The Carlton Club (12 page)

“I never said I didn’t want to be a doctor,” he said, amazed, thoughtful, but still not angry.

“No. But that’s what I heard.”

“Oh. Well,” he began then stopped. When he spoke again, the words came slowly, tentatively, as if their very utterance might cause disaster. “Maybe I don’t want to be a doctor.”

The words were spoken and nothing terrible happened. Leslie’s eyes, smiling, not shocked, met his.

“Maybe I don’t,” Mark repeated, his voice stronger. “I’ve never said that out loud before, Leslie. It’s only been in the past few months that I’ve even begun to admit it to myself.”

“So, are you going to get out?” she asked again.

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. Hand me your pager. I’ll turn it in for you.”

“The mechanics might be simple, but the decision is not so easy. There are lots of complicating factors. I’m not even sure that I want out. There’s a lot about medicine that I enjoy, that I would give up reluctantly. Would miss. Maybe I can find a niche that would allow me to practice medicine and . . .”

“Do what you
really
want to do?” Leslie added quickly.

“And give me time to read. Write maybe.”

“But you are thinking that you might quit, someday, aren’t you?” Leslie pushed. Mark had to be desensitized to the word quit. A lot of angry people would shout it at him.

“I’m just beginning to think about what I can do. What I should do.”

“You can do anything. You should get out. Now,” Leslie said decisively.

Her tone took Mark aback. He looked at her and smiled. In the past month, working with her, making decisions with her, taking care of patients with her and seeing her enthusiasm, Mark had thought very little about quitting. It had been so pleasant.

“Is that what those crystal blue eyes see for me in the future?”

“I’m not predicting what you will do,” she said. Probably chairman of the Department of Medicine at Harvard, she thought. The Best. “Only what, for the record, for whatever it matters, I think you should do.”

“Because you know I’m not damned good at this doctor business?” he asked, half teasing. He couldn’t understand why Leslie felt so strongly.

“You know what I think about you.” Leslie paused. There was no other choice. He was, and she had to say it, “You’re the best.”

Three nights later, their last night on call together, Mark was already waiting for her at the eleventh floor window when she arrived at five-thirty in the morning.

“I thought you went to bed at eleven,” she said, her heart pounding. Why was he here?

“I did. I’m well rested. I wanted to talk to you,” he said as he slid over on the plastic, turquoise couch with the blond, wooden handles to make room for her.

Leslie sat down, instead, in the chair across from him.

“You could talk to me, any time, during the day,” she said.

“Not really.”

Leslie knew what he meant. It was impossible to talk—about anything but medicine—while they were working. But this time, this quiet dawn time when everything was under control, when most house staff would be asleep anyway, this time was, somehow, different.

Leslie waited.

“I just wanted to tell you what a good doctor I think you are,” Mark said. It sounded awkward. “Around here no one ever tells you when you’re doing a good job. They just tell you when you’ve screwed up. I know you know I’ve felt this way since the beginning of your internship, but I wanted to tell you again.”

“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye,” Leslie said quietly.

“I’m not. In fact I just saw the schedule. You and I will both be at San Francisco General in July.”

“Oh! Well, then, thank you. It’s been wonderful.”

Mark held up his hand. “Enough! Neither of us is good at this.”

Leslie smiled. Then she said earnestly but with a slight twinkle, “I know why you liked working with me this month.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve gotten lots of sleep.”

“True. But that’s not why.”

“Which you
need
,” Leslie continued, “because of your active social life. Which, judging from the nurses is quite something.”

“They don’t really talk about it, do they?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Mark, it’s become a part of their daily report!”

Mark frowned. He didn’t like the idea of being discussed.

“I’m not being critical,” Leslie said quickly. “No one is being critical. They all like you. Respect you.”

“They all?” Mark asked soberly.

“Gail. Julie. Gail. Chris.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” he said. It was nobody’s business. They shouldn’t be talking about his life and who knows what else.

