Making an attempt at small talk, Marissa was awed by the furs and jewels. These people were not small-town practitioners.
When almost everyone was standing in the living room with a
drink in hand, the doorbell sounded again. Ralph was not in sight, so
Marissa opened the door. To her utter surprise she recognized Dr.
Cyrill Dubchek, her boss at the Special Pathogens Branch of the
Department of Virology.
“Hello, Dr. Blumenthal,” said Dubchek comfortably, taking Manssa’s presence in stride.
Marissa was visibly flustered. She’d not expected anyone from the CDC. Dubchek handed his coat to the maid, revealing a dark blue Italian-tailored suit. He was a striking man with coal black, intelligent eyes and an olive complexion. His features were sharp and aristocratic. Running a hand through his hair, which was brushed straight back from his forehead, he smiled. “We meet again.”
Marissa weakly returned the smile and nodded toward the living room. “The bar is in there.”
“Where’s Ralph?” asked Dubchek, glancing into the crowded living room.
“Probably in the kitchen,” said Marissa.
Dubchek nodded, and moved off as the doorbell rang again. This
time Marissa was even more flabbergasted. Standing before her was Tad Schockley!
“Marissa!” said Tad, genuinely surprised.
Marissa recovered and allowed Tad to enter. While she took his coat, she asked, “How do you know Dr. Hempston?”
“Just from meetings. I was surprised when I got an invitation in the mail.” Tad smiled. “But who am I to turn down a free meal, on my salary?”
“Did you know that Dubchek was coming?” asked Manissa. Her tone was almost accusing.
Tad shook his head. “But what difference does it make?” He looked into the dining room and then up the main staircase. “Beautiful house. Wow!”
Marissa grinned in spite of herself. Tad, with his short sandy hair and fresh complexion, looked too young to be Ph.D. He was dressed in a corduroy jacket, a woven tie and gray flannels so worn, they might as well have been jeans.
“Hey,” he said. “How do you know Dr. Hempston?”
“He’s just a friend,” said Marissa evasively, gesturing for Tad to head into the living room for a drink.
Once all the guests had arrived, Marissa felt free to move away from the front door. At the bar, she got herself a glass of white wine and tried to mingle. Just before the group was summoned into the dining room, she found herself in a conversation with Dr. Sandberg and Dr. and Mrs. Jackson.
“Welcome to Atlanta, young lady,” said Dr. Sandberg.
“Thank you,” said Marissa, trying not to gawk at Mrs. Jackson’s ring.
“How is it you happened to come to the CDC?” asked Dr. Jackson. His voice was deep and resonant. He not only looked like Charlton Heston; he actually sounded as if he could play Ben Hur.
Looking into the man’s deep blue eyes, she wondered how to answer his seemingly sincere question. She certainly wasn’t going to mention anything about her former lover’s flight to L.A. and her need for a change. That wasn’t the kind of commitment people expected at the CDC. “I’ve always had an interest in public health.” That was a little white lie. “I’ve always been fascinated by stories of medical detective work.” She smiled. At least that was the truth. “I guess I got tired of looking up runny noses and into draining ears.”
“Trained in pediatrics,” said Dr. Sandberg. It was a statement, not a question.
“Children’s Hospital in Boston,” said Marissa. She always felt a
little ill at ease talking with psychiatrists. She couldn’t help but wonder if they could analyze her motives better than she could herself. She knew that part of the reason she had gone into medicine was to enable her to compete with her brothers in their relationships with their father.
“How do you feel about clinical medicine?” asked Dr. Jackson. “Were you ever interested in practicing?”
“Well, certainly,” replied Marissa.
“How?” continued Dr. Jackson, unknowingly making Marissa feel progressively uneasy. “Did you see yourself solo, in a group, or in a clinic?”
“Dinner is served,” called Ralph over the din of conversation.
Manissa felt relieved as Dr. Jackson and Dr. Sandberg turned to find their wives. For a moment she had felt as if she were being interrogated.