Contagion (11 page)

     “The Auction House,” Chet said. “Get your ass in here.” He was holding open the door.

     To Jack the interior looked vaguely like his grandmother’s living room back in Des Moines, Iowa, except for the mahogany bar itself. The furniture was an odd mishmash of Victorian, and the drapes were long and droopy. The high ceiling was brightly colored embossed tin.

     “How about sitting here,” Chet suggested. He pointed toward a small table set in the window overlooking Eighty-ninth Street.

     Jack complied. From where he was sitting Jack had a good view of the room, which he now noted had a high-gloss hardwood floor, not the usual for a bar. There were about fifty people in the room either standing at the bar or sitting on the couches. They were all well dressed and appeared professional. There was not one backward baseball cap in the group. The mix was about even between male and female.

     Jack mused that perhaps Chet had been right to have encouraged him to come out. Jack had not been in such a “normal” social environment in several years. Maybe it was good for him. Having become a loner carried its burdens. He wondered what these attractive people were saying to one another as their easy conversations drifted back to him in a babble of voices. The problem was he had zero confidence he could add to any of the discussions.

     Jack’s eyes wandered to Chet, who was at the bar, supposedly getting them each a beer. Actually he was in a conversation with a well-endowed, long-haired blonde in a stylish sweatshirt over tight jeans. Accompanying her was a svelte woman in a revealingly simple dark suit. She was not participating in the conversation, preferring to concentrate on her glass of wine.

     Jack envied Chet’s outgoing personality and the ease with which he indulged in social intercourse. During dinner he’d spoken of himself with utter ease. Among the things Jack learned was that Chet had recently broken off a long-term relationship with a pediatrician and hence was what he called “in between” and available.

     While Jack was eyeing his officemate, Chet turned toward him.

     Almost simultaneously the two women did the same, and then they all laughed. Jack felt his face flush. They were obviously talking about him.

     Chet broke away from the bar and headed in Jack’s direction. Jack wondered if he should flee or merely dig his fingernails into the tabletop.

     It was obvious what was coming.

     “Hey, sport,” Chet whispered. He purposefully positioned himself directly between Jack and the women. “See those two chicks at the bar?”

     He pointed into his own abdomen to shield the gesture from his new acquaintances. “What do you think? Pretty good, huh? They’re both knockouts and guess what? They want to meet you.”

     “Chet, this has been fun, but...” Jack began.

     “Don’t even think about it,” Chet said. “Don’t let me down now. I’m after the one in the sweatshirt.”

     Sensing that resistance would have required considerably more energy than capitulation, Jack allowed himself to be dragged to the bar. Chet made the introductions.

     Jack could immediately see what Chet saw in Colleen. She was Chet’s equal in terms of blithe repartee. Terese, on the other hand, was a foil for them both. After the introductions, she’d given Jack a once-over with her pale blue eyes before turning back to the bar and her glass of wine.

     Chet and Colleen fell into spirited conversation. Jack looked at the back of Terese’s head and wondered what the hell he was doing. He wanted to be home in bed, and instead he was being abused by someone as unsociable as himself.

     “Chet,” Jack called out after a few minutes. “This is a waste of time.”

     Terese spun around. “Waste of time? For whom?”

     “For me,” Jack said. He gazed curiously at the rawboned yet sensuously lipped woman standing in front of him. He was taken aback by her vehemence.

     “What about for me?” Terese snapped. “Do you think it’s a rewarding experience to be pestered by men on the prowl?”

     “Wait just one tiny second!” Jack said, with his own ire rising. “Don’t flatter yourself. I ain’t on the prowl. You can be damn sure about that. And if I were I sure wouldn’t ...”

     “Hey, Jack,” Chet called out. “Cool it.”

     “You, too, Terese,” Colleen said. “Relax. We’re out here to enjoy ourselves.”

     “I didn’t say boo to this lady and she’s jumping all over me,” Jack explained.

     “You didn’t have to say anything,” Terese said.

     “Calm down, you guys.” Chet stepped between Jack and Terese, but eyed Jack. “We’re out here for some normal contact with fellow human beings.”

     “Actually, I think I should go home,” Terese said.

