It took two weeks. Even with Gideon Mace impelling them, the wheels of bureaucracy needed time to turn. But at the end of that time, approval of Montayne was a fait accompli. The drug could be prescribed and sold, with FDA approval, throughout the United States. At Felding-Roth there was joy that the company's February marketing target would now be met.
Taking no chances on the mail or another messenger, Vincent Lord travelled to Washington and delivered the incriminating papers personally to Dr. Mace. Lord had kept his word. All additional copies were destroyed. In the privacy of Mace's office, with both men standing, a minimum of words passed between them. "This is what was promised.”
Lord proffered a brown manila envelope. Mace accepted the envelope, inspected its contents, then turned his eyes toward Lord. In a voice dripping hatred, he said, "You and your company now have an enemy at FDA. I give you my warning: someday you'll regret this.”
Lord shrugged, made no reply, and left.
In November, on a Friday afternoon, Celia visited Dr. Maud Stavely at the New York headquarters of Citizens for Safer Medicine. The visit was an impulse decision. Celia was in Manhattan anyway, with two hours free between appointments, when she decided to satisfy her curiosity about an adversary she had never met. She did not telephone in advance, knowing that if she did, Stavely would almost certainly refuse to see her. That kind of turndown had been experienced by others in the pharmaceutical business. Celia remembered something which Lorne Eagledon, president of the Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association in Washington, had told her not long before. Eagledon, genial and easygoing, had been a government lawyer before his present trade association job. "As head of PMA, representing all the major drug companies," he said, "I like to keep contact with consumer groups. Sure, we oppose each other, but sometimes they have useful things to say, and our industry should listen. That's why I invite Ralph Nader to lunch twice a year. True, Ralph and I don't have much common ground, but we talk, and listen to each other's viewpoints, which is a civilized thing to do. But when I invited Maud Stavely to have lunch for the same reason-oh, boy!" With prompting from Celia, the PMA chief had continued, "Well, Dr. Stavely informed me she had plenty to do in her full time fight against a thoroughly bad, immoral industry—ours without wasting her valuable time on a big-business lackey with unacceptable opinions-me. Furthermore, she said never mind lunch-she would choke on a chocolate bar paid for with drug firms' tainted money.”
Eagledon had laughed.”So we never met, which I regret.”
A dreary rain was falling as Celia's taxi stopped at a dingy sixstory building on Thirty-seventh Street near Seventh Avenue. The building's main floor was occupied by a plumbing supplies store whose front window had been broken, then patched with tape. From a dowdy hallway with peeling paint, a tiny, arthritic elevator grumbled its way to the top floor and CSM. As Celia left the elevator she faced an open door and, in a small room beyond, an elderly white-haired woman seated at a battered metal desk. A card facing outward read: Volunteer: Mr& 0. Thom. The woman had been pecking at an Underwood typewriter circa 1950. Looking up as Celia entered, she announced, "I keep telling them I won't do any more work here unless this wretched machine is fixed. It's the capital '1' that never works. How can you write to people without an '17' Celia said helpfully, "You could try using 'we' every time instead.”
Mrs. 0. Thom snapped, "What about this letter, then? It's supposed to go to Idaho. Should I rename the state Wedaho?" "I do see your problem," Celia said.”I wish I could help. Is Dr. Stavely in?" "Yes, she's in. Who are you?"
"Oh, just someone interested in your organization. I'd like to talk to her.”
Mrs. Thom looked as if she would ask more questions, then changed her mind. Getting up, she walked through another doorway and out of sight. While she was away, Celia caught glimpses of several other people working in adjoining rooms. There was a sense of busy activity, including the sounds of another typewriter clattering and brisk phone conversations. Closer to hand, brochures and leaflets, some prepared for mailing, were piled high. A stack of incoming mail awaited opening. Judging by appearances, though, CSM was not burdened with excess cash. The office furnishings, Celia thought, were either someone else's discards or had been bought at a junk dealer's. Long ago, the floors were carpeted, but now the carpeting was worn so thin it had almost disappeared, and in places bare boards were visible through holes. As in the downstairs lobby, what was left of the paint was peeling. Mrs. Thom returned.”All right. Go in there.”
She pointed to a doorway. With murmured thanks, Celia did so. The room she entered was as shabby as the offices outside. "Yes, what is it?" Dr. Maud Stavely, seated at another dented desk, looked up from a paper she was reading as her visitor entered. After her impression of these surroundings, coupled with what she had heard about the person she was facing, Celia was surprised to see an attractive, auburn-haired woman, slim and well groomed, with carefully manicured hands, and probably in her early forties. The voice, though incisive and impatient, was cultured, with a slight New England accent. The clothes she had on-a maroon wool skirt and a pink tailored blouse-were inexpensive, yet worn stylishly. The eyes-Stavely's strongest single feature-were blue, direct, penetrating, and conveyed to Celia that an answer to the question was overdue. "I'm a pharmaceutical executive," Celia said.”I apologize for barging in, but I wanted to meet you.”
There was several seconds' silence. The eyes boring into her had hardened, Celia thought, and were making an appraisal. "I suppose you're Jordan.”
"Yes.”
Celia was surprised.”How did you know?" "I've heard of you. There aren't many women executives in that rotten industry, and certainly no one else who has sold out decent womanhood as much as you.”
Celia said mildly, "What makes you so sure I've-as you put it sold out?" "Because you wouldn't work in the selling end of the drug business if you hadn't.”
"I worked originally as a chemist," Celia pointed out.”Then, like others, I moved up through our company.”
"None of that interests me. Why have you come here?" Celia tried countering antagonism with a smile.”I meant what I said about wanting to meet you. I had an idea we might talk, hear each other's opinions. Even if we disagree, we could both gain something.”
The friendliness achieved nothing. The other woman inquired coldly, "Gain what?" Celia shrugged.”I suppose, some understanding. But never mind. Obviously it wasn't a good idea.”
She turned away, prepared to go, unwilling to accept further rudeness. "What do you wish to know?" The words were a shade less hostile. Celia hesitated, uncertain whether to go or stay. Stavely pointed to a chair.”You're here, so sit down. I'll give you ten minutes, then I've other things to do.”
In different circumstances Celia would have expressed herself forcefully, but curiosity caused her to remain low-key.”One thing I'd like to know is why you hate the pharmaceutical industry so much.”
For the first time Maud Stavely permitted herself a faint smile, though it quickly disappeared.”I said ten minutes, not ten hours.”
"Why not make a start in the time we have?" "Very well. The most immoral segment of your business is precisely the one you are involved in-sales. Your company and all the others oversell-grossly, cynically, wickedly. You take what are essentially reasonable drugs, though with limited medical uses, then through massive, ruthless sales campaigns have those drugs prescribed for countless people who either don't need, can't afford, or shouldn't have them-sometimes all three.”