On Call: An Original Short Story by Michael Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

here.”
    “Can you spell alimony? Listen, Walter, I enjoy both my jobs and I need the income, so I put in a little extra time. Have there been complaints?”
    “Since you got moved from the hospital annex back to the big ER, you’ve seemed stressed.”
    “Only by my reduced case load. There should be enough work for both Oliver and me.”
    “I told you,” Filstrup said. “Oliver needs to get up to speed.”
    “This wouldn’t have anything to do with him being a psychiatrist like yourself? Would it?”
    “Of course not,” Filstrup replied, dismissing the statement with a wave.
    Lou knew better. He and Filstrup had been at odds since day one, in large measure over their disagreement as to whether addiction was an illness or a moral issue.
    “Does Oliver think every monitoring client should go through extensive psychotherapy?”
    “It doesn’t always have to be extensive,” Filstrup said.
    Don’t drink, go to meetings, and ask a higher power for help.
    Lou knew that the terse, three-pronged instruction manual was all that the majority of addicts and alcoholics involved with AA ever needed. Psychotherapy had its place with some of them, but protracted, expensive treatment was often over the top.
    He could sense their exchange was getting out of hand, and kept quiet by reminding himself, as he did from time to time for nearly every one of his docs, that whether the stone hit the vase, or the vase hit the stone, it was going to be bad for the vase.
    Filstrup removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a cloth from his desk drawer. Lou thought the gray tie would have done just as well.
    “Just because you were once a drug addict,” Filstrup went on, “doesn’t give your opinions greater authority here.”
    “I can’t believe we’re going at it like this because I came in here to ask for more work.”
    The phone rang before Filstrup could retort. He flashed an annoyed look and pushed the intercom button.
    “I thought I told you to hold all my calls, Mrs. Peterbee,” Filstrup said.
    I thought you were expecting one , Lou mused.
    “I’m sorry, Dr. Filstrup,” the receptionist said. “Actually, this is for Dr. Welcome. I have the caller on hold.”
    Lou gave Filstrup a bewildered look and shrugged.
    “Who is it, Mrs. P?” Lou asked.
    “Our client, Dr. Gary McHugh,” Peterbee said. “He said it’s urgent.”
    Filstrup reflexively straightened up.
    “McHugh, the society doc?” he said. “Put him through.” Filstrup allowed the call to click over, then said in an cheery voice, “Gary, it’s Walter Filstrup. How are you doing?”
    The director’s conciliatory tone churned Lou’s stomach, but it was not an unexpected reaction given who was on the other line. Gary McHugh tended to the D.C. carriage trade and probably numbered among his patients a significant portion of all three branches of the government. He was renowned for his acumen, loyalty, and discretion, as well as for making house calls. What he was not known for, at least within the confines of the D.C. Physician Wellness Office, was for being one of Lou Welcome’s closest friends since their undergraduate days together at Georgetown.
    Several years before, McHugh had lost his driver’s license for operating under the influence and refusing to take a field sobriety test. The Board of Medicine’s knee-jerk policy was to refer such physician offenders to the PWO, and in the absence of another associate director, Lou was placed in charge of his case.
    Although McHugh adhered to the letter of his monitoring contract, he regarded the whole business as something of a joke. Lou could not help but enjoy the man’s spirit, intelligence, and panache, even though he never had much trust in the strength of McHugh’s recovery—too much ego and way too few AA meetings. Still, McHugh, a sportsman and pilot with his own pressurized Cessna, had always been irrepressible, and Lou looked forward to their required monthly progress meetings, as well