Hooked (3 page)

“How much do you think such a project would cost?” Mendl asked.

Gavin shrugged. “You already have facilities for raising the sheep,” he said. “You have your lab and your patients. You would need some additional equipment—”

“If such a study produces the results we all expect, people could no longer question our work,” Mendl said. “Would you undertake the research?”

Gavin shook his head. “I’m obligated to Johns Hopkins—”

“Everett Storrick says you have no respect for authority—”

“Everett Storrick has too much respect for authority,” said Gavin, realizing that Everett Storrick had tried to undermine him with Lars Mendl.

“You’re right about him,” Lars said. “Excessive respect for authority by doctors like Everett Storrick is holding back medical advances—”

Gavin nodded.

“You’d better watch out for him,” said Lars. “He’s out to get you and, if you’re not careful, one day he will—”

Lars could see Gavin wasn’t worried.

“I’d be cautious,” said Lars, remembering when he himself had been young and fearless. Then he offered Gavin a job. “I’ll pay you a salary and you’ll receive full credit for any research findings.
Now
what do you think?”

“What I think is that I’ll have to think about it—”

Cleo Talbot was lying in a hammock on the terrace of the villa in Positano. The afternoon light shifted as it fell through the leaves and branches of the nearby shade trees. As she shut the novel she’d been reading and wondered when Gavin would arrive, she heard his voice.

“Hello,” he said. Then he raised his finger to his lips, cautioning her not to speak. “Shhhh—”

He crossed the terrace and stood next to her. He raised his hand to the top button of his shirt and watched as her eyes followed his movements while he unbuttoned it. Then, one by one, he unbuttoned the rest until he reached his waist. He unbuttoned the cuffs, pulled the shirt aside, then back over his shoulders, and let it fall to the ground behind him. He moved at one-quarter speed, as if he were functioning in slow motion.

Cleo moved forward, and reached out to touch his chest. With her hand pressed against him, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it out from the loops and let it fall to the ground. He slowly unbuttoned the top button of his trousers and she saw he was not wearing underwear.

Even more slowly than he undid his shirt, he unzipped his fly. The trousers were loose-fitting and, when he was finished, he did not have to move to cause them to fall.

She got out of the hammock and stepped toward him. She kissed his chest and gradually moved downward but he stopped her when she reached his waist. He took her by the shoulders and pressed her all the way down to the ground. Then he climbed on top of her and reached under her clothing.

She was wearing a navy-blue dress with a full skirt and buttons down the front. Underneath, there were stockings and garters but he did not remove a single article, not even her panties. With his left hand he pulled aside their crotch and with his right hand he guided himself inside. Slowly he moved all the way in, never taking his eyes away from hers.

With his penis far inside her vagina, he moved up and down slowly. Up until he was almost outside, then carefully lowering himself way down. Again and again several times, then suddenly changing speed. Pounding her quickly with his hammer. Thrusting himself farther into her. Deeper than she expected. Surprising her by going faster and faster and, as soon as she wanted the moment never to be over, he stopped and waited until her low moan lured him again.

Moving in circles. Slowly. Then a little faster. Watching small beads of perspiration form on her neck and scooping them up gently with the tip of his tongue. Staring into her eyes and the desire that lay behind them. Slamming his rock inside, hard flesh digging into her body until a soft slow scream came from her lips. She was climaxing for the first time but he didn’t let up and tormented her with more pleasure than she thought she could bear. Finally another climax — and another and another. And still another.

She thought they were through but he aroused her one more time, pushing her to new and unexpected heights. Her shaking surprised them both and her purring happiness was the reward he had been seeking. Finally he allowed her to sink deeper into quiet calm and her head found safety in the curve of his arm. His voluptuous performance had not included an orgasm of his own. He doubted that she knew.

“Hello yourself,” she said. “I like the way you express yourself.”

Gavin smiled a sexy, slow, dominant smile.

“Then I’ll have to do it again, won’t I?”

