Mindbend

“Could he be having an affair?” asked Mrs. Carson.

“By George, he better not be,” said Mr. Carson, who lowered his Wall Street Journal and glared at the two women.

“He’s not having an affair,” said Je

“Well, he’s surely acting inappropriately,” said her mother.

Je

The phone rang again, and she leaped up, thinking it was Adam calling, having changed his mind about the trip. But when she picked up the phone, it was Dr. Vandermer on the other end.

“I’m sorry to be calling so early,” he said, “but I wanted to be certain to get you.”

“It’s all right,” said Je

“I’d like you to come back to the clinic today,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I need to talk to you. Could you make it this morning some time around ten? I’m afraid I have surgery this afternoon.”

“Of course. I’ll be there at ten,” said Je

“Who was it, dear?” asked Mrs. Carson.

“Dr. Vandermer. He wants to see me this morning.”

“What about?”

“He didn’t say,” said Je

“Well, at least it can’t have anything to do with the amniocentesis,” said Mrs. Carson. “He told us the results take about two weeks.”

Je

Mrs. Carson insisted on driving Je

Dr. Vandermer stood when they entered and motioned for Je

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said in a voice that betrayed no emotion.

Je

“Normally it takes two weeks to get the results of an amniocentesis,” said Dr. Vandermer. “The reason is that tissue cultures have to be made in order to see the nuclear material properly. Occasionally, however, the abnormality is so apparent that the free cells in the amniotic fluid tell the story. Je

Je

“Does that mean that the child won’t live more than a few weeks?” Mrs. Carson asked, struggling with her own memories.

“We believe that the infant wouldn’t survive,” said Dr. Vandermer. He walked over to Je

Je

“I think you should go home and discuss the situation with your family,” Dr. Vandermer continued. “Believe me, it’s better to come to a decision now than after a lengthy and difficult labor and delivery.”

“I can vouch for that,” said Mrs. Carson. “Dr. Vandermer’s right, Je

Je

“Please call me whenever you want,” he said as they left.

The two women passed through the clinic, descended into the parking garage, and retrieved their car in silence. As they drove up the ramp, Je

“I thought we’d go right back to New Jersey,” said Mrs. Carson. “I think your father should know about this.”

“I’d like to see Adam,” said Je

“Maybe we should call first,” said Mrs. Carson.

“I’d prefer just to go,” said Je

Deciding this was not the time to argue, Mrs. Carson drove her daughter downtown. When they went up to the apartment, Je

“Well, what do you want to do?” asked her mother.

“Wait and talk to him,” said Je

“I’m going to have to charge you a fee if this happens again,” teased the porter at the university information booth.

Adam took the white coat and slipped it on.

“I just can’t stay away from this place. I’m homesick.” The sleeves were two inches too short and there was a big yellow stain on the pocket. “Is this the best you can do?” he joked.

Confident in his medical disguise, Adam took the elevator to Neurology, went directly to the nurses’ station, smiled at the ward clerk, and again pulled Smyth’s chart from the rack.

All he really wanted was the information on the front sheet. Turning his back to the clerk, Adam copied down all the personal information he could find on Smyth: health insurance information, social security number, wife’s name, and birth date. That was a good start.

Returning the chart to the rack, Adam took the elevator back down to the library on the main floor. A research assistant directed him to a compendium of American physicians. Looking up Stuart Smyth, Adam checked the schools the man had attended from college through residency and was interested to note that he’d done a year of surgical training in Hawaii. Adam also memorized all of Smyth’s professional associations.

His final act before leaving the medical center was to call Christine at GYN Associates under the pretext of setting up an appointment with Baumgarten and Stens the following week. He managed to learn that Smyth was an avid te

Back in the Buick, Adam drove across town and tumed right on Eighth Avenue. As he approached Forty-second Street, the city changed from office buildings and warehouses to garish movie theaters with harsh neon lights and adult bookstores advertising twenty-five-cent X-rated flicks. Streetwalkers in high-heeled sandals and miniskirts beckoned to him as he parked his car.

Adam wandered east, lingering in front of magazine stands. After many offers of drugs, he was approached by a thin man wearing one of those narrow mustaches that Adam remembered from thirties films.

“You interested in a real lady?” asked the man.

Adam wondered if a real lady was the opposite of the kind that you had to inflate. He was tempted to ask but wasn’t sure if the thin man would appreciate his humor.

“I’m interested in some ID cards,” said Adam.

“What kind?” asked the man as if it were an everyday request.

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a driver’s license and a voter’s registration card.”

“A voter’s registration card?” repeated the thin man. “I never heard of somebody asking for that.”

“No?” said Adam. “Well, I’m sort of new at this. I want to go on a cruise, and I don’t want anyone to know who I really am.”