Toxin (2 page)

Friday, January 16
th

T
he Sterling Place Mall was aglow with the marble, bright brass, and polished wood of its upscale shops. Tiffany competed with Cartier, Neiman-Marcus with Saks. Mozart's piano concerto number 23 was piped in through hidden speakers. Beautiful people milled about on this late Friday afternoon in their Gucci shoes and Armani coats to survey the offerings of the post-Christmas sales.

Under normal circumstances Kelly Anderson wouldn't have minded spending a part of the afternoon at the mall. As a TV journalist it was a far cry from the gritty beats she was usually assigned around the city while putting together in-depth pieces for the six or eleven o'clock news. But on this particular Friday, the mall had not provided Kelly with what she wanted.

“This is a joke,” Kelly said irritably. She looked up and down the expansive hall for a likely candidate to interview but no one looked promising.

“I think we've gotten enough,” Brian said. Brian Washington, a lanky, laid-back African-American, was Kelly's cameraman of choice. In her mind he was the best WENE had to offer, and Kelly had maneuvered, cajoled, and even used threats to get the station to assign him to her.

Kelly puffed up her cheeks before blowing out her breath in an expression of exasperation. “Like hell we've got enough,” she said. “We've got diddly-squat.”

At thirty-four, Kelly Anderson was a no-nonsense, intelligent, aggressive woman hoping to break into national news. Most people thought she had a good chance if she could find a story that would catapult her into the spotlight. She looked the part with her sharp features and lively eyes framed by a helmet of tight, blond curls. To add to her professional image she dressed fashionably and tastefully, and groomed herself impeccably.

Kelly transferred her microphone to her right hand so that she could see her watch. “And to make matters worse, we're running out of time. I'm going to have to pick up my daughter. Her skating lesson's over.”

“That's cool,” Brian said. He lowered his camcorder from his shoulder and unplugged the power source. “I should get my daughter from day care.”

Kelly bent down and stowed her microphone in her sizable shoulder bag, then helped Brian break down the equipment. Like a couple of experienced pack rats, they hoisted everything over their shoulders and started walking toward the center of the mall.

“What's becoming obvious,” Kelly said, “is that people don't give a damn about AmeriCare's merger of the Samaritan Hospital and the University Med Center unless they've had to go to the hospital during the last six months.”

“It's not an easy subject to get people fired up about,” Brian said. “It's not criminal, sexy, or scandalous, and there are no celebrities involved.”

“They ought to be concerned,” Kelly said with disgust.

“Hey, what people ought to do and what they actually do has never been related,” Brian said. “You know that.”

“All I know is that I shouldn't have scheduled this piece for tonight's eleven o'clock news,” Kelly said. “I'm desperate. Tell me how to make it sexy.”

“If I knew that, I'd be the talent rather than the cameraman,” Brian said with a laugh.

Emerging from one of the radiating corridors of the Sterling Place Mall, Kelly and Brian arrived at the spacious epicenter. In the middle of this vast area and beneath a three-story-high skylight was an oval skating rink. Its frosted surface glowed under the glare of klieg lights.

Dotted around the rink were a dozen or so children along with several adults. All were careening across the ice in various directions. The apparent chaos resulted from the recent conclusion of the intermediate lesson and the imminent commencement of the advanced lesson.

Seeing her daughter's bright red outfit, Kelly waved and called out. Caroline Anderson waved back but took her time skating over. Caroline was very much her mother's daughter. She was bright, athletic, and willful.

“Shake a leg, Chicken,” Kelly said when Caroline finally neared. “I gotta get you home. Mom's got a deadline and a major problem.”

Caroline stepped out of the rink, and walking on the toes of her figure-skate blades, she moved to the bench and sat down. “I want to go to the Onion Ring for a burger. I'm starved.”

“That's going to be up to your father, sweetie,” Kelly said. “Come on, chop, chop!”

Kelly bent down and got Caroline's shoes out of her knapsack and put them on the bench next to her daughter.

“Now, there's one hell of a skater,” Brian said.

Kelly straightened up and shielded her eyes with her hand from the bright lights. “Where?”

“In the center,” Brian said, pointing. “In the pink outfit.”

Kelly looked where Brian indicated, and it was immediately apparent whom he was referring to. A girl, around the same age as Caroline, was going through a warm-up exercise that had now caused some of the shoppers to pause and watch.

“Whoa,” Kelly said. “She is good. She looks almost professional.”

“She's not that good,” Caroline said, as she gritted her teeth in an attempt to pull off one of her skates.

“She looks good to me,” Kelly said. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Becky Reggis.” Having given up trying to yank off her skate, Caroline was back to loosening the laces. “She was the junior state champion last year.”

As if sensing she was being watched, the girl then executed two double axels in a row before arcing around the end of the rink, heel to heel. A number of the shoppers broke out in spontaneous applause.

“She's fantastic,” Kelly said.

“Yeah, well, she's been invited to the Nationals this year,” Caroline reluctantly added.

“Hmmm,” Kelly murmured. She looked at Brian. “There could be a story there.”

Brian shrugged. “Maybe for the six o'clock. Certainly not for the eleven.”

Kelly redirected her attention to the skater. “Her last name is Reggis, huh?”

“Yup,” Caroline said. She had both skates off now and was looking in her knapsack for her shoes.

“Could that be Dr. Kim Reggis's daughter?” Kelly asked.

“I know her father's a doctor,” Caroline said.

“How do you know?” Kelly asked.

“She goes to my school,” Caroline said. “She's a year ahead of me.”

“Well, bingo!” Kelly murmured. “This must be serendipity calling.”