They spent the next few days, driving along the twisting corniches that overlooked the blue Mediterranean and wandering through small, rustic villages. They feasted on briny-fresh seafood, succulent tomatoes, black olives and tangy sheep’s cheese with rough bread accompanied by the coarse, delicious local wines. He was loving but not romantic and possessed almost frightening self-confidence. She wondered what it would be like to be married to him. Exciting, she thought. But also dangerous? One day, lunching at an open-air seaside restaurant, Gavin began to talk about Lars Mendl and the job offer.

“I’m not going to turn him down,” he said. “I can’t—”

“You make his work sound so exciting and he’s done wonders for Bobbi,” said Cleo. “What will you tell Dr. Storrick?”

”The truth,” said Gavin. ”He’ll be pleased I’m leaving—”

Cleo nodded. She had seen the undercurrents in his relationship with Storrick and knew Gavin was right. “How will you start?“

“By doing whatever Lars Mendl tells me to do.“

Lars Mendl arranged for Gavin to work with a team of researchers at a small private hospital outside Munich that specialized in new treatments involving an enzyme that recognized and consumed diseased body proteins. Gavin spent his free hours studying the latest enzymatic therapies and by the time he left, he had as complete a grasp of these developing areas as anyone in Europe or America.

He visited the Caucasus Mountain area of the Soviet Union along the Black Sea, home of the world’s most long-lived people. He saw them hike up steep hillsides without becoming short-winded. He watched them eat sour yogurt, drink potent vodkas and smoke cigarette after cigarette without apparent harm. To delve into their secrets, he studied their blood chemistry and cardio-vascular function.

Gavin visited
Zwischenraum
, a psychiatric hospital in Munich, to study the effects of psycho-active drugs. Amphetamine sulfate, or benzedrine, was a common stimulant used during World War II and soldiers on both sides had been issued tablets to fight physical and mental fatigue. Amphetamines stimulated the central nervous system and produced positive side-effects. They increased self-confidence and alertness in patients and prolonged their ability to perform complex, intellectually demanding tasks with intense concentration.

Using carefully monitored dosages, Gavin began to treat patients who sometimes showed a twelve-point jump in standard I.Q. testing, and occasionally as much as twenty-two points.

“You can make people smarter?” asked Cleo during one of their occasional phone calls.

“I didn’t believe it myself at first,” he said. “But the I.Q. test results are consistent—”

Gradually Gavin acquired the skills, the tools, the techniques and knowledge of the varying combination of drugs that would enable him to put a highly original theory of medicine into practice.

He could give his patients whatever they needed: Greater intellectual ability. More energy. Increased creative power. Rejuvenated sexual prowess. The ability to perform at the peak of their talents for long periods of time.

Gavin’s work intrigued Lars Mendl but Gavin’s own interest into research on cell specificity was set aside as he delved further and further into the therapeutic promise of his own research.

Cleo had known Gail Westerly and her older sister, Suzanne, since they’d all attended Harborcliffe College together. Gail and Suzanne had been brought up by their socially-ambitious mother to marry well. When Suzanne married the glamorous governor of California, James Santana, Gail, not to be outdone, married Count Jose-Alvarez de Córdoba, thus becoming a Countess.

Suzanne, more intelligent than Gail, moved to California to take over her role as the state’s First Lady. Gail, the more beautiful of the two sisters and Cleo’s exact age, moved to Madrid. For a time the two college classmates lost touch.

When Cleo ran into Gail one morning in Milan, they stopped for coffee and talked about how much their lives had changed in the years since they’d last seen each other. Cleo had been widowed and Gail’s marriage annulled. Gail, always slender, had put on weight. She was lumpy and pudgy and looked unhappy.

“I’m exhausted,” she told Gail. “I rented a dreary apartment here in Milan. I have no idea why. I don’t know anyone—”

Gail shrugged and, with a fluttering gesture of indecision, let her sentence trail off.

“Why don’t you come to Positano with me?” asked Cleo. “I’m staying in Bobbi’s villa and I’d love some company—”

Gail brightened. “Really?” she said. “I’d love to. I have no plans for the next two weeks—”

“Then?”

“I’m going to Turkey,” said Gail. “Nicky Kiskalesi has invited me on a cruise—”

“On
Lydia
?”

