Blood Test by Kellerman, Jonathan

of. the word cancer.”

“Progress, huh?”

“Alex, nothing’s changed in the last five years. If

anything it’s gotten worse. I’ve even started open-

ing my ears to other offers. Last week I was given

the chance to run an entire hospital in Miami.

Chief of Staff. More money and a full professorship.”

“Considering it ?”

“No. The research facilities were Mickey Mouse

and I suspect they want me more for my Spanish

6 JonaOum Kel

.than my. medical brilliance. Anyway, what do you

iay-about lending the department a hand–you’re

s till ‘officially listed as our consultant, you know.”

“To be honest, Raoul, I’m not taking on any therapy

cases.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that,” he said impatiently,

“but this is not therapy. Short term liaison consultation.

I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but the

life of a very sick little boy is at stake.”

“Exactly what kind of noncompliance are you

talking about?”

“It’s too complicated to explain over the phone,

Alex. I hate to be rude, but I must-get over to the

lab and see how Helen is doing. We’re pacing an in

vitro hepatoblastoma as it approaches pulmonary

tissue. It’s painstaking work and it requires constant

vigilance. Let’s talk about it tomorrow–nine,

my office? I’ll.have breakfast sent up, and voucher

forms. We’re prepared to pay for your time.”

“All right, Raoul. I’ll be there.”

“Excellent.” He hung up.

Being released from a conversation with Melendez-Lynch

was a jarring experience, a sudden shift into

low gear. I put down the receiver, regained my

bearings, and reflected on the complexity of the

manic syndrome.

WESTERN PEDIATRIC Medical Center occupies a

block of mid-Hollywood real estate in a neigh-

once grand but is now the turf of

, hookers, drag queens, and fancy dancers of

every stripe. The working girls were up early this

morning, halter-topped and hot-panted, and as I

cruised eastward on Sunset they stepped out from

alleys and shadowed doorways sashaying and hoot-lng.

The Whores were as much a fixture of Hollywood

as the brass stars inlaid in the sidewalks,

and I could swear I recognized some of the same

painted faces I’d seen there three years ago. The

streetwalkers seemed to fall into two categories:

doughy-faced nmaways from Bakersfield, Fresno,

and the surrounding farmlands, and lean, leggy,

shopworn black girls from South Central L.A. All

of them raring to go at eight forty-five in the morning.

If the whole country ever got that industrious

the Japanese wouldn’t stand a chance.

The hospital loomed large, a compound of aged

37

dark stone buildings and one newer column of concrete

and glass. I pulled the Seville into the.doctors’

lot and walked to Prinzley Pavilion, the

contemporary structure.

The Department of Oncology was situated on the

fifth floor. The doctors’ offices were cubicles arranged

in a U around the secretarial pool. As head

of the department, Raoul got four times as much

space as any of the other oncologists, as well as

privacy. His office was at the far end of the corridor

and cordoned off by double glass doors. I went

through them and walked into the reception area.

Seeing no receptionist, I kept going and entered his

office through a door marked PRIVATE.

He could have had an executive suite but had

chosen to use almost all the space for his lab, end-lng

up with an office only ten by twelve. The room

was as I remembered it, the desk pried high with

correspondence,journals, and unanswered messages,-

· all ordered and precisely stacked. There were too

many books for the floor-to-ceiling bookcase and the

overflow was similarly heaped on-the floor. One

shelf was filled with bottles of Maalox. Perpendicular

to the desk, faded beige curtains concealed

the office’s sole window as well as a view of the

hills beyond.

I knew that view well, having spent a significant

proportion of my time at Western Peds staring out

at the crumbling letters of the HOLLYWOOD sign

while waiting for Raoul to show up for meetings he

had scheduled but inevitably forgot about, or cooling

my heels during his interminable long-distance

phone chats.

I searched for signs of habitation and found a

Styrofoam cup half-filled with cold coffee and a

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