One Final Step

by Stephanie Doyle

  “Let go of me,” she snapped, feeling the anger rise through her body. “You don’t want me. This was all some kind of elaborate ploy on your end. What did you think, Michael? Did you think banging the woman who banged the president would somehow make you more appealing to those car executives?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what? Stop saying the truth? That I don’t interest you? That you need a pill to be with me? Why would you do this to me when you knew…?” Her voice cracked. “I told you about those other men. What they wanted from me, what they thought they were entitled to. How could you?”

  She wrenched her arm away from him and started down the stairs. She needed to get to her purse, and then get out of the house. She could call a cab company from down the block.

  “Madeleine, don’t do this! Please!”

  She wasn’t going to listen to him. Nothing he said would be true. All of it would be an excuse. She was so sick of excuses. When was she going to learn? She couldn’t trust anyone.

  He was following her and she didn’t slow down. She’d left her purse on a bench in the foyer. If she could reach that, then the door…

  “Madeleine!”

  She’d never know what stopped her. Maybe it was the sound of desperation she heard in his voice. She turned and he was behind her crouched down on his haunches, his hands covering his face. His fingers running through his hair and gripping it as if he meant to tear it out.

  “Ahhh!” He barked out a curse and in it she heard not an excuse, not some easy explanation, but a man in real anguish.

  Oh, no.

  Slowly, cautiously, as if she was approaching a feral animal, she made her way back to him. He must have heard the sound of her shoes on the floor because he eventually lifted his head. His eyes were red with unshed tears.

  She gulped, feeling now that she had committed some horrible crime against this man. “Tell me,” she said softly.

  “I don’t need the pill because I don’t want you. I want you. I want you so much. I need the pill because…because…”

  She watched him try to work the words out as if they were too difficult to say. She stepped closer, giving him the courage he needed.

  “Because I can’t without it.”

  She nodded and let out her breath. “Since when?” she asked, thinking of all the women in all the pictures over the years. Had there been an accident recently? Maybe during his last car race? All sorts of scenarios flittered through her mind.

  He shook his head as if knowing what she was guessing at, as if to say none of what she thought was true.

  Then he laughed. A terrible and awful laugh. “You want the truth?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “The truth is I haven’t been able to get it up without medication since I was nineteen years old. The day after Ricca Valente raped me in prison.”

  And that was the one scenario she hadn’t considered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MICHAEL STRAIGHTENED AND started walking back to the stairs with some idea that he would climb them and never look back and that the staircase would go on forever. But when he got to the bottom, he decided he didn’t have the energy to make the climb. So he sat on the step and waited for the sound of the front door closing.

  Only it never came. Damn. He might have been able to live with her disgust. What had happened to him was disgusting. What he couldn’t live with, what he didn’t want, was her pity.

  She came to him, walking gingerly as if a sudden motion might shatter him.

  “Go away, Madeleine. Just go away.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “It’s over. This is over between us. You wouldn’t let me pretend so now we can have nothing.”

  “You’re right about one thing. I won’t let you pretend. I’ll never let you pretend with me. But this thing between us is a long way from over.” She sat on the stairs next to him, not touching him. Not saying anything for a while.

  “I’m sorry I accused you of being one of those men who would use me. That was my past talking.”

  “Fine,” he said dully. “Leave.”

  He felt like he had a hundred pillows stuffed inside his head. Why had he said it? Why had he told her the truth? In eighteen years he’d never told anyone the truth but the shrinks who had tried to treat him. Not even Archie. Certainly never a woman.

  It had to be her? The one person who made him feel close to being a man again and he’d blurted out his greatest mortification.

  “We’re going to talk about this, Michael.”

  The hell they were. “There is nothing to talk about. I want you to go. I can call you a cab. Pack your things and head back to Philadelphia.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He looked at her then, but quickly looked away because he couldn’t stand to see the sincerity in her expression. Sincerity was pity’s twin sister and neither was appealing to him. Her voice had this authoritative tone, which she used when she felt she was really right about something. It made him realize why she had risen through the political ranks so quickly. When she said something in that tone, you had no choice but to listen.

  Only not this time. He wasn’t going to talk about it and he needed a way to get her to leave. He needed a hot shower, a bottle of booze and at least twenty-four hours before he would be able to live in his skin again and not feel the shame oozing from each pore.