Gail nodded. “I’ll look like hell in a bikini,” she said. “Nicky’s not going to give me a second glance—”

Cleo knew about Nicholas Kiskalesi’s sumptuous yacht,
Lydia
,
and
about his reputation — noted womanizer and presumably the richest man in the world. He was rumored to be involved again with Adriana Partos, the concert pianist, but Cleo wondered if the gossip columns were right and whether Nicky Kiskalesi could have been the real reason behind Gail’s annulment.

Over the next few days, Cleo grew more concerned about her friend. Gail drank too much wine, gorged on candy and slept twelve hours at a stretch. When she did get up, she looked tired and bloated

“I feel awful,” said Gail. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”

“Have you seen a doctor?” Cleo asked.

Gail nodded. “Two. One in Madrid, the other in New York. They both examined me and ran their tests and said there’s nothing wrong with me. They just about came right out and told me to my face that I’m a neurotic socialite with too much time on my hands—”

“I know one doctor who won’t insult you,” said Cleo, picking up the telephone and calling the Garibaldi Clinic just outside Rome.

“I have an invitation for you,” she told Gavin to whom she spoke frequently. Sometimes she felt he wasn’t really there at the other end of the line. Preoccupied with his work? Or with another woman? Other times they seemed to connect and she felt she was important to him. “And a patient—”

It had been almost five months since they’d last seen each other but Gavin drove to Positano that weekend. He examined Gail in the guest bedroom, the one that had once been his.

“When was the last time you had a checkup?” he asked Gail after he’d finished his examination and taken blood, urine and stool samples.

“Two months ago,” she said. “In Madrid and New York. They told me there’s nothing wrong with me. They said it’s all in my head—”

“Do you feel short of breath?”

“Sometimes.”

“Feverish?”

Gail nodded. “Yes, but I also feel chilled. I’m freezing and then the next thing I know I’m burning up.”

“Heavy menstrual bleeding?”

She nodded again. How had he guessed?

“Always?”

Gail hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him she had just had an abortion. “Well, just lately.”

Gavin took the glass tubes containing Gail’s blood and the other specimens and put them into his bag.

“I’ll have these analyzed, and we’ll proceed from there,” said Gavin, snapping the bag shut.

“Do you think something’s wrong with Gail?” Cleo asked when Gavin emerged from her bedroom. They sat in the drawing room with the shutters drawn against the late-afternoon heat. Shafts of sunlight hit the parquet floor and illuminated the glossy patina that came with age and years of constant care. The light in the room was soft, filtered.

“I don’t know,” Gavin said. “Not until I’ve seen the test results.”

“She’s going on a cruise with Nicholas Kiskalesi after she leaves here—”

“I thought he and Adriana Partos were together again—”

“Supposedly,” said Cleo. “But they’re famous for making up and breaking up. I hear she wants to marry him but he refuses—”

Gavin shrugged his shoulders. Gossip, no matter how spicy, was of little interest to him.

“What have you been up to lately?” Cleo asked.

“I’m still experimenting with amphetamine derivatives,” said Gavin. “Enzymes, too. I’ve had encouraging results with patients who are addicted to heroin.”

He stood up, walked to the terrace door, opened it and stared out.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Cleo,” he said, his back to her. “More than nice. Much more than nice.”

She didn’t reply and there was a long, uncertain silence between them.

“Gavin?”

He turned and, as he did, she moved toward him. Suddenly she was in his arms, and they were kissing. Deeply. Hungrily. With longing.

“Come,” he said, and he took her by the hand and led her to her bedroom. They quickly took off their clothes and without preamble, Gavin entered her. He was masterful and once again used every false start and surprise, every sudden change of rhythm and subtlety to catch her off guard, to bring her close to pleasure, to deny it to her, and then reward her with ecstasy.

He kept at it until she begged him to stop and pleaded with him to go on. He pleasured her until she was breathless and dazed and drained.

The following morning Cleo received a phone call from Bobbi’s lawyer in Baltimore. There’d been a fire and Bobbi’s guest house had burned to the ground. The main house had not been damaged and Bobbi herself was all right except that she’d suffered minor burns and a twisted ankle as she tried to rescue some of the paintings in the guest house. She was, needless to say, very upset.