Today's the day.
Well, it's a big day for Goldman. For Greg, not so much. In his world it's just another morning where he sleeps in and lies abed as he listens to his wife do housework (a rather pleasant background noise, he must admit), emerges eventually to swill excellent coffee, eat some breakfast and sort through the mail, snark at the cat who pesters him for food, and shamble off to get dressed. He ought to be bored out of his skull, but he knows he's got a remedy for that: an endless all-access pass to the practice. Even better, today he'll sit in on the whiteboard discussion for the patients, and watch Goldman in action as a physician for the first time: a new fellow who competes with the status quo, always an enjoyable angstfest.
He takes his time in the shower, trims his scruff a little. After some deliberation he puts on a clean black tee, his favorite blue oxford shirt (the one Roz likes because it she says matches the color of his eyes), his most comfortable jeans, and his best sneaks. Once he's dressed he ambles into the living room, where Roz is just finished the dusting. She has on a favorite old tank top and a pair of cutoffs, and there's some godawful caterwauling on the stream, to which she prances around and sings along softly.
do you remember there was a time
when people on the street
were walking hand in hand in hand
they used to talk about the weather
making plans together
days would last forever
Greg pauses, remembers a moment long ago when he watched her dance in a grocery store aisle. She'd spun like an ecstatic Sufi, arms out, slender legs graceful. He feels again the shock of realization, the knowledge she was more than he'd ever understood—the beauty inside her, a joy in the simple delight of music; a love they shared. He savors that memory, still as bright as when it happened. Then he moves forward to stand in front of her. She comes to a halt, looks him over as her eyes widen. She puts a hand on her hip. "You look good," she says in approval. He gives her a brief grin.
"See you later," he says, and leans in to kiss her. He makes it a scorcher, hot and sweet with the promise of his return home, when he'll taste every inch of her. When it ends she looks up at him, and the love and amusement in her gaze is the best thing he's seen so far today.
"'Together we'll break these chains of love'," she dares to sing in her homely voice—a sign of immense trust, he knows. She flashes him her lovely smile.
"Dance me out of the house," he orders, and she laughs but does as he asks. When he makes it to the kitchen door and turns back she's at work once more, and swings her hips from side to side. On that delicious sight he takes his leave.
The day is already a warm one, and the air is thick with humidity. As Barbarella glides toward the village he can see thunderheads form to the west as hot moist air rises into the cold, dry Canadian downflow; they'll have storms later this afternoon. It's a good thing, he's heard farmers in town complain about the lack of rain, and the guy who leases his fields has managed only one cutting of hay so far.
He pulls into his spot and is gratified to see Minnie Lou at the far end of the lot. So, Goldman understands parking etiquette. That's a bit of a surprise; his protégé tends to ignore niceties. But then he's been away at school for some time now. Perhaps his experience with human foibles has changed his naïve viewpoint at long last.
When Greg enters, he's relieved to find Nelson at the reception desk. She at least doesn't flutter around him and carry on like a brainless twit the way Lang does. Nelson is sturdy, impassive and unflappable. As he passes her desk she says "Coffee's fresh and Wayne brought in banana bread. Try it, it's good."
"Mmf," he says, and heads to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later he's ensconced in his office, feet propped on the blotter and a plate piled with several slices of banana bread. The slices are thick with butter and honey; he munches and has to admit, it's a pretty damn good treat. He knows Wayne hopes this will get him out of clinic hours. It's a doomed hope, but Greg won't kill it just yet. Let the idiot bake a few more loaves to earn treat points he'll never get. He downs a slurp of coffee as Chase knocks on his open door. "Gonna start the whiteboard session," he says, and raises an eyebrow at the plate. "Leave any for the rest of us?"
"You snooze you lose," Greg says, and stuffs the second half of a slice in his mouth. Chase rolls his eyes.
"Okay. We're on in five," he says, and heads off to C-1. Greg licks his fingers and watches his second-in-command. There's something afoot there, some unspoken comment, and he'll have to discover what it is.
The conference room is full. All fellows, as well as the new guy, are in attendance. Goldman sits in the spot assigned to newbies. He has the files stacked in front of him and pages through one, his concentration on the information. Greg hides a smile. Almost anyone else would chat up the other fellows. Jason is all about the work.
"Morning, people," Greg says, and takes his seat at the head of the table. He knows when he's not around Chase sits there, but Robert's never hesitated to offer him the chair, because they both know it's still his. "What's up?"
Of course Wayne is the first to answer him. "Ran some tests on Alisette—"
"You ran some tests on patient number one," Greg says. "First name basis is a bad idea. Continue."
Wayne glares at him. "She's just a little girl."
"Aw, that's sweet. You bringing her banana bread now too?" Greg says, and makes his mockery plain. Really, it's too easy to bait this one, and the moron doesn't get that he's being played either. Greg has his suspicions that he'll be gone sooner rather than later. Wayne enjoys the give-and-take of the team, but he's lazy enough to not like the scut work involved. That's a major flaw in this job. "Test results show . . ." Greg twirls his fingers to indicate Wayne should provide the missing information. Wayne slaps open the file and glares at him.
"Moderate anemia, spleen is slightly enlarged, signs of bone deformities," he snaps. "It's not sickle cell, but there's definitely a problem with hemoglobin."
"'Problem'?" Norton wants to know. "What kind of problem?"
"We're waiting for the results to come back. Lab's stacked up," Wayne says.
