Unorthodox Methods, First Dose

*Author's note -- if you enjoy the Ambushed series, here's a little tale about a psychologist using that same aphrodisiac for therapy purposes.

**********

"Thank you all for coming. Now that we're all here, let's get started."

Dr. Christopher Kapule seated himself comfortably between two of his clients and looked around the circle of chairs. Four couples stared back at him with expressions ranging from apathy to mild interest. His dark Hawaiian features were warmly gentle, conveying a mixture of reassurance and confidence. A psychologist who specializes in marriage counseling, Chris had built a successful practice in Colorado before embarking on a more ambitious -- and experimental -- form of therapy. His endless networking in community and mental health circles guaranteed a steady stream of clients, and the group before him represented a small handful of the couples he was currently counseling using standard and approved methods. However, he was about to propose a new program of treatment for the assembled couples that was anything but orthodox.

A plain-looking, easy-going man in his early forties, Chris frequently chafed under the stringent guidelines imposed on counseling services in the United States. His novel approach was as much an act of rebellion as it was a genuine concern for his clients. He was tall, lean, and still boasting a full head of pitch-black hair. His colleagues teased him about dying his shaggy mop, but Chris could honestly admit that the frost hadn't touched his head yet. He was Hawaiian born, although only his mother was ethnically Hawaiian. His father had been a fair-skinned navy pilot of mixed European ancestry who died in an accident when Chris was very young. Based on his mother's recollections, the only characteristics Chris had inherited from his father were blue eyes, a love of flying, and a distaste for rules.

"Now," he began, glancing around and smiling. "Before anyone freaks out: no, this is not a group therapy session."

Chuckles sounded around the circle, and Chris noted that several members of the group visibly relaxed.

"Every year I offer four couples the opportunity to take part in a special program, an experimental form of therapy that is somewhat outside the bounds of everyday counseling. The program runs for two weeks, and during that time you are free to relax and enjoy yourselves as you wish, at my treat."

"I'm not following you," Andrew Lee spoke up, frowning. He was of mixed Asian-European ancestry, good-looking and intelligent, with an advanced degree in engineering and a well-paid job with a private firm outside Boulder. "What do you mean, 'my treat?' Are we going somewhere?"

Chris nodded. "An old friend of mine owns a small island off the coast of Costa Rica. For most of the year, it's a vacation resort for the rich and shameless." More chuckles. "During the hottest month, though, he allows me the run of the place, and I've been using it as an ideal setting for my latest therapy techniques. The island is exceptionally beautiful -- a true tropical paradise -- although I don't have the money to staff it properly for your needs. In other words, if someone poops in the pool, we have to clean it up ourselves."

"Sounds pretty isolated," Davon Michaels muttered after the laughter died down, a slight frown on his face. Davon was ex-military, and he worked as an analyst for a big insurance firm. He was a light-skinned, shorter-than-average Black man who kept himself fit and muscular. Chris suspected he was slightly obsessive-compulsive, but the more charitable could argue that he was simply a highly organized individual.

"It is isolated," Chris agreed smoothly. "It's a very small island, though, only about five square miles. You fly into San José and stay the night at the Holiday Inn near the airport. I'll pick you up the next morning. We'll head down to Punta Morales, pile in my friend's boat, and within a few hours you're baking in the sun on a lovely tropical beach with a cool drink."

"And this is therapy?" Trina Lee asked, incredulous and amused. She was a swarthy beauty of Middle Eastern descent, petite and fiery of temperament. She had pulled her long black hair back into a ponytail, and she was fidgeting with one of the rips in her 'distressed' jeans. Chris knew what the fiddling fingers meant; she and Andrew had been fighting before they arrived.

"The therapy is . . . built-in, you might say," Chris replied carefully. "Each of you will have an itinerary, a list of 'tasks' that you will need to accomplish each day. Here's the catch, though: you won't be paired with your spouse when you are assigned a task. You'll go in pairs, maybe a small group of three or four, but your partner probably won't be in it. The mornings and evenings are yours to do as you wish, but from 11am to 5pm, you must take part in the activities I assign."

The group quietly absorbed his words, glancing at the others around the circle.

