Under the Knife

by Diane Fanning

  When his clients got prescriptions for Stadol from their doctors, to relax them during laser procedures, Dean often pocketed the slightly used bottles while the customer was too dazed to notice. If one of them called about it after his head cleared, he found it easy to believe Dean’s denial, and to suspect that he had lost it someplace else.

  AFTER DEAN MOVED INTO HIS UPPER EAST SIDE OFFICE, DR. Polis was flipping through New York magazine. An ad for the opening of a new laser clinic and multi-specialty medical center caught her eye. The marketing angle replicated the one she used for her own business.

  She looked closer, her curiosity transforming into surprise, then sinking in a queasy recognition of betrayal. The director and laserist listed in the ad for this new center was none other than Dean Faiello. He’d manipulated her sympathy with a tale of fatal illness and, under a cloak of deception, used her expertise to further his own business objectives.

  She knew New York state did not require a medical license to operate a laser—not for hair removal. But Dean offered more. He described himself as a medical practitioner well versed in laser technology and willing to remove “ugly brown spots” and other lesions.

  Dr. Polis was alarmed. How could Dean know the difference between harmless benign solar lentigines and the deadly lentigo maligna melanomas? She knew his lack of medical training put his clients at risk. From Dr. Polis’ viewpoint, it was clear that Dean was practicing medicine without a license.

  She went to her computer and logged on to the Internet, pulling up the website for Dean’s business, SkinOvations. Once again, she faced a marketing message that mimicked her own. Now she knew why Dean was so eager and active in their marketing meetings.

  The website claimed that SkinOvations had a number of medical practitioners on staff. Dr. Polis called the office number. From the woman at the front desk, she learned that the whole business consisted of the receptionist, Dean Faiello and a single treatment room with a laser machine.

  Dr. Polis believed she had an ethical responsibility to take action when she observed someone posing a medical risk to public safety. Someone had to protect Dean’s clients. She called the state department of education and got nowhere. She called the state health department, who told her that they could not take action until they had a consumer complaint about a violation of public health regulations.

  She found no help at the police department, either. “What crime is he committing if it’s not illegal for him to run a laser?” they asked.

  When she called the state attorney general’s office, they referred her to District Attorney Robert Morganthau. His office referred her in turn to the assistant district attorney’s office, but did not name any particular individual as a contact. She left repeated messages, but no one ever returned her calls.

  She contacted the federal Drug Enforcement Agency, but they insisted it was not a drug problem and not in their jurisdiction. The Better Business Bureau claimed they could do nothing about his false advertising. The state Department of Consumer Affairs said it was a matter for the legal authorities. Unfortunately, they were unable to tell her which legal authority would be most likely to take action.

  After exhausting every possible government organization that popped into her head—she made fifty-four phone calls before she lost count—Dr. Polis called New York magazine to complain. “We take money for advertising, label it as advertising, but we do not assume any responsibility for the content.”

  Dr. Polis brought up the issue at several dermatology meetings. The other physicians shared her concerns, but did not know who she could contact to stop Dean Faiello. One physician expressed interest in helping her in her quest—the director of the Laser & Skin Surgery Center of New York, Dr. Roy Geronemus.

  He’d heard Dean Faiello’s name before. Patients arrived in his office with scarring and permanent changes in skin pigmentation over the treated areas. Some received treatments in spas from uncertified practitioners. Some visited physicians who were not dermatologists or plastic surgeons—just doctors who got a laser, attended a crash weekend course and expanded their practice in pursuit of a quick buck. In one case, a model’s career was cut short after an oral surgeon used a laser to remove a lesion on her face and left a large scar on her lip.

  With increasing frequency, these scarred patients mentioned the name of Dr. Dean Faiello. The damage-causing treatments they received at his hands included hair removal, but also the removal of lesions and tattoos. Dr. Geronemus decided to check out Dr. Faiello and discovered that he did not possess a license to practice medicine in the state of New York.

