CAUGHT IN THE CROSS-FIRE, Chapter 2
Mona spent the next week researching additional angles to improve Invicta's chances of closing the Memorial sale. In truth, she spent most of the next week Googling Reid Oliver, but her assistant was able to learn enough about Henry Coleman, Luke Snyder, the Snyder Foundation, and Memorial's first quarter financials so she really didn't have to add much to bolster her already-strong case.
The following Thursday, Mona once again drove to Oakdale, this time with Robert Palmer blaring on the speakers. Mona cheerfully sang along: Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I've got a bad case of lovin' you...
As she pulled into Memorial's concrete parking garage, Mona reminded herself of the mission at hand: win over Bob Hughes. Without Bob Hughes's enthusiastic participation, an Invicta acquisition would not happen, no matter how smart, sexy, successful, handsome, and (did she already say sexy?) Dr Reid Oliver happened to be, there would be no sale, no raise and no promotion.
Mona vowed to pay more attention to Dr Hughes. When she found them in the Memorial reception area, she put on her best smile and steeled herself for the day's schmooze-fest. "Dr Hughes," she called, holding out her hand. "Hello."
"Oh, Miss Cross," he said.
"Call me Mona," she said, pasting on a smile and batting her eyelashes, then adding with emphasis, "Remember?"
"Well then, it's still Bob," Bob returned her smile. Oh lord. Is he FLIRTING with me?
Mona noticed the dignified lady Bob had been speaking to. She had a head full of silver hair and a bemused smile and appeared to be intently watching the proceedings.
"Good to see you again," said Bob turning to Reid and Luke to catch their attention. "Uh, Dr Oliver, Luke?" Then he turned to the lady in red, making introductions, "This is my wife, Kim. Miss Cross." How quaint – he brought the missus along for a business meeting. Who's next? Auntie Em?
"How happy to meet you," Mona smiled and extended her hand.
"Thank you," Kim smiled pleasantly. "Thank you. My pleasure."
Mona turned around to greet Dr Oliver and found him standing so close behind her she nearly stepped on his feet. She inhaled deeply and found she could smell his soap: a heady, woodsy scent.
"Let's just call it round two," said Reid. Luke Snyder stood so closely behind him the two looked like they could be joined at the hip – Does the boy have no concept of personal space?
Reid looked Mona straight in the eye as he took her hand and she tried to read the expression in those gorgeous but unreadable blue depths. Still holding my hand. Yup, and STILL holding my hand. Definitely longer than necessary. Mona smiled to herself. Say something, Mona!
"How's your nose Dr Oliver?" Mona asked with a nervous laugh. How's the nose? Could you have come up with anything dumber to say?
"Still attached," replied Reid with just a hint of that devastating smile. Everyone chuckled politely, while Mona found herself laughing with more enthusiasm that intended. Oh my god, I'm giggling like a schoolgirl. Get a hold of yourself, Mona.
"Well should we get started?" Bob asked.
"Yes," Mona replied, grateful for the diversion. If she didn't put a few paces between herself and Dr Oliver, she was going to do something really stupid and jeopardize the deal she'd been working on for so many months.
Bob turned to Kim and said, "There's no need for you to really join us."
Mona was surprised to hear Kim reply, "Oh I'd love to go." Then Kim turned to Mona and asked, "Unless, of course, you object?"
"No objections," Mona said.
"Wonderful!" Kim gushed. "I love to hear about the hospital." Mona thought she sounded like she might have an ulterior motive, but Mona couldn't figure out what ulterior motive the Golden Girls wannabe might have.
"Uh huh." Bob conceded, almost sounding...suspicious?
"Well, uh, let's start then," Bob said. Then he paused thoughtfully and added, "I thought we'd start in...pediatrics."
"Oh, how nice," Mona replied, not sure what else to say. Then smiling politely she turned to follow Bob and Kim as they began to make their way to the children's ward.
Kim chatted pleasantly about Bob's history with Memorial Hospital as they made their way down the corridor – the old fossil had been there even longer than she'd thought, as he apparently did part of his internship/residency at Memorial before being officially placed on staff. Mona was surprised to hear that Kim sounded proud of how little Memorial had changed over the last several decades in their approach to healthcare provision.
