Master of the Game

"Mellis told me his wife is suffering from depression, that she’s talking about suicide."

"Yes, I can vouch for that. Alexandra came to see me a few days ago. I prescribed Wellbutrin. I’m quite concerned about her. What’s your impression of George Mellis?"

Peter said slowly, "I don’t know yet. I have a feeling he’s dangerous."

Dr. Keith Webster was unable to get Eve Blackwell out of his mind. She was like a beautiful goddess, unreal and untouchable. She was outgoing and vivacious and stimulating, while he was shy and dull and drab. Keith Webster had never married, because he had never found a woman he felt was unworthy enough to be his wife. Apart from his work, his self-esteem was negligible. He had grown up with a fiercely domineering mother and a weak, bullied father. Keith Webster’s sexual drive was low, and what little there was of it was sublimated in his work. But now he began to dream about Eve Blackwell, and when he recalled the dreams in the morning, he was embarrassed. She was completely healed and there was no reason for him to see her anymore, yet he knew he had to see her.

He telephoned her at her apartment. "Eve? This is Keith Webster. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I – er – I was thinking about you the other day, and I – I was just wondering how you were getting along?"

"Fine, thank you, Keith. How are you getting along?" There was that teasing note in her voice again.

"Jus – just fine," he said. There was a silence. He summoned up his nerve. "I guess you’re probably too busy to have lunch with me."

Eve smiled to herself. He was such a deliciously timid little man. It would be amusing. "I’d love to, Keith."

"Would you really?" She could hear the note of surprise in his voice. "When?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"It’s a date." He spoke quickly, before she could change her mind.

Eve enjoyed the luncheon. Dr. Keith Webster acted like a young schoolboy in love. He dropped his napkin, spilled his wine and knocked over a vase of flowers. Watching him, Eve thought with amusement, No one would ever guess what a brilliant surgeon he is.

When the luncheon was over, Keith Webster asked shyly, "Could we – could we do this again sometime?"

She replied with a straight face, "We’d better not, Keith. I’m afraid I might fall in love with you."

He blushed wildly, not knowing what to say.

Eve patted his hand. "I’ll never forget you."

He knocked over the vase of flowers again.

John Harley was having lunch at the hospital cafeteria when Keith Webster joined him.

Keith said, "John, I promise to keep it confidential, but I’d feel a lot better if you told me the truth about what happened to Eve Blackwell."

Harley hesitated, then shrugged. "All right. It was her brother-in-law, George Mellis."

And Keith Webster felt that now he was sharing a part of Eve’s secret world.

George Mellis was impatient. "The money is there, the will has been changed – What the hell are we waiting for?"

Eve sat on the couch, her long legs curled up under her, watching him as he paced.

"I want to get this thing over with, Eve."

He’s losing his nerve, Eve thought. He was like a deadly coiled snake. Dangerous. She had made a mistake with him once by goading him too far, and it had almost cost her her life. She would not make that mistake again.

"I agree with you," she said slowly. "I think it’s time."

He stopped pacing. "When?"

"Next week."

The session was almost over and George Mellis had not once mentioned his wife. Now, suddenly he said, "I’m worried about Alexandra, Dr. Templeton. Her depression seems to be worse. Last night she kept talking about drowning. I don’t know what to do."

"I spoke to John Harley. He’s given her some medication he thinks will help her."

"I hope so, Doctor," George said earnestly. "I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to her."

And Peter Templeton, his ear attuned to the unspoken words, had the uneasy feeling he was witnessing a charade. There was a deadly violence in this man. "Mr. Mellis, how would you describe your past relationships with women?"

"Normal."

"Did you ever get angry with any of them, lose your temper?"

George Mellis saw where the questions were leading. "Never." I’m too damned smart for you, Doc. "I told you, I don’t believe in violence."

It was butchery, Peter. He smashed her cheekbone, broke her nose and three ribs, and burned her buttocks and the soles of her feet with cigarettes.

"Sometimes," Peter said, "to some people violence provides a necessary outlet, an emotional release."

"I know what you mean. I have a friend who beats up whores."

I have a friend. An alarm signal. "Tell me about your friend."

"He hates prostitutes. They’re always trying to rip him off. So when he finishes with them, he roughs them up a little – just to teach them a lesson." He looked at Peter’s face, but saw no disapproval there. Emboldened, George went on. "I remember once he and I were in Jamaica together. This little black hooker took him up to a hotel room, and after she got his pants off, she told him she wanted more money." George smiled. "He beat the shit out of her. I’ll bet she won’t try that on anyone again."

He’s psychotic, Peter Templeton decided. There was no friend, of course. He was boasting about himself, hiding behind an alter ego. The man was a megalomaniac, and a dangerous one.

Peter decided he had better have another talk with John Harley as quickly as possible.

The two men met for lunch at the Harvard Club. Peter Templeton was in a difficult position. He needed to get all the information he could about George Mellis without breaching the confidentiality of the doctor-patient relationship.