In His Own Image

By Jeremy Gorman

In a wheel chair and marked by an ugly birthmark over much of his face, Dr. Adam SZYMANSKI (POV) has been obsessed by hereditary diseases all his life. But there is a cloud over the opening of his new Institute for Genetic Disease Control (IGDC) For one thing his patented process for making synthetic replacement genes for those missing in victims of such diseases as hemophilia or phenylketonuria can only be delivered to human eggs in an extrauterine fertilization process. That, he quickly discovers, makes untreatable over 90% of the potential beneficiaries who dont know they have the disease until they are born. In addition the Szymanski process does not find favor among several groups of activists and newspapers who deliberately choose to misinterpret its purpose and function. Pickets surround his new building as they did its run-down predecessor. Eugenics, Engineered Children, The People Factory as well as Human Guinea Pigs fill the loud rhetoric surrounding the controversial IGDC. Adam battles the picketers and is sued for assault.

The Szymanski process is a computer driven chemical process deliberately limited to the specific genes responsible for the subject disease to prevent any possible side effects from spurious genetic material. But it is so complex that it could not come to fruition without the computer expertise of IGDC co-founder Michael RICHARDSON, a PhD from Cambridge and an Olympic gold medalist in swimming. From humble beginnings in Britain, Michael is torn between his love for his work and his obsessive unsatisfied need for money. He has already expanded the role of the IGDC with a genetic information bank from which he supplies subscribers medical and genetic information on hereditary diseases for a fee. The data bank doesnt quite bring the IGDC into the black, so he also accepts a special project for the study of hereditary diseases endemic to the Mideast

Not everyone fears the synthetic gene factory. There are some who covet this ability to genetically alter the human condition. Josip MIKHAILOVICH despises ethnic cleansing in his native Bosnia and is determined to use the Szymanski process as a way to by-pass it with ethnic enhancement. Towards this end he devises elaborate schemes to wrest the process from the IGDC. But Josip has to work with brash young activists like Draja GREGORICH whos missionary zeal impels them to eliminate the enemy. Draja finds working with Josip both baffling and frustrating. Nonetheless they incite activist groups, former patients, politicians and newspaper reporters like Pamela BERGER--a freshman reporter with the local Daviston Star. They even infiltrate the IGDC and try to influence its board of trustees-- a committee of the board of trustees of Haalvorsen University on whose medical school campus and under whose wing the IGDC operates. The board finds many reasons to doubt the wisdom of bringing the IGDC aboard.

Gloria WICKERSHAM, a patrician from the founding family of Haalvorsen, has an infant, Brian, with Severe Combined Immunity Deficiency (SCID.) A concert pianist, Gloria comes to the IGDC to prevent having another child with the same affliction. But during the preparatory testing, Theresa FERNANDEZ, an IGDC lab tech who is working her way through medical school, discovers that the SCID child is not the son of Glorias attorney husband Arthur. A devout catholic from rural Puerto Rico she quits thew case but is talked back into it by Adam. She later discovers by accident that the father is Michael Richardson. She is morally outraged, quits and returns home to Puerto Rico. Adam goes tpo Puerto Rico to convince her to return.
Meanwhile Gloria contracts meningitis on one pof her many free concert tours at chilfrens hospitals. She transmits it to her SCID son whohas no resuistance to the disease. Aam reveals his plan to attach the immunity fraghment to a mild invasive virus and trea

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 7, 2001
• ISBN: 9781524592707

Jeremy Gorman

Jeremy Gorman is a retired chemist and research director from a NYSE company. He became progressively more interested in the lives of the people and how they were effected by technological advances of society. Mr. Gorman believes that people can get a better understanding of technology through realistic fiction than they can from scientific papers which neglect many of the agonies associated with sociological change. He has had many technical papers published and several short stories, but the novel provides a better opportunity for an in depth study of the people involved with technological advance. He has written five novels, but this is the first to be published. He tends toward science fiction but in settings of everyday life at the turn of the century.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Adam, there’s a young lady here to see you. Marlene Weizmann poked her bifocals around the door to the stark, almost bare room with a desk and a bookcase.

Young lady? Did she say who she was or what she wants?

Only that her name is Grace Engstrom.

Well, show her in. I guess I won’t find out until I meet her. Dr. Szymanski turned his wheelchair around and snuffed out his cigarette. Oh, and Marlene. Let’s stick to first names only—remember privacy is one of the things we guarantee here.

OK, Boss man. Want some coffee?

