Genevieve Renshaw, M.D., had her hands deep in the pockets of her lab coat and fists were clearly outlined within, but she spoke calmly.
"The fact is," she said, "that I'm almost ready, but I'll need help to keep it going long enough to be ready."
James Berkowitz, a physicist who tended to patronize mere physicians when they were too attractive to be despised, had a tendency to call her Jenny Wren when out of hearing. He was fond of saying that Jenny Wren had a classic profile and a brow surprisingly smooth and unlined considering that behind it so keen a brain ticked. He knew better than to express his admiration, however--of the classic profile, that is--since that would be male chauvinism. Admiring the brain was better, but on the whole he preferred not to do that out loud in her presence.
He said, thumb rasping along the just-appearing stubble on his chin, "I don't think the front-office is going to be patient for much longer. The impression I have is that they're going to have you on the carpet before the end of the week."
"That's why I need your help."
"Nothing I can do, I'm afraid." He caught an unexpected glimpse of his face in the mirror, and momentarily admired the set of the black waves in his hair.
"And Adam's," she said.
Adam Orsino, who had, till that moment, sipped his coffee and felt detached, looked as though he had been jabbed from behind, and said, "Why me?" His full, plump lips quivered.
"Because you're the laser men here--Jim the theoretician and Adam the engineer--and I've got a laser application that goes beyond anything either of you have imagined. I won't convince them of that but you two would."
"Provided," said Berkowitz, "that you can convince us first."
"All right. Suppose you let me have an hour of your valuable time, if you're not afraid to be shown something completely new about lasers.--You can take it out of your coffee break."
)
