Hooked (9 page)

Gavin’s office highlighted everything that was compelling about his looks. Beige carpets and taupe linen walls provided a kind of sound-proofing and their color flattered his dark eyes and warmed his pale complexion. A tilt-and-swivel chair was large enough so he could sit comfortably but compact enough to accentuate his size. The floor was raised slightly so patients were compelled to look up at him.

When the suite was finished, Cleo gave Gavin a guided tour.

“Even I’m impressed,” he said with a smile, putting his arm around her.

As the months passed, Gavin’s practice grew larger and larger. Some of the patients were sent to him by his associates at Lowell; some were patients he had treated at the apartment; others came via word of mouth; still others were the result of his relationship with Lars Mendl.

Socially prominent patients came to him through Bobbi and Cleo. The women wanted to lose weight; their stressed husbands sought more energy and sexual vigor.

There was the real-estate magnate whose empire was on the verge of collapse and who had broken down in tears during a contentious creditors’ meeting. After he began visiting Gavin, he rediscovered his ability to talk tough to the people who were pressuring him and he not only salvaged his empire and avoided bankruptcy, but initiated the most ambitious real-estate project of his career.

There was the plastic surgeon who had consulted a psychiatrist when his hands began to tremble during surgery. The psychiatrist prescribed tranquillizers and the surgeon lay on the couch and talked about his competitive feelings toward his father, but his hands didn’t stop shaking. A series of Gavin’s shots permitted him to regain control of his tremors and resume a full schedule of surgery.

There was the board chairman of an international conglomerate who traveled hundreds of thousands of miles a year flying around the world. He could cope with cultural challenges and business demands but he credited Gavin with his ability to stay fresh and mentally alert despite jet lag.

Three years after he opened his Beekman Place office, Gavin expanded his staff and lengthened his working hours. There were so many people he couldn’t say
no
to: prominent men and women who asked him to take on friends of theirs as a personal favor, people who couldn’t afford his fees but struggled with their health, celebrities who got his private number and called him directly.

Other doctors were impressed by how much time he devoted to his research at Lowell Hospital. Few with a practice as lucrative as Gavin’s spent that many hours researching new treatments for patients who often couldn’t pay.

They also knew he was never too busy to be thorough. Every new patient was subjected to a battery of tests. There were twenty-one in the total profile: a complete blood count, a blood-sugar determination, cholesterol and thyroid screening, urea tests for measuring kidney function, an electrocardiogram, chest X rays, a liver screen consisting of a Bilirubin alcolin phosphatase, a T3, T4, T7, and a Murphy-Patti.

Gavin treated his patients with customized combinations of neurohormones and vitamins, especially B-12 but also E; narcotics such as Demerol when appropriate and central nervous system stimulating amines, including Dexedrine and methedrine. He varied the proportions and dosages depending on the individual requirements of his patients.

Cleo continued to talk up Gavin to her friends and to hear from them them how successful his treatments were. Artists were more creative, businessmen more energetic, socialites raised more money for their causes and charities.

Cleo spoke to no one — not even Bobbi — about the fact that ever since the night she had refused an injection, Gavin had not offered another one. By mutual, unspoken agreement, the subject of medically enhanced sex was off-limits and had become a silent barrier in the marriage.

Gavin loved giving shots. He loved the feeling of flesh under his fingers as he held an arm and sterilized the skin with alcohol-soaked cotton. His grip was firm and strong. The smell of alcohol sharp and astringent. The bodies he touched, he possessed.

He enjoyed looking at the faces of his patients immediately before he injected them. There was barely concealed fear and uncertainty in their eyes, apprehension just before they permitted their bodies to be penetrated.

He liked to watch their stressed, exhausted eyes flicker to life as his thumb pressed down on the syringe. Sometimes he saw a look of gratitude. Sometimes there was exhilaration as they became alert and engaged. Best of all, he was gratified to see dependence, especially on the faces of the female patients. It was the same expression women had when their legs were spread wide and they were pinned beneath him. The same surrender, only better. Other doctors dealt with disease, but Gavin offered something more precious: the gift of life.

