Terminal

They took Sean’s 4 × 4 since it was roomier than Claire’s tiny Honda. With Claire giving directions, they skirted the downtown high rises and drove up Biscayne Boulevard. People of all races and nationalities crowded the street. They passed a Rolls Royce dealership, and Claire said that she’d heard most of the sales were for cash; people walked in with briefcases full of twenty-dollar bills.

“If the drug traffic stopped tomorrow, it would probably affect this city,” Sean suggested.

“The city would collapse,” Claire said.

They turned right on the MacArthur Causeway and headed toward the southern tip of Miami Beach. On their right they passed several large cruise ships moored at the Dodge Island seaport. Just before they got to Miami Beach, they turned left and crossed a small bridge where they were stopped by an armed guard at a gatehouse.

“This must be a ritzy place,” Sean commented as they were waved through.

“Very,” Claire answered.

“Mason does okay for himself,” Sean said. The palatial homes they were passing seemed inappropriate for a director of a research center.

“I think she’s the one with the money,” Claire said. “Her maiden name was Forbes, Sarah Forbes.”

“No kidding.” Sean cast a glance at Claire to be sure she wasn’t teasing him.

“It was her father who started the Forbes Cancer Center.”

“How convenient,” Sean said. “Nice of the old man to give his son-in-law a job.”

“It’s not what you think,” Claire said. “It’s quite a soap opera. The old man started the clinic, but when he passed away he made Sarah’s older brother, Harold, executor of the estate. Then Harold went and lost most of the foundation’s money in some central Florida land development scheme. Dr. Mason was a latecomer to the Center and only arrived when it was about to go under. He and Dr. Levy have turned the place around.”

They pulled into a sweeping drive in front of a huge white house with a portico supported by fluted Corinthian columns. A parking attendant quickly took charge of the car.

The inside of the house was equally impressive. Everything was white: white marble floors, white furniture, white carpet, and white walls.

“I hope they didn’t pay a decorator a lot of money for picking the colors,” Sean said.

They were motioned through the house to a terrace overlooking Biscayne Bay. The bay was dotted with lights from other islands as well as hundreds of boats. Beyond the bay was the city of Miami shimmering in the moonlight.

Nestled in the center of the terrace was a large kidney-shaped pool illuminated from beneath the water. To its left was a pink and white striped tent where long tables were laden with food and drink. A calypso steel band played next to the house and filled the velvety night air with melodious percussion. At the water’s edge beyond the terrace was a gigantic white cruiser moored to a pier. Hanging from davits off the yacht’s stern was yet another boat.

“Here come the host and hostess,” Claire warned Sean, who’d been momentarily mesmerized by the scene.

Sean turned in time to see Dr. Mason guide a buxom bleached blonde toward them. He was elegant in a tuxedo that obviously was not rented and patent leather slippers complete with black bows. She was squeezed into a strapless peach gown so tight that Sean feared the slightest movement might bare her impressive breasts. Her hair was slightly disheveled and her makeup more suitable to a girl half her age. She was also clearly drunk.

“Welcome, Sean,” Dr. Mason said. “I hope Claire has been taking good care of you.”

“The best,” Sean said.

Dr. Mason introduced Sean to his wife, who fluttered heavily mascaraed lashes. Sean dutifully squeezed her hand, drawing the line at her expected kiss on the cheek.

Dr. Mason turned and motioned for another couple to join them. He introduced Sean as a Harvard medical student who would be studying at the Center. Sean had the uncomfortable feeling he was on display.

The man’s name was Howard Pace, and from Dr. Mason’s introduction, Sean learned that he was the CEO of an aircraft manufacturing company in St. Louis, and it was he who was about to make the donation to the Center.

“You know, son,” Mr. Pace said, putting his arm around Sean’s shoulder. “My gift is to help train young men and women like yourself. They are doing wonderful things at Forbes. You will learn a lot. Study hard!” He gave Sean a final man-to-man thump on the shoulder.

Mason began introducing Pace to some other couples and Sean suddenly found himself standing alone. He was about to snag a drink when a wavering voice stopped him. “Hello, handsome.”

Sean turned to face the bleary eyes of Sarah Mason.

“I want to show you something,” she said, grabbing Sean’s sleeve.