If she wants some, I’ll join her—bring in that extra chair, will you?

Can do. said Marlene and disappeared. Moments later an ample blond eased shyly through the door followed closely by white-haired Marlene. Grace, this is Adam Szymanski.

Grace took one look at Adam and caught her breath and put her hand to her mouth. Oh, my God. she whispered and stared at the huge birthmark covering much of Adam’s face.

Good Morning, Grace. Maybe you’d like that chair that Marlene has for you. Marlene pushed the chair into Adam’s room and Grace sat down abruptly.

How would you like a cup of coffee, Grace?asked Marlene.

Oh, that’d be fine. Said Grace trying to regain her composure."

Cream or sugar?

Both. said Grace. She gathered her strength and began. I read an article about your new cure for hereditary diseases. My son has hemophilia. That’s one of the diseases you wrote about. Could you tell me more about that?

Sure. We’ve developed a process for making synthetic genes—those things that make each of us what we are. We have studied a large number of hereditary diseases and identified the defective genes that cause many of them. We can now make synthetic genes that are exact replicas of the naturally occurring normal ones so that we can add those to the genetic structure and eliminate the disease.

Really? Grace began to be more at ease. Does that include hemophilia?

Absolutely! In fact that was one of the very first ones we identified and it was the first on which we got approval.

Oh, that’s wonderful. I’d like you to consider Richard as a candidate for your process.

Well, Grace, I’d like to say we can do that but in fact you’re too early. You see, the body is made up of millions of cells, each one of which has a full set of chromosomes or genes—those little blueprints of your individual characteristics. We would have to put that synthetic gene into each of those cells—a process we expect to complete within a year or two. We can’t treat patients yet.

Really. But the article said—

I was afraid that that article was picked up by the newspapers too early. It was in a medical journal for Doctors, and shouldn’t really be in the daily paper yet. It could be misleading.

You mean that you aren’t ready to treat people yet. Grace looked crestfallen.

No. Our tests have proved that we have accurately reproduced the correct genes in about a dozen hereditary diseases. That’s why we were able to get clinical test approval. But the body will reject cells which don’t have their same genetic structure so we can only treat people before they are born until we can get approval for a safe delivery system which treats essentially all cells of the body.

Before they are born? How do you do that?

Actually we can treat the eggs of a person known to carry the disease, and then fertilize it in an extrauterine fertilization process. The fertilized egg is then implanted into the mother and normal pregnancy occurs.

But you can’t treat my Richard?

Not if he’s already born. We are at least a year from treating living people. In fact we haven’t even used our approved extrauterine fertilization process yet. Michael and I have argued long and hard about that. There are lots of risks in that process besides the hereditary disease which would not be present in the treatment of a living person. We don’t want to put people through that extra risk, so we’ve decided to wait for the full process.

But, what if I’d like to have a child without hemophilia. Wouldn’t that be my risk, not yours?

Well, that’s one of the big issues of our argument. No. It would really be neither your risk nor ours. It would be your child’s and he’s going to outlive us all.

But Dr. Szymanski, no one has a say in how or why they are born. That’s a decision parents make for them. I hadn’t any idea that I was a carrier of hemophilia. Not the slightest. Now Richard has to suffer through that all his life. Will he blame me? But today I know I’m a carrier, so if I have another child with hemophilia, he could very well blame me. You are withholding from me a choice that could give him a better life. I’d like to try your extra-whatever process and give my next child the chance Richard never had. Is that bad? Was that a tear in her eye?

Adam took a long slow sip of his coffee. He was silent for some while. Then, You mean you’d be willing to try this new process on your children?

Absolutely—you have no idea what a— she stopped and looked at Adam. Well, perhaps you do. Wouldn’t you like to spare all those children what you’ve been through? I’ll go with your process, because until now I’d decided that there would be no more children. I don’t want to impose Hemophilia on anyone else. You can open a whole new future for my family. Why is that something you don’t want to do? Grace looked pleadingly at Adam.

Adam was silent for quite a while. Grace, I was going to say I didn’t want to take the risk, but in fact I’m not taking the risk—you and your unborn child are. If it is worth it to you, I don’t really think I can deny you. I’ll talk to Michael and you and your husband come in next week for some tests and a careful look at all the risks and benefits. We weren’t planning on having any patients yet and certainly not any for the extrauterine fertilization process. But you’ve put a whole new face on this process for me. I think you may be the first patient for the Institute for Genetic Disease Control.

