"Don't worry. I'll be strong enough to go home real soon. You can count on that. Real soon."

"Good for you, " Gin said. "And remember, Call the nurse when you need to get up. You fall and break a hip you'll never get out of here." "That will never happen. I'll not be a burden on anyone.

I'll be out of here sooner than you think."

"That's the spirit." Gin liked the old woman's determination. Maybe things would work out for Dr. Conway after all.

A September storm was drenching the city when Gin dragged herself into her apartment around half past eight. As she passed the bedroom she noticed the message light on her -. answering machine blinking.

Probably Gerry again. She'd been playing telephone tag with him since Taco Bell. Their schedules weren't meshing.

When he was free, she was moonlighting. But they'd managed to connect last Friday when Gerry delivered on his promise to take her out to 'a real restaurant for a real dinner." That turned out to be a delightful evening. A little French place on Massachusetts. Good wine, good food, and good conversation. They talked and talked, lingering over coffee until the maitre d' informed them that the place was closing.

She learned that Gerry Canney was not only a dedicated father, he was a dedicated FBI agent as well.

She yawned. Tired. This was no way to live. The rest of the city was up and about and starting the day while hers was just finishing.

Luckily she didn't have to assist Duncan today.

She sat in the bay window, watched the rain splatter and run down the panes, then sifted through her mail. Mostly "Occupant" fliers and the throwaway medical journals that had tracked her down and followed her from Tulane. The pile yielded two letters, both from medical headhunters looking for board-certified or board-eligible internists or family practitioners to fill primary-care slots. She averaged half a dozen offers a week.

"Tired of being on call? Need a change of scenery? " As a matter of fact, yes.

"Move to sunny Nevada." She read on. A new Las Vegas megahotel was opening an on-premises clinic for its ten thousand employees. No thanks.

The other letter played coy with the precise location, but guaranteed $ 1 20,000 plus benefits to start as the fifth member of a family practice group "located just ninety minutes from beach, mountains, and D. C. " Gin thought about $120,000 to start . . . wouldn't that be nice. The profession had been running low on primary-care docs for years, probably because they occupied the bottom rung in prestige and income. But The growth of managed care had created a sudden demand for the lowly generalist. Over twenty-three hundred dollars a week, probably for fewer hours than she was working now. Tempting.

But not yet.

She dropped the letters into her lap and gazed down at the street watching the fallen yellow leaves swirl as they floated down the gutter toward 18th Street. Was she kidding herself? Was this whole idea of hooking up with the Guidelines committee a fool's errand? Was Peter right? Wasn't she wasting her training by doing presurgical medical clearance on Duncan's patients when she could be in a real practice treating her own patients?

Maybe. But this wouldn't last forever.

She spoke silently to the city beyond her window.

I know it looks like I'm just treading water, folks, but trust me, I really do have a direction. It's just that lately the cgrrent always seems to be running against me. But don't worry. The tide will change.

At least she hoped it would.

I've got the blues, she thought. And why not? It's a damp, chilly, crummy morning, I've been up all night, my energy has bottomed out, and I'm overtired.

Not the best time to make big decisions.

She tossed the headhunters letters and occupant mail into the wastebasket, and put the journals aside to skim later. Then she hit the button on her answering machine. It would be good to hear Gerry's voice.

- But instead of Gerry it was an unfamiliar woman's voice. "Ms. Panzella. This is Senator Marsden's office. Mr. Blair asked me to call and inform you that Senator Marsden wishes to personally interview you tomorrow afternoon at four P. M. If you cannot make it at that time, the senator will not be able to reschedule. Please call to confirm that you will be there. ' She left a number and an extension.

Gin realized with a start that the message had been left sometime yesterday. "Tomorrow" was today.

She replayed it. She'd only met Joe Blair once, but she could smell him all over that message. "His. ", incapable of calling her "Doctor.

" The arbitrary time and no rescheduling. She could almost hear his voice, Do or die, Panzella.

She sensed some sort of a power struggle. What was it? The senator choosing new staff and his chief of staff resisting an intrusion into his bailiwick? That could make for a tense atmosphere. Did she want to get caught in the middle of that? Come in on the wrong side of Joe Blair and have to buck him from the get go?

She'd love it.

Smiling tightly, Gin reached for the phone and jabbed in the number.

After confirming her meeting, she strode back to the window and looked out on Kalorama Road.

See, fol/2s? What'd I tell you? The tide's turning.

DUNCAN M AMAZED, SAID SENATOR VINCENT. EVEN IN THE close confines of a doctor's examining room he spoke as if he was delivering a speech.

"I'd been told how incredibly rapid your surgery healed, but didn't appreciate exactly how rapid until I'd seen it with my own eyes.

Truly amazing." Duncan refrained from reacting to the man's condescension and continued inspecting the hairline incisions under The chin through an illuminated magnifier. Yes, the beta-3 was doing its work. Only a week post-op and, except for some fading ecchymosis, virtually all traces of the procedure were gone.

Too bad I coaldn't have done the Hogg reconstrsction. Then you'd really be amazed.

Sometime since the surgery, Vincent had had his hair per med. It stuck out from his head in frizzy tendrils, making him look like one of those Chi Pets they hawked on TV.

Duncan backed up, examined Vincent's throat from the left, then the right. "Damn, I do good work! " Vincent laughed nervously. "So I guess it will be safe to go on TV next week." "Oh? " Duncan said with all the ingenuousness he could muster. "Face the Nation? " '"No.

More important. The hearings. On the Guidelines bill."

"Next week?

I didn't realize you'd be getting started so soon."

"Oh, yes. We're pressing on without Lane and Allard. The first hearing is Wednesday.

" Got your sights set on any particular targets? Duncan wondered.

Who's life are you going to ruin this time around?

"You know, " Duncan said slowly, "I've never been to one of these hearings. Do you think you could get me in to the opening session? " Senator Vincent scratched his head. "I don't know. It's a pretty hot ticket. And the hearing room's not that big . . . " "Well, I have other patients on the committee who'll take care of it.

No problem."

"You do? " the senator said, his tone warbling between pique at Duncan's implication that there was someone on the committee with more juice than he and voracious curiosity as to who else was getting fixed up for the hearings. "Who? " Duncan wagged a finger.

"Now, now. You should know that's privileged information."

"Yes, of course. But if you truly want a seat, Dr. Lathram, you've got one.

I'll have my legislative director call you tomorrow. No problem. " '"Thank you, Senator. I knew I could count on you. It promises to be quite a show. And I bet yours will be a household name from the very first day." I guarantee it.

* * * Later, Duncan stopped by Oliver's lab. He had to get down to D.