Cell (13 page)

“What
did
happen?”

“Sal—Mr. DeAngelis—apparently got confused and crashed his car and killed himself. I guess. I mean, that's what appears to have happened. He had Alzheimer's and multiple problems. Anyway, I wanted to try to help by getting in touch with the two sisters whom I had met some time ago, to let them know what had happened. I was looking for their contacts.”

“So you broke into a neighbor's apartment at night to get in touch with a dead man's sisters?” The policeman smiled sarcastically.

George opened his mouth to respond, then stopped.

“Look, I just wanted to call Mr. DeAngelis's siblings and let them know he died today. Is that a crime?” George said.

“The way you went about it is. You couldn't have asked the building manager to let you in?”

“Ha! I tried enlisting the super's help but . . . The man has a drinking problem, in case you hadn't noticed.”

George and the officer looked across the way to where the second officer was interviewing the super. The man was still having trouble standing. He kept leaning against the building before pulling himself up straight and crossing his arms in front of him in an attempt to appear sober.

“And I leave for work early in the morning before he gets up,” George continued. “Look, I didn't think it would be all that big a deal. I have the exact same apartment, and I've gotten into mine through the sliders a number of times when I forgot my keys. I thought I'd just go in, grab the phone numbers, make the call, and that would be it.”

“And you didn't trust the proper authorities to make those calls?”

“Listen!” George said, his voice progressively rising. “The fact of the matter is that I don't think anyone was told about the sisters. I had mentioned it earlier today to the detective who talked to me, but I had heard through a friend that during the evening news it was stated the victim had no family. And I was told earlier that I was listed as the patient's contact person in case of emergency. Just me! Tonight I realized someone had to try to get a hold of the sisters. I was only trying to help.” By the time George finished, he was practically yelling.

The second police officer stopped talking with the super and looked over at George. The small crowd of neighbors and passersby went quiet, too.

“Sorry,” George said to the cop. “It's been an emotional day.”

With a look of exasperation, the officer turned George around. Without saying anything further, he unlocked the handcuffs, setting George free.

•   •   •

T
rudging back to his apartment, George realized that he had narrowly succeeded in talking his way out of being arrested. The super's being so obviously drunk had helped. Still, George was furious with himself. What the hell had he been thinking? Back inside his apartment, he again threw himself onto his sofa, thinking that he had to get a grip.

EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT

L.A. UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER

WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, JULY 2, 2014, 10:51
A.M.

I
t was a busy morning for George in the ER. The department was jammed with patients and the construction crew. The heat wave just made things worse. Patients suffering from heatstroke and heat exhaustion were streaming in, and there had also been an uptick in heart attacks and respiratory problems. The high temperatures also brought out the infamous L.A. road rage. A couple of fender-benders had resulted in a shoot-out and a knife fight. Victims of both were currently being treated in the trauma rooms. The result was that George and Carlos were overwhelmed with radiology studies. Of the six possible stroke cases, they had determined that five were in fact positive, requiring immediate medical intervention. The sixth case turned out to be an ophthalmic migraine masquerading as a stroke. There had also been two head traumas. On one, the CT scan showed a subdural hematoma, requiring immediate surgery. The only good news was that George was so busy, he didn't have time to think about Sal's death, Tarkington's passing, or his own near arrest. He'd been holed up in the imaging room since seven thirty, working nonstop.

Just before eleven, Carlos returned from a quick coffee break to find George surveying a new batch of radiological studies.

The first was a chest film of a driver in a recent accident whose airbag did not deploy.

“What do you see?” George asked Carlos.

“A fracture of the clavicle . . . and several ribs.” Carlos pointed to the fractures in turn.

“Anything else?”

“There's a small amount of fluid in the lungs.”

George was impressed. Carlos was picking up the nuances quickly. “Good. Let's go on to the next case.”

“I saw Dr. Hanson out there in the ER,” Carlos said as he brought up the next image. It was a pelvis.

“Really! What was he up to?” George asked. As Clayton was head of the teaching program in radiology, the residents generally liked to know when he was around, since they knew they were being evaluated on a month-to-month basis. They would alert each other when he was lurking nearby, usually by tweet or text. But George was more sensitized than usual, since Clayton had showed up in the ER only the day before.