"I'll cover the costs of the hotel rooms at the airport, and the island will be stocked with food, drink, and most anything else you might need. All you must do is pay your airfare and secure passports if you don't already have one. Bring bathing suits, shorts, tank tops, sunscreen, sandals, and some decent hiking shoes, and you'll be fine. There will be two others on the island with us. My brother's wife Adalia is familiar with the resort, and she'll try to help you find anything you might need, like, oh, extra towels for the bathrooms, that sort of thing. My old friend Jeru will also be there. He owns the island, so he can handle any difficulty that might arise. He's also an outstanding cook, and he happily volunteers every year to play chef for my little venture."

There was an uncertain pause around the group as they considered his proposal. "So why us?" Rebecca Daniels asked carefully, her suspicious eyes boring into Chris's face. "I don't know any of the people here, and they don't know me. I don't mean any offense to any of you, but I don't usually take a vacation with strangers, especially to such an isolated location. All kinds of things can go wrong with this arrangement." Chris knew Rebecca didn't trust him. She had recently suggested to her husband that they find another therapist. Chris was, frankly, at a loss to understand her animosity toward him. Rebecca was a former champion swimmer, good enough to compete for the Olympics team, although she hadn't made the final cut. Her form had filled out into plenty of curves after she stopped swimming competitively, and she now appeared to be the stereotypical buxom blonde. Rebecca was far from the bimbo her appearance might suggest, however. She was an intelligent, successful businesswoman, owning a small but popular clothing franchise that had just recently celebrated the opening of its fifth store in Denver.

Now it was Chris's turn to pause. He glanced around the circle again. He couldn't tell them the complete truth. A critical factor in offering this opportunity to these couples over his other clients was their physical allure. Andrew and his little wife Trina both had an exotic, multicultural attractiveness that was almost mesmerizing. Davon was pure muscle, and his wife Kiandra was as small as Trina but more voluptuous, owning the typical 'Black-woman' curves. Together, they were an urbane, impeccably dressed, and charmingly polite African American couple. Bald, charismatic, and overweight Chance was a jocular counterpoint to his disagreeable but beautiful Rebecca, and tall, willowy Samantha had the hippy good looks of yesteryear, a perfect complement to her long-haired rocker husband Deacon. These four couples were the most attractive clients he was currently treating, and his unusual program seemed to achieve better results when his clients possessed an above-average degree of desirability. He couldn't tell them that, of course, but fortunately he could share with them a more important factor in inviting them.

"I can't tell you everything that went into your selection because that would have an influence on the outcome," he replied truthfully. "Look, many people seek counseling to repair their marriages, and I hate to admit it, but all too often it's abundantly apparent right at the outset that I won't be able to help them. Other times, it's a quick, easy fix and the marriage is back on track. Then there are the borderline cases. I call them 'borderline' because they could so easily go one way or the other, it just takes a little nudge. All of you represent my current borderline cases. It's frustrating for me because each of you genuinely love your partner. If you doubt that, don't. After over six months working with all of you, I can make that claim with confidence."

There was some uncomfortable shuffling of feet.

"The problems you face in your marriages have more to do with outside pressures than inner conflicts. Those pressures, however, are not easy to resolve, thus difficulties manifest in your marriage. You haven't separated before now because it's just not easy to throw away years of sincere love and affection for each other. Andrew and Trina feel very strong ties to their families, yet their families, unfortunately, actively disapprove of and try to undermine their marriage over a variety of racial and religious disagreements. A collapsing business and financial troubles are testing the bonds between Deacon and Samantha. Davon is still haunted by his experiences as a soldier, and Kiandra is at her wit's end trying to cope. Chance and Rebecca battle over too much work and not enough play." Chris spread his hands in a gesture of sympathy. "You all have legitimate challenges testing your marriages, and you are all committed to overcoming those challenges."

He noted a few flushed faces, and he held up his hand to prevent an outburst.

