“I don’t have a snitch,” I said. “I don’t need one. Every member of my staff has always known he can come into my office and discuss anything with me.”
His silence seemed a gloating indictment. He continued his defiant, smug pose, enjoying this immensely. I rested my wrists on the steel table.
“I don’t think it’s going to be necessary to plead my case to anyone, Chuck,” I said. “I think you’re the only one on my staff who has a problem with me. Of course, I can understand why you might feel at odds with a woman boss when it appears that all of the power figures in your life have been women.”
The gleam in his eyes blinked out at the touch of his switch. Then anger hardened his face. I resumed reflecting back slippery, fragile tissue.
“But I appreciate your expressing your thoughts,” I said in a cool, calm way.
“It’s not just my thoughts,” he replied, rudely. “Fact is, everyone thinks you’re on your way out.”
“I’m glad you seem to know what everybody thinks,” I replied without showing the fury I felt.
“It’s not hard. I’m not the only one who’s noticed how you don’t do things the way you used to. And you know you don’t. You’ve got to admit that.”
“Tell me what I should admit.”
He seemed to have a list all ready.
“Out-of-character things. Like working yourself into the ground and going to scenes you don’t need to, so you’re tired all the time and don’t notice what’s going on in the office. And then upset people call and you don’t take time to talk to them like you used to.”
“What upset people?” My self-control was about to snap. “I always talk to families, to anyone who asks, as long as the individual has a right to the information.”
“Maybe you should check with Dr. Fielding and ask him how many of your calls he’s taken, how many families of your cases he’s dealt with, how much he’s covered up for you. And then your thing on the Internet. That’s what’s really gone too far. It’s sort of the last straw.”
I was baffled.
“What thing on the Internet?” I demanded.
“Your chats or whatever it is you do. To be honest, since I don’t have a home computer and don’t use AOL or anything, I haven’t seen it for myself.”
Bizarre, angry thoughts flew through my mind like a thousand starlings and overshadowed every perception I’d ever had about my life. A myriad of ugly, dark thoughts clung to my reason and dug in with their claws.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Chuck said. “And I hope you know I understand how everything could get like this. After what you’ve been through.”
I didn’t want to hear another goddamn word about what I’d been through.
“Thank you for your understanding, Chuck,” I said, my eyes piercing his until he looked away.
“We’ve got that case coming in from Powhatán, and it should have been here by now, if you want me to check on it,” he said, anxious to leave the room.
“Do that, and then get this body back in the fridge.”
“Sure thing,” he said.
The doors shut behind him, returning silence to the room. I reflected back the last of the tissue and placed it on the cutting board as frigid paranoia and self-doubt seeped under the heavy door of my self-confidence. I began anchoring the tissue with hatpins, stretching it and measuring and stretching. I set the corkboard inside the surgical pan and covered it with a green cloth and placed it inside the refrigerator.
I showered and changed in the locker room, and cleared my thoughts of phobias and indignation. I took a long enough break to drink a cup of coffee; it was so old, the bottom of the pot was black. I started a new coffee fund by giving my office administrator twenty dollars.
“Jean, have you been reading these chat sessions that I’m supposedly having on the Internet?” I asked her.
She shook her head but looked uncomfortable. I tried Cleta and Polly next and asked the same question.