In the good old days, Carol would have forced the issue a lot harder and probably would have gotten Carl the help he needed, but that required energy and motivation. These were two elements now missing from the equation today.
The next step in the crisis process was to set an appointment for the person so that they could begin receiving outpatient treatment. What a lame alternative for Carl Banner. But Carol was out of options. She made her way to the front desk where the schedule book was located. The area had been evacuated. Must be after five o’clock, or else a fire broke out while I was on the phone, she thought cynically. Thumbing through the schedule book, Carol grimaced at the full and unyielding pages, noting the next available appointment and filling in Carl’s name.
“Four weeks?” Mrs. Banner shrieked, when Carol returned with the appointment card. “My son cannot go around with that thing on his head for four weeks. He needs to see a doctor today.”
“I apologize," Carol offered, knowing that her words were a poor consolation, “but that is the first available appointment.” The reality of the situation was that Carl would have to wait four weeks just to see a counselor and have his mountain of paper work filled out before he could even think about seeing a doctor. Carol had learned this lesson the hard way. In the past when she had taken it upon herself to slide patients who were “desperately in need” into doctor appointment slots before the mountain of paper was completed, she had received the wrath of both the doctor and the administration department. Carol had gotten into some knock-down, drag-out arguments with the doctors. The only thing she had accomplished was to cultivate a continued reputation with the entire staff, and raise her own blood pressure. The patient had never won out, and had always gotten the short end of the stick. She promised herself after the last fiasco that she would never attempt another rescue mission again.
“We’ll get our own doctor,” Mrs. Banner squawked, and slapped the appointment card down on the desk.
“Okay,” Carol offered, “but if you have any trouble, I’ll keep his appointment open.”
“Thanks,” the mother said sarcastically, and stormed out of the office.
“My wife is upset," Mr. Banner said sheepishly and walked out behind Carl, who was now using his index finger to test the direction of something in the air.
Carol stood in the quiet office, wondering what was going to happen to Carl before he could see a doctor. Psychotic episodes rarely healed themselves, and more than likely, he would continue to de-compensate. She doubted that his two sweet and unassuming parents would be equipped to deal with the escalation of his symptoms. Shutting off the light, she headed outside. As usual, Carol’s day ended as it had begun. So much had been needed, with no solution available. Nothing had changed.
Chapter 2
Business would soon be booming, and Charles Roman was one happy guy. Now seated in his expansive office, Charles looked out the large bay window and took in the view of Atlanta. From this sixteenth story view, he could see the entire city with its slowly emerging lightshow that began every evening around this time. This was his city. He owned Atlanta.
Charles was not a big man and this characteristic extended further than just his physical size. At five foot eight, Charles wore custom tailored suits and a power hairstyle that exuded the image he liked people to see. His year-round tan, courtesy of the company’s frequent flyer perks, supplied the finishing touch and made him a handsome guy.
Sitting at the helm, Charles began organizing the papers that covered the shiny oak surface of his desk. His usual evening activities would begin with a late departure from work, followed by a few drinks at the Victory Hotel. With any luck, he’d meet up with that hot little tasty morsel from Marketing and avoid having to see his wife all together.
But that plan would be delayed on this day. There was a light knock on the door, followed by the entry of his two in command. Sam Reynolds, his VP, and Jeff Edwards, Marketing director, entered with dread.
“This can’t be good,” Charles announced.
The two silently took seats facing the great man.
“We have a situation,” Sam began.
Charles looked at both, waiting for the sky to open and rain on his evening. “Just tell me,” he directed.
“The approval for Suprame got delayed,” Jeff stated. “We just got the package back from them today.”
“Why?” Charles demanded. “Haven’t we paid them enough?”
The two looked at each other, not knowing which turd to drop on the man first.
Sam took the lead. “There’s a new sheriff in town. This guy, David Manning, he’s not a team player.”
“The FDA has been getting some complaints about sedatives,” Jeff added. “They want us to conduct one more study on the effects of termination.”
Charles got to his feet and began to pace.
“We were promised an approval by the end of this month. We have spent some serious bucks to guarantee it. It’s the drug that will ultimately save this company, and now this Manning guy wants us to waste more time worrying about what happens after the drug is no longer being used? How is that our problem?”
“The problems aren’t happening while people are taking the medication. The problem begins when they stop."
"That’s not a pharmaceutical problem,” Charles yelled. “It’s a prescription problem.”
“Well, now it’s Dominex’s problem,” Sam conceded.
Charles sat back down and raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “Look, guys, I really don’t care what you do with this asshole at the FDA. Just figure something out. This drug is going on the market. I don’t care if you have hold a gun to his head.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeff said. “We’ll think of something.”
The two men watched Charles Roman grab his coat and storm out of the building.
