Vexation Lullaby

by Justin Tussing

  “I promise to be on my best behavior,” Kopp said.

  Rick said, “I think that’s a sentiment we all ought to bear in mind.” Peter was glad to see him in the room—the year before they’d been on a marathon relay team that raised $7,000 for the fight against childhood obesity.

  Before sitting back down, Peg thanked everyone for coming in. “As you’re aware,” she said, “there’ve been a number of rumors circulating regarding the professional conduct of one of our colleagues, and I convened this meeting so that we might head things off before—”

  Leo interrupted her to ask if they might go around the table and introduce themselves.

  Peg said that sounded like a good idea. She identified herself. The younger guy in the Mickey Mouse tie was Bucky Katz from H.R. Next to him, Rick Martinez volunteered that he had been on the committee that hired Peter, then, placing a hand on the empty seat beside him, he said, “Dr. Vinoray recused himself.” The door opened and an older, potbellied man in a camel overcoat came in, apologizing. Dr. Larsen stood again. She said, “Mr. Oblitz, thanks for being here,” then, looking to Kopp, she added, “Mr. Oblitz chairs the hospital’s board.” At the other end of the table, the man in the blue shirt stood. “I’m Ray Cooper, lead counsel at the hospital; I advise Peg and the board on a myriad of issues including contracts, tort, and labor relations.”

  While the principals spoke, Kopp managed to eat two of the muffins on his plate. Seeing that it was his turn to speak, he held a finger up while he finished chewing. Then he rubbed his hands over the saucer. “I assume everyone knows Dr. Silver,” he said, extending a hand toward Peter. “He asked me to be here today. My name is Leonard Kopp.”

  Cooper leaned across the table to study the man. “There’s a Leo Kopp at Columbia.”

  Kopp nodded his head. “I teach at Columbia, yes.”

  Cooper rooted his tongue around in his cheek, like he’d lost something. “Don’t you live in the city, Mr. Kopp?”

  “I do,” Kopp said. “Do you need the address?”

  The hospital’s counsel turned to Peg. “When did this meeting get called?”

  The director glanced at her papers. “A little after eight, I think.”

  Cooper smiled and then, as if addressing the conference table, he asked, “Mr. Kopp, by what strange coincidence did you happen to be in town?”

  Kopp brushed his mustache with a napkin. “You are aware of a conveyance called an airplane?”

  At that point the door opened and the assistant delivered the packets to Peter’s attorney. It wasn’t clear if Peg was addressing her assistant when she asked, “What are those?”

  Kopp flipped through the pages, before dealing them out to the others. “I didn’t know what sort of disposition you folks would be in, so I asked my associates to put together a handout.”

  Cooper stared at the papers. Then he took off his glasses and set them on the table before him. “Dr. Larsen and I need to have a conversation. Mr. Oblitz, you probably want to stay. Bucky, too. If the rest of you would please excuse us for a moment.”

  Kopp carried his plate back to the buffet, refilled his coffee, and then he and the rest filed out of the room.

  BACK IN THE hall, Martinez sidled up to Peter. “Can you tell me why Tony Ogata would call Emergency Care at a quarter of five?”

  “What did he say?”

  “Colston hung up on him. She figured he was some tweaker playing a prank.”

  “It’s all a big misunderstanding,” Peter said.

  The head of Geriatrics winked at Peter. “Martin will give me the real story soon enough.”

  That Martin would talk was inevitable; he didn’t know how to shut up. And another thing, whatever Martin said would become the sanctioned version of events. The future waited to define you.

  •••

  AFTER TEN MINUTES, Peg stuck her head out. First she thanked Dr. Martinez for his time and his discretion. She reminded him that the meeting—which, she repeated, had been a part of an information-gathering process and not a disciplinary hearing—was confidential. Then she requested that Peter and Kopp return to the conference room.

  Down the hall, Kopp stood before a shadow box filled with the jewel-like carapaces of Japanese beetles. He started when Peter tapped him on the shoulder. “Are they ready for us?” They were.

