He walked up to Paige, out of breath, and said, "Excuse me. Dr. Wallace asked me to—"
"You're late," Paige said curtly.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was held up at—"
"Never mind. What's your name?"
"Jason. Jason Curtis." He was wearing a sport jacket.
"Where's your white coat?"
"My white coat?"
"Didn't anyone tell you to wear a white coat on rounds?"
He looked flustered. "No. I'm afraid I ..."
Paige said irritably, "Go back to the head nurse's office and tell her to give you a white coat. And you don't have a scut book."
"No."
"Idiot nephew" doesn't begin to describe him. "Meet us in Ward One."
"Are you sure? I ..."
"Just do it!" Paige and the others started off, leaving Jason Curtis staring after them.
They were examining their third patient when Jason Curtis came hurrying up. He was wearing a white coat. Paige was saying, "... tumors of the heart can be
primary, which is rare, or secondary, which is much more common."
She turned to Curtis. "Can you name the three types of tumors?"
He stared at her. "I'm afraid I ... I can't."
Of course not. "Epicardial. Myocardial. Endocardial."
He looked at Paige and smiled. "That's really interesting."
My God! Paige thought. Dr. Wallace or no Dr. Wallace, I'm going to get rid of him fast.
They moved on to the next patient, and when Paige was through examining him, she took the group into the corridor, out of earshot. "We're dealing here with a thyroid storm, with fever and extreme tachycardia. It came on after surgery." She turned to Jason Curtis. "How would you treat him for that?"
He stood there, thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, "Gently?"
Paige fought for self-control. "You're not his mother, you're his doctor! He needs continuous IV fluids to combat dehydration, along with IV iodine and antithyroid drugs and sedatives for convulsions."
Jason nodded. "That sounds about right."
The rounds got no better. When they were over, Paige called Jason Curtis aside. ' 'Do you mind my being frank with you?"
"No. Not at all," he said agreeably. "I'd appreciate it."
"Look for another profession."
He stood there, frowning. "You don't think I'm cut out for this?"
"Quite honestly, no. You don't enjoy this, do you?"
"Not really."
"Then why did you choose to go into this?"
"To tell you the truth, I was pushed into it."
"Well, you tell Dr. Wallace that he's making a mistake. I think you should find something else to do with your life."
"I really appreciate your telling me this," Jason Curtis said earnestly. "I wonder if we could discuss this further. If you aren't doing anything for dinner tonight . . .?"
"We have nothing further to discuss," Paige said curtly. "You can tell your uncle ..."
At that moment Dr. Wallace came into view. "Jason!" he called. "I've been looking all over for you." He turned to Paige. "I see you two have met."
"Yes, we've met," Paige said grimly.
"Good. Jason is the architect in charge of designing the new wing we're building."
Paige stood there, motionless. "He's . . . what?"
"Yes. Didn't he tell you?"
She felt her face getting red. Didn't anyone tell you to wear a white coat on rounds'? Why did you go into this? To tell you the truth, I was pushed into it. By me.
Paige wanted to crawl into a hole. He had made a complete fool of her. She turned to Jason. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
He was watching her, amused. "Well, you really didn't give me a chance."
"She didn't give you a chance to what?" Dr. Wallace asked.
"If you'll excuse me . . ." Paige said tightly.
"What about dinner tonight?"
"I don't eat. And I'm busy." And Paige was gone.
Jason looked after her, admiringly. "That's quite a woman."
"She is, isn't she? Shall we go to my office and talk about the new designs?"
"Fine." But his thoughts were on Paige.
It was July, time for the ritual that took place every twelve months at hospitals all over the United States, as new residents came in to begin their journey toward becoming real doctors.
The nurses had been looking forward to the new crop of residents, staking out claims on the ones they thought would make good lovers or husbands. On this particular day, as the new residents appeared, nearly every female eye was fixed on Dr. Ken Mallory.
No one knew why Ken Mallory had transferred from an exclusive private hospital in Washington, D.C., to Embarcadero County Hospital in San Francisco. He was a fifth-year resident and a general surgeon. There were rumors that he had had to leave Washington in a hurry because of an affair with a congressman's wife. There was another rumor that a nurse had committed suicide because of him and he had been asked to leave. The only thing the nurses were sure of was that Ken Mallory was, without doubt, the best-looking man they had ever seen. He had a tall, athletic body, wavy blond hair, and a face that would have looked great on a movie screen.
Mallory blended into the hospital routine as though he had been there forever. He was a charmer, and almost from the beginning, the nurses were fighting for his attention. Night after night, the other doctors would watch Mallory disappear into an empty on-call room with a different nurse. His reputation as a stud was becoming legendary around the hospital.