  Now he, too, was concerned about this fake doctor. “You must have training in the presenting problem as well as in the device being used,” he said. “You have to have sufficient knowledge and education to exercise clinical judgment, because lasers interact with the skin in different ways, depending on a patient’s age, skin type and skin color.

  “Entrepreneurial types like Dean Faiello believe they can operate this machinery based on technical knowledge but without medical training. As a result, they’re flying under the radar and hurting people.”

  Dr. Geronemus filed a complaint about Dean’s unlicensed practice of medicine with the Office of Professional Discipline at the state department of education. Then he waited for them to do the right thing.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IN EARLY 1998, AFTER THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN DEAN and Jason fell apart, Dean partied one night at G, a Chelsea bar he’d frequented for years. It was the beginning of his relationship with event planner Greg Bach.

  Greg’s father was a cowboy and a rancher who went back to school and earned a degree in Chemical Engineering. He worked for an American-owned company that had transferred him, his wife and two children from the hot, nearly tropical environment of San Antonio, Texas, to Alberta, Canada. Two additional children were born to the Bach family before Greg came along on July 5, 1960. He grew up with two brothers and two sisters in Montreal.

  At the age of four, he started training for competitive swimming, spending two to six hours in the water every day. At 14, he swam in his first international competition. When he turned 16, he made the national team. His events were the 100-meter and 200-meter breast stroke. He competed in the Pan American Games, Commonwealth Games and in the World Championships for four years as an internationally ranked swimmer.

  While still competing, Greg moved to New York City—where he’d fantasized about living for most of his life. But he found the price tag for living in the city of his dreams too steep for a swimmer.

  The discounted flights from New York to London were enticing, and the 20-year-old eventually decided to pack his bags and move to England. He found a job modeling in Europe. He remained on that side of the Atlantic for four years. The magical pull of New York tugged at his heart strings the whole time he was gone.

  In 1984, he returned to Manhattan to study art and design. He attended the National Academy of Design and the School of Visual Arts. As he studied, he experimented with sculpture and discovered his medium—human figurative sculpting in sand. He rendered oversized figures on the beaches of Fire Island and East Hampton, photographing their demise as the tide rolled in and wiped them away. The end result was a poetic and allegoric series of shots depicting gradual destruction. He had no way of knowing that his art foreshadowed his life. As the sand returned to the sea, he couldn’t know that one day he would watch a different force wipe away the life of a person dear to him—Dean Faiello.

  Greg’s sand-sculpting project brought him in contact with a major event designer who hired him as a freelancer to create huge bird sculptures out of moss, palms and orchids for an event at The Metropolitan Opera House. He hired Greg again to paint a backdrop for a boy’s bar mitzvah celebration. That led to a full-time position in the company’s floral department.

  Greg enjoyed event work and saw the need for a business that could provide the same service on a smaller scale for more modest events. He stepped out on his own
to fill that need. Through the New York City Business Solutions Center he found mentoring support and seminars that provided the information he needed to face critical business issues and increase his odds of success. Small businesses often come to an end because their owners are unaware of business taxes and other regulatory issues, or through a lack of proper planning. Greg availed himself of all the resources he could find to increase his likelihood of success.

  His entrepreneurial effort was in its earliest stages when he first started dating Dean. That wasn’t the first time, though, that Greg had noticed him. The two men had been in their early twenties when the initial encounter took place. Greg thought Dean was absolutely gorgeous. He was smitten at first sight.

  After a few occasions in which both were at the same place at the same time, Greg finally got up the nerve to approach Dean. It took a lot of gumption for a quiet guy like Greg. It seemed a crowd of people engulfed Dean wherever he went. The first conversation was a flop. Greg felt awkward. Dean looked bored.

  A couple of years after that fruitless encounter, Greg walked into a bar and spotted Dean sitting at a table by himself. He still nurtured an enormous crush on Dean and could not believe his luck.

  The two men talked together for an hour and a half. Then, Dean gave Greg a ride home. As Greg left the car, the two exchanged phone numbers. To Greg’s dismay, Dean never called.

