She staggered back, dropping the Dr. Pepper to the floor. Foam and amber liquid shot upward across her skirt and jacket. “God, I hate you. It’s all your fault I look like this. If you hadn’t been such a loser, I’d be normal today. I hate you, I hate you with everything that’s inside me. I wish you’d die.” And with that she grabbed the syringe of insulin off the tray and ran from the room.
“Cory, bring that back here!” her father shouted.
In the bathroom, Corinne stepped to the mirror and, without any coy tactics this time, seeing through his eyes, glared hard at herself. Her stomach knotted painfully.
The rose-colored foundation, unblended at the jawline, looked as though it had been put on with a trowel. Clumps of the heavy concealer stood out on the raised, puckered skin. Her eyelids glittered, raccoon-like, with rainbow dust. Bright lipstick was pasted on an overly outlined mouth.
Her hair, so meticulously teased and styled, swept forward across her face, covering most of the disfigured portion from hairline to throat.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered hoarsely, as she dragged the back of her arm across her red lips.
“Cory,” her father called out. “Now don’t be foolish. Bring me my insulin, honey. I gotta have it, y’know. Cory?”
Corinne threw the syringe in the toilet and flushed it down.
CHAPTER 14
Amelia pressed the kohl eyeliner pencil to a tiny brown spot located to the right of her mouth and transformed a mole into a beauty mark. Studying herself in the mirror, she was pleased with the way Garson had worked her dark, mahogany-tinted hair into a dramatic upsweep; sleek and smooth both back and sides, yet full and curly on top. She gave it a final spritz of hair spray.
She’d booked the entire morning at the La Dolce Salon for a massage, manicure and pedicure, a facial, and lastly, hair color and styling, to which all had been billed to Matthew’s credit card. Also billed but not received was a permanent wave; the returned cash, her rebate as she so fondly called it, was tucked securely in her eyeglass case. And now, at one o’clock, just hours before the taping of ‘City Gallery’, she sat at her vanity in an ivory teddy applying the finishing touches.
Everything must be perfect, she told herself. For her future success, she wanted her appearance on the TV show to be both spectacular and memorable.
Open on the bed were her crimson weekender bag and matching tote. She had done most of the packing earlier that morning for her trip with Fletcher to the wine country. They had a room at the Meadowvale Inn in Napa for tonight and Saturday night. Stubbing out her thin cigarette, she rose, tossed her jewelry case into the bag, then strolled into the enormous walk-in closet that she shared with Matthew.
With the new dress in one hand and the snakeskin pumps in the other, Amelia sensed someone nearby. She turned sharply, startled by the man in the doorway.
“My God, Matt.” She put a hand to her chest, feeling the pounding underneath her fingers. Since the man in black had accosted her five days ago, she had been seeing menacing shapes in all the shadows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What are you doing home so early? I thought you’d go straight from the courthouse to the club. Don’t you have gin rummy tonight?—it’s Friday.”
He moved forward, reaching out to touch the dress. “Is this what you bought to wear on the show today?”
She nodded. “Do you like it?”
His fingers flicked at the peplum skirt, then slowly moved along its hem to the price tag. He lifted the tag and scrutinized it. “Very much. Your taste, as always, is impeccable.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said with a slight tightness in her voice. “And your generosity is without parallel.”
“Do I get a kiss for the dress and the shoes and—what was it today, the entire beauty works at La Dolce’s?”
She tried to make her smile warm, sincere. Leaning forward, she kissed his mouth lightly, careful not to smear her lipstick.
Matthew’s arms came around her, pulling her to him. His mouth covered hers in a wet, rough, tongue-searching kiss.
The lipstick could be repaired, she thought, trying to remain calm. But when she felt his erection against her stomach she wanted to scream. He was kissing her with fervor now, and she knew there was no escaping what was to come. Saying no to Matthew had its ill consequences. It could mean doing without material goodies for as long as he was hurt by the rejection.