“Well,” Sam said, “he handled that well.”
They had been here before, not sure how they were going to pull another rabbit out of their asses, but certain it would happen.
Charles sat smoldering for a few moments before speeding out of the parking lot. The radio was always tuned to Z93, and Charles felt some of the tension drift away. They’d handle the problem and he had a date. He began tapping to the time of “Taking Care of Business” on the steering wheel with one hand while loosening his tie with the other. Taking care of business had been a sweet deal. Dominex Pharmaceuticals had been in his family for decades before he was able to slide into the driver’s seat. In the old days, his father had run a respectable operation, focusing primarily on anti-inflammatory and arthritis medications. The company had done marginally well, driven by its long-term reputation of being a company of integrity. But in the past ten years, there had been so many companies manufacturing virtually the same medications. For the past decade, profits and subsequently the company’s stock value had been slowly spiraling downward.
When Charles’s father approached retirement, he had no other offspring, and despite the warning of several board members and friends, Charles’s father decided to take a chance on his son. It wasn’t so much the wasted college years. He told himself that his son was a “late bloomer.” It was the lying and deceit that made Charles a high risk. Never the less, Charles Roman Sr. had only one son. So Charles Jr. was in.
When Charles first took over as CEO, he didn’t know an aspirin from an anti-depressant. But when the reward was big money, Charles was a fast learner. He quickly learned that there were so many drugs designed to do one thing, and then ultimately used for a wide range of other disorders. By simply changing a small fraction of an already existing compound, a completely new drug could be marketed. Working with another company’s product, an anti-convulsive, Charles followe
d the parade into the wide world of sedatives.
Charles quickly realized that sedatives were the pot of gold at the end of the pharmaceutical rainbow. At no other time in history had there ever been the rash of depression and anxiety disorders we see today. With the two-paycheck economy, overcrowding and loss of the extended family, everyday stress, anxiety, and depression were at an all-time high. In the ‘50s and ‘60s, people would see their family doctors and, after all the standard tests, they would be told to go take a vacation, slow down, or get more sleep. In today’s fast pace, the world did not lend itself to these solutions and a quick fix had not just become a luxury, it had become a necessity.
Under the new regime, Dominex pharmaceuticals had the potential to become a multi-billion dollar proposition. Doctors would be provided with an ample supply of samples, cookies, and the promise of more to come. It was a win-win situation. The patient would provide the problem, the drug company would happily provide the solution and the doctor would be the hero. Everyone would be happy.
“No one happier than me," Charles sang, substituting the words, “and working over time." He pulled the Beemer in an empty parking space at the Victory Hotel.
Sheila had been watching the time tick away for thirty minutes and was not happy about being kept waiting.
“Would you like another round?" the bartender asked. Sheila checked her watch again.
“Why not?" she sighed. It’ll make it that much easier to deal with him.
Sheila Montgomery was there for one reason and one reason only. To move up into a position of power, no matter what she had to do to get there. Currently working for Dominex Pharmaceuticals in marketing, Sheila made good money, and the freedom of being out in the field gave her that added element of independence she always demanded. But the power to change things, and to be on the cutting edge, was not only Sheila’s goal, it was her mission.
Sheila’s thoughts were interrupted, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Hi Charlie," Sheila said, as she looked up and smiled sweetly.
“Hi yourself.” Charles took the bar stool beside Sheila and ordered a martini. While he waited for his drink to arrive, he checked the bar for any familiar faces. No one stood out, Charles noticed with a degree of relief. It wouldn’t take much to be noticed, he thought. Sitting here next to this beautiful blond knockout, the regular bar crowd that frequented this establishment were already well aware of his presence by association. And the order of the day was to remain incognito.
Sheila was a knockout. That had always been something she had been able to use to her advantage. Now, at the age of thirty-five, nothing had changed. Her long blond hair, courtesy of Clairol, and long thin frame commanded the stage. Her large green eyes and flawless face were the finishing ticket. Women distrusted her and sometimes outwardly disliked her, but men were always ready, willing, and able to lend her a helping hand. And Sheila was always ready and willing to accept it. In fact, her whole world had revolved around the easy task of manipulation for so long, she really was no longer consciously aware of how much every waking moment of her life was not just based, but reliant on it. The fact that she had never had a close female friend was inconsequential. She told herself that she preferred the company of men, and for the most part, her needs were always met.
Charles’s drink arrived and after the bartender was out of hearing range, he leaned over and whispered, “I missed you today.”
Sheila wanted to gag, but instead kissed him on the tip of his nose and said, “I bet you did.”
Charles wanted this woman in the worst way and reached into his coat pocket to feel for the room key.
“Would you like another drink before we retire?” he said, pleased with his clever metaphor.