Bob pointed out some of the child-sized equipment the hospital had purchased, to ensure that kids were properly diagnosed and cared for. In a corner of the group ward, a nurse — wearing scrubs decorated brightly with multi-colored teddy bears — played with a pale, nervous looking little boy of four. She told him jokes and pushed the Trouble Pop-amatic with a variety of body parts including each of her five fingers, her elbow, and forearm; but it was only when she tried (and failed) to get the thing to pop with her nose that the little boy finally mustered a smile. Even as jaded as she was, even Mona found herself smiling at the exchange.
The tour group peered into a few open private rooms, with Luke periodically relating anecdotes of various children whose lives had been saved, changed, or improved after treatment at Memorial. Luke Snyder seemed to be an optimist by birth, but even his spirits seemed unusually high this day – almost giddy – as he kept up a running monologue.
As they made their way through the wing, Luke was particularly animated talking about one boy – Jason, aged 11. Jason was a huge White Sox fan and had been in the audience when Mark Buehrle pitched his perfect game.
It was a mere few months later that he had returned for another game and had left for the bathroom and become disoriented. His parents searched frantically for him for 45 minutes before finding him wandering aimlessly in Comiskey's giant main concourse. Six specialists and many months later they finally received the correct and dismal diagnosis: inoperable brain tumor. Four to six months life expectancy with treatment, two to four without.
Jason had begun treatments with Chicago's Dr Channing, who had a reputation as the top neurosurgeon in the region prior to Reid's arrival at Memorial. Meanwhile, Jason's parents had scoured the internet desperately seeking alternatives, and when they learned that Reid had begun practicing in Oakdale in January – easy driving distance from Chicago – they booked an appointment the following day. Given the urgency of Jason's situation, Reid had cleared his morning calendar to run the necessary battery of diagnostic tests and scans.
Reid had arranged for a stereotactic biopsy that same day, and had cancelled several more routine appointments to perform the delicate computer-assisted procedure. He spent the next four hours alternatingly reviewing Jason's scan results and berating the neuropathologist (who had been planning to leave for a date with his fiancée) for his lack of compassion and commitment. After finally guilting the neuropathologist into staying until Jason's results were reviewed, Reid himself remained behind until he could confirm a diagnosis.
Shortly after midnight, Reid was surprised that he largely agreed with Channing's diagnosis. Jason's best chance would be a lengthy program of chemo and radiation therapy. But by the time Reid reviewed Jason's scans for the fourth time he developed a glimmer of hope. He reviewed each angle of the scans again and again until he convinced himself that while removal of the tumor would be insane to try given its location and the extent of its integration with the surrounding tissue, reducing the size of the tumor via surgery was certainly plausible and would greatly reduce the intensity of the difficult follow-up treatments.
Jason's surgery was performed two days later, and Reid was pleased he was able to do what he set out to do. He had been able to reduce the tumorous cell mass by nearly 70%. A few weeks later, after Jason had mostly recovered from the most drastic side-effects of the surgery and his risk of infection had returned to near-normal, he had begun chemo and radiation therapy. It was during one of his chemo sessions when Memorial had coordinated with WorldWide's Chicago contacts to bring Mark Buehrle to Memorial for a visit.
The group stopped at the door of a patient room. The door was propped open, and in it, a 12-year-old boy sat up in bed, playing chess with his 16-year-old sister. A signed, framed photograph of the boy and a White Sox baseball player sat on the wall just by the head of the bed. Luke concluded with "In September 2009, Jason was given four to six months to live. Because of the treatment he has received at Memorial Hospital – because of the lifesaving work done by Dr Reid Oliver – he has a 50-50 chance of achieving complete remission at the conclusion of his treatments later this year."
Bob, Kim, Mona and Luke all watched silently, marveling at the everyday domesticity of the scene before them. Luke beamed over at Reid, who had seemed taciturn, almost morose throughout the tour, only looking up occasionally as the others talked. Mona thought it might be her imagination, but it seemed like he looked up disproportionately when Luke spoke, but she couldn't be sure. Looking up at Luke, Reid smiled weakly, almost seeming too tired or defeated to put the energy into a full-blown smile.
Near the end of their visit in the pediatric ward, they stopped just outside room 412. The door was partially ajar and Bob knocked lightly on the door.
