by Robin Cook
“Arolen provides a public service,” said Adam defensively.
“Spare me,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I’m not interested in their propaganda. The drug houses and the holding companies that control them are out to make money like any other industry, yet they waste millions of PR dollars trying to convince the public otherwise. Well, it is a lie. And to think that my own son has become a part of it and because of that girl he married . . .”
“Her name is Jennifer,” snapped Adam, feeling the blood rise to his face.
“Dr. David Schonberg.” Bill Shelly had come up behind Adam, champagne glass in hand. “Welcome to Arolen. I’m sure you are as proud of your son as we are. My name is Bill Shelly.”
Dr. Schonberg ignored the hand. “I know who you are,” he said. “And to be perfectly honest, I am appalled rather than proud to see my son here. The only reason I responded to your invitation was to make certain that Arolen is not expecting any special considerations because Adam here has joined your organization.”
“Dad,” sputtered Adam.
“I’ve always appreciated honesty,” said Bill, withdrawing his hand, “and I can assure you that we did not hire Adam because his father is with the FDA.”
“I hope that is true,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I wouldn’t want you to think that Arolen will have an easier time getting new drugs approved.”
Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Schonberg tossed his shrimp into a wastebasket and pushed through the crowd toward the door.
Adam shook his head in disbelief. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Bill Shelly.
“There is no need to apologize,” interrupted Bill. “You’re not responsible for your father’s beliefs. He’s had lots of experience with the less honest companies in our field. I’m only sorry that he’s not had enough contact with Arolen to appreciate the difference.”
“That may be true,” said Adam, “but it still does not excuse his behavior.”
“Maybe someday we could convince your father to take one of the Arolen Conference Cruises. Have you heard of them?”
Adam nodded, remembering Percy Harmon. He had not thought about the man for over a month, but now Adam wondered why the genial rep had not kept in touch as he’d promised.
“We’ve invited your father many times,” continued Bill. “Not only on the cruise, but also to visit our research facilities in Puerto Rico. Perhaps you might be able to talk him into accepting our invitation. I’m certain that if he did, his opinion about Arolen would change.”
Adam forced a laugh. “At this point in my life I couldn’t talk my father into accepting a free Rembrandt painting. We’re barely on speaking terms. Frankly, I was shocked to see him here today.”
“That’s a shame,” said Bill. “We’d love your father to be one of our featured lecturers. You know that the seminars have the best reputation in the country. And, of course, all your father’s expenses would be paid if he agreed to speak.”
“Sounds like you should try to appeal to my mother,” laughed Adam.
“Spouses are not invited,” said Bill as he guided Adam toward the champagne table.
“Why not?” asked Adam, taking a drink.
“The cruises are strictly academic,” said Bill.
“Yeah, sure,” said Adam.
“I mean it,” said Bill. “The cruises are sponsored by Arolen, but they are run by MTIC. The only reason the company chose a ship was to keep the doctors from their usual interruptions: no telephone, no patients, and no stockbrokers. Each cruise concentrates on a particular clinical or research topic, and we invite the top men in each field to lecture. The quality of the seminars is really superb.”
“So the ship just goes out to sea and anchors?” asked Adam.
“Oh, no,” said Bill. “The ship leaves from Miami, travels to the Virgin Islands, then to Puerto Rico, then back to Miami. Some of the guests, usually the lecturers, disembark in Puerto Rico to visit our research institute.”
“So it’s all work and no play. Not even any gambling?”
“Well, just a little gambling,” admitted Bill with a smile. “Anyway, your father would enjoy the experience, so if you have any influence as far as that might be concerned, you might try to use it.”
Adam nodded, but he was still thinking about Percy Harmon. He’d seemed so sincere that Adam was surprised that he’d not called. He was about to ask Shelly when the rep had left Manhattan, but Bill was saying, “Have you given any more thought to our managerial training offer?”
“To tell the truth,” said Adam, “I’ve been completely absorbed by the sales course. But I promise to think about it.”
“Do that,” said Bill, his eyes gleaming over the rim of his champagne glass.
• • •
Later that afternoon Adam was in McGuire’s office, going over his sales territory. “You’ll be taking over Percy Harmon’s area,” said McGuire. “Normally we’d assign a more experienced rep, but as you know we have great confidence in you. Here, let me show you.”
Clarence opened up a map of Manhattan with a large portion of the east side outlined in yellow marking pencil. It started at Thirty-fourth Street and ran north, bounded on the west by Fifth Avenue and on the east by the river. Adam was disappointed that it did not include his medical center, but New York Hospital, Mount Sinai, and the Julian Clinic were within the border.
As if reading Adam’s mind, Clarence said, “Of course you understand that you are not responsible for hospitals or large health maintenance organizations like the Julian Clinic.”
“Why not?” questioned Adam.
“You are eager!” Clarence laughed. “But I can assure you that you will be busy enough with the private MDs in your area. All hospitals are handled by the main office.”
“The Julian Clinic is more than a hospital,” said Adam.
“That’s true,” said Clarence. “In fact, there is a special relationship between Arolen and the Julian, since both are controlled by MTIC. Consequently, the Julian provides Arolen with direct access to clinical information, and Arolen provides the Julian with special educational opportunities.”