Matthew had unzipped his fly and was pulling at her teddy as he coaxed her to the floor.
Oh Christ, her hair would be destroyed by the thick carpet and there would be no time to have it redone.
“Here. Standing up,” she whispered in his ear. Naturally she’d have to shower and douche afterwards and fix her makeup, but if she hurried ...
“I’m yours however you want me.”
Without another word, she reached down, took hold of his erection, and guided him inside her, at the same time stealing a peek at her Gucci watch. Amelia knew it wouldn’t take long. It never did with him.
Moments later, when he climaxed, his hands came up to cup her face as his fingers wove in her hair, twisting. Amelia felt hair pins loosening. She pulled at his arms, but it was too late, he was beyond anything save fulfilling his own desires. He made a grunting noise, then dropped his hands.
With a smile, he stepped back and opened his eyes. “Oh, I’ve mussed your hair,” he said. “Can you fix it?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded lamely, looking away.
“Well, good.” He slipped on a magenta silk robe.
She hurried into the bathroom. When she glanced in the mirror over the double marble sink, she wanted to cry. Without a doubt, she was a total wreck. “Oh, how I hate you, Matthew Corde,” she whispered to her mirrored image. “If you can’t do me the favor of dropping dead, then at least have the decency to become impotent.”
Long ago she had given up any hopes of burying him while she was still young and beautiful. They had no children and Matthew had no close relatives. Although she had never seen the will, he had indicated that if he died everything he had was hers. Therein lay the catch. Knowing Matthew as she did, out of sheer meanness he would contrive to outlive her.
Half an hour later, sitting at her vanity, Amelia managed to finish the repair work. The upsweep wasn’t quite the same, but it would have to do. Matthew reclined on the bed, watching her.
“When will you return from visiting your parents?” he asked.
“Sunday evening. I wouldn’t even go, but you know I have an obligation.”
“Perhaps I’ll go with you this time.”
Amelia’s throat became thick and constricted. In the mirror she watched a vein at the side of her neck throb wildly. “Go with me?”
“We could take the Rolls. The weather is good and, God knows I could use some time away from the courthouse.”
She swiveled around to face him, forcing herself to look and act normal. “Yes, why don’t you come? Mother and father would love to see you. In fact, cancel your card game and we’ll leave as soon as I return from the taping.” She smiled broadly. “Yes, Matthew, do.”
He stared at her a moment, a pleased look on his face, then shook his head. “No. It was just an idea, and a bad one at that. Your father and I don’t see eye to eye, as you well know. The man never could fully accede to me, or anyone for that matter, spoiling his little girl as he once did so extravagantly.”
If Daddy’d had your money, Matthew, his little girl would’ve been spared two decades of vile subjugation as your wife.
Her face and throat were on fire.
Tammy sucked in her breath as she cautiously dabbed a cotton pad saturated with a solution of refrigerated witch hazel and white vinegar over her burning skin.
“That sonofabitch,” she said between clenched teeth, though she knew she had no one but herself to blame.
Dr. Lampossi had given her a prescription for Retin-
A, with instructions to use it with extreme caution. If a little was good, than a lot had to be better, she thought, as she liberally applied the cream twice as often as the instructions had stated. She also ignored his warnings of sunbathing.
“Sherry! Kerry!” she shouted. “C’mere a sec.”
The twins came through the door together as though joined at the hip. They moved slowly into their mother’s bedroom.
Tammy turned to face them. “Does it look any better?”
They glanced at each other before looking down at the tops of their matching Reeboks.
“Well?” Tammy asked impatiently “Do I look like a lobster?”
They giggled. Sherry said, “You could never look like a lobster, Mom. They’re gross.”
“You know what I mean,” Tammy said. She had turned back to the mirror and gingerly pressed fingertips into the bright pink flesh. “With makeup, it should be okay.”
“You’re not gonna put makeup on your burned face, are you, Mom?” Kerry asked incredulously.