"Excuse me, Mr and Mrs Mitchell," he said. "Could I have a moment of your time, please?"
The thirty-something couple exchanged questioning glances and then followed Bob out of the room.
"What's wrong?" asked Mrs Mitchell. "Is something wrong with Syndey?"
"No, no, no," Bob reassured her. "Nothing like that at all." He gestured to the group. "Of course, you know Dr Oliver, and my wife Kim. This is Luke Snyder, the head of the Snyder Foundation that is a major donor for the new surgical wing."
"Oh yes, of course," Mrs Mitchell replied. "We read about it in the City Times. Nice to meet you."
Luke smiled genuinely and shook hands with Mr and Mrs Mitchell. "So nice to meet you, too." He took care to look each in the eye as he shook their hands. "Mrs Mitchell. Mr Mitchell."
"And this is Miss Mona Cross," Bob added. The Mitchells shook hands with Mona, and again turned to each other with a questioning glance. "We've been taking Miss Cross on a little tour of Memorial and wondered if you might be willing to allow her to observe Dr Oliver's pre-op session with Sydney."
The Mitchells looked at each other skeptically. "I think we need to ask Sydney if she minds," Mr Mitchell said.
"Of course," Bob replied. "Take your time." They're going to ask a child for their opinion? Who are the adults in that family? And Bob actually respects that decision!
The Mitchells went into the room and closed the door. Both Bob and Kim, and Luke and Reid, exchanged what appeared to be meaningful glances. Mona was sure that each pair were privy to a conversation she didn't understand and it frustrated her. "Should we move on to the next portion of the tour?" she asked.
"Don't worry, Miss Cross," Reid said. All eyes turned towards him in surprise as so far he had said virtually nothing else on the tour. "This won't take long."
Miss Cross. Mona decided she really liked the way that sounded on his lips. She wondered what it would sound like for him to say Mona. Moan-a. Moan-aaaah. Aaaaahhhh... Mona's reverie as interrupted by the sound of the opening door.
"Sydney said she'd be glad to meet any friend of Dr Oliver's," Mrs Mitchell smiled with an expression Mona interpreted as gratitude. Reid looked almost embarrassed and rolled his eyes as he glanced down at his feet. On the other hand, the other three – Bob, Kim, and Luke (particularly Luke) all beamed with pride.
"All right then," Reid said impatiently. "Let's get this circus over with." He brusquely marched to the door and pushed it open. However, almost as soon as the door opened more than halfway, and the view into the patient room was clear, his expression softened.
A girl of about six or seven sat on the bed in a pair of Powerpuff Girls pyjamas. When she saw Reid, her face lit up and she called, "Dr O!"
Though Reid dismissed her, "Oh now, don't get all happy on me now. You know I don't do happy," he gave her a mock frown, but his eyes betrayed the smile hiding behind; Bob and Kim smiled again, and Luke looked as if he might burst.
Reid walked over and sat on the end of Sydney's bed and asked, "How are you feeling today? How's the head?"
"Good!" she replied. "It only hurt this much," she explained, holding her two hands about four inches apart.
"Not bad. But, remember, said Reid. "When it only hurts this much..." Reid placed his hands an inch apart, "...Then that means you won't have to come in to see me every month any more."
"Oh," said Sydney uncertainly. After thinking for a pause, she declared, "Then it hurts this much," placing her hands 10 inches apart.
Reid laughed in spite of himself, and the rest of the tour group followed along.
"So how about the buzzy dances?" Reid asked. "How are they going?"
Still standing near the doorway, Mona turned to Bob and asked, "Buzzy dances?"
Bob quietly explained, "Sydney suffers from epileptic seizures. When she first arrived came to Dr Oliver's attention, she was having as many as four five dozen per day. In the two months since she's been under his care, it's down to only about one a day."
"Really good, Dr O," the girl replied proudly. "None so far today, and only one yesterday!"
"And...?" he asked,
"When it's time to dance, don't take a chance. Sit right down and wait around," she replied on cue.
"And...?"
"And when it stops I'll be the tops," Syndey finished triumphantly.
"You got it," Reid confirmed with an unforced smile, giving her a high five, lowering his hand for a low five, then turning his hand sideways brushing first the backs of their hands and then the palms.