Sheila was already feeling the effects of the two she had downed and told Charles she was fine.
“You certainly are," he agreed playfully, as he escorted his new friend out of the bar.
Charles seemed to be getting antsy and Sheila had early appointments in the morning. After the holding and the small talk, it was time to go. Fishing around on the floor for her belongings, Sheila eyed the powerful CEO. For all the talk and impressive “courtship," the whole thing had really been a pitiful few moments. The extent of their foreplay could have been measured with an egg timer. Sheila hoped not to have to repeat this performance too many more times.
“So,” Charles began. “When would you like to get together and discuss your new marketing ideas?” He did not care about her ideas; he had better plans for their next meeting.
“I can come to your office anytime, Charlie," Sheila purred.
“My office was not exactly the place I had in mind," he replied provocatively.
“Come on," Sheila toyed. “I might start to think you’re not taking me seriously."
“I’ll take you anyway I can get you," Charles continued to play.
Working hard not to roll her eyes, Sheila just smiled.
“Okay, okay” he said with exaggerated exasperation. “Come to the office tomorrow at five.”
“Five it is." And next time, let’s lose the egg timer. Sheila winked and said, “Bye Charlie." She was out the door before Charles could reply.
Chapter 3
Carol Freeman sat in the waiting room of her doctor’s office trying to be patient. She wondered to herself why doctors even bothered to make appointments. The appointment time had very little bearing on how long you sat and how long you had to wait to be seen. She felt compelled to just leave. She had made the proper arrangements at work, but her fear of getting busted gravitated her to the seat.
Carol could not get a decent night sleep and had resorted to some creative problem solving. She was sick of spending her days in a sleepy fog, often forgetting to do the simplest things, followed by night, when her head would hit the pillow and the mental hurricane would begin. Ruminating the day’s problems, Carol would evaluate, analyze, resolve and re-invent. By morning, she was exhausted and the world’s problems were still unresolved. Carol had recently found someone with a small and unofficial stash and suddenly, her whole perspective on medications changed.
But now the state of Georgia required all workers to take random drug screens. Without an official prescription, a positive test for benzodiazepines would be grounds for immediate termination. And Carol knew better than to take other people’s medications. Had it not been for the desperation of being so sleep deprived, she wouldn’t have crossed that line. Now, that line was getting ready to bite her in the ass.
Carol heard her name being called, and stood to follow the nurse into the appointed waiting room. After being weighed and providing her arm for the nurse to cuff, Carol sat in the flimsy paper dress. She looked down at her small body. Her best current attribute was her tiny waist and thin frame. It was a battle she had fought all her life, cycling between a size eight and a size twelve. Her life’s mission was to stay thin, although there had been numerous times in the past when she had been on the losing side of that battle. Currently, she was a small person with a very large attitude. Carol could see her reflection in the waiting room mirror and gazed at her shoulder-length, curly brown hair framing tired blue eyes. Her youthful face was slowly fading and she could feel the weight of the world on her five foot two inch frame. Was the change in her appearance due to age or stress? She didn’t know the answer to that question, but hoped it was the latter. The alternative meant that her youth was coming to an end.
The opening of the examining room door startled Carol and she looked up to see a face she did not recognize.
“Carol Freeman?” the heavily accented Mediterranean doctor said. “What can I do for you today?"
“Is Doctor Wesley on vacation?" Carol inquired.
/> “No. Dr. Wesley left this facility and I am taking on his patients. I am Doctor Rami."
“Well," Carol began hesitantly. “I have been having a hard time sleeping and tried this medication, Valipene. It really helped and I was hoping to get some of my own today.” Carol could not help but notice the doctor’s demeanor change.
After a long hesitation, the doctor said, “Alright, but only enough for a few days.”
Carol was now becoming annoyed and told the doctor that her sleep problem had been going on for some time, and most surely would not go away in a few days.
After some additional infuriating conversation and unspoken suspicion on the part of Dr. Rami, Carol walked away with her prescription. Confused by the whole encounter, she wondered if the doctor had thought she was a drug addict. Knowing full well that she had no history of addiction herself or at any time had there been any in her family, Carol just shook her head. Jerk, she thought and left the building. She was going to sleep soundly tonight, and right now that was the only thing on Carol’s mind.
By the time she arrived at work, she had forgotten about the strange doctor. In fact, all of the morning’s events had disappeared. She happily walked to her office and thought for the first time in a while, Today is going to be a good day.
Carol picked up the messages left on her desk. When she saw the one from Buck Spears, she quickly turned and headed for the Center Director’s office. Heading down the long corridor, Carol’s thoughts creatively evaluated the possibilities. She had turned in the futile proposal, but who knows? This place never followed a logical course of action. When she reached Spear’s partially closed door, Carol knocked tentatively.