“It seemed like he came in to talk with Debbie Waters. He just ignored me and asked Debbie if he could have a private word with her, even though she was obviously busy.”

“Is he still out there?” George asked, unsure if he should be concerned or not. Under the circumstances, his talking in private with Debbie was a tad worrisome.

Carlos shrugged. “He was when I came in here.”

George stood up, cracked the door, and looked outside. Sure enough, Clayton was leaning against the main desk, folder in hand, having a prolonged tête-à-tête with Debbie. Now, that was particularly unusual behavior in the middle of the day, especially with the level of confusion swirling around them. Vaguely, George wondered if they might be resurrecting their own rumored relationship. But if that was the case, it was even more unusual that they would do so in plain sight. The one good thing was that he couldn't imagine that they could be talking about him for so long.

At that instant both Clayton's and Debbie's heads swung around and seemed to stare in George's direction. George pulled back, alarmed that they might be able to see him spying on them. He quickly let the door close and went back to where he had been sitting.

“This is a seventy-eight-year-old woman who fell in the shower,” Carlos said, beginning where he had left off, but then changed the subject. “Hey, what's this about Clayton Hanson liking the ladies? Is it true? It's been tweeted around us first-year residents, particularly to warn the women.”

George laughed. He noticed it was the first time Carlos left off the “Dr.” in referring to Clayton. He was already loosening up. “I think I'll take the Fifth on that issue,” said George, directing their attention back to the film. “Let's get back to work. What's your take here?”

At that moment Clayton opened the door and stepped in. Although he had appeared relaxed at the ER's central desk when George had looked out at him, now he seemed anxious and rushed, as if whatever he had been discussing with Debbie had gotten him fired up.

“Can I have a quick word, George?”

Carlos immediately stood up. “Excuse me. I need a bathroom break anyway.” He quickly left the room.

George felt his pulse quicken. He had no idea what was coming but feared that Clayton might have learned of his near arrest. The administration did not take kindly to residents having run-ins with the law.

But Clayton just lowered his voice and asked, “Did you have time to chat up Kelley?” He took Carlos's seat and leaned forward.

“No,” George said, bewildered. Why was that even remotely important enough to come in and interrupt a reading session?

“A little slow on the draw, are we?” Clayton teased, with eyebrows raised.

“I have to wait for the right moment, and with the crash and all it probably won't happen today either. I actually haven't even seen her. A lot of the routine ER visits are being seen over in the clinic building with the construction going on.” George would have liked to tell Clayton to ease up on his efforts to perk up George's nonexistent social life, but he didn't have the courage.

“If you don't jump on this, you'll be losing out possibly, I've heard, to a couple of hot-ticket first-year orthopedic residents from Harvard.” Clayton laughed as he gave George a light jab to the shoulder. The laugh sounded false, like it was forced.

George didn't answer, restraining himself from asking Clayton what he had been doing in the morgue.

“Have you at least followed up with Debbie Waters? The more I've thought about it, you would really have some fun with her.”

“Debbie's not interested in me. My sense is that she's after bigger game than a resident.”

“Not true! She's just being professional. She doesn't want any more hospital gossip. She got her fill of that when we dated a few years back. I was just talking with her, and she confessed that she'd been eyeing you for months. She's been hoping you would show a little interest.”

George laughed. “Yesterday I tried to get her attention, but she pretty much just ignored me.”

“That is not true. She thinks you're quite handsome.”

George rolled his eyes.

“Hey, give it a shot,” Clayton persisted. “As a personal favor to me. I mean, after I talked you up and everything.”

“Does she know about Kasey?”

“Of course. She has a lot of respect for you being serious with someone with problematic medical issues.”

“Is that it? She feels sorry for me?”

“Hell no. It's respect, not sympathy. Jesus, lighten up. She'd like to be your friend.”

“Are you bullshitting me? If you are, I have to tell you that I'm a bit vulnerable right now.”

“Swear to God. I'll go out there right this minute and bring her back here to the radiology reading room so she can tell you herself.”

George was horrified. “No! I'll figure out my own way to talk with her.”