Many of the women wanted more from Gavin. He didn’t make advances toward his patients but if they were aggressive, he was responded. He allowed them to play with him if it gave them pleasure. And if they opened his fly and pleasured him with their hands or their mouths, he permitted them to satisfy themselves.

Sometimes they wanted him while they were lying on the examination table or sitting on his lap facing him. Other times, on the floor or standing against the wall. The encounters were almost always silent and held no hint of romance. Each time, he was careful to press the buttons under his desk that automatically locked the door and lowered the lights.

Even so, even with all this, Gavin was most excited at the moment he pricked their skin and plunged the needle into their veins. If his patients had opened his fly at that moment, they would have discovered what Cleo had never found out: the only time Gavin had an orgasm was when he was giving a shot.

The wife is not the last to know, Cleo thought. Sometimes she’s even the first.

There were the handkerchiefs with lipstick stains she took from his suit pockets to put in the laundry and the shirts with traces of perfume she didn’t wear. He had to know they were there — there were-too many of them. Did he leave them on purpose, intending to make sure she found out about his other life?

He continued his unusual habit of not wearing underpants and there were dry, crusty stains on the inside of his trousers. She knew what they were but said nothing. Her almost detached attitude toward Gavin’s dalliances was a form of self-protection that grew out of her view that her husband’s sexual needs had little to do with his affection for her. She would certainly have preferred it otherwise, but told herself that if he were having a serious affair, he would have been more circumspect.

His attentiveness added to her confidence. He phoned her several times a day and sent flowers twice a week. Even though she knew his secretary called the florist, she also knew that Gavin instructed her to. He praised her constantly, privately and in front of their friends, expressing his gratitude for all she had done for him.

In a way, their relationship was better now than ever. He told her about his patients — who they were, what their symptoms were and how he was treating them. She listened attentively, the way she had when they were first married, but now her interest came not from politeness or the novelty of a new husband. Cleo had convinced herself as she had convinced others that Gavin was a genius. Her purpose in life — the first time she had ever had one — was to help him achieve his destiny.

She understood that Gavin had changed a great deal since he had become so successful, and as far as Cleo could see, the changes were all for the better. The trouble was there were ways he was changing that she did not see and did not want to see. By the time they would become apparent, it would be too late.

Nicky was not happy living with a has-been. When Adriana Partos had been at the peak of her career, he adored being seen with her, going out to restaurants with her and having people come up to their table and ask for autographs. He loved seeing his own name in print, coupled with that of a famous woman. He didn’t realize how much he would miss it and how much it meant to him until it stopped. To put it bluntly, having a celebrity on his arm was good for his ego and good for his business.

People no longer recognized her. Paparazzi no longer vied for her image. Newspapers no longer reported on her doings and magazines no longer sent writers to interview her. It had been almost a decade since Adriana had performed on the major concert stages of the world and the public had a short memory. She had retired to please Nicky but now he wanted her to resume her career.

Whether or not she would play again professionally was not a musical question but a medical one. For two years Adriana had been unable to move her fingers without pain. She had visited top specialists who all agreed she had arthritis. Cortisone injected directly into her fingers eased the pain but did not allow her to regain her artistry. She stopped her daily practice sessions and resigned herself to the fact that her hands had permanently lost their sensitivity.

“How would you like to play again?” Nicky asked her one day.

“If I could play the way I used to?”

“Yes—”

“It would be a dream come true,” said Adriana.

“I know this brilliant young doctor,” Nicky said. “I’ve called him and he’s agreed to see you—”

When Adriana arrived at Gavin’s office he ran an extended series of tests and diagnosed her ailment as a dystrophy: osteoarthritis of the cervical spine. The reason she had not responded well to the cortisone shots was that the doctors she had consulted had injected it into her fingers. She had a degenerative neck disease and it was there that she needed the medication. 

