Theresa Mendavey lived alone in a four-story town house on Sutton Place in Manhattan. The rear of the town house faced the East River. She preferred to take care of her graystone town house herself. “Doing housework relaxes me,” she often said. The brain surgeon also owned a dark blue Bentley four-door sedan with red leather interior she rarely drove and a house in East Hampton on the beach she seldom found time to use.

“You haven’t heard anyone talking about The Big Question?” asked the stunned anesthesiologist. “I can’t believe how bumpkinly you are.”

“Bumpkinly? I love the vocabulary you create,” said the chief brain surgeon. “So, Anne, what’s The Big Question about?”

“I really can’t believe you haven’t heard about it,” persisted the anesthesiologist.

“YOU’RE NOT LISTENING, Doctor. I said I haven’t heard about it.”

“I’ll bet you’ll watch it when it comes on,” said the anesthesiologist. “The premise is fascinating.”

“What’s so fascinating about it?”

“It’s a quiz show,” explained the anesthesiologist.

“They’re the most boring shows on earth,” said the brain surgeon.

“Not this one. If a contestant answers the big question correctly,” explained the anesthesiologist, “the contestant wins one hundred million dollars!”

“A hundred million dollars! That’s an awful lot of money,” said Dr. Mendavey. “And what happens if the contestant misses the big question?” she asked, taking a gulp of coffee.

“The contestant’s executed!” said a nurse.

“What!” blurted the neurosurgeon, coming very close to choking.

“Yes, executed. Right in front of your eyes!”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“How?” asked Dr. Mendavey.

“Poison, I think,” replied the nurse.

“Yes, poison,” said a nurse-in-training, pleased to be part of the conversation.

“Executed on television. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it!” said several members of the team in unison. Then they giggled.

There was quiet in the lounge as all of the Mendavey team thought their own thoughts.

Dr. Mendavey was the first to speak. “A hundred million dollars, huh?”

“Yes,” said someone.

“What kind of questions do they ask the contestants?” asked the brain surgeon.

“They ask questions based on the contestant’s expertise,” said the assistant anesthesiologist.

“And if you don’t have an expertise?” asked Dr. Mendavey.

“I think they have a category called general knowledge,” replied the assisting neurosurgeon.

“But you do have an expertise, Doctor. The brain.”

“That’s right, I do. In fact, I daresay there’s not a question they could ask me about the brain I couldn’t answer.”

“You’re not thinking of trying out for the show, are you?” asked the anesthesiologist.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” replied the brain surgeon.

“Why?”

“I’m really smart.”

“What about the death factor?” asked the anesthesiologist.

“It’s a non sequitur,” said Dr. Mendavey.

What an ego, thought an attending nurse to herself.

When the team was finished with their break and were walking down the corridor that led to the operating room, Dr. Mendavey asked her chief nurse, “Tell me about this afternoon’s patients. Tell me about the construction worker with the nail in her skull.”