He opened the door; it was quiet outside. The gardenias were blooming and their pungent scent permeated the entryway. “How’d you find out where I lived?”
“Oh, I got it off the computer at the CCMR. The mailing list.”
“Right,” he said as he started to close the door. “Talk to you soon.”
He stood there in the quiet entryway, thinking. The only address he had ever given the CCMR was their private mailbox at the local Postal Express store. In fact, no one had his street address except for his close friends — he was very cautious about his privacy.
So where had she gotten it from? And why’d she lie?
CHAPTER 11
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS passed without event. Leeza and the kids returned from Los Angeles, and although Madison did free up some time in his schedule, something always seemed to interfere at the last moment. Any additional time he did have with them was admittedly not enough to make up for all his other absences. He tried to compensate by buying the kids a new video game, but he knew deep down that what they really wanted was more attention from their father, something that couldn’t be bought in a store.
A few days after Harding’s appearance on his doorstep, Madison called her to make sure she had gone to her physician for evaluation of the abdominal pain. She told him that Dr. Vincente had examined her and reached the same conclusion as he had: irritable bowel syndrome. She changed her diet, and the pain and constipation subsided considerably.
Now, a week later, his call to her was strictly business. “We need to schedule a Monte Carlo Night committee meeting,” Madison said, grabbing a moment to phone her between patients.
“I tried to ask Randy Yates what day he wanted the meeting and he just about flew off the handle.”
Madison put down the message slip in his hand and focused his full attention on the conversation. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I told him that we couldn’t meet on the day he wanted because of a planning committee meeting and he started giving me a hard time. He was very abusive. It wasn’t pleasant.”
Madison grabbed a piece of paper and made a note.
“What do you mean by abusive?”
“Using language a woman shouldn’t have to hear, that’s what I mean.”
“I don’t know Randy very well,” he said. “Give me his number, I’ll look into it.”
“Jean, one of the secretaries, said he once cursed at her too, really made her feel awful. I don’t think he likes women. Talks down to them all the time.”
After scribbling the number across the page, he tossed his pen onto his desk. “I’ll call him. Don’t worry about it. How are we doing with that seminar — Job Placement for Adults with Mental Retardation?”
“I haven’t been able to get to it, but I’ve got it on my list.”
“It’s only four weeks off — ”
“I know. I said I’ll get to it.”
Madison rubbed his temples. “Okay, I’ll let you handle it. I’ve got a patient waiting. Are we on for Wednesday night’s meeting?”
“I’ve got it down,” she said.
“Why don’t we meet at the Fifth Street Café around six. We can eat and talk at the same time.”
Madison hung up and hurried into the treatment room to consult with Mrs. Monhold about her low back pain and aching hip. He recommended physical therapy and a course of nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories.
He saw a few more patients, read a series of x-rays and MRI scans, and then saw Scott Skaggs, who had fractured his ankle. At six o’clock, he fell back into his soft leather office chair and looked at his desk. It was piled high with files to be reviewed and reports to be signed. His voicemail had one message. It was Randy Yates.
He returned the call and was surprised to learn that Randy was a gastroenterologist. They chatted about practice, hospitals, and patients, stereotyping and laughing a lot.
“So the reason why I called,” Madison said, “was to ask you about Brittany Harding. I spoke with her this afternoon and she told me about your conversation with her. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah, we talked about setting a meeting date.”
“She said there were some problems.”
“With what?”
“She said you gave her a hard time when you couldn’t get the date you wanted. That you were...well, that you were somewhat abusive toward her.”
“I was what?”
“Abusive. Used ‘language a woman shouldn’t have to hear.’”
“You’ve got to be kidding. All I did was ask her what other date we could schedule it for. Pretty short conversation, actually. She said I was abusive?”
“Yeah, those were her words.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
It was a question for which Madison had no answer...and after having just spoken with Randy Yates, a peer who was well mannered and soft-spoken — he was that much more perplexed. Still, he thought, a person’s behavior may be unpredictable when they are confronted with different situations and scenarios.
Although it was late, after hanging up with Yates, he quickly called Harding, hoping to catch her before she left the office.
Her tone upon answering the phone smacked of anger.
“Sorry to bother you,” Madison said.
“I’ve had a rough day.”
Madison placed both elbows on his desk. “How so?”
“I just got off the phone with a member who was downright rude. All I did was mix up an appointment, and he went off on me about how incompetent women are, how his donation pays my salary, and if he has any say over things, there won’t be many women employed by the Consortium in the near future.”
“Who was this?” Madison asked. He pulled a legal pad from his drawer to document the time and content of their conversation.
“Ed Dolius.”
“Ed Dolius said that?”
“After a minute of listening to him slam women, I just hung up on him. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and take — ”
“Are you sure you’re talking about Ed Dolius? I’ve
