advertisement featuring a square-jawed doctor in a suit, holding his medical bag and admiring a gleaming black 1962 Imperial Crown Four-Door Southampton.
Below the photo, the advertising copy read:
To America's Doctors: We're inviting you to enjoy the personal use of a new Imperial for three days. Soon you will receive a phone call to schedule the delivery of a brand-new car to your door with absolutely no obligation. All we want is for you to make a thorough diagnosis of the Imperial's superior handling, astounding road performance, faultless smoothness, and breathtaking elegance.
"I'll go wait by the phone," I said. "You can take over for me in the morning."
I started to get up but she pulled me back onto the bed, crawled on top of me and pinned me down playfully.
"It's a beautiful car. I think it's going to look great parked outside of our new bomb shelter," Katherine said. "When they call, tell them to deliver it right away. We can drive around Beverly Hills and pretend we're rich."
"Would you like that?"
"I'd love that. It will be fun," she said. "Speaking of calls, did you ask the babysitter for her number?"
"I forgot," I said, which was true. "Sorry."
"Not good enough," Katherine said with a wicked smile.
I suppose I could have told her at that moment about Joanna, but then my wife started to kiss me, and I decided that perhaps it wasn't the best time to talk about necking with another woman.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I managed to beat Dr. Whittington to the hospital, which disappointed me, because I'd never looked better. My socks matched, my tie was tightly knotted, and I wasn't late.
I'd made it to the hospital with time to spare because I woke up long before my alarm rang. I'd slept fitfully, tormented by guilt about what had happened with Joanna Pate.
I didn't kiss her, she kissed me. What bothered me was that I liked it. I felt as if I'd cheated on Katherine. Some how, not telling Katherine about it made it seem even more wrong.
When I wasn't replaying the encounter with Joanna over and over in my mind, I thought about what she'd told me before the kiss and what it might mean.
A week ago, the dark clouds moved over the city, bringing rain and thunder, lightning and death. Two nursing students had died. One of them was murdered.
Was Sally Pruitt actually the second victim? If so, were there others we didn't know about?
As long as the storm lasted, I knew, there would be more mudslides and flooding, more fallen trees and car accidents.
And more murders.
I was still worrying about that as I walked into the ER, which was in chaos. The roof of an apartment building had collapsed in the rain, injuring dozens of people. The victims and their families filled the ER. I set aside my worries and concentrated on treating my patients.
I was just finishing up with the last of my roof-collapse victims several hours later when ambulances started rolling in with people injured in a three-car pileup on Sunset Boulevard that sent one vehicle hurling out of control into a crowded bus stop.
Nurse Alice Blevins quickly assessed the patients as they were wheeled in, deciding who was in the most urgent need of medical attention.
There were so many patients that doctors were called in from elsewhere in the hospital to assist. Dan Marlowe, Bart Spicer, Chet Arnold, and I hurried between exam rooms, treating patients and sending those needing more than emergency care on to specialists in orthopedics, cardiology, and neurology.
It was midafternoon by the time we cleared the emergency room of serious trauma patients and were left with only the typical walk-ins with minor injuries and simple ailments. Once the adrenaline wore off, I realized how hungry and tired I was. I told Alice she could find me in the doctors' lounge if any more emergencies came in.
I was starving, but too weary to go to the cafeteria, so I settled for a cold, soggy sandwich from a vending machine, then stretched out on the hard couch to
Below the photo, the advertising copy read:
To America's Doctors: We're inviting you to enjoy the personal use of a new Imperial for three days. Soon you will receive a phone call to schedule the delivery of a brand-new car to your door with absolutely no obligation. All we want is for you to make a thorough diagnosis of the Imperial's superior handling, astounding road performance, faultless smoothness, and breathtaking elegance.
"I'll go wait by the phone," I said. "You can take over for me in the morning."
I started to get up but she pulled me back onto the bed, crawled on top of me and pinned me down playfully.
"It's a beautiful car. I think it's going to look great parked outside of our new bomb shelter," Katherine said. "When they call, tell them to deliver it right away. We can drive around Beverly Hills and pretend we're rich."
"Would you like that?"
"I'd love that. It will be fun," she said. "Speaking of calls, did you ask the babysitter for her number?"
"I forgot," I said, which was true. "Sorry."
"Not good enough," Katherine said with a wicked smile.
I suppose I could have told her at that moment about Joanna, but then my wife started to kiss me, and I decided that perhaps it wasn't the best time to talk about necking with another woman.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I managed to beat Dr. Whittington to the hospital, which disappointed me, because I'd never looked better. My socks matched, my tie was tightly knotted, and I wasn't late.
I'd made it to the hospital with time to spare because I woke up long before my alarm rang. I'd slept fitfully, tormented by guilt about what had happened with Joanna Pate.
I didn't kiss her, she kissed me. What bothered me was that I liked it. I felt as if I'd cheated on Katherine. Some how, not telling Katherine about it made it seem even more wrong.
When I wasn't replaying the encounter with Joanna over and over in my mind, I thought about what she'd told me before the kiss and what it might mean.
A week ago, the dark clouds moved over the city, bringing rain and thunder, lightning and death. Two nursing students had died. One of them was murdered.
Was Sally Pruitt actually the second victim? If so, were there others we didn't know about?
As long as the storm lasted, I knew, there would be more mudslides and flooding, more fallen trees and car accidents.
And more murders.
I was still worrying about that as I walked into the ER, which was in chaos. The roof of an apartment building had collapsed in the rain, injuring dozens of people. The victims and their families filled the ER. I set aside my worries and concentrated on treating my patients.
I was just finishing up with the last of my roof-collapse victims several hours later when ambulances started rolling in with people injured in a three-car pileup on Sunset Boulevard that sent one vehicle hurling out of control into a crowded bus stop.
Nurse Alice Blevins quickly assessed the patients as they were wheeled in, deciding who was in the most urgent need of medical attention.
There were so many patients that doctors were called in from elsewhere in the hospital to assist. Dan Marlowe, Bart Spicer, Chet Arnold, and I hurried between exam rooms, treating patients and sending those needing more than emergency care on to specialists in orthopedics, cardiology, and neurology.
It was midafternoon by the time we cleared the emergency room of serious trauma patients and were left with only the typical walk-ins with minor injuries and simple ailments. Once the adrenaline wore off, I realized how hungry and tired I was. I told Alice she could find me in the doctors' lounge if any more emergencies came in.
I was starving, but too weary to go to the cafeteria, so I settled for a cold, soggy sandwich from a vending machine, then stretched out on the hard couch to
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