Reid gave the girl a reassuring nod and then picked up her chart from the end of the bed. He scanned through the recent entries while Bob, Kim, and Luke looked on with expressions bordering on adoring. My god, could Reid Oliver be any more adorable?
Bob, Kim, Luke, and Mona watched silently as Reid finished reviewing the vitals on the clipboard hanging from the end of Sydney's bed. When he finished, Mona was surprised when he took the Mitchells aside and gave them a sterile explanation of their daughter's status. After the genuine warmth and affection he'd seemed to show to the little girl, he was surprisingly cold to the parents, explaining about the increase in neuroreceptor activity so coldly he might have well been reading Sydney's chart. Strange. What a paradox. What an incredibly complex and fascinating man...
When they finished in pediatrics, Bob led the way towards cardiology, where the surgeons in the heart unit explained about some of their more significant accomplishments. In addition to the routine pacemakers, transplants, stents and bypasses, Memorial was about to branch into artificial heart research.
Luke made sure to point out that a few months after Dr Oliver's arrival, that Dr Pierce had left her post at Stanford Medical Center, attracted by the cost of living and the Midwestern family values of Memorial and Oakdale.
At the mention of Oakdale, Mona saw Dr Oliver visibly roll his eyes, and then flinch, almost as if he'd been kicked.
Mona eyed Luke suspiciously as he continued to hover over Dr Oliver's shoulder. The guy REALLY has no concept of personal space, but strangely enough Dr Oliver didn't seem to object.
Emergency services, though small, seemed to be well run and efficient. By the time they had started to make towards the new wing, Mona begrudgingly credited Bob Hughes with creating an environment where indeed both staff and patients seemed to thrive, and then gave herself a mental pat on the back for identifying such a hidden gem.
As they made their way up the final flight of stairs, the blaring started.
"What IS that?" Mona asked.
"They must be testing the alarm system." Bob replied. They "must be" testing the system? What idiot allows his staff to schedule an alarm system test on a day when a potential buyer is taking a tour? This guy is a bigger nincompoop than I thought!
"Or maybe not," Kim offered.
"I gotta check on that," Bob added. Oh my god – he really doesn't know what's going on. "Luke, would you see that Mona is — "
Luke? Luke's cute, but he's like Little Mary Sunshine. How about that yummy Dr Oliver? Before Mona had a chance to propose an alternative, Kim jumped in: "No that's all right. We'll keep each other company." Kim put her arm around Mona and began to lead her away. Short of rudely pulling her arm away, Mona was trapped, so she put on her best polite smile.
"So tell me, Mona," Kim began, "Who did you say you worked for?" He didn't tell her? She's like Donna Reed. How could he not tell her everything? Why wouldn't he tell her about Invicta? Just where was Mrs Hughes taking her, and what did she have in mind?
Kim walked Mona (or perhaps marched her) to the coffee shop across the street, ostensibly to avoid the blaring alarm. But as soon as they were alone, Kim started grilling her on Invicta's operating policies. Despite asking who Mona worked on, Kim raised several "purely hypothetical" questions referencing thinly disguised variations on events (or scandals) in Invicta's recent history.
After the third such question, Mona finally asked, "I'm sorry Mrs Hughes. I don't mean to be rude, but could I please ask what you do for a living?"
"Oh my dear," Kim replied with a sweet smile. "Please call me Kim. I'm co-owner of WOAK and I am executive producer for Oakdale Now and the evening news."
The bitch is angling for a story!
"Mrs Hughes," Mona pointedly began, trying to maintain a cool and objective demeanor. "Kim, you do realize that pre-mature publicity could have a tremendously negative impact on Memorial's ability to hammer out final details with Invicta.?"
"Don't you mean it might negatively impact Invicta's ability to extract the most value for its shareholders at the expense of the Oakdale community members who made Memorial Hospital their life's work?" Kim smiled sweetly again.
Mona pasted on a smile, "Invicta only wants what's best for Memorial Hospital."
Kim coolly smiled back, "So do I. And I can assure you that Bob does as well. He may be a kind and loving man, but I assure you that he did not become chief of staff by default. He has defeated colleagues far more experienced, savvy, and cutthroat than you, Miss Cross."
Mona returned the cool smile and concluded, "I'm not worried. Memorial Hospital needs Invicta. Bob seems to be a smart man. When his staff does the math, they'll realize that Invicta is his best bet for assuring the long-term viability of Memorial – it's a no brainer."
