Private Eyes

The stirring- the inclinations- that each had fought for so long. Cravings Gina had dealt with by marrying a physically grotesque man who played the role of father. The second time around choosing a bisexual man- an old friend with a secret of his own, whom she could turn to for companionship and mutual tolerance and the outward appearance of married bliss.

Separate bedrooms.

Eileen… coping with the self-loathing she’d felt after Sussex Knoll by abandoning her practice, leaving town, and traveling the world as a care-giver, unpressured to defend herself. Devoting herself to saving lives as she waged war with her pain.

Losing too many battles and choosing another strategy- one so many other bright, troubled people have taken: the study of The Mind.

Child psychiatry. Because let’s get back to the root of it all.

Harvard. Because let’s learn from the best.

Harvard and a blue-collar lover. An electrician with no patience for soul-baring.

Then, rotation on Ursula’s service. The mischief gods must have been chortling heartily.

Rap sessions.

Confessions.

Pain and passion and confusion- someone who’d listen to all the things Sally Etheridge never wanted to hear about.

Ursula heard. And was changed herself.

Burying it by playing doctor.

A behavioral nightmare becomes real. The mischief gods beside themselves with glee.

Treatment failure. Of the worst kind.

Bye-bye, Boston.

Time for a move.

California, in search of the princess…

In search of the idea of the princess. Wealthy phobics Ursula knew she could help.

Playing doctor.

Fee for service. Big fees.

All is well.

Then, the child calls. Again…

“Opportunities,” Gabney was saying. “Yes, that’s basically the way she put it. A business decision. I preferred Florida- less expensive; the air’s a hell of a lot better. But she pushed for California, and not knowing what she was really after, I relented. It’s when I relent that things go wrong.”

He looked over at Gina, his face befouled with rage- the flailing, mind-searing fury of a man blocked from possessing what he craved.

Because of another woman.

The ultimate insult to the feeble thing known as Maleness.

Suddenly, I was certain Joel McCloskey had been insulted, too.

Thrown over by another woman.

Dirty joke.

Bad joke. Burrowing through his dope-softened brain like a spirochete.

Rejection festering. The hatred of homosexuals…

Dealing with it by demolishing Gina’s beauty- blotting out criminal womanhood.

Too cowardly to do it himself. Cowardly about exposing his motives as well, for fear of what that would say about him.

Had Gina ever understood why she’d suffered?

Gabney emitted a low, angry sound. Staring at Gina. Then at his wife.

“I’ve never been deceptive with her, but she chose to change the rules-both of them did.”

“When did you first suspect?”

“Shortly after that one’s treatment began. It was nothing specific- just nuances. Subtle variations that a man who knew less- or cared less- might never have noticed. Spending more time with her than all the other patients. Extra sessions that weren’t necessary from a clinical point of view. Changing the subject and showing odd resistance when I challenged her. And abandoning the ranch- she used to come up here regularly. Despite the allergies. Took antihistamines and tolerated the pollens in order to spend peaceful weekends with me. All of that stopped as soon as she came into our lives.” He smiled. “This is the first time she’s been up here since then. All those stupid excuses for staying in the city that she thought I didn’t see through… I knew damn well what was going on. Wanted hard data to preclude any more lies. So I made a few modifications to our office intercom and began listening in. Heard them”- the round face trembled-“making their plans.”

“Plans for what?”

“To leave.” He pressed his free hand over his face, as if ironing out grief. “Together.”

Giant steps…

Melissa, sensing the truth. Feeling edged out by Ursula’s possessiveness…

Gabney said, “This is how low it sank: My wife accepted a piece of art from her- an extremely valuable etching. Now if that’s not an inexcusable breach of ethics, I don’t know what the hell is. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded.

“Money changed hands as well,” he said. “To her, money means nothing because she’s a spoiled bitch, never been deprived of anything. But it was bound to corrupt my wife- she came from a poor family. Despite everything she’s accomplished, pretty things still impress her. She’s like a child that way. The bitch understood that.”

Pointing at Gina: “She gave her money on a regular basis- enormous sums. A secret bank account! They called it their little nest egg. Giggling like stupid schoolgirls. Giggling and plotting to abandon their responsibilities and go gallivanting off to live like whores on some tropical island. On top of the perversity, what a disgusting waste! My wife has a brilliant future. The bitch seduced her and attempted to lay everything to waste- I had to intervene. The bitch would have destroyed her.”

He pressed a button on the remote. Gina flopped. Ursula watched and made whimpering noises.

Gabney said, “Shut up, darling, or I’ll grill her synapses right now, and to hell with the goddam treatment plan.”

Tears ran down Ursula’s cheeks. She was silent and still.

“If this upsets you, darling, blame yourself.”

His finger finally lifted. “If I were a selfish man, I would have simply killed her,” he said to me. “But I wanted to give her worthless, spoiled life some meaning. So I decided to… apprentice her. As a stimulus, as you’ve so profoundly pointed out.”

“In vivo conditioning,” I said. “Home movies.”

“Science in the real world.”

“So you abducted her.”

“No, no,” he said. “She came willingly.”

“Patient to doctor.”

“Exactly.” He gave a wide, satisfied smile. “I phoned her in the morning, informing her of a scheduling change. Instead of group therapy, she’d be having a one-on-one session with me. Her beloved Dr. Ursula was ill, and I was filling in. I told her we’d make special progress today- surprise her beloved Dr. Ursula with outstanding progress. I instructed her to drive her car out of the gates of her estate and pick me up two blocks away at a precise time. I specified the Rolls-Royce- told her something about consistency of stimuli. Because, of course, it has tinted windows. She arrived right on the dot. I had her slide over to the passenger side, and I got behind the wheel. She asked me where we were going. I didn’t answer. That elicited visible symptoms of anxiety- she wasn’t even close to being ready for that kind of ambiguity. She repeated her question. Once again, I said nothing and continued to drive. She began to get twitchy and to breathe rapidly- prodromal signs. When I sped onto the freeway she burst into a full-blown anxiety attack. I handed her an inhaler that I’d doctored to contain chloral hydrate and instructed her to take a nice deep breath. She did, and passed out immediately. Which was elegant. I was driving at fifty-five miles per hour, didn’t want her thrashing around and creating a hazard. Unconscious, she made a lovely traveling companion. I drove to the dam, where my Land Rover was waiting. Transferred her into the Rover and pushed that ostentatious hunk of junk into the water.”

“Pretty strenuous work for one man.”

“What you mean to say is strenuous for a man of my age. But I’m in excellent shape. Clean living. Creative fulfillment.”

“The car didn’t sink,” I said. “It caught on a flange.”

He said nothing, didn’t move.

“Poor pla