“I recognize that beady look in your eye,” Brian said. “You're like a cat ready to pounce. You're plotting something.”

“I can't find my shoes,” Caroline complained.

“I just had a brainstorm,” Kelly said. She picked up Caroline's shoes from the bench and put them in her daughter's lap. “Dr. Kim Reggis would be perfect for this merger story. He was chief of cardiac surgery at the Samaritan before the merger and then, bang, he became one of the Indians. I'd bet he'd have something saucy and sexy to say.”

“No doubt,” Brian said. “But would he talk to you? He didn't come off too good in that ‘Poor Little Rich Kids' piece you did.”

“Oh, that's water over the dam,” Kelly said with a wave of dismissal.

“That might be the way you feel,” Brian said, “but I doubt he'd feel the same way.”

“He had it coming,” Kelly said. “I'm sure he's figured that out. For the life of me I can't understand why cardiac surgeons like him don't realize their moaning about
Medicare reimbursement rates strikes a hollow chord with the public when they're earning six-figure incomes. You'd think they'd be more street-smart.”

“Deserved or not, I can't imagine he wasn't pissed,” Brian said. “I doubt if he'd talk to you.”

“You're forgetting that surgeons like Kim Reggis love publicity,” Kelly said. “Anyway, I think it's worth the risk. What do we have to lose?”

“Time,” Brian said.

“Which we don't have much of,” Kelly said. Bending down to Caroline, she added: “Sweetie, would you know if Becky's mother were here?”

“Sure,” Caroline said. She pointed. “She's over there in the red sweater.”

“How convenient,” Kelly said, as she straightened up to peer across the ice. “This truly is serendipitous. Listen, Chicken, finish getting your shoes on. I'll be right back.” Kelly turned to Brian. “Hold the fort.”

“Go for it, girl,” Brian said with a smile.

Kelly walked around the end of the skating rink and approached Becky's mother. The woman appeared to be about her own age. She was attractive and well groomed, although her clothes were conservative. Kelly hadn't seen a crew-neck sweater over a white collared shirt on a woman since she'd been in college. Becky's mother was deeply absorbed in a book that couldn't have been best-seller fiction. She was carefully underlining with a yellow felt-tipped pen.

“Excuse me,” Kelly said. “I hope I'm not disturbing you too much.”

Becky's mother looked up. She was a dark brunette with auburn highlights. Her features were chiseled but her demeanor was gentle and her spirit immediately empathetic.

“It's quite all right,” the woman said. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Reggis?” Kelly asked.

“Please call me Tracy.”

“Thanks,” Kelly said. “That looks like serious reading for the skating rink.”

“I have to take advantage of every moment I get,” Tracy replied.

“It looks like a textbook,” Kelly said.

“I'm afraid it is,” Tracy said. “I've gone back to school in my early middle age.”

“That's commendable,” Kelly said.

“It's challenging,” Tracy said.

“What's the title?”

Tracy flipped the book over to show its cover.
“The Assessment of Child and Adolescent Personality.”

“Whoa! That sounds heavy,” Kelly said.

“It's not too bad,” Tracy said. “In fact it's interesting.”

“I've got a nine-year-old daughter,” Kelly said. “I probably should read something about teenage behavior before all hell breaks loose.”

“It can't hurt,” Tracy said. “Parents need all the help they can get. Adolescence can be a tough time, and it's been my experience that when difficulties are anticipated, they happen.”

“Sounds like something you know a bit about,” Kelly said.

“Some,” Tracy admitted. “But you can never be complacent. Before going back to school last semester, I was involved with therapy, mostly with children, including adolescents.”

“Psychologist?” Kelly asked.

“Social worker,” Tracy said.

“Interesting,” Kelly said to change the subject.
“Actually, the reason I came over here was to introduce myself. I'm Kelly Anderson of WENE News.”

“I know who you are,” Tracy said with a touch of scorn.

“Uh-oh!” Kelly said. “I have the uncomfortable feeling that my reputation precedes me. I hope you don't hold it against me that I did that segment on cardiac surgeons and Medicare.”

“I felt it was underhanded,” Tracy said. “Kim was under the impression that you were sympathetic when he agreed to do the interview.”

“I was to an extent,” Kelly said. “After all, I did present both sides of the issue.”

“Only in regard to falling professional incomes,” Tracy said. “Which you made the focus. In reality that's only one of the issues that concern cardiac surgeons.”

A pink blur raced past Kelly and Tracy and drew their attention to the rink. Becky had increased her speed and was now tensing as she streaked backward. Then, to the delight of the impromptu audience of shoppers, she executed a perfect triple axel. More applause erupted.

Kelly let out a faint whistle. “Your daughter is a phenomenal skater.”

“Thank you,” Tracy said. “We think she is a phenomenal person.”

Kelly regarded Tracy in an attempt to interpret her comment. Kelly couldn't quite decide if it were meant to be disdainful or merely informative. But Tracy's face gave little hint. She stared back at Kelly with a soulful but undecipherable expression.

“Did she get her skating talent from you?” Kelly asked.

Tracy laughed freely, letting her head fall back in true amusement. “Hardly,” she said. “I've never had a pair of
skates on my clumsy feet. We don't know where she got her talent. One day she just said she wanted to skate, and the rest is history.”

“My daughter says Becky's going to the Nationals this year,” Kelly said. “That might make a good story for WENE.”

“I don't think so,” Tracy said. “Becky was invited, but she's decided not to go.”

“I'm sorry,” Kelly said. “Gosh, you and the good doctor must be crushed.”