'Well then," Kim said. "I should think they'll have sorted out that alarm. Should we get back? I'm so glad we had this chance to get to know each other better."
"Likewise," replied Mona.
The two women returned in silence, and found Bob and Reid in his office. It was difficult to imagine, but Reid looked even more moribund than earlier in the day.
"Did you have a nice time, ladies?" Bob asked warily.
"Delightful!" replied Kim with a loving smile.
"Lovely," echoed Mona.
"Oh, I'm so glad," Bob said a bit distractedly.
Reid looked from one woman to the other, watched their facial expressions and rolled his eyes.
"Listen, Miss Cross — " Bob began.
"Mona," she corrected.
"Mona," Bob repeated. "I've asked Dr Oliver if he would take you on a tour of the new surgical wing. Luke had...other commitments...and will be unable to join you, but I am sure Dr Oliver will be able to answer any questions you might have."
Mona didn't need to be asked twice, and responded sincerely, "I can't think of anything I'd rather do." She flashed her most charming smile at Reid, and he weakly returned the smile.
"Um, okay, Miss Cross," Reid said, "I guess we should get going."
"Mona," she corrected.
"This way, Miss Cross," Reid repeated, opening the door and gesturing down the hallway towards the right.
"Of course, Dr Oliver," she replied and exited out the door, all the while thinking, Mona. Moan-ah! Just say it!
Reid expertly guided her around the new wing, describing all the clinical advances. The few times when his hand brushed against her arm, she felt a tingle run up her elbow and she had to suppress the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl.
As the tour came to a close, she tried to get him to open up personally but to no avail. Finally, she pulled out her last stop: "Let me buy you a coffee to thank you for the tour. I insist."
Reid did not look pleased, but he gave in and he and Mona stepped into the elevator. If possible, Reid looked even more nervous as he migrated to the far corner of the elevator and shoved his hands so far in his jacket pockets he might have been looking for lost change in his blazer lining.
When the elevator doors finally opened two floors later, Reid quickly strode out, making a beeline for the hospital canteen. There he brusquely ordered two coffees, "Two small – and try not to spill them, will ya," he barked at the barista. He quickly took the two paper cups, tossed a five dollar bill at the cashier ("Keep the change"), and then unceremoniously plopped them down on opposite sides of the nearest booth.
"So what else do you need to know about the wing, Miss Cross? It's state of the art and we've considered all angles," Reid asked, barely hiding his impatience.
"Well, it was very impressive," Mona replied. Then she lowered her voice seductively: "I'd like to know a little more about the genius behind its design."
"There's not much to tell. I'm the best in the field, it was designed to my specifications, end of story," Reid replied.
You're not giving me much to go on, Mona thought. Throw me a bone, will you. A bone. Boning. Oh god. "So tell me what inspired you to become a neurosurgeon," Mona tried.
"I wanted to fix brains," Reid replied, even more curtly.
"Doesn't your commitment to your job interfere with your personal life?" Mona asked.
Exasperated, Reid let down his guard for a moment: "Why the hell is everyone so concerned with my personal life all of a sudden?" Then regaining his composure he added, "No."
"No lucky girlfriend?" Mona asked fishing.
Reid was not only ready to tell Miss Mona Cross to take a long walk off a short pier, but he had silently started contemplating popping her one in the jaw (despite the fact that she was a woman). But he had promised Bob to play nice and he vowed to do his damndest to endure this torture.
"No, no girlfriend." Reid gruffly replied.
Mona smiled. No girlfriend! Her heart did a backflip and she leaned forward confidently. When she went after something rarely had she failed. She let the instep of her foot graze the side of Reid's calf and asked in her most seductive voice, "So, Dr Oliver, then tell me how it is that you haven't been snatched up?"
Reid jumped back in his bench but found it unforgiving, and hit the back with an ungraceful thud. "Oh, pardon me," Mona tried to cover.
"Miss Cross," Reid said, getting up from his chair. "Why don't you just gouge my eyeballs out with a blunt scalpel? I told Bob I'd answer your questions about the new wing, but since you've obviously run out of those, I'm out of here."
And with that, he left, leaving a bewildered Mona to admire his retreating figure from behind.