Chapter 1

Dr. Haleigh Hugo

Wednesday Morning

“You’re insane. I won’t listen to a moment more of this drivel.” Mrs. Roosevelt jumped up and headed for the door.

Outside at her desk, Ms. Katherine Lansing looked up from her typing. “Not a good session?”

“The man’s nuts.”

“Totally,” Ms. Lansing said. “I do understand, dear.”

“I’m not your dear.”

Ms. Lansing frowned. “But you still have twenty minutes on the clock. Why not go back in? You’re allowed a full fifty minutes every session.”

“The man’s a phony. Behind all his fancy leather chairs, cherry wood desk, and framed diplomas, he’s…well.” She waved her arms around. “He’s just full of hooey. Can you imagine what goes on in that man’s head? I certainly can’t.”

“His head. Yes, that would be a problem. Sometimes I just go with the flow. It’s all right, I’m sure. We will see you again on—” She glanced down and flipped a page in the doctor’s appointment book. “Looks like he’s got you scheduled for Tuesday next. We’ve had to move a few patients around to get everyone seen before the…um…event coming up, but we’ll fit you in. Would you like me to write—” She looked up at the empty space across from her. From somewhere down the hall, she heard retreating footsteps followed by the faint ding of the elevator bell, and then a door opening and closing.

* * * *

“How did she seem?” a soft voice asked from behind her.

“How do you think?” Ms. Lansing responded, without turning around. She’d worked for Dr. Haleigh Hugo several years, and it was a given she’d earned the right to say what she felt, when she felt it. “She was obviously very upset. What were you thinking? You’re going to lose all your patients if you keep on with this…what do you call it?”

“Progressive therapy.”

“I think you must be mad, Hal, just as she said, and what most of us have already suspected.”

“No, no,” he said. “She got the message. Means we’re right on target with her therapy protocol. Little by little the egg will walk.”

“What kind of nonsense is that? What egg? Eggs don’t walk.”

“Chickens do, in time. Old Ethiopian proverb.”

“Uh—huh. Like I said. Mad.”

“Katherine, you know we pride ourselves on the avant-garde, on the ultramodern therapeutic strategies that bring new hope to…well…seemingly hopeless cases. That’s what brings patients through our door.”

“Yes, and out again, like Mrs. Roosevelt.”

“Never let it be said we aren’t forward thinking.”

She paused a moment, then said, “Most of the time. You’re forward something I’m sure. I just don’t understand your methods, and this silly role-playing with your patients—Mrs. Roosevelt included—is bound to get you and Guy into a great deal of trouble with the AMA one day, or anyone else who’s crazy enough to look too closely into your methods.”

Hal flashed her a dazzling smile.

Ms. Lansing knew Dr. Hugo was extremely popular among his women patients. And, of course, the men, too, were attracted to his rough dark looks, slim build, and devil may care attitude. Everything about him absolutely screamed male model. GQ and Esquirebe damned!

“My methods have worked time and again,” he said. “You’ve seen the results, and in that woman’s case, the…uh…Roosevelt woman—who at times actually thinks she is Eleanor Roosevelt—giving in to her delusions and fantasies, is the prudent way to help her.”

“But I thought psychiatrists were supposed to rid people of fantasies. Why play in to them, encourage your patients in their false beliefs? Isn’t it all a bit…dangerous?”

“It can be I suppose, but we won’t know until we try.”

“Well, for now, let’s try and keep the “we” out of it,” Ms. Lansing said. “By the way, Guy came in while you were chatting up the First Lady. He was asking for you.”

“I’ll see him straight away.” He gave her a soft brotherly pat on the shoulder, and then let her get back to her computer, and a “to do” list that would keep her busy for most of the morning.

With no patients scheduled until early afternoon, her boss was free to do whatever he liked. She shuddered at the thought. 2: Office Mates

With his head bent over the desk studying his notes on a yellow legal tablet, Dr. Guy Sanford glanced up when his partner came into his office and quietly shut the door behind him. “Hal, I’m worried. I think—”

“That’s your problem, Guy, you think too much. Same for most of us so-called psychiatrists.” He walked over behind Guy’s chair and ran a finger across the nape of his partner’s neck. “Mmm. You’re quite warm. Have a temperature?”

“I’m fine. Just—”

“Worried. Yes, I know.” He put his hands lightly on Guy’s shoulders. “You need a little pick me up. How about a full body massage.”

“Right here in the office? You’re crazy.”

“Yes, Ms. Lansing said something of the sort a moment ago.”

“My God, it’s only ten AM. You’re insatiable. We barely slept last night. “

“Yes, well, you can’t lay allthe blame at my door. Seems you had quite a lot to do with it yourself.” Hal started to massage Guy’s shoulders.