“Hey, Jim, how was Bethesda?” Heading back to the office after rounding on the post-op patient, Alex saw Reynolds walking his way from the opposite end of the sky bridge.
Reynolds stopped and polished his smudged glasses with a tail of his white shirt. “Good trip. Great bunch of guys up there. Think you’d really mesh well with ’em if you have a change of heart. I know you didn’t think much of the idea last time we talked, but I reckon you’ve had time to think on it for a spell now. Offer’s good—just say the word, I could get you in with a nice commission.” Reynolds inspected the lens, but the only difference Alex could see was a new pattern to the smudge.
“Thanks for the offer, but I just don’t have time for the Reserves.” Well, partly true. Honestly, the hassle didn’t seem worth the few extra dollars. Besides, any extra time should be devoted to research. “Was hoping to run into you so I could tell you about your patient I operated, the cerebellar tumor? Surgery went fine but the tumor’s a lung met. Not a smoker either.” He had less empathy for smokers who developed cancer and felt a twinge of shame for harboring such a prejudice. “We rescanned her and it appears to be the only one, but still, not good for her. Had oncology work her up, and they couldn’t find any other mets either. But you know how that goes; they’re there, sure as hell.”
Reynolds glanced at his watch as if anxious to be somewhere. “Yep, heard all about it. Thanks again for doing her.”
Alex’s suspicion gelled: Reynolds hadn’t really needed the extra time to catch his Bethesda flight. The only reason he asked Alex to do the case for him was to evaluate his surgical ability. In all likelihood, he had the residents give him a detailed report. Did he pass the test? He suspected he had.
“She’s coming into the clinic later today if you want to stop by to see her.”
Reynolds palmed his thinning comb-over, patting it back in place. “Naw, no need to see her. Only saw her once before. Hell, she probably doesn’t remember my name. Besides, what she needs now is a good oncologist, not a neurosurgeon.” Reynolds seemed to think of something that trumped his pressing engagement. “I mention to you Val’s running for town council?”
Alex needed a second to realize Val was Reynolds’s wife, Valarie, a certified, grade-A southern belle with newly developed political aspirations. “Don’t remember hearing you mention it.”
“Yep. Has her a good chance to win, too. Speaking of which, we’re hosting a fundraiser Saturday after next out at the farm in support of the upcoming senate race. Like y’all to come. Be a good chance for Val to get to know your pretty bride better. Can I count on y’all?”
Uh-oh. Alex scrambled for an acceptable excuse to decline. He hated politics and did everything possible to steer clear of any involvement. More importantly, Reynolds’s invitation seemed nothing more than a weakly disguised solicitation for money. On the other hand, Reynolds was his boss, and there was the old saying about biting the hand …
“Thanks for asking, but we already have plans for that night,” Alex lied. “Tell you what, how about I make a small contribution to the campaign?” He saw this as the best way to control the monetary damage. “Just let me know where to send the check.”
“Good man. My girl will drop off the information at your office. Your Republican Party membership current?”
Shit! Why do people automatically assume doctors are card-carrying Republicans? Admit the truth or spin another little white lie? Months ago, when his world crashed down on him, Alex pondered how men like Waters, Weiner, and Reynolds rose to be leaders in organized neurosurgery. Well, standing here in front of him was a living lesson: men like Reynolds ascended political ladders through active organizational involvement, the same way Alex established his scientific reputation by publishing in journals and presenting at meetings. This simple concept only now came sharply into focus, the corollary being this: leaders promote colleagues who share their attributes and vision, and Alex—certainly this early in his tenure—intended to stay on Reynolds’s good side to avoid another Weiner disaster.
“Truthfully? It isn’t.” Which, taken literally, wasn’t actually a flat-out lie. “I’ll take care of it right away.”
Reynolds punched his shoulder. “Good man.” Another glance at his watch. “Wish I had more time to talk, but I’m running late.”
“Before you go, you know I submitted the grant?”
“Yep. Claude told me. Glad to hear it.”
Alex continued toward the hospital, thinking the first thing he should do when he reached the office was to ask Kasey to obtain the necessary form to join the local Republican Party. Chances were Reynolds wouldn’t check, but if for some insane reason he did, Alex didn’t want to be caught lying. Signing up would make him feeling duplicitous and slimy, but he was stuck in a lose-lose situation. Then again, sometimes you had to do distasteful things to stay in the good graces of those to whom you are beholden.
Right?
Right.
Probably wouldn’t hurt to sign Lisa up too.