“It’s OK. Harmless. They probably discuss it around me more than anyone else.”

“Why?”

“They assume, because I’m your shadow about every other month, that I know something. Which I don’t of course,” Leslie added.

“Know something like what?”

“Like if you’re using them.”

“They’re using me.”

“They know that,” Leslie said quietly. She had heard more than she wanted to about Mark in their beds. Leslie hated hearing about it, but they sought her out looking for information she didn’t have. Leslie added, “They seem to sense that there’s a Kathleen out there somewhere and that when she returns the party’s over.”

“They’re right,” Mark said simply, deciding that the party was over now.

“Oh.”

“You like her, don’t you? You saw her quite a bit when her mother was here.”

“Sure. When is she returning? Janet said something about July.”

Janet
.

“Is this a fact-finding mission?” he asked.

“No!” Leslie bristled.

“She’s coming back in July. By the eleventh,” Mark said quickly, pleasantly, sorry that he had offended her. He was annoyed that they talked about him, annoyed that they involved Leslie and sorry that she knew about him and them.

“You think this is all pretty strange, sleazy, don’t you?” he asked bluntly.

Leslie shook her head slowly. Her eyes, sad and thoughtful and blue, met his as she said evenly, “This has all been such a hard time for you. For you and for Janet. There’s no right, or wrong, way to deal with it. You just have to get through it. Survive it.”

Yes, she thought it was sleazy—not that he did it so much as the fact that everyone talked about it.

“How is Janet?” he asked a few moments later.

“Busy with the show. We talk but I haven’t seen her since opening night. She sounds all right.”

At nine o’clock on July ninth Mark dialed the telephone number to Kathleen’s home in Atherton.

Kathleen answered.

“You’re back.”

“Just. An hour ago.” In that hour, Kathleen had learned that there were no messages, no letters from him. Nothing to indicate that the plans had changed or to suggest that he didn’t want to see her. “We decided not to stay for the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Charles and Diana. You know. The king and

queen to be. They aren’t tying the royal knot until July twenty-ninth, and I had a birthday party to go to.”

“You weren’t really invited?”

“No,” Kathleen admitted. “But of course we didn’t try.”

“So,” he said gently, “How was it?”

Meaning the past few months. Kathleen knew what he meant, but she was euphoric. She could tell from his voice how much he wanted to see her. She could afford to tease him just a little.

“Fabulous! Did you watch any of it? The Connors-Borg semi-final was the best tennis ever. I’m sure that’s why Borg lost to McEnroe in the final. He looked exhausted. McEnroe’s great, of course. We’ll probably be watching him for years to come. And Chris Evert Lloyd won, which was major victory for twenty-seven year old women everywhere.”

“Kathleen,” he said sternly, knowing she was toying with him. “How was it?”

“The longest, loneliest four months of my life. How about you?”

“The same. But it was a good idea. You were right.”

“About everything?”

“About everything.”

“Hmm. Did you enjoy opening night?”

“How did—you were there, weren’t you?”

“I couldn’t miss it. You didn’t see me, did you?”

“A glimpse. But of course you said you’d be away for four months,” Mark’s tone sharpened.

“I was away from
you
. And I was mostly out of town. But not the whole time. No.”

“Spying on me?” he pushed.

“No, Mark. I saw you opening night. Period.

Betsey couldn’t believe I didn’t drive by your apartment—she knows about my insatiable curiosity—to look for strange cars. I told her that all the cars around there are strange,” Kathleen said lightly. Then she added seriously, “But of course that’s not the point. The point was your time and your privacy. I don’t want to know what you did. Or with whom.”

As long as you come back to me, she thought.

“Good,” he said, still edgy.

Kathleen was silent, blinking back tears.

“Kitzy, are you there?” he asked, finally, his voice softer.

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So can we take it from the top? Starting with the longest, loneliest four months part?”

