For more than a month the miracle seemed to be working, and there were no side effects. Her skin was becoming noticeably softer and more supple. She was elated.
Screw NIH trials and the FDA, he then decided. It was working for Kristen. By God he would try it himself. He wasn't getting any younger.
But no sooner had he had the procedure too than Kristen started evidencing side effects. First it was little things, like lapses in short‑term memory. Next, as it got progressively worse, she could no longer remember why she was at the institute. Then she couldn't recall her name, where she lived. And now . . .
Could it be that God can't be cheated? And when it's tried, God brings down a terrible vengeance.
When they were outside in the hallway, he said, "I have a place on Park Avenue that's empty. At the moment. We used to spend weekends there and I can arrange for a full‑time nursing staff, all of it." He paused. "Has anybody called here about her lately?"
"Just her mother, Katherine, who's getting pretty frantic."
"The woman is unbalanced. Certifiable. God help us if—"
"I told her to see what she could find out from Kristen's publicist."
"Good." Bartlett had told Kristen's midtown publicity agent, the nosy Arlene of Guys and Dolls, Inc., that Kristen had gone to a private spa in New Mexico to rethink her career and didn't want to be disturbed. She desired complete solitude. Any communication with her would have to be handled through his office.
He looked at Van de Vliet. "Karl, tell me how bad it is for me now."