Really? Wait’ll I tell Harvey. He’s going to flip. Grace stood up. This isn’t at all what I expected, but you can bet we’ll be here next week. And when you’ve completed your new delivery system, whatever that is, I’ll bring Richard in.

Adam seemed a little less hesitant. Good. Marlene here can make a specific appointment—she knows more about me than I do.

Oh, thank you. Grace fairly skipped out of the room.

After a few minutes of quiet conversation outside the office door, Marlene came in with a dour look. That’s all very nice but you don’t have a room yet, and you don’t have any people to help get this process going. You’re too much of a softy—we’re not ready.

Eaves dropping eh? He smiled. Of course we’re not ready, but we can get ready! Did you hear what she said about no more children? Did you see her—she’d given up on a huge part of her life. I’d never thought of our process as enabling. But it clearly is. It’s not just a medical process—it’s a chance for a family for people with hereditary diseases. We’re their only hope right now. I should have realized it long ago. He thought a while. We can have that space down in the basement of Grosvenor Hall at the Haalvorsen Medical school. We have an outstanding nurse, and I know a student at Haalvorsen that needs the money and can give us the help we need. She’s a transfer student in Pharmacology from San Juan University in Puerto Rico. Adam lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of blue smoke.

She’d better speak English because I can’t speak Spanish. And that Grosvenor Hall space is next to their morgue. And who’s this fabulous nurse you have in mind? Marlene was resisting as hard as she could.

Her name is Marlene Weizmann, said Adam wheeling his chair down the hall to the office of his partner, Michael Richardson.

1

There was not a misplaced hair in her myriad red pin curls. She stepped out of her Mercedes 450SL, looked almost furtively in all directions, and pushed a button on her key ring All the door locks retracted as she stepped around the front of the car to the sidewalk. She walked determinedly to the end of the block and turned the corner. She quickly passed many empty parking spaces to LEFTY’S SPORTS BAR AND GRILLE in the middle of the next block. She dropped her keys into her Coach leather handbag and clutched her Bergdorf Goodman camel’s hair coat close around her willowy figure as if hiding her short, low-cut red sheath from the stiff warm breeze. The I Miller custom shoes seemed totally incongruous with the flashy gold necklace, her only jewelry. The eye shadow was heavy, the bright red lipstick thick, and the blusher pronounced.

A couple of boisterous buddies had just left the bar with loud voices and happy smiles. They were abruptly face to face with her and stopped dead.

Oooohhh, sweetie! If you’re goin’ in there, why am I leavin’?

Icicles burst from her steel-blue eyes. She walked past without the slightest change in pace or attitude—they didn’t exist! The broad smiles on the men wilted away, they stared at each other for a few seconds and continued down the sidewalk in silence.

She stopped outside the bar and read the menu posted on the window. She looked past the menu into the bar and searched it thoroughly as if for an acquaintance but often refocused on a tall blond man sitting at the bar. He wore a rugby shirt which didn’t obscure his powerful build, and remained totally absorbed in the large color television set overhead. During her exhaustive searches of the people in the bar, the redhead’s madonna face showed no hint of expression. Finally she went to the door and grabbed the handle. She didn’t open it however but stood several seconds in thought. Then she set her jaw, yanked the door open and strode purposefully in.

Inside she immediately removed her coat and hung it on a hook by the door. It was the only coat in the bar. With her coat she also shed her intense reserve. Lefty’s Sports Bar war was about 1/2 full of predominantly men. When the coat came off, at least 5 men stopped in the middle of their conversation and just looked. She ignored them and swept straight to the bar and sat next to the tall blond man who still sat transfixed by the Olympic swimming finals on the tube. He ignored his half empty beer. When the race was finished he shouted Jolly good, Cedric! You sank the blighter! He reached for his beer, and drank a large slug. Barkeep! How about another tankard of stout?

The girl in the red dress turned to him and said You sound almost like you know Cedric. she smiled a remarkably warm smile.

He turned from the screen and took a long X-Ray look at the slender figure in the skin tight gown. As a matter of fact I do. He’s from my old club, and he’s just won the first British swimming gold in eight years.

That’s wonderful. You must be proud. You certainly seem to know your swimming. Do you follow it closely?

You might say that. It’s my life. Or at least it once was.

Really? Then you’ll know who won the last British swimming gold?