     “You’re staying right here,” Colleen ordered. She turned to Chet. “She’s wound up like a piano wire. That’s why I insisted she come out; try to get her to relax. She’s consumed by her work.”

     “Sounds like Jack here,” Chet said. “He has some definite antisocial tendencies.”

     Chet and Colleen were talking as if Jack and Terese couldn’t hear, yet they were standing right next to them, staring off in different directions.

     Both were irritated but both felt foolish at the same time.

     Chet and Colleen got a round of drinks and handed them out as they continued to talk about their respective friends.

     “Jack’s social life revolves around living in a crack neighborhood and playing basketball with killers,” Chet said.

     “At least he has a social life,” Colleen said. “Terese lives in a co-op with a bunch of octogenarians. Going to the garbage chute is the high point of a Sunday afternoon at home.”

     Chet and Colleen laughed heartily, took long pulls on their respective beers, and then launched into a conversation about a play both of them had seen on Broadway.

     Jack and Terese ventured a few fleeting looks at each other as they nursed their own drinks.

     “Chet mentioned you were a doctor; are you a specialist?” Terese asked finally. Her tone had mellowed significantly.

     Jack explained about forensic pathology. Overhearing this part of the conversation, Chet joined in.

     “We’re in the presence of one of the future’s best and brightest. Jack here made the diagnosis of the day. Against everyone else’s impression, he diagnosed a case of plague.”

     “Here in New York?” Colleen asked with alarm.

     “At the Manhattan General,” Chet said.

     “My God!” Terese exclaimed. “I was a patient there once. Plague is awfully rare, isn’t it?”

     “Most definitely,” Jack said. “A few cases are reported each year in the U.S., but they usually occur in the wilds of the west and during the summer months.”

     “Is it terribly contagious?” Colleen asked.

     “It can be,” Jack said. “Especially in the pneumonic form which this patient had.”

     “Are you worried about having gotten it?” Terese asked. Unconsciously she and Colleen had moved a step backward.

     “No,” Jack said. “And even if we had, we wouldn’t be communicative until after we got pneumonia. So you don’t have to stand across the room from us.”

     Feeling embarrassed, both women stepped closer. “Is there any chance this could turn into an epidemic here in the city?” Terese asked.

     “If plague bacteria has infected the urban rodent population, particularly the rats, and if there are adequate rat fleas, it could develop into a problem in the ghetto areas of the city,” Jack said. “But chances are it would be self-limited. The last real outbreak of plague in the U.S. occurred in 1919 and there were only twelve cases. And that was before the antibiotic era. I don’t anticipate there is going to be a current epidemic, especially since the Manhattan General is taking the episode extremely seriously.”

     “I trust you contacted the media about this case of plague,” Terese said.

     “Not me,” Jack said. “That’s not my job.”

     “Shouldn’t the public be alerted?” Terese asked.

     “I don’t think so,” Jack said. “By sensationalizing it, the media could make things worse. The mere mention of the word ‘plague’ can evoke panic, and panic would be counterproductive.”

     “Maybe,” Terese said. “But I bet people would feel differently if there was a chance they could avoid coming down with plague if they were forewarned.”

     “Well, the question is academic,” Jack said. “There’s no way that the media could avoid hearing about this. It’ll be all over the news. Trust me.”

     “Let’s change the subject,” Chet said. “What about you guys? What do you do?”

     “We’re art directors in a relatively large ad agency,” Colleen said. “At least I’m an art director. Terese was an art director. Now she’s part of the front office. She’s creative director.”

     “Impressive,” Chet said.

     “And in a strange way we’re currently tangentially involved with medicine,” she added.

     “What do you mean you are involved with medicine?” Jack asked.

     “One of our big accounts is National Health,” Terese said. “I imagine you’ve heard of them.”

     “Unfortunately,” Jack said. His tone was flat.

     “You have a problem with our working with them?” Terese asked.

     “Probably,” Jack said.

     “Can I ask why?”

     “I’m against advertising in medicine,” Jack said. “Especially the kind of advertising these new health-care conglomerates are engaged in.”

     “Why?” Terese asked.

