"I'm Dr. Taylor. I'm going to examine you and --"

Paige's smile died. "I'm a cardiovascular surgeon. I'm going to do everything I can to get you well again."

"You're going to operate on my heart?"

"I assure you, Dr. Taylor is thoroughly qualified," the staff doctor said.

Cronin looked over at Paige. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's right. I…"

His chart read, "John Cronin, white male, age 70. Diagnosis: Cardiac tumor."

Paige had not yet met John Cronin. He was scheduled to have heart surgery. She walked into his room, a nurse and a staff doctor at her side. She smiled warmly and said, "Good morning, Mr. Cronin."

"Like hell you are! Keep your fucking hands off me. Why didn't they send in a real doctor?"

John Cronin looked at the resident and said, "For Christ's sake, is this the best this hospital can do?"

Paige said stiffly, "Would you rather bring in your own surgeon?"

"So is my ass."

They had just extubated him, and there were the marks of adhesive tape around his mouth. IV bottles hung overhead, and the tubing had been inserted in his left arm.

"I don't have one. I can't afford those high-priced quacks. You doctors are all alike. All you're interested in is money. You don't give a damn about people. We're just pieces of meat to you, aren't we?"

"That's enough!" Paige said.

"Upset? Just because you're going to cut my heart out?" He was screaming. "I know I'll die on the operating table. You're going to kill me, and I hope they get you for murder!"

Paige found that she was hyperventilating. She turned to the nurse. "I want an EKG and a chemistry panel." She took one last look at John Cronin, then turned and left the room.

Paige was fighting to control her temper. "I know you're upset right now, but --"

He was grinning at her maliciously. "It wouldn't look good on your record if I died, would it, doctor? Maybe I will let you operate on me."

When Paige returned an hour later with the reports on the tests, John Cronin looked up. "Oh, the bitch is back."

The moment she opened him up, she knew that there was no hope. The major problem was not the heart. Cronin's organs showed signs of melanoma.

Paige operated on John Cronin at six o'clock the following morning.

"Oh, thank God!" Mrs. Cronin said melodramatically, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "I'd die if anything happened to John!"

A resident said, "Oh, my God! What are we going to do?"

"Yes."

Paige felt as if she were watching an actress in a bad play.

Paige hesitated. She said carefully, "The operation went as well as could be expected."

The woman said to Paige, "You Dr. Taylor?"

"I'm Mrs. Cronin. These are my brothers. How's my husband?"

"We're going to pray that he doesn't have to live with this too long."

When Paige stepped out of the operating room into the corridor, she found a woman and two men waiting for her. The woman was in her late thirties. She had bright red hair and too much makeup, and she wore a heavy, cheap perfume. She had on a tight dress that accentuated a voluptuous figure. The men were in their forties, and both had red hair. To Paige, they looked like a circus troupe.

"Can I see my darling now?"

"Not yet, Mrs. Cronin. He's in the recovery room. I suggest that you come back tomorrow."

"How much time does he have?"

"We'll be back." She turned to the men. "Come along, fellas."

Paige was given the report the next morning. The cancer had metastasized throughout Cronin's body. It was too late for radiation treatment.

Paige watched as they walked away. Poor John Cronin, she thought.

Paige went to visit John Cronin in intensive care. He was asleep. John Cronin was no longer a bitter, vitriolic man, but a human being fighting desperately for his life. He was on a respirator, and being fed intravenously. Paige sat down at his bedside, watching him. He looked tired and defeated. He's one of the unlucky ones, Paige thought. Even with all the modern medical miracles, there's nothing we can do to save him. Paige touched his arm gently. After a while, she left.

The oncologist said to Paige, "There's nothing to do but try to keep him comfortable. He's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain."

"A week or two at the most."

Later that afternoon, Paige stopped by to see John Cronin again. He was off the respirator now. When he opened his eyes and saw Paige, he said drowsily, "The operation's over, huh?"

"I'm sorry. It would make you feel worse, and it wouldn't help."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Women… thick steaks… good cigars… You married?"

"No."

"I see. Well… I've had a good life."

There was a long silence. "What about radiation or chemotherapy?"

"I'm sure you have."

"Comfortable?" he snorted. "What the hell do you care?"

"It's okay." He sighed. "Then I got sucked into marrying a bimbo. Her and her two hungry brothers. It's my fault for being so horny, I guess. Her red hair turned me on. She's some piece of work."

"I have cancer, don't I?"

The question posed a dilemma that all surgeons were faced with sooner or later. Paige said. "It's pretty bad."

"You ought to be. Everyone should be married. I've been married. Twice. First, for thirty-five years. She was a wonderful lady. She died of a heart attack."

"How bad is it?"

Paige smiled reassuringly. "Yes. I just came by to make sure that you're comfortable."

"You may not think so, looking at me now, but I've had a lot of women."

Paige said nothing.

Cronin lay there, silently studying her. "The other doctor told me you did a good job."

"Yes."

"I believe it."

Paige said, "Please. Let's not fight."

"Some medication is on the way. Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?"

"Do you want it straight?"

"You said you've had a good life."

It was Paige's night off, and she was exhausted. "I'll come back."

"Jesus! The pain is going to get worse, isn't it?"

"Life is a bitch, isn't it?"

"I did. It's kinda funny, knowing it's about over. Where do you think we go?"

"Call me John."

"I'm sure she…"

That night when Paige went back to see John Cronin, he was awake.

"No offense, but do you know why I'm in this cockamamie hospital? My wife put me here. She didn't want to waste money on me for a private hospital. This way there'll be more to leave to her and her brothers." He looked up at Paige. "How much time do I have left?"

"John."

He winced. "Terrible. I was never very good about pain. I guess I've got a low threshold."

"I don't know."

He forced a smile. "I'll let you know when I get there."

"No… yes."

"I'll try to keep you as comfortable as possible, Mr. Cronin."

"How are you feeling?"

"Yeah. Come back and talk to me tonight."

"A week or two."

"Hazel?"

John Cronin slept.

"Don't say that."

"I make enough."

She thought about the day at the travel agency. Let's go to Venice! No, let's go to Paris! How about London? "No. I haven't."

"You ought to go."

John Cronin was studying her. "Good. I'm tired now. Will you come back tomorrow and talk to me again?"

"I guess you don't make much money working at a hospital like this, huh?"

"No."

'You met Hazel, huh?"

"Yeah. I've been to Sweden… Denmark… Germany. Have you been to Europe?"

"Maybe one day I will."

"Did I tell you I used to travel a lot?"

"I understand."

The two of them sat there in a comfortable silence.

"It's true. The only reason Hazel married me was for my money. To tell you the truth, I didn't mind that so much. I really had a good time with her in bed, but then she and her brothers started to get greedy. They always wanted more."

He nodded to himself. "Yeah. You have to go to Europe. Do me a favor. Go to Paris… stay at the Crillon, have dinner at Maxim's, order a big, thick steak and a bottle of champagne, and when you eat that steak and drink that champagne, I want you to think of me. Will you do that?"

"My wife. The bimbo. She and her brothers were here to see me. They said they talked to you."

"She's something, ain't she? I sure got myself into a bundle of trouble there. They can't wait for me to kick the bucket."

"Ill come back," Paige said.

"Yes."

Paige said slowly, "I'll do that one day."