Instantly, Noah’s fears were confirmed. Mason knew. It was confirmation that bad news traveled quickly around the OR, especially when the PA system played a role.
“I’ve got a case in room number eighteen and I’m awfully late,” Noah said. He tried to detour around his antagonist, but Dr. Mason blocked his way.
“So, my friend,” Dr. Mason said sarcastically, “are you proud of yourself now?”
“Excuse me?” Noah asked. He was confused. Proud? Why would he be proud after what had happened?
“You get to take some credit for what just happened in OR number eight,” Dr. Mason explained. He was sporting a nasty smile. “You more than anyone else have been supporting that incompetent bitch of an anesthesiologist, and now you are being rewarded with another unnecessary death.”
“Dr. London was only the supervisor on the case,” Noah said, but as soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
“And you think that exonerates her? Bullshit. She shouldn’t be supervising anyone. Somebody needs to supervise her. We’re supposed to be one of the best hospitals in the whole damn country, if not the best, and we lose two healthy young people in two weeks? There’s something wrong with this story.”
“There were complications,” Noah said.
“Complications, my ass. I heard that she couldn’t even get a goddamn endotracheal tube in. Simple as that. I never heard of an anesthesiologist who couldn’t get an endotracheal tube in, not with all the tricks they have up their sleeve.”
“Dr. London wasn’t even in the room when the problem began,” Noah snapped.
“That’s an explanation? Give me a break! Where the hell was she?”
“She was supervising an induction on another case,” Noah said. “It’s an Anesthesia rule that the supervising anesthesiologist be in the room throughout the induction process. The attending surgeon on the case in question was insistent a new first-year anesthesia resident start even though the supervisor wasn’t immediately available.”
“So it was Dr. Jackson’s fault?” Dr. Mason questioned superciliously. “That’s bullshit. That’s like me being to blame for the Bruce Vincent fiasco.”
“I’m not saying it was Dr. Jackson’s fault,” Noah said. “But what I am saying is that he shouldn’t have been encouraging a new resident to break the rules.”
“Let me ask you something, Dr. Rothauser,” Dr. Mason said. “Why do you protect this bitch? I don’t understand. You’re a smart man. I mean, I’ve been asking myself this question over and over.”
“I’m not protecting anyone,” Noah said. “I try to see the whole picture and get all the facts. I will certainly be investigating this case, as it will obviously need to be presented and discussed.”
“Wait a second!” Dr. Mason said. A slight smile formed with his narrow lips. “I’m suddenly seeing the light. I bet I know why you are protecting her. You want to know what I think?”
“I’m not protecting her,” Noah said. “I don’t protect anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Here’s what I think,” Dr. Mason said. “Have you been banging her? Tell me straight! Have you and she been getting it on? One thing I can give her credit for is having a decent body, and she’s got a house in a hell of a neighborhood.”
Noah’s mouth went dry, and for a moment words abandoned him. He stared at Dr. Mason with shock, wondering just how he had known. He and Ava had been so careful, almost obsessed with their secrecy.
“Okay,” Dr. Mason said derisively, noticing Noah’s deer-in-the-headlights response. “Why didn’t I guess this before, I haven’t the foggiest, but it all makes sense. Of course, I don’t know how you got to first base since she is such a cold fish. So I have to give you credit where credit is due.”
“This is ridiculous,” Noah managed. He realized Dr. Mason was guessing, and Noah lambasted himself for hesitating to respond.
“I should have guessed,” Dr. Mason snapped, ignoring Noah’s attempt at denial. “You’re so transparent it’s a joke. And let me tell you this: It doesn’t help your image in my mind. I don’t know why, but it really pisses me off big-time.”
I know why, Noah thought but didn’t dare say. As a narcissist, Dr. Mason would see Noah’s success with Ava as the reason she had spurned him, and that was probably the reason he’d come up with the accusation. It was better than admitting Ava might not find him attractive.
“Maybe you’d better start packing your bags,” Dr. Mason said, reverting back to poking Noah in the chest with one of his thick index fingers as he’d done in the past. “I’m going to make sure that Dr. Hernandez knows about this.”
Dr. Mason then literally pushed Noah out of the way and continued down the OR corridor, heading toward the surgical lounge.
Noah watched him go, feeling a mixture of anger and disgust toward the man. His threat to tell the chief about his suspicions of Noah and Ava having an affair could have serious consequences. Although Noah couldn’t imagine it could threaten his job, it would certainly affect his relationship with Ava. She had made it clear that she prized her privacy, and Noah agreed with her. But was it a legitimate concern over the long haul? Noah doubted that their being circumspect about their interactions in the hospital was going to be enough to shield their affair. Eventually someone in the hospital community was bound to see him coming or going from Ava’s Louisburg Square home since a number of them lived in the Beacon Hill neighborhood. It was only a matter of time.
“What a bastard,” Noah mused out loud as he hurried toward OR 18. Ava described a narcissist like Dr. Mason as a bull in a china shop. Noah thought the simile should be a lot stronger and be about people, not dishes. Spontaneously he came up with a rabid gorilla at a picnic. The thought made him smile. It was to be the last time he smiled for the day.
14
WEDNESDAY, JULY 12, 9:31 P.M.
Noah had hoped to get out of the hospital much earlier, but it wasn’t to be. At around 5:30 he’d been informed that several organs were available because of a motorcycle accident on the Cape that afternoon and that a kidney was on its way to the BMH. Noah had been pleased, although certainly not for the motorcyclist. Although he’d ridden one as a teenager, as a resident he’d learned to see motorcycles as a method of nonintentional suicide for the riders and, as a result, a gift to those needing organs.