“Sure. Maybe we should continue this in person?”

“Do I get to see you before your birthday?”

“I hope so. I’m on call on my birthday.”

“No. Mark, didn’t you get promoted to an R-
3
?” she teased.

“I made the cut; but we’re still on every sixth, and July eleventh happens to be one of them.”

“Every sixth. It has a beautiful ring to it,” Kathleen purred.

“It’s all better, Kathleen. Everything’s better. I’m going to enjoy this year,” he said. Then he added gently, “We’re going to enjoy this year.”

“Good,” she breathed.

Kathleen arrived at Mark’s apartment the following evening with her arms full of packages.

“What’s this?” he asked as he took the packages, filling his arms with them instead of her.

“Birthday presents and birthday cake,” she said as she followed him into the living room. She noticed the champagne chilling in a mixing bowl filled with ice and the tray of cheese and crackers.

Kathleen smiled. Mark was planning what she had planned: a mature refined reunion, champagne and hors d’oeuvres and quiet conversation. They would spend hours telling each other about the past four months. And only after that would they fall into bed.

Mark put down the packages and turned to face her.

“Hi,” he said gazing into her violet eyes. He wanted to talk to her, laugh with her, hold her and love her. All at once. He was greedy for her. For all of her.

“Hi,” she sighed.
How I have missed you
.

“Would you like some champagne?”

“Sure,” she whispered. I don’t care. I would like you please.

“Not really?” he asked. He walked toward her, smiling lovingly.

Kathleen trembled as he approached. She had dreamed of this moment for so long. That Mark would want her still. Her heart raced as she saw the desire in his eyes.

So much for a mature refined reunion.

They kissed as they undressed each other urgently, needing to be as close as possible as quickly as possible. Needing to feel whole, complete, again.

“Hi,” he whispered into her shiny black hair.

“Hi,” she breathed into his strong pale chest.

“I’ve missed you. Too much.”

“Too much?”

“I need you now.” Right now.

“I need you now, too,” she whispered as he laid her down on the couch. She welcomed him onto her and inside her. Where he belonged.

“Kathleen,” he whispered. “
Kathleen
.”

“Do you think our relationship is purely sexual?” she asked.

“No,” he said firmly. “I know it’s not.”

Mark knew, because he had had several purely sexual relationships in the past four months. Kathleen knew the reason for Mark’s confidence and was glad about it, but she didn’t want to think about him with anyone else. Ever.

“Good.”

“Are you going to move in with me? Live with me?” he asked her four hours after she had returned to his arms.

“Am I invited?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

“Do we need a bigger apartment?” he asked, idly stroking her silky black hair as she nuzzled against his neck. “I mean your wardrobe alone needs a bigger apartment.”

“I don’t think I’ll move all my worldly possessions,” she said. Not yet. Maybe someday. She hoped. “Besides, Atherton is an easy commute. I have time to dash back and forth during the day. Visit my parents while you’re working. This is a cozy place for us.”

“You’ve made it cozy. What will you do all day, Kathleen? Won’t you get bored?”

“After I run out of domestic things, I’ll do what I do every day. Lots of different things. I won’t be bored.”

“What do you do every day?”

“Meetings, shopping, seeing friends, committees, projects. I keep very busy.”

“You seem to. Oh, there’s a party Saturday night at the Yacht Club. Not as fancy as the Celebration, or any Carlton Club Kids’ function, but a Department of Medicine tradition. I have to go to it.”

Kathleen waited, wondering.

“OK?” he asked, finally.

“Do I go too? With you?” she asked weakly, unsure if he meant they both would go.

“Kathleen! Of course. Of course.”

“Your friend Leslie doesn’t like me,” Kathleen whispered in Mark’s ear, licking it briefly at the same time. They were dancing, moving slowly together, their long lean bodies draped comfortably together, swaying rhythmically. Mark and Kathleen didn’t cling to each other. They didn’t need to. The leisurely rhythm of their bodies, although chaste, revealed their true intimacy to anyone who was watching. Their bodies knew each other well.