  BACK IN THE conference room, Cooper held up a copy of Kopp’s handout. “There’s no precedent for viewing medical practice as a form of free speech. I mean, it’s brilliant, but I don’t think you want to run with this.”

  Kopp paused at the coffee urns. “Are either of these decaf?”

  Peg brushed her hair away from her face with a palm. “They should be marked.”

  “Never mind,” the attorney said. He lifted another muffin from the tray and ate it as he returned to his seat.

  Peter felt completely superfluous.

  “We’ve been playing catch-up all morning,” Peg said.

  Oblitz held a gold pen between his hands, as though it were the reins to a show horse. “I find this very troubling. The board does not approve.”

  “Perhaps,” Kopp said, “if someone could outline what’s being disapproved of, we might make some progress.”

  Cooper leaned forward in his chair. “Would you like me to explain the hospital’s grievance?”

  “Dr. Silver and I might find that helpful.”

  “On January 7, 2008, more than two years ago, Dr. Silver entered into his current employment contract with this hospital.”

  “That contract,” added Oblitz, “has stood up in previous litigations, if that’s your strategy.”

  “Contracts are always blameless,” Kopp said. “If I may borrow a metaphor from woodworking, one must never select a glue that is stronger than the materials you intend to bind. I digress. Please continue, Mr. Cooper.”

  The hospital’s lawyer leafed through a pad of paper in front of him. “Dr. Silver, an employee of this hospital, did willingly arrange to see a patient outside of this hospital, thus violating the terms of his contract, and, in the process, did expose this institution to considerable financial liability. Further, by failing to perform his duties in a professional manner, Dr. Silver damaged the reputation of this institution. And, finally, though his contract requires that he speak to a supervisor before accepting work outside of his duties at this hospital, he agreed to be compensated for his improper and unprofessional care.” Cooper flipped through a few more pieces of paper. “That about covers it.”

  Everything the man said was true: Peter had gone to see Cross at his hotel; he’d neglected to even take the man’s pulse; and, for his incompetent aid, the singer had agreed to pay him whatever Ogata billed. While Peter was glad that Martinez had been spared an accounting of his uselessness, he felt certain these facts would make the rounds.

  “You didn’t stipulate the punishment the hospital is seeking,” said Kopp.

  “It’s not punishment,” said Dr. Larsen.

  “The board is going to recommend Dr. Silver’s position be terminated,” Oblitz explained. “The hospital will determine at a later date whether it needs to seek damages.”

  Peter wanted to slide under the table and hide. Seek damages! It sounded barbaric. And what would they seek damages for?

  If he couldn’t be a doctor, how would he pay his mortgage? How would he get out of bed? His friendship with Martin would be doomed. He’d have to go somewhere far away. Maybe he’d find a desert all to himself. The Arctic was a desert, or so people claimed, a desert of frozen water. He stared at the backs of his hands. Was he looking at a doctor’s hands?

  “I think what Dr. Larsen meant,” Cooper added, “is that there is no intention to be vindictive.”

  Kopp stood up and buttoned his suit coat. “It’s fortunate, no, it’s miraculous that you managed to withhold those allegations while Dr. Silver’s colleagues sat in this room. Because if you had aired those sorts of mendacities in front of the pe
ople he works with, in front of the very people who sit on promotion boards and peer review committees, then we would have no choice but to sue this hospital for character defamation and slander, a suit which I would be eager to try personally.

  “But rather than wrestle with fabrications, let’s look at the facts at hand. It is true that my client is an employee of this hospital. It is also true that last night Dr. Silver was contacted by an individual needing care. It is true that my client, a medical professional, did meet with that individual. However, at no point did he provide care. In fact he urged that individual to seek help at this medical facility. Your allegation that Dr. Silver was paid, or otherwise compensated for his actions, is patently false. Further, at my office I have signed affidavits supporting everything I just told you.”

  “Our information comes from a very good source, an unimpeachable source,” said Oblitz. “You can have all the affidavits in the world, but that hardly makes your version true.”

