Spiteful, probably. That would be typical of her.
“Good morning,” she replied.
“Have you heard from Sara?”
“No. Should I have?”
Her father shrugged. “I called the hospital. They told me Michael checked out this morning. I called their house, but all I got was the answering machine.”
“Did you try Dr. Riker?” she asked.
Dr. Lowell nodded. “He hasn’t returned my call. I don’t think he will.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say that Harvey Riker and I are not exactly buddies.”
Cassandra lowered her eyes. She felt something peculiar, something, she guessed, akin to shame.
“Still,” Dr. Lowell continued, “it’s quite strange.”
“What is?”
“Michael has hepatitis B, which means he’ll have to be hospitalized for at least three weeks. Why would he check out?”
“Maybe they moved him to another hospital.”
“Maybe,” Dr. Lowell said doubtfully.
Cassandra remembered how quickly Harvey had hustled out of the apartment after Eric’s call yesterday morning. She had not picked up much of the conversation, but Harvey’s tone had been grave, nervous. She had also heard him mention Michael’s name before hanging up and rushing out the door without so much as a good-bye.
Is something seriously wrong with Michael?
“I have to go,” her father said. “If your sister calls, tell her she can reach me on the car phone.” He kissed Cassandra on the cheek and walked toward the door. He had not asked where she had been the past five nights or with whom. When it came to sexual matters, her father liked to pretend nothing was amiss—easier on the ol’ morals than the truth.
Cassandra thought about Harvey. She wondered why she had ended up in bed with that Neanderthal marketing director (what the hell was his name?) when things had been going so well . . .
. . . too well? . . .
. . . with Harvey.
Well, c’est la vie. It could be that she and Harvey were never meant to last. Or it could be that she had too much to drink. Or it could be . . .
. . . or it could be that you’re a worthless whore, Cassandra.
She closed her eyes. When she heard her father drive away, Cassandra stood and crept down the corridor toward his study. It was time to put last night behind her. There were other matters, more important matters, to consider.
She knew that what she was about to do was wrong. She knew that her father’s study was off-limits, that she had no right to pry into his private affairs. But Harvey’s words—and maybe the need to make up for last night—propelled her forward: “It seems strange to me that the same day your father denied knowing Sanders personally, you hear them arguing in his study. Why did he lie to us? What was he trying to hide?”
Indeed, she thought. What was—or is—he trying to hide? Could he really be connected with Reverend Sanders? Could her father really have something to do with the trouble at the clinic?
She reached the door to his study, turned the knob, and entered. Her father’s office was her favorite room in the house. So spacious, with a high ceiling, dark oak everywhere, thousands of books—like Henry Higgins’ study in My Fair Lady. She crept behind the large antique desk and pulled the side drawer. It would not open. She tried it again. Locked. She sat back in the plush leather swivel chair. Now, where did he hide that damn key? Her hand felt around the underside of the middle drawer. A few moments later she felt something cool, metallic.
Bingo.
Her fingers closed around the small key and ripped away the tape. She unlocked the desk and began to rifle through its contents. In the bottom right-hand drawer, she found his file of personal letters. She skimmed through them until she found one that piqued her interest. It was from Dr. Leonard Bronkowitz, the chief trustee at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital:Dear John,
I know this is going to upset you immensely, but the board has decided to go ahead with Sidney Pavilion. Despite your rather persuasive arguments, a slim majority of the board members seems to feel that AIDS is an illness which has been ignored for far too long. While many members agreed with your point that the pendulum has swung too far in the other direction now that the world has recognized the severity of the illness, the board also believes that Dr. Riker and Dr. Grey could make some serious headway into developing a vaccine for the virus. Aside from the benefits for mankind, such a vaccine could bring the hospital additional prestige and, in turn, finances.
I realize that this will hinder your own programs at the Cancer Center, but I hope you will support us in this new and exciting endeavor.
Sincerely,
Leonard Bronkowitz, M.D.
And there was a letter from Washington dealing with the same subject:Dear Dr. Lowell,
The medical disbursements for this fiscal year have been allocated and I regret to say that there will be no funds for the new wing at the Cancer Center. We realize and respect the importance of your work, but the fact remains that New York City and, more specifically, Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center have already received more than a lion’s share of funds, most of which have gone to the center’s new AIDS clinic, operated by Dr. Harvey Riker and Dr. Bruce Grey.
Personally, I believe your work is crucial and am disappointed in this decision, but since you are a former surgeon general, I am sure you can appreciate how these things sometimes work. The AIDS virus seems to me to be the public’s “Disease of the Week” or “Flavor of the Month.” It’s the new “in” cause for everyone to rally around. I am confident that the public’s interest will wane and tire soon and then they will have the ability to view this disease more rationally.
Take heart and know that there are others who feel as we do. I would be honored if during your next visit to Washington you would call me so that we can discuss the world of medicine. I very much value your opinion on a broad range of subjects.
Yours,
Raymond Markey, M.D.
Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services
Cassandra felt ill. There was really nothing shocking in the letters. She knew her father had been against the clinic from its inception, that he had complained bitterly about the “waste” of funds. What she had not known was the direct effect the Sidney Pavilion had had on his own cancer research. It was an either/or situation—either the AIDS clinic or the new wing at the Cancer Center. Cassandra knew how much the Center meant to her father, but how far would he go to get funding? Surely, he would never . . .