Immortals, page 23
“Not very successfully, if she wandered off never to be heard from again,” she said dryly.
“Her problems were far more serious than yours are, honey. This man’s quite respected in his field. Two or more sessions with him might do you a world of good, and if it doesn’t have any significant effect, nothing ventured, nothing lost.”
“Why? We won’t have to pay? It’s another one of the benefits of working for Leon Enterprises? That’s why we don’t have to worry about affording it?” Her sarcasm made him laugh.
“Ridicule it all you want, but it’s there, and most people would love the opportunities and, yes, the benefits.”
“Um,” she grunted.
“Will you at least consider it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. She was tired, and who knew? Maybe he was right, maybe she was going off the deep end of things and needed to regain a sense of perspective. Could Richie have forgotten to put on his emergency brake? Was it just an accident? She wouldn’t know for sure until he came out of his coma. What if he didn’t? She shook her head and embraced herself to ward off the chill.
“Here,” Drake said, reaching into his inside pocket. “Paul gave me his card. Hold on to it, so if you decide, you can make an appointment. You know how these guys are—booked up for years. Just mention Paul Stoddard, though, and they’ll fit you in whenever you like.”
She took the card without looking at it, but just before she slipped it into her purse she gazed at it, and something familiar about it caught her eye. She read it quickly and thought. Then it came to her.
Dr. Sacks.
That empty bottle of tranquilizers that had been prescribed for Selina Levy, Harris Levy’s deceased wife—it had been prescribed by a Dr. Sacks.
Paul Stoddard’s wife and Harris Levy’s wife had had the same psychiatrist, and they were both gone. And now Drake, with Paul Stoddard’s advice, was recommending she see the same man.
Nothing—not a shot of brandy, not a hot bath, nothing—took the chill out of her the rest of the day. Cynthia remained in bed under a quilt. Concerned, the children came to see her.
“Maybe you got the flu I had, Mommy,” Debbie told her.
“Maybe,” she said, smiling.
“Dad and I are going to make dinner, Mom,” Stuart announced proudly. “I’ll do most of it.”
“That’s nice, honey. You guys eat. I’m not too hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat something. How about some toast and tea?” he asked. She nearly laughed at the way the roles had been reversed. He sounded more like a parent.
“Maybe later.”
“You guys should let Mommy sleep,” Drake said, coming in on them. “She’s tired.”
“It’s from worrying about Uncle Richie,” Stuart declared, nodding.
“Sure it is,” Drake said. “Stuart, you might just become a doctor.”
“Maybe,” Stuart said, seriously considering it.
“Come on, kids,” Drake urged. They were reluctant to leave her side, but she promised she would be all right after a good rest.
She did fall asleep for an hour or so. After she woke up she called the hospital and spoke to the nurse in intensive care, who told her Richie’s condition was the same. Stuart returned with a tray of tea and toast and jelly, Debbie at his side. She took the tray and listened to their description of the dinner, laughing at Debbie’s critique about how “gooey” the mashed potatoes were. Relieved she was looking and sounding better, the children decided to go down to watch television.
“Where’s Daddy?” Cynthia asked them as they started to leave.
“He’s in his office on his phone,” Stuart said, his face grimacing. “He’s been in there a long time again.”
She nodded and waited for them to go. Then she leaned over and carefully, slowly eased the receiver out of its cradle. She pressed it to her ear quickly and listened. Drake was in the middle of a conversation with Paul Stoddard.
“But I don’t have enough to last me until next weekend,” Drake complained. She heard the underlying note of hysteria in his voice. “What if we don’t go?”
“You have to go, Drake. I’ve told you—I can’t give you the next dosage; the second dosage comes only from Mr. Leon. It’s always been that way. And he insists on giving it to you personally, at the compound in Florida.”
“But she’s not up to a trip, and with her brother still in a coma—”
“It’s your problem, Drake. Solve it. Mr. Leon does not take kindly to anyone refusing his personal invitations. It would be . . . disastrous. Do you understand?”
Drake was silent.
“Yes,” he finally replied.
“That’s good, Drake. We’re all proud of you, very proud. Mr. Leon wanted me to tell you that.”
“Thank you,” Drake said.
“I’ll call you soon with more definite arrangements. Happy sales.”
She heard the click and waited because she didn’t hear Drake hang up. She thought she heard him breathing heavily into the phone. He sounded like someone on the verge of a heart attack. She was tempted to call to him, but she didn’t want him to know she had overheard his conversation.
Finally Drake hung up, and the line went dead.
Cynthia sat there with the receiver in her hands, her heart beating madly, her mind in a turmoil. She was pulled by feelings of pity and fear.
What had they done to him? What did Stoddard mean by the second dosage? Dosage of what? Was he on some kind of drug after all? Who were these people?
Somehow she had to find out and put an end to it all.
15
The tension of the days that followed wore away at everyone. Even Drake, whose energy had seemed endless, began to show signs of wear. One day Cynthia saw him limping a bit, as if his old basketball injury had returned.