  Kopp said, “If I was sitting where you are, I’d be upset, too. But while I understand your frustration, I don’t allow people not acquainted with law to lecture me on her rules. For now, I’ll take it on faith that Mr. Cooper is still lead counsel for this hospital, and that Mr. Oblitz’s little homily is unrelated to our common business.”

  The board member jerked to his feet, causing his chair to fall over. “I don’t think you need me here anymore,” he announced. “Peg, I’ll be expecting a call later today.”

  Only after Oblitz left was Peter able to raise his head.

  Kopp poured two sugar packets in his coffee. “That’s a great example of the Dark Ages mentality. ‘What I see is what there is,’ very anti-Enlightenment, very flat Earth.”

  Cooper said, “Maybe you can tell us what we’re missing.”

  “The elephant in the room is that the individual that Dr. Silver saw last night is none other than the musician Jimmy Cross. If it had been someone else, a person on the street, you would have spoken with them directly. However, fame is its own kind of shield. Am I right to assume no one here has spoken with Mr. Cross?”

  “It’s not as though he’s in the phone book,” Cooper said.

  “Everything you’ve alleged is hearsay. Now Mr. Oblitz claimed your information came from ‘an unimpeachable source.’ Let’s play a parlor game: I’ll see if I can’t use deductive reasoning to determine the identity of that source.”

  Peter listened to the people around him talking about his life as though he wasn’t the chief expert in his affairs. In the movie of his life, Peter had been cast as an extra, a piece of breathing scenery. No one trusted him with a speaking role.

  Kopp cleared his throat. “I want to point out something Mr. Oblitz said. What sort of person does a hospital view as ‘unimpeachable’? Don’t say ‘a doctor.’ Dr. Silver’s experience clearly refutes that. When we look to others, nothing is more reassuring than seeing ourselves. So I assume he was referring to another hospital or, more specifically, to a hospital founder.

  “Now, another thing, this person needs to be famous, because how else could they be trusted to testify about the experience of someone as famous as Mr. Cross? So, I ask myself, is there a famous hospital founder, I mean other than Tony Ogata and his Total Wellness Clinic?”

  Cooper’s head flopped onto his shoulder, as though his neck had broken.

  “I hope you’re taking notes, Ray,” Peg said, “because I’m going to have to speak with the board and I want to make sure everything is clear.”

  Kopp said, “I’ll give you the bullet points. First, Mr. Cross, an eleven-time Grammy winner, member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with more than ninety million records sold, contacted a doctor in your employ. That doctor urged Mr. Cross to seek medical care at your hospital. Mr. Cross was so impressed with the way this young doctor carried himself that he offered him a job. But this doctor, despite lavish promises, elected to remain loyal to his original employer. How’s that for a start?”

  Cooper chewed on his thumb. “I hoped you might explain Ogata’s role in this mess.”

  Peter’s attorney dipped a mini-muffin into his coffee, popped the darkened pastry into his mouth, held a finger up. “After meeting with my client, Mr. Cross, convinced he needed to take his care more seriously, called his former physician. When Ogata asked what precipitated the call, Cross gave my client’s name. I’d imagine Dr. Ogata could anticipate the effect of a few well-placed phone calls. Apparently the temptation to meddle proved irresistible.”

  “You think this was intentional?” Cooper asked.

  “The way things were presented,” Peg said, “well, it was very damning. A staff member violating his contract and risking the hospital’s reputation. It didn’t look good.”

  “I would love to argue appearances,” said Kopp, “because it appears to me that my client, a model employee, has had his career threatened over a phone call.”

  Peg turned to Peter. “This wasn’t personal. Put yourself in my shoes. . . . Tony Ogata calls me with a concern about a staff member.”

  “We’ll need to discuss this internally,” added Cooper.

  “Does this mean that I’m not losing my job?” Peter asked.

  Kopp patted Peter on the shoulder, “I’d like to speak with my client, if you two wouldn’t mind.”

  Peg looked at her watch.

  “Would you excuse yourselves for a moment?”

