Frank Lauria - The Priestess

[Doctor Orient - 5]

Copyright (c) 1978 by Frank Lauria

The director's assistant wore Gucci shoes and a tan Halston shirtdress, and she appraised Orient with the sharp glance of a seasoned shopper when he entered. Then a professionally congenial expression slipped over her pretty face like a plastic Glad Bag.

"Dr. Orient, I presume. I'm Judy Wald. Hope you didn't go through too much of a hassle finding us." The smile and handshake were hearty enough, but her gray eyes remained remote, like those of the youthful "guides" roaming the outer halls.

"Didn't realize security would be so tight down here."

She pouted sympathetically. "Some radicals planted a bomb in the main computer a few years ago. And there were some thefts." The cheerleader grin popped back into place. "It's slightly inconvenient, even for us. But I'm sure you feel, as we do, that the foundation's work is worth the extra effort. Right?" she chirped encouragingly.

Orient didn't fully agree, but he nodded.

"If I'm too late..."

"No sweat. Mr. Donovan's running behind, as usual. He'll be ready for you in a few minutes."

"There is one problem. They took my equipment at the gate. Two suitcases."

"Sorry, doctor. Haven't arrived yet. Want me to check?" Without waiting for his answer, she picked up the phone.

"I can assure you there's very little risk of your equipment getting lost. Mr. Donovan hires every single staff member personally, from the computer geniuses to the scrub ladies," Judy confided enthusiastically as she dialed. "Our boss is very generous with salary and benefits, but he demands outstanding efficiency. And believe me, he gets it.... Hello, main; Bruce in?"

She covered the mouthpiece and winked. "Bruce honchos the security team. He'll be right on top of things."

She took her hand away.

"That you, Bruce? Have you cowboys checked out two suitcases delivered by a Dr. Owen Orient and routed for Mr. Dee's office? You have? Great. Thanks, hound-dog man."

She flashed Orient another cheerleader grin.

"See? Your bags are on the shuttle. They should be rolling in any second. How about some coffee while you're waiting?"

"Not right now, thanks. Maybe after the shuttle pulls in."

She shrugged and returned to her work, while Orient retreated to the comfort of an oversized chair near the door. He tried to relax, but despite Judy's glowing reference, doubts peppered his confidence like carnival baseballs toppling a pyramid of bottles.

The sensitive equipment could easily be damaged by some careless bump, or the tapes destroyed by X-ray devices. At best, the suitcases had been misrouted through the vast maze of passageways that connected the underground complex of the RUD Foundation.

He hoped it was that simple. He really wouldn't feel disappointed with Mr. Reynolds U. Donovan if he recovered his equipment intact.

The portable unit and two reels of tape represented half his worldly assets. The other half was safely tucked away in his hotel room. Two more reels of videotape.

The footage had a total running time of three hours and had taken almost ten years, and all of his income, to assemble. He berated himself for failing to make extra prints, then remembered the reason for the neglect.

Duplicating costs were just too heavy for his frail financial condition. Money, in fact, was the sole reason he'd let Ted Bork arrange this meeting with the director of the RUD Foundation. Normally he avoided any sort of corporate funding, but the opportunity had presented itself at a particularly crucial time. And quite naturally.

When Ted had called after two decades of silence, Orient was moved by both obligation and curiosity to invite him to dinner. Almost twenty-one years had passed since they'd shared a freshman room at Stanford.

He'd been only fifteen then -- a gangling, introverted, insecure science prodigy entering an advanced program. Whereas Ted Bork was an advanced program all his own -- class president, an A student, star athlete, confident, modest, handsome; in short, an ideal specimen of American youth.

Orient could still clearly see the quick stroke of dismay that had numbed Ted's smile when they were introduced. He'd been braced for the reaction but completely surprised when Ted, instead of trying to rid himself of such an obvious burden, became Orient's unofficial big brother.

For weeks Ted coached him in the social graces and manly arts. There were intense all-night bull sessions, long afternoons of touch football, poker games, weekend beer blasts, and a few memorable blind dates.

Because of the unique circumstances of his childhood, however, Orient was wary. Bitter experience had taught him to wait patiently for the real machinery behind the friendly smiles. It usually proved to be simple greed fueled by contempt and driven by fear.

But again Ted surprised him.

It was nothing more complicated than the challenge that inspired the campaign of good fellowship. Basically Ted was a perfectionist, dedicated to a single ideal -- himself. He dutifully acquired one new skill per month, and kept progress charts on all his activities, including current romantic interests. He got up at six-thirty every morning, ran a mile to the gym, worked out for an hour, and ran back. He'd be sweating when he returned, and thirsty.

But he never drank his morning orange juice until after he'd showered and dressed.

Eventually Orient realized that he was just part of the program, like the push-ups and piano lessons. By helping his adolescent roommate adjust, Ted was able to toughen another facet of his character. Something like running ten miles a day, carrying a backpack filled with sand.

Secretly, however, Orient was pleased by the attention and was careful to learn slowly, knowing that as soon as Ted felt the course was finished, he'd turn to another exercise.

His friend put in the outstanding effort, and at semester's end, when Ted moved into new quarters, Orient was more grateful for what he'd learned than stung by the fact that he hadn't been invited along.

There was one area where Orient functioned superbly, however, and after his second year he was accepted by a Swiss medical school. By the time Ted gave his graduation speech, Orient was ready to begin residency in a private hospital. At twenty he was still socially awkward but already a skilled physician.

It was at that time that Orient sensed a formless yearning deep inside his being. After completing his residency, he took up the complexities of psychiatry.

It was an interesting period, but limited. What had once been exploration became repetition, and the yearning took root and spread until every movement rustled with its presence.

He decided to return home, and took a low-status position in a New York emergency ward. But after two bloody years in the pits trying to salvage bodies torn and smashed by the insanities of civilization, he was close to a breakdown.

A chance incident checked his emotional slide.

A girl he was dating introduced him to Yoga. At first an amusing diversion, it became a commitment. After a few months he decided to take a pilgrimage to India and Tibet.

Since that time he'd been fortunate enough to find a real purpose for his existence, but at some cost. He'd been unaware of its extent until the night Ted came to visit.