Sheila accompanied her to the hospital often. When she was there she was good company and always optimistic, but Richie’s condition did not change significantly. The doctor’s stock response to any question was “We’ll see.”
Ellen and Steffi came to sit with her a few times. Both her friends continued to blossom and look radiant under the continual therapy of Youth Hold. When they made mention of Drake she listened keenly. Neither seemed to want to dwell on him, but the way they glanced at each other whenever his name came up made her suspicious. Cynthia felt certain that when he called on them to sell Youth Hold his visit involved more than merely his marketing the wonder product. He was marketing himself as well, and if he was doing it with them, who knew with whom else?
“Drake’s so worried about Richie,” Steffi told her. “You can see it in his face these days. He looks so tired.” She turned quickly to Ellen for confirmation.
“I agree,” Ellen said. “You poor dears.”
Cynthia knew the mental and physical exhaustion was taking its natural toll on her looks. Her face became drawn, sallow; her eyelids drooped; she felt drained; and she plodded along in an almost mindless fashion, completing her chores and looking after the children as best she could. Most of her depression resulted from her sense of guilt. She was convinced that someone had tried to murder Richie, and only because she had cajoled him into spying on Paul Stoddard.
Nearly every day Drake made mention of Dr. Sacks, now claiming it was foolish not to make use of something at their disposal.
“I’m sure you’re having trouble dealing with what happened to Richie as well as all the rest,” he told her. “You need a professional to guide you.”
She continued to say she would think about it. Finally he used her reluctance to see the therapist as more reason for their need to go to Mr. Leon’s compound.
“Richie’s stable, but it looks like we’re in this for the long haul,” he said. “You’ve been going down there every day, living under constant tension and mental fatigue. You won’t go to the therapist. All right, but let’s at least steal away for two days of R and R, Cynthia. You’ll lounge by the pool, eat great food, be entertained, and for forty-eight hours put all the problems behind you. It will make you stronger and more able to cope when you return,” he reasoned.
Ever since overhearing his phone call with Paul Stoddard she had been trying to think of something she could do to expose Leon Enterprises. Perhaps this trip would provide her with the best opportunity, she thought. She would go there, observe, listen and learn, and as soon as she arrived at some hard evidence she would pounce. Of course, she was also afraid, but her desire to find something significant and to solve some of the mystery was greater.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go, but only for the two days. I’ll make arrangements for the kids to stay with my parents.”
Drake’s face lit up. “We’re going to have a great time. I can’t wait until you see the place.”
He made a fist and shook it near his temple. “We’re going to make a comeback here. You’ll see. Everything is going to turn out all right.”
“I hope so, Drake,” she said. “For everyone’s sake,” she added, but he didn’t hear her innuendo. He was off to make phone calls and see to arrangements.
I’m going into the lion’s den, she thought, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way to defeat the lion.
As their weekend trip drew closer Drake became more and more excited, his high energy level returning. During the past week he had slowed down considerably, actually falling asleep one night on the couch watching television. He hadn’t done that since his days at Burke-Thompson. She thought he had been forgetting to use his own wonder product, too, because his face lost some of its shine, and some of those premature wrinkles began to reappear.
If she asked him how he was feeling, he became very self-conscious, but all he did as a result was bring up their impending weekend at the Leon hacienda in Florida, repeating with urgent desperation that they both needed the getaway.
Once she had agreed to go he returned to what had become his new self. He made more time for the children, arriving home closer to the time they would return from school. If he wasn’t tossing a ball with Stuart or playing basketball with him, he was taking the children for rides, filling in the slack, as he said: shopping with them for shoes and clothes and other things they needed so she didn’t have to do it. He wanted them to go out to dinner every night, insisting she shouldn’t have to cook with all she was doing. At night he couldn’t have been more solicitous, waiting on her hand and foot, seeing to any needs or wishes she might have. She began to feel like royalty, but when she protested, he insisted.
“I haven’t done enough for you, Cyn. Let me make up for my bad behavior.”
Not a day went by that he didn’t describe and redescribe the Leon hacienda. He made it sound so beautiful that for a while she lost track of what her real intentions were. It was as if the compound and its beautiful grounds could begin to mesmerize her even before she had arrived. It drove a cold, thin pin of fear into her heart. Perhaps she was underestimating the power of these people. Perhaps the danger was far greater than she could imagine.
It was not without the greatest trepidation, therefore, that she went up to her bedroom and began to pack the night before. Her hands trembled, and every once in a while she stopped herself to reconsider. But Drake was bouncing around her, asking her to take this and to take that.
“Don’t forget your necklace, of course. You want to be wearing that when we arrive. He’ll expect it and be disappointed if you’re not wearing it. Bring the dress you wore to Stoddard’s house. There’ll be a party. There’s a party there almost every night. Oh, and that new bathing suit I bought you.”
“But Drake, that’s so revealing.”
“You look great in it. Why not be proud of your figure? You have to realize,” he said, “Mr. Leon has guests from other parts of the world there—women from France, for example, who are used to bathing topless.”