“Of course I am. Don’t be a lamebrain. All right, you two, go on, get outta here so I can get ready.”
The twins hurried out.
From a prescription bottle in her medicine cabinet, Tammy shook out a painkiller. She swallowed it along with a Valium.
Taking her time, she curled her hair with a curling iron and then plucked her eyebrows, giving the painkiller and Valium a chance to numb all her senses. Before putting on the makeup, she rinsed her face again and again in a sink filled with ice and water.
As she applied a liquid foundation, she fought back the tears. At last she was done. She combed out her pale blond hair and swept it up into a bright pink banana clip.
“Girls!” she called out.
They took longer to respond this time. But when they came through her doorway, their footsteps dragging, their expressions wary, they suddenly perked up.
“Wow, fantastic,” they said in unison.
Tammy sighed deeply, then smiled. “Really?”
“Honest.” Sherry moved in closer leaning forward to stare at her mother’s face. “Does it hurt?”
“Like a bitch.”
Kerry came forward. “It looks like a sunburn.”
“That’s all it is,” Tammy said matter-of-factly as she began to put on her clothes, “a sunburn. Silly me, I fell asleep while catching some rays.”
She wriggled into a sleeveless, mini bodyskimmer in jade green leather. While Tammy crouched down, Sherry did up the zipper and fastened the clasp at the back of the mock turtleneck. She slipped on a pair of pink pumps, pink-and-jade drop earrings that nearly reached her shoulders, and a half dozen plastic bangles.
“Wow.” Kerry’s eyes grew wide. “You look like Madonna.”
“Yeah?” Tammy said with a wily grin, looking from one daughter to the other. “Not too young for me?”
“Uh-uh. No way,” they said with nine-year-old naiveté.
“So all’s well. What’s a little burn on the face —Right?”
When Regina left the station at noon to go home to her new apartment, she had no idea that at two o’clock she’d still be indecisive as to what she was going to wear for her television debut. She had planned to wear what she had put on that morning--a white shirt under a red safari jacket with a mid-calf, khaki skirt. Donna had teased her, saying the show was a look at yesterday’s beauty contestants today, not an endorsement for a safari to Kenya.
Wearing her terry robe, she was tossing clothes on the bed when she heard Kristy come into the apartment. A moment later her daughter stood in the doorway, watching her.
“I knew you’d need me,” Kristy said, crossing the room. She picked distastefully through the drab cotton skirts and khaki jackets, then took her mother by the hand and pulled. “Kristy to the rescue.”
“What are you doing?”
“Follow me.”
In Kristy’s pastel room with the white wicker furniture and the floral chintz curtains and matching spread, she sorted through the clothes in her closet.
“Let’s get real,” Regina said.
“We’re the same size. Only I’m proud to be female.” She held up a red miniskirted T-shirt dress, shook her head and put it back. She pulled out a three-piece outfit. “Here we go. You love this.”
“On you.”
“Try it on.”
Regina stared at Kristy for several moments before finally taking the offered outfit. She unzipped her robe, let it fall to the floor, then pulled the teal tee over her head. She stepped into the bronze sarong skirt and zipped it up. Over the two pieces went the jacquard-pattern jacket in a primitive print of bronze, teal, red, and yellow.
“Mom, it looks rad on you.”
Regina eyed her skeptically. “Is that good?”
“Have a look.” She pointed to the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
Regina gazed into the mirror. She had to admit the outfit did look chic on her—or did she look chic in the outfit? She’d forgotten how thin she was. And she seldom wore skirts that showed all of her calves and a good portion of knee.
“Phase two,” Kristy said.
Within minutes Regina was in the bathroom sitting on the clothes hamper as Kristy wound her hair on hot rollers before going to work on her face.
A half hour later Regina stood again at the full-length mirror. She was stunned by what she saw. But she wasn’t sure she liked it.
“It’s too much,” she said about the makeup. “I feel like a hooker.”
