The word golden was appropriate. As Fortune magazine headlined a feature article a year after the new drug swept, like a tornado, upon the pharmaceutical scene:
FELDING-ROTH FINDS RICH IS BETTER
Fortune estimated that the first year of Peptide 7 sales would bring in revenues of six hundred million dollars. That and earlier estimates caused Felding-Roth shares, traded on the New York Stock Exchange, to go, in one broker's words, "through the roof into the stratosphere.”
Immediately after the drug's introduction the share price tripled in a month, doubled again within a year, and redoubled during the eight months following. After that, directors voted for a five-to-one split to keep the share price within a reasonable trading range. Even so, when accountants finished their arithmetic, the Fortune estimate proved low by a hundred million dollars. Something else Fortune said was, "Not since SmithKline's remarkable ulcer drug, Tagamet, was introduced in 1976 has there been any industrial product comparable with the phenomenon of Peptide 7.”
The success was not confined to money. Thousands upon thousands of middle-aged and elderly men and women were taking the drug, spraying it into nasal passages twice daily and proclaiming that they felt better, their memories were sharper, their general vigor enhanced. When asked if "vigor" included sexual energy, some replied frankly, yes, while others smiled, declaring that to be a private matter. The enhanced memory factor was regarded by medical experts as the most important. People taking Peptide 7 who once suffered from forgetfulness now remembered things. Many who previously had difficulty in recalling other people's names found that problem disappearing. Telephone numbers were recollected without effort. Husbands who formerly forgot them began remembering their wives' birthdays and wedding anniversaries. One elderly gentleman claimed to have memorized, without even trying, an entire local bus schedule. When put to the test by friends, he proved it true. Psychologists who devised "before and after" memory checks confirmed to their satisfaction that Peptide 7 worked. Though considered secondary to memory, the drug's anti-obesity effect quickly became indisputable and advantageous. Fat people, including those in lower age groups, lost unwanted weight and gained in general health. The effect was soon so widely accepted medically that Felding-Roth applied, in the United States, Britain and Canada, for an official weight-loss "indication" to be added to Peptide Ts authorized use. There seemed little doubt the applications would be approved. Throughout the world, other countries were rushing to approve Peptide 7 and obtain supplies. It was too early yet to know whether the drug would reduce the incidence of Alzheimer's disease. Such knowledge was several years away, but many lived in hope. One critical question was being asked. Was Peptide 7 being over- prescribed, as had happened with other medications in the past? The answer: almost certainly, yes. Yet what made Peptide 7 different from those others was that even when not needed, it did no harm. It was not addicting. Incredibly, adverse reports about its effects were almost nil. One woman wrote from Texas, complaining that each time she took a dose, and afterward had sexual intercourse, she ended with a headache. The report was passed routinely by Felding-Roth to the FDA, and also investigated. The matter was dropped when it was discovered the woman's age was eighty-two. A California man went to Small Claims Court, demanding that Felding-Roth be made to pay for a new wardrobe since his previous clothes were no longer usable after Peptide 7 caused him to lose thirty pounds of weight. The claim was contested and dismissed. Nothing more serious was reported. As for doctors, their enthusiasm seemed to have no limits. They recommended Peptide 7 to patients as being beneficial, safe, and one of history's great medical advances. Hospitals were using it. Doctors who enjoyed active social lives rarely went out to dinner or to a cocktail party without a prescription pad in pocket, knowing they would be asked for Peptide 7, and that obliging a host or hostess, or their friends, could lead to other invitations. On the subject of doctors, Celia said to Andrew, "For once you were wrong. Doctors weren't put off by all that publicity. In fact, it seems to have helped.”
"Yes, I was wrong," her husband admitted, "and you'll probably remind me of it for the rest of my life. But I'm happy to be wrong, and happiest of all for you, my love. You-and Martin, of coursedeserve everything that's come about.”
The publicity seemed to continue unabated, perhaps, Celia thought, because Peptide 7 was causing so much renewal of human happiness. In newspapers there were frequent references to the drug's effects, and on television it was talked about often. Bill Ingram reminded Celia, "You once told me the nature of TV would help us one day. It certainly has.”
Ingram, who had been promoted a year earlier to executive vice president, was carrying much of the load that Celia formerly had. Celia's main preoccupation nowadays was what to do with the money that was pouring in and, presumably, would continue to accumulate for years to come. Seth Feingold, now retired, had been retained as a consultant and appeared occasionally. During one meeting with Celia, a year and a half after Peptide Ts U.S. introduction, Seth cautioned, "You have to speed up decisions about how to spend some of that cash. If you don't, too much will be swallowed by taxes.”
One way of using cash was to acquire other companies. On Celia's urging, the board approved purchasing the Chicago firm which was making Peptide Ts containers. That was followed by acquisition of an Arizona concern specializing in new drug delivery systems. Negotiations to buy an optical company were under way. Many more millions would be spent on a new genetic engineering research center. There would be expansions overseas. A new company headquarters was planned, since the existing Boonton building had run out of space and some departments were housed in distant, rented quarters. The new structure would be in Morristown, with a hotel as part of a Felding-Roth high-rise complex. One purchase was a jet airplane-a Gulfstream 111. Celia and Ingram used it on their North American journeyings, more frequent now because of the company's widening activities. During Celia's meeting with Seth, he also said quietly, "One thing that's good about all this money coming in is that some of it can be used to settle claims about those poor Montayne-deformed children.”
"I'm glad of that too," Celia said. She had been aware for some time that the existing reserve fund being used by Childers Quentin for Montayne settlements was almost exhausted. Seth said sadly, "I'll never feel free from my guilt about Montayne. Never.”
Sharing the sober, reflective moment, Celia thought: Amid an enormous therapeutic and financial success, it was necessary and chastening to be reminded that grim failures were also part of pharmaceutical history.
Through all of Peptide Ts bountiful triumph, Martin Peat-Smith was, as the clicW went, in seventh heaven. Not even in the most optimistic moments had he ever imagined so much would be accomplished by his research into aging. Martin's name was now widely known, his person admired, respected and in demand. Praise and accolades poured in. He had been elected a member of the Royal Society, Britain's oldest scientific body. Other learned societies sought him as a speaker. There was talk of a future Nobel. A knighthood was rumored. Amid the attention, Martin managed to retain some privacy. His home telephone number was changed and unlisted. At the institute, Nigel Bentley arranged for Martin to be shielded from all but the most important calls and visitors. Even so, it was clear that Martin's earlier, inconspicuous life would never be the same again. Something else changed too. Yvonne decided to cease living with Martin, and to move into a flat in Cambridge. There was no quarrel or difficulty between them. It was simply that she resolved, quietly and calmly, to go her separate way. Recently Martin had been away from Harlow a good deal, leaving her alone, and at such times it seemed pointless to make the daily two-way Harlow-Cambridge journey. When Yvonne explained her reasoning, Martin accepted it uncritically, with understanding. She had expected him to put up at least a token argument, but when he failed to do so, she did not show her disappointment. They agreed they would see each other occasionally and remain good friends. Only Yvonne, when the moment came to leave, knew how sad, how torn she was inside. She reminded herself how happy she was with her veterinary studies; her third year had just begun. Immediately following the separation, Martin was away for a week. When he returned, it was to a darkened, empty house. It was more than five years since it had been that way, and he didn't like it. He liked it even less as another week passed. He found that he was lonely and missed the sight and cheerful chatter of Yvonne. It was, he thought on going to bed one night, as if a light in his life had abruptly gone out. Next day, Celia telephoned from New Jersey on a business matter and, near the end of their conversation, observed, "Martin, you sound depressed. Is anything wrong.”