'6 students getting revenge?'
She stopped climbing and looked down at me over her shoulder, smiling sheepishly. 'You remember that?'
'Vividly.'
'Pretty mouthy back then, wasn't I?'
'The fire of youth,' I said. And they deserved it-talking down to you in front of everyone, that Dr. Ms.' stuff.'
'Yeah, they were a pretty cheeky bunch, weren't they.' She resumed the climb, but more slowly. 'Banker's hours, martini lunches, sitting around shmoozing in the cafe and sending us memos about increasing efficiency and cutting costs.'
A few steps later she stopped again. 'C students-I can't believe I actually said that.' Her cheeks were aflame. 'I was obnoxious, wasn't I?'
'Inspired, Steph.'
'More like perspired. Those were crazy times, Alex. Totally crazy.'
'Sure were,' I said. 'But don't dismiss what we accomplished: equal pay for female staff, parents rooming in, the playrooms.'
And let us not forget free coffee for the house staff.'
A few steps later: 'Even so, Alex, so much of what we obsessed on seems so misdirected. We focused on personalities but the problem was the system. One bunch of 6 students leaves, another arrives, and the same old problems go on. Sometimes I wonder if I've stayed here too long.
Look at you-away from it for all these years and you look better than ever.'
'So do you,' I said, thinking of what she'd just told me about trying for the division-head position.
'Me?' She smiled. 'Well, you're gallant to say so, but in my case, it's not due to personal fulfillment. Just clean living.'
The fifth floor housed children aged one to eleven who were not in need of high-tech care. The hundred beds in the east ward took up two thirds of the floor space.
The remaining third was set aside for a twenty-bed private unit on the west side, separated from the ward by teak doors lettered THE HANNAH CHAPEL! SPECIAL UNIT in brass.
Chappy Ward. Off limits to the hoi polloi and trainees, maintained by endowments, private insurance, and personal checks; not a Medi-Cal form in sight.
Private meant Muzak flowing from concealed ceiling speakers, carpeted floors instead of linoleum, one patient per room in place of three or more, TVs that worked almost all the time, though they were still black-and-white antiques.
This morning, nearly all twenty rooms were empty. A trio of bored-looking R. N.'s stood behind the counter at the nursing station.
A few feet away a unit clerk filed her nails.
'Morning, Dr. Eves,' said one of the nurses, addressing Stephanie but watching me and looking none too friendly. I wondered why and smiled at her anyway. She turned away. Early fifties, short, chunky, grainy-skinned, long-jawed, sprayed blond hair. Powderblue uniform trimmed with white. Atop the stiff hair, a starched cap; I hadn't seen one of those in a long time.
The two other nurses, Filipinas in their twenties, glanced at each other and moved away as if spurred by a silent code.
Stephanie said, 'Morning, Vicki. How's our girl doing?'
'So far so good.' Reaching over, the blond nurse pulled a chart out of the slot marked 5o5W and handed it to Stephanie. Her nails were stubby and gnawed. Her gaze settled on me again. The old charm was still not working.
'This is Dr. Alex Delaware,' said Stephanie, thumbing through the chart, 'our consulting psychologist. Dr. Delaware, Vicki Bottomley, Cassie's primary care nurse.'