“Topless? You don’t expect me—”
“Nobody pressures anyone there, honey. You will do what you feel like doing. Okay?” He slapped his hands together and looked around the room, his eyes so full of excitement that he looked as if he were on uppers. “Well, I’ll see how the children are doing.”
They were driving the children over to her parents’ house that night because the limousine was going to pick her and Drake up very early in the morning.
Although Drake made no attempt to make love to her the night before they left, she noted how restless he was. Sometime in the middle of the night he had to get up to take some aspirin, which was something he hadn’t done in a long time.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Just a little hyped up is all. I’m okay.”
She closed her eyes and fell asleep again. When she woke up in the morning she discovered that Drake had been up for some time. In fact, he had showered and dressed and brought their suitcases down to the front door. She couldn’t imagine anyone, even a child, being more excited about going on a trip. She might even have laughed at him if she didn’t sense the desperation in his face. He was so hyper he couldn’t sit still. Every few moments he went to the windows to look out in anticipation of the Leon limousine. Finally, she heard him cry out, “It’s here!”
She paused to look at herself one more time in the mirror, but he had come running up the stairs and was at the bedroom door.
“The limo’s here, honey.”
“All right, Drake. I’m coming,” she said. She gathered her things together and followed him down the stairs. He was already out in the driveway with their suitcases.
“Come on,” he called.
She stopped and looked around her house, getting the ominous feeling that she might just be seeing it for the last time. And then, smothering all hesitation and caution, she turned and walked out to get into the waiting limousine. The driver, whom she recognized from previous occasions, smiled at her before closing the door behind her. Drake was sitting with his hands in his lap, grinning like an obedient schoolboy. As soon as they were out of the driveway Drake took her hand.
“You’re never going to forget this, Cyn. Never.”
Her heart pounded so, she thought she would lose her breath, but she forced a smile and looked back only once.
They were on their way.
Paul Stoddard met them at the airport and led them out on the tarmac to board the Leon Enterprises jet. Cynthia couldn’t help but be impressed. She looked at the empty plane and then at Drake, who was beaming. They sat about midway, Drake taking the window seat. Paul sat across the aisle from them.
“The weather’s going to be perfect all weekend,” Paul said. “Sometimes I think Mr. Leon has control of that, too. It’s always perfect when I visit.”
“Did you ever visit with your wife?” Cynthia asked quickly.
“My wife?” He smiled, but she thought it was a very weak, insecure smile. “Yes, once. But that was before things turned bad for her,” he added.
“Haven’t you heard anything from the police?” she pursued. Drake squeezed her arm gently, but she ignored his warning. “Surely after so long a time there has to be some trace of her somewhere.”
Paul’s smile wilted.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s as if she disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Considering the state of mind she was in at the time, couldn’t she have done something harmful to herself?” Cynthia continued.
“Cynthia, please,” Drake said. “Paul’s suffering enough as it is without us reminding him.”
“No,” Paul said, forcing a smile, “it’s all right. Yes, I’ve thought about that, Cynthia. It’s very possible.”
“That she committed suicide?” Cynthia was relentless. Stoddard stared at her a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he softened.
“We have to consider that possibility very seriously, I’m afraid.”
Content with his admission, Cynthia turned to Drake. She fixed her gaze on him, but he turned to look out the window. The remainder of the trip was filled with small talk. Every once in a while Cynthia tried to bring the conversation around to Paul’s wife, asking questions about her personality, what he thought had depressed her. Paul’s answers were curt, and Drake always inserted some digression to get them off the topic.
Another Leon limousine awaited them at the airport in Florida.
“Nice to be treated so specially, isn’t it?” Drake said. “Especially when it’s all free.”
“Are you sure it is, Drake?” she asked sharply. He simply laughed, behaving as if he had missed her point.
“Of course it is. Everything belongs to the company.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean us, too,” she muttered, but neither Drake nor Paul heard her.
When the compound came into view Paul explained the reasons for the high electric fence and the security patrols and dogs, but she was overwhelmed with the beauty of the grounds—the fountains and pretty cottages, the elaborate gardens, fruit trees, and tall palm trees that bordered the property on every side. It was all so plush and colorful, with sprawling bougainvilleas threaded in and over the fencing. There seemed to be a small army of gardeners working on the flowers and bushes.
“How many people are employed here?” she asked.
“Counting the people who work in the Youth Hold factory, which is that building there,” Paul said, pointing, “about a hundred. There are nearly a dozen household employees alone. Mr. Leon has two chefs, one French, one Spanish, both world class.”
The limousine stopped at the gate, and the windows were lowered for the security guard to gaze into the car.
“Hello, Mr. Stoddard,” the young man said. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Drake Edwards?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay, sir,” he said, stepping back. He nodded to the driver, who proceeded up the driveway. Cynthia leaned forward and gazed in awe at the sprawling hacienda with its atriums, its marble steps, its stained-glass windows and colorful tiles.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Drake said.
“Breathtaking.”
The moment the car came to a stop two attendants rushed forward to get the luggage. Another security guard greeted them with the metal detector as they emerged. All of the security precautions frightened Cynthia.