“Okay. All right. I'm going to count on it, so don't be shy. It's not healthy to be isolated like you are. Even considering the, you know, the tragedy and all. Like I said, it's not like you have to marry Debbie, for Chrissake. Just get out. Pretend you're normal.”

“I appreciate the concern, but my ego has taken a few hits lately.”

“I wish I was back in my twenties.” Clayton got to his feet and opened the door to the ER. “No grass would be growing under my feet. I can tell you that.”

Carlos, who had been waiting outside, strolled back in, passing Clayton with a nod and suck-up smile. Clayton ignored him.

“What was that all about?” Carlos inquired, nodding toward the door that was settling into its jamb.

“You wouldn't believe it if I told you. Let's get these films read.”

Carlos revived the monitor. It had gone to sleep.

As the image of the X-ray came up, George found himself marveling over the absurdity of the head of the radiology resident program worrying about George's social life. But be that as it may, he began to wonder how he might approach Debbie, having now essentially promised Clayton that he would.

“Do you remember this case?” Carlos asked.

“I think so. A seventy-eight-year-old woman who fell in the shower, injuring her right hip. So what do you see?”

“I see a fracture,” Carlos said.

“That's a start,” George teased. “Give me a full description!”

A half hour later they were caught up. Done for the morning, Carlos was ready to grab lunch before the noon radiology conference. “I'm heading over to the cafeteria. Want to join me?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I'm not hungry,” George lied. He was hungry, but he had made a decision to speak to Debbie Waters. He felt some anxiety kicking in, but better now than never. Prepared as he was ever going to be, he stood up and wandered out into the ER proper.

It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the glare from the bright light in the ER with the L.A. midday sun streaming in through the windows, including the new ones that had just been installed. Debbie was at the main desk as usual. George could hear her snappy commands from where he was standing. He wandered over to the in-box and pretended to be leafing through the various cases. It was what he had instructed Carlos to do whenever there was some free time, in order to be familiar with the clinical status of the patients before looking at their films.

“Nothing to do?” Debbie demanded sharply. George panicked for a second, then realized she was lambasting a couple of LPNs. “Trauma Room Eight needs to be cleaned up,” Debbie barked.

“That's not our job,” one of the LPNs objected.

Debbie was ready for them. “The fuck it isn't. You'll be out the door if you two don't pull your weight. We're swamped, in case you haven't noticed.”

The LPN who initially objected opened her mouth again but then thought better of it and huffed off with her coworker. Debbie's language, while crass, got the job done.

“Damn bitches,” Debbie cursed under her breath, but was loud enough for George to hear. He stole another glance in her direction. Her eyes strafed across his face before going back down to a bunch of ER charts in front of her. She glanced up a second later and recognized George. She even smiled.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a trace of solicitation in her voice.

“Uh. Maybe,” George said, screwing up his courage. “I was just speaking with Dr. Hanson . . .”

“Don't tell me he went ahead and told you that I wanted to . . . Never mind. Now I'm embarrassed.” But she didn't look it.

George cleared his throat. “There's a . . . there's no reason to be embarrassed. I've been admiring the way you're able to run the department and keep order. Even with all of the unexpected . . .” George nodded toward the construction crew working on the LED display board.

She smiled at the compliment and leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He glanced around. Serendipitously he seemed to have her attention without anyone else noticing. That is, if
he didn't count a young boy of about ten sitting a few feet away. The boy was holding an ice pack over a knot on his forehead while his mother was texting someone. The kid smiled knowingly. He might be young, but he was picking up the signals. George winked, then turned back to Debbie.

“I was wondering . . . if maybe you would like to meet for a drink one night. I mean, I know you are busy and all—”

“How about tonight?” she interrupted. “I get off at four, and I could meet you at six.”

George paused with his mouth open, surprised. “Okay. Great!” Damn, that turned out to be a lot easier than he thought! “Six it is.”

She smiled. “How about the Whiskey Blue over at the W? It's close enough to walk, but they have valet parking if you prefer.”

“Perfect,” George said. “See you this evening.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

George waved bye to her as he headed back to the reading room. He was feeling better than he had in months. He'd have to remember to thank Clayton for prodding him out of his doldrums.