"No home-baked bribes for the tech? Tsk." Greg picks up the file, pages through it. He relishes the rush of information, the stats and notes, the way a fact will jump out at him.
"The bone deformities are still developing," Goldman says quietly. Everyone falls silent and looks at him.
"What makes you say that?" Wayne wants to know, his tone almost but not quite hostile.
"Look at the earlier MRI scans compared to the new ones. There's a small but significant difference." Goldman stands and goes to the flat-screen display, taps it into life, calls up the scans in question. He does it without hesitation, as familiar with this technology as he is with his link. After a moment two scans come up side by side. He puts in enlargements of the patient's tibia, near the ankle. "You can see it most clearly here."
He's right; placed next to each other, it's very plain something's wrong. Wayne sits back. He stares at the images, then at Goldman. "So what is it?" Enlighten us, genius is the unspoken comment, but everyone's just heard the gauntlet thrown down.
"I don't know," Goldman says simply. "At this point, with half the lab results still out any attempt at diagnosis would be flawed, incomplete. But I see some markers that point in a couple of related directions."
"And they would be . . ." Greg says.
"I think it's possible the patient has thalassemia. It could be hemoglobin H disease, which would classify it as alpha, but just from the developing symptoms we've seen so far I think it's more likely it's intermediate beta thalassemia."
Greg considers the suggestion. Incomplete information aside, it's a good fit. Goldman's studied the file in-depth and thought about what he's found, used the clues, no matter how inconsequential, to arrive at his first conclusion. It's a promising start.
"The results could indicate something else entirely," Steinman says. Goldman nods.
"Yes, that's true."
"So you're not gonna get upset if your theory's incorrect?" Norton wants to know. Jason gives him a direct look. A slight smile tugs at his lips.
"No. I'm not married to it, we're just shacking up for the night." That gets an appreciative chuckle, even from Wayne.
"Who knew you were a comedian?" Greg says, and dumps the file to one side. "As soon as the results come in we'll re-examine the data. Next case."
When the session is done, just as everyone is about to get up and migrate to the kitchen, Greg says "Newbie brings coffee and doughnuts for everyone."
All gazes swing toward Goldman, to see what he'll do. Jason doesn't hesitate. He gets to his feet and looks at Wayne. "How do you like your coffee?" he asks.
"You think you're a waiter?" There's a subtle sneer in Wayne's tone. Jason nods.
"I am a waiter, yeah. When I'm not making pizzas or salads, or washing dishes."
"Present tense," Steinman says. She sounds intrigued. "You—you're working another job?"
"Until my boss can get a replacement for me." Goldman looks at Wayne in polite inquiry. "Coffee?"
He takes preferences from everyone and heads off to the kitchen, to return with a tray full of mugs and a plate with both banana bread slices and doughnuts. With care he sets the tray on the table, then hands a mug to Greg.
"You didn't ask me what I wanted," Greg says.
"Black, four sugars," Goldman says with a straight face. Greg hands him back the mug.
"Nope. I want full milk, no sugar."
Without batting an eye Jason takes the mug and returns to the kitchen. He's back in less than two minutes. He sets the mug in front of Greg.
"Full milk, no sugar," he says. Greg picks it up, takes a taste, makes a face.
"I've changed my mind. Black, four sugars."
Without comment Goldman takes it back, to return with yet another mug. He places it in front of Greg and waits.
"The other coffees are cold," Greg says. "Replace those as well."
Five minutes later everyone has a fresh steaming mug in front of them, along with spoons, napkins and plates for bread or doughnuts. There's even a little dish of butter pats and some knives to spread them with. Goldman doesn't sit down; he waits until everyone's tasted their coffee.
"Anything else?" he asks, without a single note of sarcasm or mockery. Greg gives him a point for taking a mild hazing in stride. It'll be of interest to see how he does later on, when it's gone on for a while.
"Yes. You have clinic hours starting . . ." Greg checks his watch. He's old-fashioned enough to still wear one. "Now till nine."
"I have work at Lou's tonight," Goldman says.
"Not my problem. Deal with it." Greg picks up a file. "Get going, they're expecting you. There's probably a line of kids out the door to get vaccines and exams for school." He opens the file and pretends to read it. Goldman sighs softly, turns away and goes to Norton, who stands in the hallway outside the conference room and polishes off a slice of banana bread. An interesting choice; Jason already knows Wayne is not a fan, but Greg thought he'd go for Steinman first. Women are usually a softer touch. Greg watches the two young men as they talk. He can almost hear the conversation: trade you four hours tonight for four this weekend. There's a bit of haggling, but eventually Norton nods. He and Goldman part ways. It's entirely likely Jason won't get much sleep or down time for a while, but this is a traditional test for all young doctors, and Greg wants to see how his protégé handles it. It'll eventually turn out well, but there's bound to be at least one breakdown along the way, and Greg wants to know how it'll happen, and why. Satisfied, he goes back to his file, sips his excellent coffee, and snags another doughnut.
"How long do you plan to torture him?" Chase asks from the doorway. Greg contemplates his treat. So this is the bee under Chase's pretty little floral bonnet.
"As long as it takes," he says. "You remember." He bites into the doughnut and savors maple-pecan coconut crunch.
"'The monkeys thought 'twas all in fun,'" Chase says, with a glint of mordant humor. "It'll be interesting to see who lasts longer, him or you." He moves out of the doorway toward the exam rooms and is soon gone from sight.
'Chains of Love,' Erasure