Leaning forward, Clarence picked up a computer printout and put it on Adam’s lap. “If you have any concern about not being busy enough, just take a quick glance at this list of your clients.”
The weight of the material in Adam’s lap was considerable. The front page said: “Upper East Side Manhattan MD Listing.” Under that was written: “Property of Arolen Pharmaceuticals, Montclair, New Jersey”; and in the lower right-hand corner was the single word “Confidential.”
Adam flipped through the sheets and saw an alphabetical list of physicians followed by their addresses and phone numbers. The first name on the last page was Clark Vandermer, 67 East 36th Street.
As Adam considered what it would be like calling on Jennifer’s obstetrician, McGuire launched into a long description of the kinds of doctors Adam would be seeing.
“Any questions?” he said at last.
“Yes,” said Adam, remembering the one he’d forgotten to ask Shelly that morning. “Do you know what happened to Percy Harmon?”
Clarence shook his head. “I’d heard that he was to take the managerial course in Puerto Rico, but I don’t know if he actually did. I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason,” said Adam.
“Well, if you don’t have any other questions, you can be on your way. We’re always available if you need us, and don’t let me forget, here are the keys to your Arolen car. It’s a Buick Century.”
Adam took the keys.
“And here is the address of a parking garage. It’s as near to your apartment as my staff could arrange. We pick up the rent.”
Adam took the paper, again awed by his company’s generosity. A parking place in the city was worth as much as a car.
“And last but not least, here’s your computer access code, as was explained to you during the sales course. Your personal computer is in the trunk of t
he car. Good luck to you.”
Adam took the final envelope and shook hands once again with the district sales manager. He was now officially an Arolen detail man.
• • •
After tuning the radio to an FM rock station, Adam rolled down the window and jauntily stuck out an elbow. Traveling at fifty miles an hour, he felt unaccountably light-headed. Then he recalled his father’s sneering disbelief and his smile faded.
“We need the money!” he said out loud. “If you’d helped us, I’d still be in medical school.”
His mood did not improve when he reached the apartment only to find it empty, a short note taped to the refrigerator: “Gone home.” Adam tore it off and threw it across the room.
He pulled open the refrigerator door and looked inside. There was a little leftover roast chicken. He took it out along with a jar of mayonnaise and two pieces of rye. After making a sandwich, he went into the living room and set up his personal computer. Turning it on, he keyed in his access code. What doctor should he look up? Hesitating a moment, he keyed in Vandermer’s name. Then he took the telephone off the cradle and hooked it up to the modem. When everything was ready, he pushed the execute button, leaned back, and took a hefty bite from his sandwich. Small red lights appeared on the modem, indicating that he was attached to the Arolen mainframe.
The screen in front of Adam shimmered, then some text appeared. Adam stopped chewing for a moment and leaned forward to read.
CLARK VANDERMER, M.D., F.A.C.O.G.
___Biographical data
___Personal data
___Economic data
___Professional data
___Pharmaceutical usage data
(press space bar to select)
His interest aroused, Adam pressed the space bar until the cursor was next to “Personal data.” Then he pressed the execute key. Again he got an index:
PERSONAL DATA:
___Family history (past) includes parents and siblings
___Family history (present) includes wife and children
___Interests and hobbies
___Likes and dislikes
___Social history (includes education)
___Health history
___Personality profile
(press space bar to select)
My God, thought Adam, this is Orwell’s 1984. He moved the cursor to “Family history (present)” and again pushed the execute button. Immediately the screen filled with extensive text. For the next ten minutes Adam read about Clark Vandermer’s wife and children. It was mostly insignificant detail, but there were some important things as well. Adam learned that Vandermer’s wife had been hospitalized on three occasions for depression following the birth of their third child. He also discovered that his middle child, a female, was diagnosed as having anorexia nervosa.
Adam looked up from the screen, appalled. There was no reason for a drug firm like Arolen to have such a complete file on a doctor. He suspected everything they could use was summarized under the single category “Pharmaceutical usage data.” To prove his point, Adam called up that category and got what he expected, namely an analysis of Vandermer’s prescribing habits, including the amounts of each type of drug he prescribed each year.
Returning to the index, Adam asked the computer to print out on the high-speed dot-matrix printer a full report on Dr. Vandermer. The printer sprang to life, and Adam went back to the kitchen for a Coke.
It was thirty-two minutes before the printer fell silent. Adam tore off the last sheet and gathered the long train of paper that had formed behind the computer. There were almost fifty pages. Adam wondered if the good doctor had any idea of the amount of material Arolen had amassed on him.
The content of the report was dry and tediously complete. It even included Vandermer’s investments. Adam skimmed until he got to a description of Vandermer’s practice. He learned the doctor was a co-founder of GYN Associates along with Lawrence Foley! Lawrence Foley, the doctor who had committed suicide so unexpectedly. Adam wondered if Jennifer knew Foley had once been in partnership with her own doctor.
Reading on, Adam discovered that Vandermer’s current associates were Dr. John Stens and Dr. June Baumgarten.
