Marco came back with coffee and sandwiches. Todd drank some coffee, which perked him up.
He went to the front desk and asked, not for the first time, to see the day-doctor. This time, he got lucky. Doctor Otis, a pale and slight young woman who looked no more than eighteen, and refused to look Todd in the face (though this, he realized was her general practice: she was the same with Marco and with the nurses, eyes constantly averted), appeared and said that there was nothing to report except that Dempsey would be going for X-rays in about half an hour, and they would be available for viewing tomorrow. At this point, Todd lost his temper. It happened rarely, but when it did it was an impressive spectacle. His neck became blotchy-red, and the muscles of his face churned; his eyes went to ice-water.
“I brought my dog in here at five o’clock this morning. I’ve been waiting here — sitting on that bench — that bench right there, you see it? Do you see that bench?”
“Yes, I — ”
“That’s where I’ve been since six o’clock. It is now almost eleven o’clock. I’ve asked on several occasions for you to have the common decency to come out and tell me what’s happening to my dog. Always politely. And I’ve been told, over and over again, that you’re very busy.”
“It’s been a crazy morning, Mr — ?”
“Pickett is my name.”
“Well, Mr. Pickett, I’m afraid I can’t — ”
“Stop right there. Don’t say you can’t get the X-rays until tomorrow because you can. You will. I want my dog looked after and if you won’t do it I’ll take him some place where he can be taken care of and I’ll make sure every damn newspaper in the State of California — ”
At this moment an older woman, obviously the hospital manager, stepped into view and took Todd’s hand, shaking it. “Mr. Pickett. My name’s Cordelia Simpson. It’s all right, Andrea, I’ll take care of Mr. Pickett from here.”
The young woman doctor retreated. She was two shades whiter than she’d been at the beginning of the conversation.
“I heard most of what you were telling Andrea — ”
“Look, I’m sorry. That’s not my style. I don’t like losing my temper, but — ”
“No, it’s okay. I understand. You’re tired and you’re concerned about — ?”
“Dempsey.”
“Dempsey. Right.”
“I was told he’d be X-rayed today and we’d have the results back this afternoon.”
“Well, the speed of these things all depends on the volume of work, Mr. Pickett,” Cordelia said. She was English, and had the face and manner of a woman who would not be pleasant if she were riled, but was doing her best right now to put on a gentler face. “I read a piece about you in the LA Times last year. You were on the cover with Dempsey, as I remember. Clearly you’re very close to your dog. Here’s what I’m going to do.” She consulted her watch. “Dempsey is being seen by the radiographer right now, and I guarantee that we’ll have the results back by … six. It might be earlier but I think six we can guarantee.”
“So how long before I can take him home?”
“You want to take him now?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll find him rather dopey. I’m not sure he could walk.”
“I can carry him.”
Cordelia nodded. She knew an immovable object when she saw one. “Well I’ll have one of the nurses come fetch you when he’s ready. Is that his?”
She pointed to the quilt on the bench. Quite unconsciously, Todd had been nursing it while he waited. No wonder people had kept their distance.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to have him wrapped up in it?”
“Thank you.”
Cordelia picked up the quilt. “And my apologies, Mr. Pickett, for any difficulties you may have had. Our doctors are horribly overworked. And, I’m afraid to say, often people who are wonderful with animals aren’t always terribly good with human beings.”
Ten minutes later a burly Latino appeared with a sleepy-eyed Dempsey, wrapped in his quilt. His ears pricked up just a little at the sight of Todd, enough for Todd to know that his holding the dog, and whispering to him, meant something.