"That's privileged information, by the way," he added wryly, squinting around the circle. "Please don't share that outside this group. You're right, Rebecca. You don't know them, and they don't know you. You all have something very powerful in common, however, and in my experience that's usually enough to start a friendly conversation, at least. In any event, you don't have to all become friends. You just have to occasionally work together on some projects that I hope you find interesting. I really think this treatment might be just the thing to tip you over into the 'recovery' zone and save your marriages."

"How many other couples have gone through this treatment?" Chance asked curiously.

"I've taken eight couples out to the island in the past two years, and seven of them are still together. That's a darn good success rate."

"Not a large sample size," Chance chuckled, running his hand over his shaved head. "You aren't going to get that published."

"Not yet," Chris laughed agreeably. "I need more data. Still, it bodes well. I'll give you the phone numbers of two couples who consented to speak to future clients, and you can ask them whatever you like. They can't disclose everything, of course, but they should be able to put your mind at ease."

Samantha had leaned back in her chair, her vivid, tired green eyes lost in thought. "It would be so excellent to sit on a beach and forget about life for a while," she sighed. "I so need this."

Deacon was nodding while she spoke. "Damn right," he murmured, reaching out to hold her hand briefly.

"I'm not thrilled with being separated from my husband during couples counseling, though," Rebecca growled, folding her arms defensively. "Defeats the whole point, doesn't it?"

"Well, we could consider it a mini-vacation from our spouses," Kiandra pointed out, smiling apologetically at her husband. "Sounds like we could use that break."

Chris broke in to forestall any further conversation. "If you want to talk it over among yourselves, that's fine, but I have another session starting in fifteen minutes. I've left all the details for the trip in the folders on the desk over there. If you're in, call the number in the folder and I'll make the arrangements. I need to know by the end of next week, so don't get sidetracked by life's little struggles. I really hope you'll agree to go. I'm convinced this treatment will be extremely valuable to each of you, and not just for your marriage."

As he expected, all four couples eventually agreed to go, and as usual, he had felt a momentary pang of guilt over his deceptions.

**********

The group's reaction to the island's amenities was gratifying. The palatial lobby was refreshingly cool and inviting to a cluster of sweating and tired travelers, some still recovering from a brief bout of seasickness. The rooms were full suites, and each of them opened out directly to the Olympic-sized swimming pool. Jeru, a massive dusky-hued man born and raised in Calcutta, piloted the boat. He circled the island before they disembarked on the south shore dock, proudly pointing out the white-sand beaches ringing the island and the picturesque ridges on the northwestern rim. Jeru was jovial to a fault, and his booming laughter and heavily accented speech were infectious. He walked them through the small resort, indicating all the various rooms and features they might need while they were guests on his island. He also handed each of them a small walkie-talkie. These were devices the staff would normally use to keep in touch with each other during the day, but with no staff on the island, this would be their best way to communicate with each other or with Jeru, Adalia, and Dr. Kapule.

Since it was so late in the day, Chris decided it would be best for everyone to relax, get over jet lag, and start fresh the next day. He added that Adalia was manning the bar outside by the pool, and that she made a wicked margarita. Within ten minutes, every couple was either in the pool or sitting comfortably nearby. A few of the guys couldn't help but gawk at Adalia, her red bikini struggling to contain her ample curves. Chris's brother had met her while on a cruise to Mexico six years ago, and most of the time she was an affable, if discontented, trophy wife. She had agreed to aid Chris with his new therapy out of curiosity and boredom, but after her experiences during the first two-week session, she had enthusiastically taken part in the project each year since. All the wives were in swimsuits except pale-skinned Samantha, who lounged in plaid cargo shorts and a loose white t-shirt. The men wore swim trunks, with Chance the only one keeping his t-shirt on.

Chris watched them from the lobby windows. Trina and Kiandra seemed to have taken to each other, chatting away at the bar while Davon listened nearby. Rebecca and Chance lay in the water on the steps in the shallow end, talking quietly, their eyes closed. Andrew had sauntered off to the edge of the patio area, gazing into the distance. He seemed quite impressed with the view of the beaches. Samantha was stretched out on a lounger, looking like she was ready for sleep, and Deacon rested his legs in the water near her, drinking a beer. As far as Chris could tell, no one looked uncomfortable. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jeru beckon him with a wave. He nodded, and then followed his big friend into a small, locked room just outside the main lobby.