     “First of all, the ads have no legitimate function except to increase profits by expanding enrollment. They’re nothing but exaggerations, half-truths, or the hyping of superficial amenities. They have nothing to do with the quality of health care. Secondly, the advertising costs a ton of money, and it’s being lumped into administrative costs. That’s the real crime: It’s taking money away from patient care.”

     “Are you finished?” Terese asked.

     “I could probably think up some more reasons if I gave it some thought,” Jack said.

     “I happen to disagree with you,” Terese said with a fervor that matched Jack’s. “I think all advertising draws distinctions and fosters a competitive environment which ultimately benefits the consumer.”

     “That’s pure rationalization,” Jack said.

     “Time out, you guys,” Chet said, stepping between Jack and Terese for the second time. “You two are getting out of control again. Let’s switch the topic of conversation. Why don’t we talk about something neutral, like sex or religion.”

     Colleen laughed and gave Chet a playful swat on the shoulder.

     “I’m serious,” Chet said while laughing with Colleen. “Let’s discuss religion. It’s been getting short shrift lately in bars. Let’s have everybody tell what they grew up as. I’ll be first...”

     For the next half hour they indeed did discuss religion, and Jack and Terese forgot their emotional outburst. They even found themselves laughing since Chet was a raconteur of some wit.

     At eleven-fifteen Jack happened to glance at his watch and did a double take. He couldn’t believe it was so late.

     “I’m sorry,” he said, interrupting the conversation. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a bicycle ride ahead of me.”

     “A bike?” Terese questioned. “You ride a bike around this city?”

     “He’s got a death wish,” Chet said.

     “Where do you live?” Terese asked.

     “Upper West Side,” Jack said.

     “Ask him how ‘upper,’ “Chet dared.

     “Exactly where?” Terese asked.

     “One-oh-six a Hundred and Sixth Street,” Jack said. “To be precise.”

     “But that’s in Harlem,” Colleen said.

     “I told you he has a death wish,” Chet said.

     “Don’t tell me you’re going to ride across the park at this hour,” Terese said.

     “I move pretty quickly,” Jack said.

     “Well, I think it’s asking for trouble,” Terese said. She bent down and picked up her briefcase that she’d set on the floor by her feet. “I don’t have a bike, but I do have a date with my bed.”

     “Wait a second, you guys,” Chet said. “Colleen and I are in charge.

     Right, Colleen?” He put his arm loosely around Colleen’s shoulder.

     “Right!” Colleen said to be agreeable.

     “We’ve decided,” Chet said with feigned authority, “that you two can’t go home unless you agree to have dinner tomorrow night.”

     Colleen shook her head as she ducked away from Chet’s arm. “I’m afraid we’re not available,” she said. “We’ve got an impossible deadline, so we’ll be putting in some serious overtime.”

     “Where were you thinking of having dinner?” Terese asked.

     Colleen looked at her friend with surprise.

     “How about right around the corner at Elaine’s,” Chet said. “About eight o’clock. We might even see a couple of celebrities.”

     “I don’t think I can...” Jack began.

     “I’m not listening to any excuses from you,” Chet said, interrupting. “You can bowl with that group of nuns another night. Tomorrow you’re having dinner with us.”

     Jack was too tired to think. He shrugged.

     “It’s decided, then?” Chet said.

     Everyone nodded.

     Outside of the bar the women climbed into a cab. They offered Chet a ride home, but he said he lived in the neighborhood.

     “Are you sure you don’t want to leave that bike here for the night?” Terese asked Jack, who’d finished removing his panoply of locks.

     “Not a chance,” Jack said. He threw a leg over his bike and powered out across Second Avenue, waving over his head.

     Terese gave the cabdriver the address of the first stop, and the taxi made a left onto Second Avenue and accelerated southward. Colleen, who’d kept her eye on Chet out the back window, turned to face her boss.

     “What a surprise,” she said. “Imagine meeting two decent men at a bar. It always seems to happen when you least expect it.”

     “They were nice guys,” Terese agreed. “I suppose I was wrong about them being out at the meat market, and thank God they didn’t spout off about sports or the stock market. Generally that’s all men in this city can talk about.”