But I'm getting ahead of myself. Okay, so doctor-in-waiting Maggie Yang sees the girl and, filled with concern, asks if she's okay. The girl, with some effort, straightens up and grits that it's just a muscle cramp and she'll be all right. Sure. She jerks a thumb at the road and says she just needs to get home. Yang suggests that the girl should get looked at. The girl hedges, but Yang insists. She leads the girl reluctantly into the hospital.
Cut to the interior, where Dalgety and Jolly Maid are dancing down the stairs into the lobby, adjusting their clothes. A group of male doctors is standing around a bulletin board, sniggering over a color photocopy that's pinned to it. It features a woman flashing her bra -- naughty! -- at the camera. One of them guffaws something to indicate that the bra-baring blonde is the new hospital director. So she's off to a promising start. Dalgety cuts between the leering masses and the picture, barely glancing at it, and addresses the group by apologizing for being late, adding that he's "still feeling [his] way around." Jolly Maid scoots around the edge of the group with a knowing smirk. I pop a Tums, just in case there's more lines where that one came from. Dalgety tells the group, made up of student doctors, that today they'll start with physical exams. Some wiener says, "I thought you said the HMOs don't like to approve physical exams." Dalgety confirms that it's true. "So why bother?" the wiener asks. "Because we're doctors, not managed-care technicians," Dalgety zings. He ducks into a hallway just in time to avoid the dropping anvil.
Kellerman scoots out of the elevator and strides across the lobby. "Dr. Kellerman?" a silky female voice calls. He stops and spins in its direction. A blonde in a tiny black suit is perched against a chair back, eyeing him. She sashays toward him, drawling, "Dr. Bruce Kellerman?" His Adam's apple bobs in affirmation. "Hello," he manages. She stands in front of him and declares, "I'm here to serve you." Back of the line, sister. His Adam's apple bobs even harder. "Really?" he asks, hardly daring to believe the luck. She smiles broadly and brandishes a huge manila envelope. "These papers have to be signed today and returned to your wife," she says, barely suppressing the urge to laugh. She presses the envelope against his chest and backs away. He makes the obligatory "ex-wife" correction. Already at the door, she pauses and repeats, "Ex-wife." She pushes open the door, which looks to be some cheap-ass plywood and Plexiglas prop, given the way it gets stuck.