"All set?" Chris asked.

Jeru nodded. "I tested it yesterday," he said. "One of the beach cameras isn't working, but the other two cover enough space that we shouldn't miss anything."

"Good. The dispersion units?"

"Operational," he chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

Jeru had finished booting up the system, and the various monitors in the room began to light up with images from the island. "Adalia tested the kitchen unit on me, the conniving witch," he grinned. "I didn't know you had put one in there. So, there I am, chopping up vegetables for a nice stew recipe I picked up from my ex-wife, and the next thing I know Adalia walks into the kitchen, and . . ."

Chris shook his head, unamused. "I'll have to talk to her about that. We need to be careful in its use."

"We were the only ones here," Jeru assured him.

"I know, but it's still important to follow protocol." He glanced down at his notes. "Okay, I'm putting together the itinerary. Anyone catch your eye?"

"They are all quite lovely, aren't they?" Jeru asked rhetorically, glancing at the two monitors focused on the nearby pool. "The little women at the bar spark my fancy the most, I'd say, but I'm not going to be picky."

They spent a few minutes watching the group interact, Chris looking for the telltale signs of physical attraction among them. Davon kept shifting his gaze to Rebecca, watching her as she floated serenely in the water. Andrew seemed to do the same; that is, once he had yanked his gaze away from the gorgeous beaches in the distance. For her part, Rebecca seemed to notice that both men were sneaking glances at her, and Chris saw a slight, pleased smile briefly touch her face. Chance, floating next to Rebecca, was watching the wives at the bar, and Chris didn't blame him. Between Adalia's prominent chest and two perfect bikini-clad butts turned his direction, the scenery was very appealing. Deacon and Samantha were harder to read since they both seemed more tired than interested in anyone around them. Occasionally, Trina and Kiandra would turn in their seats and look out over the group, and Chris could see that their eyes lingered briefly on the lanky, tattooed Deacon.

He nodded to himself and began jotting notes. Jeru kept looking at the monitors. "What do you think?" he asked.

"We'll go easy for a couple of days, let everyone acclimate. Then we'll start. First, I think Adalia will take Chance on a hike to the north side bungalow. I think I can convince Deacon to give music lessons to Trina and Kiandra in the presidential suite, too. You still have those acoustic guitars?"

"Four of them, gathering dust in storage."

"As luck would have it, Andrew, Kiandra, and Davon can't swim. I discovered that on the trip out here. I'll have Rebecca give the men swimming lessons. Samantha will come share the kitchen with you for the afternoon, and you can teach her some of your easier recipes. I'll run everything from here."

"And in the meantime?"

"Relax and have a good time. I'll put out any small fires that should erupt along the way. I doubt they will, though. These folks are committed to putting their troubles on hold and making the most of this vacation."

Jeru nodded, and quickly left to begin prepping dinner. Chris stared at the monitors, trying to predict any of the myriad ways his therapeutic approach might fail.

**********

There were some hard looks directed his way two days later when he announced the day's activities during their morning brunch in the dining room.

"A hike?" Chance groaned.

"It will be good for you, honey," Rebecca grinned.

"I need to lose weight, sure, but I'd rather not sweat away fifty pounds in one day," he complained.

"Adalia will guide you, Chance," Chris smiled, nodding toward his sister-in-law who stood nearby, wearing an expensive-looking camera around her neck. Rebecca's grin faded. Except for Samantha, the women seemed to be somewhat intimidated by Adalia's beauty. "There's a bungalow on the north ridge," Chris continued. "The views are spectacular, so while you are there, I want you to get as many photographs as possible of whatever suits you. Capture the magnificence of this island vacation on film, and Adalia will process the pics when you get back. She'll also keep you from falling off the ridge and breaking your neck."

"Rebecca, your task is to teach our non-swimmers Andrew and Davon how to swim." This time, Chance frowned slightly. Chris chuckled inwardly at the implicit jealousies evident in Rebecca and Chance's behaviors. "The three of you will spend the day here at the pool, and by the end of your scheduled time, I expect to see these two freestyling from one end of the pool to the other."