  Cooper stood up. Then, turning to Kopp, he dropped his voice. “So, do you know Dr. Vinoray?”

  Peter’s attorney pulled a pen from his jacket pocket. “I don’t think so, but I’m better with faces than names.”

  Cooper set his business card in front of Kopp. “I don’t understand how you wound up here, but it’s an honor to meet you.”

  “I always urge my students to focus on the questions they can answer.”

  AFTER THE DOOR closed and they were alone, Kopp got up and refilled his coffee mug. “That went fairly well.”

  Peter had a sip of water. “They wanted to fire me.”

  “No, the purpose of the meeting was to embarrass you enough that you’d see the wisdom in resigning. Well, we’ve managed to reapportion the embarrassment.”

  “How does it help me to embarrass the president of the board and the hospital’s director? I’ve never worked anywhere else.”

  Kopp tore a sheet of paper from Cooper’s notepad and began to scribble something:

  This morning . . . You’re fired.

  This morning . . . ?

  There was an old timeline, Kopp explained, and a new timeline.

  “If they’d been a bit more circumspect, maybe they could have built a case against you. Despite what I told them, I don’t have any affidavits exonerating you.” With one finger, Kopp drew an imaginary line connecting Peter’s nose to the piece of paper on the table. “This morning they called a meeting. The next time we call the meeting. This is a step in the right direction.”

  “Call a meeting for what?” Peter had lost the script.

  “We’ll need to give them a chance to save face.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did Mr. Cross offer you a job last night?”

  Peter tried to remember what had been said. “He offered me a plane ride.”

  “What reason did you give for refusing that ride?”

  Something large was staring Peter in the face. He could feel its hot breath.

  “I have a job.”

  Kopp tapped a finger on his diagram. “And which timeline do you think that statement belongs on?”

  “But I still have a job, don’t I?” He admired but didn’t understand the mechanism by which he’d been transformed into a pawn.

  “Does it help if I assure you that I have your best interests in mind?”

  “But you don’t know me.”

  Kopp offered his hand. “The people you know are waiting in the hall.”

  There was nothing more to be said.

  •
••

  WHEN THEY EXITED the conference room, Peg grabbed Peter by his shoulders. “I’m giving you my word, we’ll make this up to you.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Peter said.

  “Tony Flipping Ogata,” Peg said.

  Kopp pulled Peter into the elevator. “My office will be in touch.”

  As the doors closed, Peter felt a stone expanding in his throat.

  He swallowed.

  In the lobby, sunlight reflected off the polished floor, threw shadows on the ceiling.

  “Can I give you a lift to the airport?”

  “Go back to work. As far as you are concerned, this is a normal day.” Kopp ruffled his mustache with a fingertip. “Give me twenty-four hours and I promise we’ll sort this out.”

  The men shook hands for the third time.

  Peter followed the attorney through the revolving door and into that cool, damp air. “What do I do if someone wants to talk with me?”

  “What do you think you should do?”

  “Tell them to talk with you.”

  “Perfect.” The attorney tilted his head toward a black town car idling at the curb. “That’s me.”

  17

  I’m sitting on the porch when Gene pulls in.

  He aims a finger pistol at me. Bang!

  “Gene Machine!” I say. He’s put on weight. It’s the first thing I notice. He must have packed on fifty pounds. He’s fat!

  He grabs the rail and climbs a few stairs, but then he stops. “Get down here,” he says, “you skinny fuck.”

  We hug and he pounds me on the back. His soft body is warm and moist. It’s kind of shocking.

  I tell him I like the new apartment.

  “We haven’t seen each other in a while,” he says. “I don’t want you to think I’m depressed. Corinne got fat, too. Last winter we went on this cruise. It was ten days and they treat you like veal calves. They don’t let you do anything for yourselves and they stuff you with food. But, frankly, we’re a lot happier. We’re middle-aged and it was getting to be such a battle to count calories and work out. Anyway it’s a big change—har har—and I don’t want you to feel like you have to ignore it. If anything, you might have to tell me to stop talking about it, because I’m sort of evangelical.”