Gavin recognized her cervical arthritis as ulnar paresthesia and during the treatment he would attempt to break up the circle of pain causing the spasm. She was experiencing acute pain emanating from the ulnar nerve, that crippled half of the ring finger and all of the little finger. At first Gavin considered removal of the cervical disk but finally decided that that was unnecessary.

“If I’m successful, there’s no reason you can’t play the piano again,” Gavin told Adriana.

“Will I be able to give concerts?”

“I can’t promise,” said Gavin. “But it’s possible—”

Adriana was not especially eager to appear again professionally but she loved sitting down at the keyboard and performing just for herself. When she had had her career, she called it practice. Now that she was retired it was just plain pleasure but she surprised herself by not reacting to the good news. The reason was that Gavin Jenkins caused her to feel uneasy. Unlike Nicky who expressed his feelings directly, Gavin Jenkins was enigmatic, perhaps even a person with secrets.

“What will be involved?” Adriana asked.

“A series of injections—”

“I’ve had injections,” said Adriana. “They haven’t helped—”

“I’m not going to inject your fingers,” he said. “They’re not the source of your pain—”

“It comes from my neck?”

“Yes,” said Gavin, surprised by her flat tone. “You don’t seem excited. I thought you wanted to play again—”

“So did I—”

They sat in the room facing each other, neither of them quite understanding the reason for the sudden silence. Gavin went to his medicine cabinet and removed a hypodermic and a syringe. He walked over to her and sterilized her arm. She remained silent as he inserted the needle into her flesh and pressed his thumb down on the syringe.

He was holding her arm tightly as the fluid entered her bloodstream. He whispered into her ear, “You’ve never felt this good, have you?”

“Good?” she replied, then, suddenly her head became light and her arms and legs went weak. For a moment she thought her limbs were no longer attached to her body. The only time she had experienced a similar sensation was when she had been drunk on champagne. She did not like the feeling and even feared it.

Not knowing how she found the strength, she lifted her right arm, the one that did not have a needle inside it. Her hand slashed the air and she struck the side of his face.

“Bitch,” he said and attempted to give her the second shot, the one that went into her neck, but Adriana stood up and walked out of his office without a word of explanation.

As she stood on the street hailing a taxicab, she remembered the bulge in his trousers. Had she been seeing things? she wondered. Or did he have an erection?

Nicky did not understand Adriana’s reluctance to pursue her career again. Gavin told him on the telephone that there was no reason why she couldn’t play if she wanted to, but Adriana refused to discuss it. The matter was closed, she said, and whenever Nicky brought up the subject, she shouted him into silence.

Nicky knew from experience how difficult it was to persuade her once she had made up her mind. Adriana, he had once said, was part beauty, part brains, part willpower and all Hungarian. It had taken Nicky four years to get her to retire in the first place. Whenever he brought up the subject, she replied with a combination of verbal abuse and heavy, flying objects.

He also knew that Adriana responded to beautiful things: flowers, clothes, architecture, paintings — and places. Nicky discovered that the best way to get what he wanted from her was to make certain that she was in beautiful surroundings.

Lydia
sailed across the Aegean and docked at the resort town of Kusadasi. Nicky’s Turkish chauffeur, Mustapha, met them in Nicky’s chocolate Rolls-Royce and took them on the seven-hour ride to the hot springs of Panukkale in central Turkey.

Once it had been a Roman bath, but the ancient structure had collapsed hundreds of years ago and the huge marble columns settled at the bottom of the pool. The water was crystal clear and even when it was twenty feet deep it was possible to make out the most minute details on the pillars below.

“It’s like swimming above history,” Adriana said. She was sitting on the edge of the spring-fed pool, splashing Nicky with warm water. “Did I ever tell you how much I love it here?”

“You didn’t have to—”

“So it wasn’t chance that we came here today, was it?” she asked. “I should know by now that nothing with you ever is—”