“You look like a movie star. I should be jealous. You look young enough to be my sister.”
She did look younger. The hairstyle had a tame, yet abandoned, appearance. With her hair completely off her face, her hazel eyes, with a light touch of smoke-gray shadow, glowed warm and sultry.
Up to that point Kristy’d had full reign in the make-over of her mother. But Regina had put her foot down concerning the red lipstick. She blotted it away and chose a rose tinted gloss instead.
“One last thing,” Kristy said, digging through her jewelry box. She pulled out a pair of hammered bronze hoop earrings.
As Regina put them on, Kristy lifted the collar on the jacket, then pushed the sleeves to the elbow. Regina turned one last time to the mirror.
“Oh, Mom, you look super sensational. If you entered the Miss Classic Pageant today, you’d win hands down.”
Regina laughed, but at the mention of the pageant a dark cloud seemed to pass over her.
She shivered.
After twenty-two rings, Donna hung up the phone and sank back in her office chair. Would Corinne show or stand them up?
They taped at 4:00. It was 2:50 and still there was no answer at her house. Donna had started calling moments after coming in that morning.
Nolan appeared in the doorway of the small office. “Anything?”
Donna held fingers to her temples and shook her head. “It’s my fault--”
“Nonsense,” he said, crossing to her and squeezing her shoulder. “Regina should have arranged for a car, a limo, to pick her up.”
“Then we’d have to send cars for the others.”
“Piss on the others. I can’t believe her, Donna,” he said in a hushed tone. “This is goddamned important. We’ve got cable and major network execs watching, and we don’t even know if we have a show.”
“We have a show—”
“Not without Ms. Odett we won’t,” he cut in. “No one wants to see a handful of aging beauty contestants—present company excluded, naturally—who aren’t even winners, for chrissake.”
“Darling, this show won’t make or break us.”
“I put my ass on the line with this disfigured beauty queen angle. It’s the kind of show that could boost us up. Treatment of something as sensitive as the loss of a woman’s most valuable asset—her looks —might just help us go national. And no one can treat it as sympathetically as you.”
Donna blustered at her husband’s sexist remark, but his compliment of her t
alent softened the barb, as he knew it would. “Corinne told me she had surgery and that she was no longer disfigured.”
“She lied. Either to you or to herself. Nobody gets acid tossed in their face and comes out looking normal. No one.”
Donna glanced at the wall clock. Three exactly. Nolan’s eyes followed hers.
“I hope for both our sakes that she shows. Where’s your precious Ms. Van Raven?”
Maxwell Conner, the executive producer, stepped in the office. “Are you having a problem with Regina, Nolan?”
Nolan turned with a guilty start. “No problem. It’s just that I feel she doesn’t always have the program’s best interest at heart.”
“Really?” Max’s tone was ironic. “And I’m inclined to think that without her ‘City Gallery’ wouldn’t be the show it is.”
“Aren’t you giving her a little too much credit?” Nolan said, standing behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders. “Or is it that you’re not giving Donna enough?”
“Regina’s responsible for the format and she’s the one who scours the city for those unique and weird people Donna interviews.” Max gazed at Nolan over the top of his Ben Franklin bifocals. “Personally, I find it hard to imagine putting on the show without her.”
Donna silently agreed. She realized she had made a grave error by not insisting to Nolan that Regina call on Corinne Odett.
Nolan, his face set, brushed past Max and left without a word.
Max flashed Donna a brief, uneasy smile, straightened his bow tie, and followed him out.
Donna reached for the phone. She hit the redial button and listened to the sound of a phone ringing in another part of the city.
The ringing stopped. It took Donna a moment to react. “Hello? Hello, Corinne? Corinne, it’s Donna Lake.” She tightened her grip on the receiver. “Please, Corinne, answer me.” From the other end of the line she heard the faint sound of someone coughing. Then the connection was broken.
John sat at the dining room table with his uncle and aunt. He ate quickly.
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