The Inner Circle is a fictional study of how profound differences in human character directly relate to our nation's contemporary culture, the intense division of thinking, the change in the middle class, and the movement of wealth to a select few. The lives that are portrayed here-the characters, the thought processes, and the personal values-are of two sharply differing groups of people. In their ethical, intellectual, and humane daily pursuit of their personal and professional lives, the Edwards and O'Hara families find themselves confronted by the narcissism, arrogance, pretentiousness, and power of the Van Guilder and Maxwell families. Within the character of the Edwards and O'Hara families, there is respect for science and objective analysis, for ethnic diversity, empathy for those less fortunate, and knowledge of the need for change in a country facing desperate challenges. In contrast, the Van Guilder and Maxwell families, along with their inner circle of powerful friends at exclusive Hickory Hill Country Club, devote their efforts to the perpetuation of a dominant and ruling wealthy entitled-elite class. Their every thought and word supports this distinction without regard for the country's pressing problems or the less fortunate. The vastly different thought processes and values of these two groups can only result in open conflict in any interaction-and the forthcoming clash will be considerable.

The Inner Circle

By Edwin G. Rice

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 Edwin G. Rice
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-3605-8

Chapter One

"Could you please move!" It was not a question it was an order. She was standing inside the door to the lounge area off the pro shop when the two young women entered. Not within the stretch of anyone's imagination was she impeding their progress through the doorway or to the door to the women's locker room, their obvious objective.

In a moment the same young woman who had spoken turned toward the open Champion's Gallery on her left, smiled and called to a man seated there. "Mark darling, it will be about ten minutes; Father and Mother should be here any moment."

Neither her haughty and arrogant tone nor time were foremost in his mind as Mark Edwards rose from his easy chair and walked through the Gallery's open arch toward the young woman who was standing in silence backed again the far wall of the lounge. She saw it in his eyes. It was gone in an instant like a like a draft that had brushed across one's face. "Was it surprise or was it anger," she would later wonder. Hurt and apprehensive she was still looking at him as he approached and stopped at her side. Again his handsome face wore an expression that she would remember; it was kind; but even more it showed true concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Surprised again and not yet through fighting against a threatened flood of tears, she was able to whisper a reply, "I'm alright, thank you."

"You were treated very rudely; I'm very sorry. Is there anything that I can do or get for you?"

Near speechless she finally found the word and replied softly, "I'm fine, but thank you. It was nothing." For a moment he simply looked at her, then nodded, smiled and returned to his chair beneath a portrait in the elegant Gallery.

Moments later the nearby door to the men's locker room flew open; striding out was a big man whose over-bearing confidence was evident in every aspect of his carriage. Mark knew him; he was six feet four inches tall weighed at least 230 pounds had dark hair and the beginning of a paunch at his belt line. Even more recognizable to Dr. Mark Edwards were the man's voice and demeanor.

Not even glancing at the woman cowering by the south wall he strode toward the pro shop door loudly issuing an order as he passed her, "Come on, let's get going; I've got work to do."

In the now quiet Gallery, Mark Edwards seated there alone let his thoughts choose their direction. "Brock Sherman, the most abrasive man I've ever met on and off the golf course. He was rude to her too. Twice within minutes she had to take it.- The first time was from Deborah. Why? I've never seen her treat people like that before. Does she feel that her position in society gives her license to treat people that way? Wealth and elitist entitlement was that what it was all about? Yes and the young woman is Asian? I wonder?"

Sensing the warm beauty of the May evening and feeling the need for some fresh air, Mark Edwards rose, crossed the lounge and stepped out the side door onto the stone patio. After taking a deep breath he let his gaze sweep across the park-like beauty before him. Ahead was the gentle slope to the first tee which in the late spring evening was lush and green and lined by immaculately and meticulously tended flower beds of brilliant spring tulips in every possible color. The only sound was the soft shifting of the flag at the crest of the rise to his left as he turned his eyes to the manicured fairway of the first hole, its bordering shrubs and blossom covered trees.

Moments of quiet thought had passed when he heard sharply-edged call, "Mark darling, I said it would be only ten minutes, why didn't you wait inside for us? We had to have one of the boys look in the men's locker room for you."

Edwards' glance at his watch told him it had been twenty minutes and instant before he turned to the smiling and pretty woman standing in the open doorway behind him. Returning her smile he shrugged slightly, "It was a little stuffy in there, and it is so beautiful out here. It's really a very lovely evening."

"But Mark, we must go up for dinner now; father and mother are waiting for us, and Father doesn't like to wait."

"Yes, I suspect it is time," Edwards replied, "But perhaps we can walk around to the front entrance; as I said it's such a lovely evening."

Before climbing the steps to Hickory Hill's grand front entrance, Edwards paused to survey the vast green carpet-like expanse of the practice range and the incomparable floral landscaping before the elegant and sprawling club house. There he was struck by a sound; it was a voice, clearly familiar and angry. Glancing toward the nearby parking lot, Edwards saw in that instant another scene he would remember; that of Brock Sherman beside his familiar black Cadillac angrily berating the same silent and cowering young woman.

"Mark, is something the matter? Do come, they're waiting," Deborah whined.

Having turned toward the door and saying nothing, Edwards let his thoughts reflect upon the last minutes. "We are so privileged to be here amidst all this beauty. Nevertheless, not for a moment does it deny entry to that form of character which displays calculated rudeness such as I have seen today. Three times she was treated with actual and deliberate cruelty which she faced in dignified silence.

"Yes, she is so tragic and she is also very beautiful."

Chapter Two

"I'm sure that I've seen her before, but at the moment I just can't remember where," thought Mark Edwards sitting at his desk a day later. "Well I'd better write those progress notes and get back to the office for the morning clinic." Having finished his rounds and appropriately completed his records, he walked to the elevator and was shortly out the door crossing the parking lot when his cell phone buzzed.

"Good Monday morning, Mark. Where are you; on your way over I hope?"

The instant irritation that he felt was slight; but it was there and marked the second time in the last 24 hours that it had come. "What's Deborah's hurry this morning? She knows I need to make my rounds. The business, after all, of this organization is the practice of medicine. Taking care of the patients who have come to us and put their trust in us must come first. Ok Edwards, think about it, there are pressures on her too.

Minutes later she was a vision standing in the doorway to his office. Edwards could not fail to appreciate what he saw. She was slender, her smiling face was lovely, her hair was dark blond shoulder length; and she had assumed her familiar jaunty hand-on-hip posture as she watched him approach from the far end of the hall. Quickly he thought, "Yes, she is stunning and so endowed with confidence. All the hallmarks of her having come from wealth are there too; are they ever! How do the rich do it? Is it never having wanted for anything or having worried about money?-Can empathy and compassion be present at the same time? I simply don't know, but one wonders; or should I say that I'm beginning to have doubts."

"Hi Mark, it was fun at the club yesterday; don't you think so?" Deborah purred as Mark approached. "A day or two ago Father happened to mention that there is a membership opening right now. You probably could have it if you'd just apply."

Having reached her side, smiling he replied, "No Deborah, I can't have it; because I'm not going to apply, and that is because I can't afford it. You're in the business end of this organization and have access to my...