The blond man stopped suddenly. His clear hazel eyes searched her unblemished face questioningly. He took a long time to answer, and seemed to be trying to figure out something. As a matter of fact, he said so quietly that you could hardly hear him above the sounds of the bar, I did! He studied her intensely for a minute. Then abruptly he reached out his hand and said I’m Michael Richardson. I’m glad to meet you miss—aahh—" his voice trailed off as he waited expectantly. Suddenly his hand appeared to be an embarrassment to him. He tentatively withdrew it, then thought better of it and grasped her hand and shook it.

Candy. she volunteered. I’m impressed. It’s not every day you meet an Olympic medalist, Dr. Richardson. Her mouth suddenly clamped shut—as if she had said something she hadn’t intended.

Oh! Michael, please. he said as his new beer arrived. May I order you something? Suddenly his brow clouded. Dr. Richardson? he repeated. How did you know that? Do I know you from somewhere? He studied her face carefully.

Famous people’s reputations precede them, Michael. She said with a smile. Yes, I’d like a Bud Light.

Righto, Candy! He turned to look for the bartender. Barkeep! Could you pour this lovely lady a spot of Budweiser Light? He reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, and tossed a bill on the bar.

Thank you, but I can pay for it. Said Candy.

Not on your life. This is primarily a men’s bar. I don’t think they’ll take money from a lady. he smiled jokingly and pushed her hand away.

Don’t be silly. There are at least five other women in here. Is it only Olympians, or do all men think sports are for men only?

Well, I’d never thought of it that way. I just like sports, and didn’t have many thoughts about who else did. Besides, I’d like to buy you a beer.

Well, that’s very generous. Tell you what. I’ll accept the beer if I can buy you something to eat. Then you can tell me about your experiences in swimming. Becoming a medalist in the Olympics today requires immense preparation and dedication. I’d like to learn a little about where it comes from.

Candy! You’re on. He took a sip of his beer, and looked around. See that little table in the corner? Over there I’ll bet I can find out from you that you are a swimmer yourself, and we can talk about swimming and sports and how a healthy body supports a healthy mind. I might even find out how you know who I am!

It seems that swimming is not your only sport, Michael. She moved a little closer.

There was a quiet red-haired man across the bar with dark horn-rimmed glasses and a Scottish kilt.. He seemed particularly distracted from the Olympic finals by the girl in the red dress. He kept looking at her with a puzzled look, as if he was trying to remember something. He ordered another beer and watched the television, but kept looking at Candy. He remained out of sight and unobserved by Candy and Michael who were involved only with each other.

It was nearly dark when Michael and Candy emerged from Lefty’s Bar and turned into a strong warm headwind. It was blowing hard but Candy did not have the coat with which she came in. Michael kept his arm around her to shield her from the wind. He had donned a windbreaker, and it flapped behind him as he leaned into the gale.

Behind them, in the bar, the red haired man approached the bartender. Who’s the lass in the rrred dress? he asked with a Scottish brogue. When the bartender shrugged, he went over and studied carefully her camels hair coat still on the peg inside the door.

Outside Candy and Michael laughed a lot as they hopped into a little TR7 that had more than a few miles on it. It’s leaky muffler roared a few blocks to the Maple Tree Motel where it parked around in back. They registered and went in.

Michael seemed quite excited, and immediately grasped her in a huge bear hug, unzipping her red dress down the back. He didn’t notice that the J.C.Penney label still had the plastic wire from the price tag through it. She reached under his rugby shirt, and ran her hands ever so gently over his bare chest. He was so transported, that he didn’t even notice the Sachs Fifth Avenue label on the exquisite slip. Neither one spoke as he rushed eagerly to remove the slip and her matching Sachs Fifth Avenue bra. He cupped her small but perfectly formed breasts in his massive hands. Oddly enough, Candy, who had been the aggressor in the bar suddenly became entirely passive.

They were in bed in minutes. She spoke no word, but rubbed her cheek gently against his face and his bare chest. Finally she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back exposing a pale white band around her unadorned ring finger. Michael over anxiously tried to penetrate her before she was ready. He reached a climax quickly, and lay spent upon her, drifting off to sleep. But Candy was wide awake. Gone was the cool self-control. The once untroubled lips were compressed but trembled convulsively and tears streamed from her staring eyes.

