Strong Medicine (42 page)

him. Mace, after his sister had deducted what appeared to

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be a ten percent commission, had reaped a total net profit of some sixteen

thousand dollars.

Perhaps more. It was possible that Mace had done something similar, more

often-this being something a criminal investigation would reveal.

"Criminal" was the operative word. Precisely as Redmond had promised in

his original phone call, if Dr. Mace were exposed, he would almost

certainly go to jail.

Lord had been about to ask Redmond how all the material was obtained,

then changed his mind. The answer was not hard to guess. Most likely,

Mace had kept everything in his desk at FDA, perhaps believing it to be

a safer place than at home. But Redmond, who was clearly resourceful,

could have found a way of getting into the desk in Maee's absence. Of

course, Redmond must have had suspicions to begin with, but an overheard

phone call would have been sufficient to set them off.

How could Gideon Mace, Lord wondered, have been so incredibly stupid?

Stupid in believing he could do what he had and not be caught. Stupid in

trading shares in a name identical with his own, then keeping

incriminating papers in a place where someone like Redmond could reach

and copy them. But then, clever people often did foolish thingi.

Lord's thoughts were interrupted by Redmond's voice, petulant.

"Well, do you want all that stuff? Do we do business, or don't we?"

Without speaking, Lord reached into his jacket for the envelope

containing the money and handed it to Redmond. The younger man lifted the

envelope flap, which was unsealed. As he withdrew the cash and handled

it, his eyes and face lighted with pleasure.

"You'd better count it," Lord said.

"I don't need to. You wouldn't cheat me. This is too important."

For some time Lord had been conscious of another young man, seated on a

bar stool a few yards distant, who had occasionally glanced their way.

Now he looked at them again, and this time Redmond returned the look and

smiled, holding up the money before putting it away. The other smiled

back. Lord felt a sense of distaste.

Redmond said cheerfully, "I guess that's it, then."

"I just have one question," Vincent Lord told him. "It's something I'm

curious about."

"Ask away."

217

Lord touched the manila envelope whose contents he had bought. "Why did

you do this to Dr. Mace?"

Redmond hesitated. "Something he said to me."

"Like what?"

"If you must know," Redmond said, his voice shrill and spiteful, "he

called me a lousy fag."

"What's wrong with that?" Lord said as he rose to go. "You are one,

aren't you?"

Before leaving the bar, he glanced back. Tony Redmond was glaring after

him, his face contorted, white with rage.

For a week Vincent Lord debated within himself what to do, or not to do.

He had still not decided when he encountered Sam Hawthorne.

"I hear you were in Washington," Sam said. "I presume it had something

to do with that money I authorized."

Lord nodded. "Presumption right."

"I'm not one for playing games," Sam said. "And if you think you're

protecting me, forget it! I've a natural curiosity. I want to know."

"In that case I need to get some papers from my office safe," Lord told

him. "I'll bring them to you."

A half hour later, when he had finished reading, Sam whistled softly. His

face was troubled. "You realize," he told the research director, "that

if we don't do something about this immediately, we're accessories to a

crime."

"I suppost so," Lord said. "But whatever we do, if it comes out in the

open it will be messy. We'd have to explain how we got those papers.

Also, at FDA, no matter who was right or wrong, they'd hate us and never

forget."

"Then why in hell did you get us into this?"

Lord answered confidently, "Because what we have here will be useful, and

there are ways of handling it."

Lord was unperturbed; for reasons he was unclear about, he felt at ease

in this situation, and in control. He had decided now, within the past

few minutes, what was the best course to pursue.

He told Sam, "Look, there was a time when I thought something like this

would help move Staidpace along, but that problem is behind us. Tf-,ere

will be other problems, though, and other drugs, and other NDA's we'll

want approved without the unreasonable delay we had with Staidpace."

218

Sam said, shocked, "Surely you're not suggesting . . ."

"I'm not suggesting anything. Except that sooner or later we're certain to

come up against Mace again and, if he gives us trouble, we've ammunition we

can use. So let's do nothing now, and save it until then."

Sam was already standing. While considering what had just been said, he

moved restlessly around the room. At length he growled, "You may be right.

But I don't like it."

" Neither will Mace," Lord said. "And permit me to remind you that he is

the criminal, not us."

Sam seemed about to say something more, but Lord spoke first. "When the

time comes, let me do the dirty work."

As Sam nodded reluctantly, Lord added silently to himself, I might even

enjoy it.

3

Early in 1975, Celia was again promoted.

