Baxter and Geoff were talking intensely in hushed tones at the small conference-room table when Alex entered, heading to the coffee maker. Baxter turned to him. “Heard the news?”
“What news?” Alex started pouring a cup.
Baxter’s face became pained. “The dean just announced our new chair.”
Alex quickly checked Geoff’s face. Neither one of them appeared happy, so undoubtedly neither had been The Chosen One. He replaced the pot on the hot plate. “Who?”
“Come sit down first,” Baxter demanded.
Alex took the chair directly across from Baxter, putting Geoff on his right.
“Richard Weiner,” Geoff said with just enough venom to be perceptible.
Alex suppressed a smile. It came as a welcome relief to know Ogden didn’t get the position. Baxter would’ve been a better choice. Marginally.
“Guess where he intends to set up shop.” Baxter said.
“He’s not planning to move into Dr. Waters’s office, is he?” Alex asked, surprised.
“Get this; he talked Coastal County administration into gutting the entire top floor of the old building to convert it into an office suite. A suite, for God’s sake.”
Alex glanced from one man to the other, searching for any telltale sign that a huge joke lurked behind the statement. They were dead serious.
“No kidding,” Baxter said, reading Alex’s thoughts. Baxter nodded for emphasis. “Word has it, they’re going whole hog on the renovation. Wood paneling, designer carpets, designer colors. No one’s sure what kind of package Weiner negotiated from the dean and administration, but it had to be massive. I’ve never heard of this kind of money being spent on that place.”
The original hospital, like most county hospitals during the pre-Medicare/Medicaid days, was built to serve uninsured patients—a municipal “charity” hospital. In addition to the actual hospital facilities, the building housed other county health-related offices such as the medical examiner and public health officials. In contrast to plush private hospitals with their base of wealthy donors and paying patients, its fiscal health depended solely on tax revenues. With the emergence of regionalized trauma centers serviced by Medic One responders, a spiffy new trauma center had been built contiguous with the original 1930s art deco building. The complex now served as a major teaching hospital for the local university, a standard symbiotic relationship between a state school and a municipal hospital. This parasitic affiliation provided an easy source of round-the-clock physician coverage for mere pennies on the dollar. But when tax revenues remained flat in periods of soaring costs, the county and university ran into budgetary deficits, forcing them to cut costs. Since both institutions received various state monies, it made fiscal sense to contract medical personnel from the university, which, in turn, forced the medical school to assume primary responsibility for patient medical care. This was delegated, in large part, to residents.
“Okaaay… but if he’s over there, what happens to Dr. Waters’s office?” Alex asked, a bit perplexed. The thought crossed his mind that if Weiner was true to his word and made him second-in-command, it might become his office. Interesting.
Geoff shrugged. “Remains empty. And that’s another bit of news: Weiner won’t grant Art professor emeritus status. Word has it he wants him physically off campus soon as humanly possible.”
Baxter crossed his legs, smoothing the crease of the black slacks he wore daily. “He’d get rid of us too—if he could. But he can’t. We’re tenured.” Baxter glanced at Alex. “You, on the other hand, little lamb, are as vulnerable as a newborn in an incubator. I suggest you begin sending out feelers to see what openings are available.”
Jesus, Baxter looked serious too. “Why would he want to get rid of me? I don’t make the same salary you do.” He remembered Weiner’s rant about how the others were pulling down the top spots in the salary range.
Baxter shook his head. “Don’t be naive, Alex. I’ve seen this happen elsewhere. This is exactly what we predicted would occur if an outsider assumed control. He’ll want to clean shop and replace all of us with his own people. Part of that, I guarantee you, will be to make our lives so miserable we’ll want to move. But Geoff and I aren’t going anywhere, are we Geoff.” It was a statement, not a question.
Arms folded defiantly across his chest, an expanse of glistening gums exposed, Geoff nodded. “We’re staying right here. We’re tenured. He can’t do diddly-squat to us.”
“And,” Baxter said with an imperious wave, “we’ll sit right here and torment him by simply doing our thing.”
Silence.
Baxter continued. “He’s making a huge mistake by moving administrative downtown. When the cat’s away, the mice will play.” He flashed a knowing smile across the table to Geoff, who appeared to know exactly what the threat implied. “We can keep on doing our thing here at the university while the money in our TIAA-CREF just keeps on accumulating, ka-chink ka-chink.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Nope, no way is Herr Doctor Weiner going to get us out of here.”
“That’s right,” Ogden seconded. Baxter’s words made sense. New chairman meant a new culture. Hadn’t Weiner said as much? But Weiner had given Alex his word. Then again, now that he thought about it, he had nothing in writing. Weiner could do exactly as he pleased. Suddenly, the coffee burned like acid in his stomach.