2

The rising sun flashed on a little white Dodge Neon as it parked in the asphalt parking lot beside a glass building. A girl got out and headed for the side entrance to The Institute For Genetic Disease Control. There were already fifteen or so people carrying placards as the girl approached the new building.. She passed the woman holding a Close The $5 Million People Factory sign. But the bearded man with the large Leave Our Children Alone placard would not let her pass. He was polite but firm as he blocked her way. You have no right to defy God’s will. Your children and grandchildren will live with your sins. He kept jockeying to prevent her passage to the new glass building with the freshly installed turf lawn.

I work here, replied Carol OBrien. I’m proud of—"

Work here? You are interfering with God’s work! You shall be damned for eternity! Who gave you permission to alter the human condition with man made substitutes? Hitler couldn’t make it work, and neither will you!

Concerned, Carol stopped cold. She eyed the glass doors only 30 feet away. Then she stepped onto the turf and sprinted for the side entrance and dropped her newspaper.

The man backed away and stared. Oh, my God—It’s Scarface. He gasped. But he was too late. An electric powered wheelchair came streaking straight at the man. He dropped his placard and ran headlong onto the new turf to escape. Adam Szymanski drove his wheelchair straight at the man. He grabbed the abandoned placard and snapped its dowel support like a match stick. He chased the man onto the new turf and started flailing at him with the rest of the placard. Who appointed you God’s emissary? He shouted at the fleeing figure. His fury showed right through the birthmark covering almost a third of his face over his right eye. He swung the placard like a machete. Did you ever meet Him or talk to Him? The man slipped on the new grass dampened with morning dew and Adam caught him with one blow from the placard before he regained his footing and ran off.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Adam dropped the placard, and calmly wheeled over and picked up Carol’s newspaper, and accompanied her to the door of the building. He pushed a small button on his wheelchair and the door opened. Good morning, Carol, he said in absolute calm—he wasn’t even breathing hard. Welcome to your new IGDC. He turned his chair aside and held out the newspaper as she entered the building.

Oh, thank you Dr. Szymanski She hesitated, tried to calm her frazzled nerves but stepped forward. She started to take the newspaper but suddenly Adam pulled it back and studied the bottom half of the page. He glowered at the architects drawing of the very building he was entering and the below-the-fold headline Brave New World Enters Lavish New Quarters.

Damn! Everybody’s seen it, he said refolding the paper and handing it to Carol. He noticed how agitated she was and said, I’ll go with you to your office. I wanted to see Michael anyhow.

Inside the building he and Carol went quickly and, except for the squeaking of Adam’s wheelchair, silently down polished halls past flush walnut doors with brass nameplates in them. Just past the big Grand Opening banner they entered a door marked Michael Richardson, PhD—Co-Director Carol stepped onto the plush blue carpet to catch her breath. Her brow was twisted into something between fear and despair. She trembled as she sat down at the desk with the Carol O’Brien sign. She took several long deep breaths. Finally she smiled and said. , Dr. Richardson doesn’t appear to be in. He’s usually here very early."

Oh, he’s here. Said Adam lighting a cigarette with a huge billow of smoke. I saw his TR-7 in the parking lot. He must be down in his precious new computer room. He loves that place. It’s sort of a retreat for him. Please ask him to get in touch with me as soon as he gets up here. Then in a different tone You all right? You sound a little—ah—shaky. He looked up at her and saw a tear on her cheek. Hey, kiddo, what’s the problem?

Oh, those people out there. They give me the creeps. I hoped with the new building and all they’d go away. She stopped and looked tentatively at him. She still had great difficulty looking directly at Adam’s face even after almost a year at the IGDC. Why do they say such mean things. I just want to do a good job.

Carol, they don’t really understand what we do. People are afraid of things they don’t understand. They think we’re trying to reengineer their children. They’ll learn, someday. He smiled and tried to change the subject. How do you like this new office, Carol?

Oh, Adam, I can’t believe it. I don’t have to duck under that steam pipe anymore. And carpets! I was pretty sick of that worn out linoleum. This is heaven.

Well, I hope we can all stay here. It sure cost enough! It looks like at least a few people would like to throw us out. He turned and went out as Carol began typing on her word processor.. Adam’s chair squeaked down another corridor and whipped around a corner into another door labeled Adam Szymanski, Co-Director.

As soon as he got inside he stopped abruptly, put both hands over his eyes and breathed deeply. He pulled a heavy drag on his cigarette and puffed out another billow of smoke.

Boss-man looks a little boiled. said a white haired lady from behind a walnut Danish Modern desk. I’ll bet a cup of coffee would help numb the open nerve ends. She looked like Mary Worth.