People were watching. Many people. Gail, Julie and Chris watched with great interest. So this lovely creature was their competition?

Goodbye, Mark. Adieu.

Leslie watched them in brief glimpses, too. She didn’t want to, but it was impossible not to.

“Of course she likes you,” Mark whispered back.

“No, she’s glowering at me. Not glowering, actually. That’s too strong. Just shooting ice blue icicles my way.”

“You’re over-reading,” Mark said, but he wondered. The messages of Leslie’s eyes were always clear, exquisite, articulate communiqués, and Kathleen was a good observer. Neither woman was likely to get her signals crossed. He added, “She has no reason to dislike you.”

Kathleen said nothing. She knew she was right. As the evening wore on Kathleen thought she learned the reason for Leslie’s iciness. It wasn’t that Leslie disliked Kathleen. Not really. It was just that Leslie cared so very much about Mark.

Kathleen wondered if Mark even knew.

No, she decided as she watched Mark speak with Leslie briefly as the party ended. He doesn’t know.

“I think I should get a job,” Kathleen told Betsey during lunch ten days later. It was the last week in July. They had spent the morning in San Francisco, buying the final pieces of Betsey’s trousseau, and had returned to Atherton for lunch at the Carlton Club.

Betsey, her wedding only three weeks and one dress size away, picked at her watercress sandwich while Kathleen ate a seafood crepe.

“A job!” Betsey gasped. “For heaven’s sake, why?”

“I think it makes Mark nervous that I don’t work.”

“But you do work. You’re on a zillion committees, boards, charities.”

“I know. But it all seems flighty to him. Frivolous.”

“Kathleen, friend, you are flighty and frivolous. Except,” Betsey added thoughtfully, “when it comes to Mark.”

“I care about him,” Kathleen said gently.

“I know. Does he know how rich you are? Does he know what your father does? Does he know your mother’s maiden name? That would be an eye-opener: how many streets, buildings, squares, monuments and bridges in the Bay Area have the same name?”

“He doesn’t know any of it. Except what Father does. Do you realize that I earn more in a month, from the trust from my grandparents, than Mark earns in one year?”

“You’re kidding. I thought doctors were rich.”

“So did I. But I know for a fact that interns and residents get small salaries. Especially when you consider the number of hours they work. Doctors make good solid livings. Some surgeons, like neurosurgeons, I think, make a lot, but they work hard. I can’t believe how hard Mark and his friends work.”

“So, not very many rich doctors? Just a myth?”

“No. Of course they make very good livings compared to other people who work for a living. But,” Kathleen said soberly, “nothing compared to our wealth. I think doctors are targets because they’re identifiable. High visibility. Nobody even knows about us. Our names, as a family, appear every year on the ten, twenty or thirty richest lists, but nobody really knows that those families are composed of kids, like us, who are multimillionaires. We’re hidden. We would really be targets if anyone knew we existed.”

Betsey and Kathleen and their friends had been trained to keep low profiles because wealth had some very high price tags: kidnappings, ransoms, swindlers, drug dealers, gold diggers. No one looking at Kathleen or Betsey could guess at the wealth they represented. They looked like two young working women having lunch.

Except that they were having lunch at the Carlton Club. That was a clue. But they were safe there. They were safe with each other. It was why they stayed together. Why the Carlton Club Kids were all, still, best friends.

“Do you want to get a job?”

“No. Of course not! I am completely happy, and I’m already too busy.”

“What would you do if you weren’t rich, if you didn’t have enough money to live on?”

Kathleen played with her seafood crepe for a moment before answering. Then her eyes sparkled, “I don’t know. I guess if I couldn’t find someone like us, which I couldn’t because I wouldn’t know we existed, I’d just have to go out and find some rich doctor!”