  A while later, Greg was at a friend’s house watching a video of a birthday party on Fire Island. There was Dean. But he wasn’t alone. He was with Michael Hart and it was obvious that the two men were involved in a relationship.

  His heart sighed and Greg let go of his infatuation. Still, in the back of his mind he retained an image of Dean as his ideal. He wanted someone in his life with Dean’s good looks and a house outside of the city. It would be a perfect arrangement—Greg’s apartment in town and a getaway outside of Manhattan for when they wanted to escape the bustle.

  The night that Dean and Greg both ended up at G, Greg did not at first recognize Dean—a lot of time passed since the last time their paths crossed and they’d both aged a bit. Christopher Buczek offered to re-introduce Greg to Dean. As they approached, Christopher whispered, “Be sure to tell Dean you’re an internationally ranked swimmer. Dean thinks swimmers are really sexy.”

  Greg and Dean spent hours together that evening. Greg parted from him in a state of enchantment. The next day, Dean sealed the deal—he sent Greg a dozen red roses.

  A few nights later, when they were together again, Greg confessed, “I’m seeing a lawyer on Long Island.”

  “Oh, no problem,” Dean flipped back, “I can handle the competition.”

  Greg never thought about that lawyer again. The new couple dated in earnest, enjoying nights at the theater, going to movies and dining at nice restaurants. Together they went to see Jason Opsahl perform in The Full Monty and Broadway Bares. They had a particularly good time at the Actors’ Equity Show, a one-night benefit performance where actors put on an impromptu musical with script books in hand.

  As a rule, Dean paid—and in cash, from a perpetual wad often exceeding $2,000. One notable exception was the night of Dean’s birthday. Greg treated Dean to a Broadway showing of Rent. They talked on the phone every night for hours, yearning for more time together.

  Soon, nightly phone calls weren’t enough. The couple wanted to be together every night. They had the set-up that Greg had dreamed about—Greg’s convenient mid-town apartment near Penn Station and Dean’s home outside of the city in the peace of Forest Hill.

  By New York standards, their living expenses were quite low for a dual-dwelling pair. Greg’s rent was reasonable. Dean rented out the top floor of his carriage house. After that money went toward his mortgage payment, Dean only needed to shell out an additional $800 each month. The two spent weekends at Dean’s house and stayed at Greg’s place in Manhattan during the week.

  Dean’s weekday routine rarely varied. He slept away most of the morning and opened his office between noon and 1 P.M., Tuesday through Saturday. He worked until 8 or 9 o’clock at night. It was a smart business move to offer these unconventional hours. It allowed his clients to manage the expensive laser hair removal treatments with a bit more ease, since they did not have to take off work to get an appointment.

  After Dean left the office for the evening, he usually stopped by the Equinox gym and lifted weights. Then, he’d grab dinner and take it back to Greg’s apartment. Typically, he’d surf the Internet until sometime after midnight, then head off to bed. Quite the party boy in the eighties, Dean slowed down considerably in the late nineties as he approached his fortieth birthday. For a while, life for Greg and Dean was quiet and domestic.

  Both men were open with their families about their relationship. They spent time together with them regularly, receiving affection and acceptance on both sides. “My mother loved Dean,” Greg said, “because I loved him.”

  One day in October 1998, Greg Bach was stunned when, without any warning, Dean seemed to disappear off the face of the earth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FRUSTRATED BY HER INABILITY TO FIND ANYONE WILLING TO stop Dean Faiello’s illegal practice, Dr. Polis struggled to put the former employee out of her mind. Then she received a notice from a health insurance plan that listed her as a participating provider. “Why,” they wanted to know, “are you writing so many prescriptions for Dean Faiello for Stadol?”

  She paused for a moment to process the question. She was not familiar with that drug. She feared that a pad was stolen from her office and her signature forged. Dr. Polis called the company, telling them, “I have written no such prescription. I would like to see a copy of the actual script.”

