she said. “I knew you two would have something to talk about. But I need to take Carey back for a minute. This is Dr. Rotherberg. He’s the head of pediatrics, so he can answer any questions you have about the new wing.”
Carey flashed a valedictory smile at the young woman and stepped away with Marian. “How am I doing?”
“You’re my paladin,” she said. “Right now I’m going to jump you over a few pawns and get you to work this bunch over here.”
“The captain of industry with the plaid cummerbund?”
“Yep. Know him?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen his cummerbund at these things before, but his name doesn’t leap to mind.”
“He’s Charlie Fraser. That’s his tartan. He comes off as a dope, but he’s not. He’s given about a hundred thousand so far this year. Be nice to him.”
“What a devious plan.”
“Oh, and Carey?”
“What?”
“Since Jane isn’t here, I’ve seated you with Susan Haynes. I’m counting on you to romance her a little for me.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t know anybody,” said Marian. “Harry’s a great pediatrician, but ten minutes with him is an evening in Mister Rogers’ neighborhood. She’s got money and she wants to do good with it.”
“I’ll get it for you if I have to turn her upside down and shake her.”
“I have no doubt. Your reputation precedes you.” There was no trace of a smile as she expertly moved him into the space before Charlie Fraser. “Charlie, this is Dr. McKinnon,” she said.