Her new job was as director of pharmaceutical sales, a post that made her

a divisional vice president and positioned her one notch below the vice

president for sales and marketing. For anyone who had begun working in

sales as a detail person, it was an excellent achievement. For a woman it

was extraordinary.

But there was one thing Celia noticed nowadays. Within FeldingRoth, the

fact that she was a woman no longer seemed to matter. Her sex was taken for

granted. She was judged-as she had always wanted to be-on how well she

performed.

Celia had no illusions that this acceptance held true in a majority of

business firms, or for women generally. But it showed, she believed, that

a woman's chances of reaching the top echelons of business were growing and

would improve still more. As with all social changes, there had to be

pioneers, and Celia realized that she was one.

However, she still took no part in activist movements, and some of the

newcomers to women's rights groups embarrassed her with

219

their stridency and clumsy political pressures. They appeared to view any

questioning of their rhetoric--even an honest difference of opinion by a

man-as chauvinist. Also apparent was that many such women, without

achievements of their own, were using worr.en's activism as substitute

careers.

Although, in her new job, Celia would have less direct contact with Sam

Hawthorne than she'd had for the preceding three years, Sam made it clear

that she still had access to him at any time. "If you see something in the

company that's important and wrong, or think of something we ought to be

doing and aren't, I want to hear about it, Celia," Sam told her during her

last day as special assistant to the president. And Lilian Hawthorne,

during a pleasant dinner for Celia and Andrew at the Hawthornes' home, had

raised a glass and said, "To you, Celia-though selfishly I wish you weren't

moving on because you made life easier for Sam, and now I'll worry about

him more."

Also at dinner that night was Juliet Hawthorne, now nineteen and home

briefly from college. She had become a beautiful, poised young woman who

seemed to have suffered not at all from the attention lavished on an only

child. Escorting her was a, pleasant, interesting young man whom Juliet

introduced as "Dwight Goodsmith, my boyfriend. He's studying to be a

lawyer."

Celia and Andrew were impressed with both young people, Celia reflecting

how short a time ago it seemed that Juliet and Lisa, as small children in

pajamas, had chased each other through this same room where they were

dining.

After Lilian's toast to Celia, Sam said with a smile, "What Celia doesn't

know yet, because I only approved a memo about it late today, is the real

promotion. She now has her own parking slot on the catwalk level."

"My God, Daddy!" Juliet said, and to her friend: "That's like being

selected for the Hall of Fame."

The so-called catwalk level was the top floor of a garage and parking

structure alongside the Felding-Roth headquarters building. The level was

reserved for the company's most senior officers who could park their cars,

then use a convenieDt glassed-in ramp to reach the opposite story of the

main building where a private elevator whisked them to the eleventh floor

and "executive country."

Sam was one of those who used the catwalk level and parked his silver-gray

Rolls-Bentley there each day, preferring it to a chauffeured limousine to

which, as president, he was entitled.

220

Others in the company with lesser status used lower parking levels, then

had to take an elevator downward, cross to the other building in the open,

and go up again.

There was more good-natured banter about Celia's "double elevation" before

the evening ended.

In their car going home, Andrew, who was driving, said, "It turned out to

be a wise decision you made, years ago, to hitch your career to Sam's.-

"Yes," Celia said, then added, "lately I've been concerned about him."

:'Why?"

'He's more driven than he used to be, and he agonizes when something

doesn't go right, though I suppose both things go with big responsibihty.

But there are also times when he's secretive, as if there are things he's

worrying about but doesn't want to share."

"You've enough responsibility of your own," Andrew reminded her, "without

taking on Sam's psyche too."

"I suppose so. You get wiser every day, Dr. Jordan." Celia squeezed her

husband's arm gratefully.

"Quit making sexual advances to the driver," Andrew told her. "You're

distracting him."

A few minutes later, he asked, "Speaking of hitching careers to stars,

what's happened to that young man who hitched his to yours?"

"Bill Ingram?" Celia laughed; she always remembered the first time Ingram

had come to her favorable attention-at the QuadrilleBrown advertising

meeting in New York. "Bill has been working in International as

Latin-American Director-the job I had. Now we're thinking of bringing him

to pharmaceutical sales with a promotion."

"Nice," Andr,!w said. "Looks as if he made a good star-choice

tM.11

Amid Celia's happiness about her promotion, a note of grief intruded. Teddy

Upshaw died, while working at his desk, from a heart attack.

Teddy had remained as O-T-C sales manager, having found his niche, which he

filled successfully and happily. At his death he was less than a year from

retirement. It grieved Celia that she would never again hear 'Feddy's

lively voice, watch his energetic stride, or see his bouncing-ball head

while he talked enthusiastically.