  The health insurance office faxed her a copy and she knew right away that it was fraudulent. It was written on a page from an old pad she’d put in a bin for shredding some time ago—one with a defunct telephone number printed on it. She thought all of those old pads had been destroyed. The signature looked nothing like hers. Someone had to listen to her now; Dean’s forgery violated the law without question.

  This time, the Drug Enforcement Agency returned her call immediately. Now, they were interested. At their instruction, she visited three separate police precincts and filled out paperwork, reporting Dean’s theft and forgery. At one precinct, she overheard the officers mention Dr. Andrew Reyner as another physician connected to Dean. She assumed that he was a victim of theft, too. She had no idea that Dr. Reyner was a willing accomplice.

  LAW ENFORCEMENT ATTENTION ZEROED IN ON DEAN FAIELLO. One of Dean’s former employees confirmed that Dean had in fact stolen prescription pads from Dr. Polis before he left his job at her SoHo clinic. He also voiced suspicions that Dean was performing the types of laser surgery that require a medical license. Authorities arrested Dean and charged him with possession of a controlled substance, forgery and possession of a forged instrument.

  Greg spent three days wondering and worrying about what happened to Dean before he got a call. Dean explained that he was at his sister Debra’s house and that he’d been busted. His Dad, Sam, posted his bail and got him out of jail.

  IN NOVEMBER, DEAN PLED GUILTY TO THE LESSER MISDE meanor charge of possession of a forged instrument. The judge sentenced him to 3 years of probation and mandatory drug rehabilitation.

  Dean spent six weeks in upstate New York receiving treatment at a clinic. When he returned home, Greg was waiting. He could not abandon Dean in his time of need—Greg loved him. Dean said to Greg, “If anything happens to me, I want to bequeath my house to you. You love this house more than I do.” Greg was touched; it reinforced his belief in Dean’s love.

  Greg celebrated Dean’s new sobriety by throwing a magnificent Christmas Eve dinner party for both of their families at the Newark house. As a professional event planner, Greg knew how to create the perfect occasion. The house and grounds were a Christmas wonderland once again. A tall, symmetrical Christmas tree covered with unique gold and red ornaments and tiny
white lights set the mood. The dining room with its red walls was the centerpiece. The dining table sat before a large window and gleamed from the brilliant glow of wall sconces. On its surface, clusters of red roses and bows complemented silver serving pieces, crystal goblets rimmed with gold and bright white dinner plates on golden chasers. Madame Jeritza would have been delighted by Greg’s holiday transformation of the home.

  Dean’s mother Carmel, his sister Debra and her partner, a New Jersey state public defender, mingled with Greg’s parents and family. No one knew that Carmel Faiello’s body—in remission from uterine cancer for years—was about to betray her once again.

  SKINOVATIONS, ALTHOUGH DORMANT FOR WEEKS, WAS WAITING for Dean’s return to pump up business and get income flowing. The time spent away from his office created serious financial difficulties. Greg loaned him $8,000 to get current on his mortgage payment.

  Dean’s new commitment to abstinence from drugs and alcohol made it possible for him to work hard and regain his footing. He expanded his work week to six days—Tuesday through Sunday—which, combined with longer work days, brought in the cash he needed to get up to date on his laser equipment leases and put his economic life back on track. He faithfully paid Greg $600 every month toward his debt.

  Dean’s CPE license lapsed at the end of 1998. He had not reported any CEUs (Continuing Education Units) to the American Electrology Association. Dean had taken classes but had not kept up on the paperwork. This lapse was not unusual for someone in his field. Many electrologists neglect to renew their membership in the organization and yet continue to practice, placing “CPE” after their names. The certification, after all, bears no legal significance. Many believe that once earned, a CPE is theirs in perpetuity.

  A far more serious concern loomed in Dean’s professional life, one he had no knowledge of at the time. His arrest for forging prescriptions attracted the notice of the Office of Professional Discipline—an agency within New York’s Department of Education. On December 23, 1998, Kathy Hearn, an undercover operative of the agency, made an appointment with Dean.