His curiosity piqued, Adam decided that Dr. Vandermer would be his first customer. Remembering Percy Harmon’s advice that the way to the doctor was through his receptionist, Adam punched her up on the computer. Her name was Christine Morgan. She was twenty-seven, married to David Morgan, a painter, and had one male child, David Junior, nicknamed DJ.
Trying to conjure up Percy Harmon’s confident air, he dialed GYN Associates. When Christine answered, he explained that he was taking over for Harmon. He mentioned in passing that the rep had spoken so warmly of her handsome son. He must have done something right because Christine told him to come right down. She’d try and get him in.
Five minutes later Adam was heading north on Park Avenue, trying to remember which Arolen drugs he was supposed to push on OB-GYNs. He decided he’d concentrate on the generic line of vitamins that Arolen advertised for pregnancy.
In the neighborhood of Thirty-sixth Street and Park Avenue even unoccupied tow zones were hard to come by. Adam had to be content with a fire hydrant space between Park and Lexington. After locking the car, he went around the back and opened the trunk. It was outfitted with a full complement of Arolen samples, reprints, and other paraphernalia. There were a dozen Cross pens emblazoned with the Arolen insignia. Adam was to give them out at his discretion.
Adam selected an appropriate sample of the drugs and reprints and tossed them into his briefcase. He slipped one of the Cross pens into the side pocket of his jacket. Locking the trunk, he set off at a brisk pace for Vandermer’s office.
Christine Morgan was a tightly permed woman with frightened-birdlike mannerisms. She slid back the glass and asked if she could help him.
“I’m Adam Schonberg from Arolen,” he said with as big a smile as he could muster as he gave out his first Arolen business card. She returned the smile and motioned for him to come into the reception area. After he’d admired her most recent photos of DJ, Christine led him back to one of the empty examining rooms, promising that she would let the head nurse know that he was there.
Adam sat down on the stool in front of the small white desk. He eyed the examination table with its stainless-steel stirrups. It was hard to imagine Jennifer there as a patient.
Several moments later the door burst open and Dr. Clark Vandermer walked in. To pass the time Adam had pulled out a desk drawer and was casually looking at the collection of pens, prescription pads, and lab slips. Now flushing a deep crimson, he shut the drawer and stood up.
“Was there something in particular you were looking for?” asked Dr. Vandermer sarcastically. He was holding Adam’s business card and glanced back and forth between the card and Adam’s embarrassed face. “Who the hell let you in here?”
“Your staff,” managed Adam, purposefully vague.
“I’ll have to talk to them,” said Dr. Vandermer as he turned to leave. “I’ll have someone show you out. I have patients to see.”
“I have some samples for you,” said Adam quickly. “Also a Cross pen.” Hastily he fished out the pen and held it toward Vandermer who was about to tear Adam’s business card in half.
“Are you by chance related to Jennifer Schonberg?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
“She’s my wife,” said Adam eagerly, adding, “and a patient of yours.”
“I thought you were a medical student,” said Dr. Vandermer.
“That’s true,” said Adam.
“Then what the hell kind of nonsense is this?” Vandermer said, waving the business card.
“I’ve taken a leave from medical school,” said Adam defensively. “With Jennifer pregnant, we needed the money.”
“This is not the time for you people to be having a baby,” said Vandermer pedantically. “But if you are foolish enough to do so, your wife can still work.”
“She’s a danc
er,” said Adam. Remembering Vandermer’s own personal problems, Adam didn’t think it fair for the doctor to offer easy solutions.
“Well, it’s a crime for you to leave medical school. And working as a detail man for a drug firm. My God, what a waste!”
Adam bit his lip. Vandermer was beginning to remind him of his father. Hoping to end the lecture, he asked Vandermer if there wasn’t something that could be done for Jennifer’s morning sickness.
“Fifty percent of my patients get morning sickness,” said Dr. Vandermer with a wave of his hand. “Unless it causes nutritional problems, it is best to treat it symptomatically. I don’t like to use drugs if I can avoid it, especially not Arolen’s pregdolen. And don’t you start playing doctor and give her any of that crap. It’s not safe, despite its popularity.”
Adam’s opinion of Dr. Clark Vandermer rose a little. He might be unpleasantly brusque, but at least he was up-to-date in his medical reading.
“As long as you are here,” said Dr. Vandermer, “you can save me a phone call. I’m scheduled to lecture next week on the Arolen Conference Cruise. What’s the latest I can board the ship in Miami?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” admitted Adam.
“Wonderful,” said Dr. Vandermer, reassuming his sarcastic tone. “Now would you come with me.”
Grabbing his briefcase, Adam followed the man out of the examination room and down the narrow corridor. After about twenty steps Vandermer stopped, opened a door, and stepped aside to allow Adam to pass. As he did, Vandermer unceremoniously thrust the Arolen business card into Adam’s hand, then closed the door behind him. Blinking, Adam found himself back in the crowded waiting room.
“Did you see the doctor?” asked Christine.
“I did indeed,” said Adam, wondering why in hell they hadn’t discussed the Arolen cruises during the sales course. If he had known the answer to Vandermer’s question, he might have been able to make his pitch.
