"Really!" Chet persisted. "What are you, twenty-four or twenty-five?"

"Thirty-seven, actually," Angela said, resisting the temptation to be sarcastic.

"Never would have guessed it. Not with a figure like you have."

Angela merely smiled. Such comments were fun to hear, even if less than sincere.

"If not a model, what kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a businesswoman," Angela said without elaborating, and to turn the conversation away from herself, she quickly added, "And how about you? Movie star?"

It was Chet's turn to laugh. Then he leaned forward and said, "I'm a doctor." Then he sat back. From Angela's perspective, he'd assumed a decidedly self-satisfied smile, as if she was supposed to be impressed.

"What kind of a doctor?" Angela asked after a pause. "M.D. or Ph.D.?"

"M.D. and board-certified."

Whoop-de-do! Angela thought sarcastically but didn't communicate.

"As a businesswoman, what do you actually do?"

"I suppose I'd have to admit I mostly spend my time trying to raise money as unpleasant as that is. Start-up companies are like plants: They constantly need water, and sometimes it takes a lot of water before they bear fruit."

"That's quite poetic. How close is the company you work for away from bearing fruit?"

"Very close, actually. We're two weeks away from going public."

"Two weeks! That must be very exciting."

"Right now, it's more anxiety-producing than exciting. I need to raise about two hundred thousand dollars to shore up our liquidity to get to the IPO."

Chet whistled through his teeth. He was impressed, and gathered that Angela had to be a rather high-level executive. "Is the company going to be able to do it?"

"I try to be optimistic, especially since the investment-banking gurus promise the IPO will be a sellout. Maybe you, as a board-certified physician, would like to invest. We can certainly make it worth your while with interest or equity or both. We do have a lot of physician investors: more than five hundred, to be exact."

"Really?" Chet questioned. "What kind of company is it?"

"It's called Angels Healthcare. We build and run specialty hospitals."

"I suppose that means you know something about doctors."

"You could say that," Angela agreed.

"Sadly, I'm not as liquid as I'd like at the moment," Chet said. "Sorry."

"No problem. If you change your mind, give us a call."

"Well," Chet voiced, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Are you single or married, or somewhere in between?"

Back to the come-on, Angela thought. All at once, she didn't care to keep up her side of the conversation. She'd been amused, but suddenly she felt tired, which had been the goal. She wanted to go home. "Divorced," she said, and then added what she thought would be a turn-off. "I'm divorced, and I live with my ten-year-old daughter, who is home sleeping."

"I guess that rules out your apartment," Chet said. "I'm single – very single, actually – and I have a terrific apartment just around the corner. How about a nightcap?"

"And see your etchings, I suppose. Sorry. I've got both my daughter and the two hundred thousand dollars to think about." Angela waved to one of the waiters and motioned for the check.

"I'll take care of the check," Chet said magnanimously.

"No, you won't!" Angela said with a voice that brooked no disagreement. "I'm afraid I used you, in a way. As penance I insist."

"Used me?" Chet questioned with a confused expression. "What do you mean?"

"It would take much too long to explain, and I've got to get home."

Chet acted a tad desperate as Angela signed the check to her house account. "How about dinner tomorrow night?" he suggested when she'd finished.

"That's very generous of you, but I'm afraid I can't take the time. I'm not sure what to expect at the office tomorrow."

"But it would give you a chance to explain how you, quote, 'used me,'" Chet said. "I certainly don't feel used, and I've truly enjoyed meeting you. If I've offended you, I apologize. I promise I won't be so flippant. It's just an act."

Mildly surprised at Chet's willingness to reveal what seemed to be vulnerability, Angela stuck out her hand as she got to her feet.

While shaking hands, she said, "I've enjoyed your company. I mean that. Maybe after the IPO we can have another drink or even a dinner."

"I'd like that," Chet said, regaining his aplomb. "And it will be my treat."

"It's a deal," Angela said, knowing that now it was her turn to be the one less sincere.

2

"Listen," Dr. Jack Stapleton said with uncamouflaged irritation, "I'm lucky to have gotten on Dr. Wendell Anderson's schedule. Hell, he does all the knees for all the high-priced athletes in the city. There has to be a reason, and the reason is he's obviously the best. If I cancel for this Thursday, I might not get back on the schedule for months. The man is that busy."

"But you only tore your ACL a week ago," Dr. Laurie Montgomery said with equal emotion. "Obviously, I'm not an orthopedic surgeon, but it stands to reason that operating on your knee, which has been so recently traumatized, is taking added risk. For God's sake, your knee is still twice its normal size, and your abrasions haven't completely healed."

"The swelling has come down a lot," Jack said. "Did the doctor suggest you have the surgery this quickly?"

"Not exactly. I told him I want it ASAP, and he turned me over to his scheduling secretary."

"Oh, great!" Laurie said mockingly. "The date was set by a secretary."

"She must know what she's doing," Jack contended. "She's been working with Anderson for decades."

"Now, that's an intelligent assumption!" Laurie said with equal sarcasm.

"Another reason I don't want to cancel is that I was lucky enough to be assigned as Anderson's first case. If I have to have surgery, I want to be scheduled as the first case. The surgeon is fresh, the nurses are fresh, everybody's fresh. I remember when I was doing surgery back when I was practicing ophthalmology, I would have wanted to be my own first case."

"And where is this Angels Orthopedic Hospital?" Laurie questioned irritably. She ignored Jack's attempt at humor. "I've never even heard of it."

"It's north and not too far away from the University Hospital on the Upper East Side. It's relatively new – I don't know exactly when it opened, but less than five years ago. Anderson told me for the patients it's like checking in to the Ritz, which you can hardly say about either University or Manhattan General. He likes it because the doctors run the show, not some bureaucratic administrator. In the same amount of time, they can do twice the number of cases."

"Damn it, Jack!" Laurie complained. She turned away and glanced out the side window of the taxi at the rain-swept New York City streets. To say that Jack could be stubborn was putting it mildly, and when she was irritated, she considered "bullheaded" to be much closer to the truth. When they'd first started working together as forensic pathologists at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the City of New York, she'd thought his wild bike riding to and from work and his brutish outdoor basketball playing with kids half his age were somehow charming. But now, twelve years later and married to the man for less than a year, she considered such risk-taking behavior by a fifty-two-year-old to be juvenile and even irresponsible now that he had a wife and a hoped-for child to consider. If truth be told, she wanted to delay his surgery not only to reduce surgical risk but also because she couldn't help believe the longer he stayed away from commuting on his bike and street basketball, the more chance he'd give it up altogether.