Adam sat some time. He blew a large puff of blue smoke. Marlene, you’ve got to be right. Do you suppose you could figure out how to do that in this new sterile environment? If you could I might not explode.

Sterile environment? I’ve been waiting almost two years to move in here, and you call it sterile. She eyed him closely. Boss-man never explodes. Even when he should! Marlene Weizmann measured his mood with her eyes. Like when newspaper prints a not-so-success story with no facts.

You saw it too? How did he get trapped like that? He paused and then slowly wheeled into his stark, pictureless inner office. Lavish New Quarters—My Ass! Did you know Michael had that interview?

Mrs. Weizmann produced a mug of coffee from nowhere. Guilty! she handed him the coffee and spilled a little on the matte parquet floor. But you did too. That was over two months ago before the end of last school year. . She wiped up the coffee spill with a tissue.

Adam almost asked her why she didn’t say something, but thought better of it. He knew he couldn’t pry anything out of the old trooper. He took a huge drag on his cigarette. You had that coffee all ready, didn’t you? You know me too well.

Since before you were born. she chirped. He’d heard that before.

No that’s not true. I was at least six hours old when you met me. Or at least that’s how I hear the story.

There was a long silence before Marlene said. He’s so excited about this place. He overflows. He forgot that newspapers have their own agendas.

I don’t care how excited he is, he can’t let it look like the Institute for Genetic Disease Control is lying about its franchise.

" I don’t think he did. Did you really read that article? He didn’t say anything. He just didn’t prevent that reporter—what’s her name? Pamela Berger?—from doing it for him."

Why do you defend him?

‘Cause he’s brilliant, he’s necessary and we’d be nowhere without him!

Adam sat quietly awhile. Of course you’re right. I’ve never seen such a creative computer scientist. We would be nowhere without him. I always thought that his enthusiasm was our greatest asset. It also appears to be a liability. Adam crushed out his cigarette in the wheel chair ashtray with one mighty stomp and wheeled over the oak floor to his desk. His mind went back almost three years to when this British Adonis had breezed through the door and said he could write that program in a week. Unbelieving, Adam had said that since about eight of the worlds’s best programmers had already failed what made him think he was so good? Michael had said it didn’t matter what he thought, what mattered was that he’d have it on Adam’s desk in a week—and by golly he did—well-—two. But he did it!

Marlene turned to go. You’ve got to hurry. Your first appointment is due momentarily. Your appointments are on your desk calendar with the folders.

Yes Mother. Said Adam with some good humored sarcasm. He worked his way between the walnut desk and the matching bookcase and began reading his calendar. He set the coffee on the desk which held only the calendar, the folders and a pen set. He looked around before he began on the calendar. He didn’t even notice the vase of fresh flowers on the bookcase behind him. How do you like these Lavish New Quarters? He teased Marlene. Big change from yesterday, huh?

I’m afraid I might get used to it. said Marlene. Imagine, no steam pipe, and a desk where all the drawers work and even lock. I see you have one locked already.

Funny you should mention the steam pipe. Carol O’Brien mentioned that too. I never had that much problem.

Of course not—you’re two feet below it.!

I still had to pick my way through all those picketers. ‘Human Guinea Pigs—where do they get all that crap?"

Oh, did you see our giant new Superman?—That’s a new twist..

Superman? Where?

Just outside the main entrance.

I came in the side way. Must have missed him. Why don’t they just give up?

Eight names appeared in a neat hand on the calendar. The top folder was for Gloria Wickersham. Adam looked a little surprised, glanced through the folder and shouted Marlene! Front and center!

Yes, Boss-man! she chirped with a smile. The twinkle in the true blue eye showed right through the bifocals.

Now I understand the coffee. Who in Hell is Gloria Wickersham, and why is she on my calendar? You know I don’t usually do the first interview.

Can I lie a little? asked Marlene.

You will anyhow, so let’s have it! He couldn’t help smiling.

Mrs. Arthur Wickersham is the sister of the chairman of the board of trustees of Haalvorsen University.

Charlie Randolph? Oh, yeah! I remember. I think I saw her once. She’s a concert pianist, I think. he paused. When Marlene said nothing, Adam continued. Go on! I don’t for one minute think that she was suddenly inspired to give the IGDC Building Fund 5 million dollars because we got her university’s name in the paper.

No! She has an 18 month old son with agammaglobulinemia. I think she wants you to look at him.

So soft-hearted Marlene, knowing that we can’t do a thing for—what’s his name? He glanced down.