  “What do you want to talk about, Madeleine? The details? You want me to walk you through it, break it down…”

  She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Stop it. You know I don’t want to make you relive that. I only want to know why…”

  “Why I didn’t tell you when we first met?” he asked, feeling the sarcasm build inside. “Hello, my name is Michael Langdon and I’m the victim of a sexual assault. Yes, folks, all those horrible tales you hear about prison are, in fact, true. You’ve got to watch your back in the shower…”

  He didn’t see the hand that had been holding his arm lift, but he sure felt the slap across his cheek. A pretty good one, too. So hard he was momentarily startled.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking a little. “I don’t know why I did that. I’ve never struck anyone in my life.”

  Michael couldn’t say the same. Maybe deep down there was a little violence in Madeleine.

  “Don’t talk to me like that. Like I’m some nobody in your life. Like I’m someone who doesn’t care.” She shifted to look him in the eye so he could see she was legitimately angry.

  “I don’t know what you want from me. I have nothing to give. Not answers. Not anything.”

  “Nothing? So you’re impotent…”

  He winced at the word. Always did.

  “And that’s it. To you, everything else doesn’t matter. What we felt for each other. All that talk about maybe having a chance at happiness… What was all that? Bullshit?”

  Yes, she was firing mad and he could still feel the sting on his cheek. If he wasn’t so dead inside he might have thought it was arousing. Madeleine was always beautiful to him, but on fire like this, she was electric.

  “No. Yes. No, it wasn’t bull, but we certainly don’t have any chance now. You know. You know what I am.”

  “Michael, other than the fact that you have a condition brought on by trauma, there’s not a whole lot I see different about you.”

  A condition brought on by trauma. It’s what all his shrinks said. And none of them had been able to fix him. There had been a moment, though, at the hotel-room door, when he’d thought he might be cured. His body knew what it wanted, even if his head wouldn’t let him forget.

  For the first time in eighteen years Madeleine had nearly brought him to the brink of salvation with a smile. But when he’d stood in his bathroom looking at himself in the mirror, knowing he didn’t deserve her, the thought of Nooky and what he’d written on his note came back to him. As the memories descended, any hope of being with Madeleine, really being with her, was gone. An
y desire he’d felt turned into self-disgust.

  He’d cursed and reached for the pills and popped off the damn top and spilled them everywhere. Why had he done that? When he’d always been so careful to hide it before?

  “I want another glass of wine.”

  She left him there on the steps. He heard her fussing about in his kitchen, getting another glass and pulling out the bottle from the refrigerator. She wasn’t going to leave. That much was obvious. Getting up, he followed her and found some whiskey in his liquor cabinet.

  Madeleine moved around his home differently. Where before she had been cautious and almost skittish, now she seemed comfortable and more in control. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

  “You’re not worried I’m going to pounce on you anymore, are you?”

  She took a sip of her drink. “I was never worried you were going to pounce. I was worried I was going to cave. Which, of course, I did. I wanted you very much.”

  “Don’t try to placate me, Madeleine. I’m not some toothless lion to be led around by the paw.”

  She smiled grimly at that. “No, you’re not toothless.”

  He poured a generous amount of whiskey over ice and then joined her in the living room, where she sat on the couch.

  “Does that fireplace work?”

  Michael found the remote control and turned the gas on. He wasn’t sure what was happening. He was about to sit in the leather chair across from the couch when she patted the open spot next to her.

  For a moment he thought about ordering her out of his home. If he yelled really loudly, scared her with the heat of the temper he knew lingered inside him, he might be able to force her to leave.

  As if reading his thoughts, she said, “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what you say. I can see it in your eyes. You’re standing there looking at me like I’m three-day-old leftovers you don’t want to eat. Well, tough. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Michael shrugged and sat next to her on the couch. She leaned into him, relaxing her weight on him so he was forced to hold her. Her back was against his chest. He took a deep gulp of the brown liquor and felt the heat of it sliding down his throat. It reminded him he wasn’t completely numb.

  “Those women you were with…did any of them know?”

  The questions he expected. Of course she would want to know things, pick apart his actions, figure him out. He decided there were things he would answer and things he wouldn’t.

  “No. I was always very careful. There is nothing physically wrong with me and the little blue pill works when I need it. You should also know that I was tested. For everything. And with those other women I always wore a condom. I need you to know I would never put you in any kind of risk that way.”

  “Yes, I know that. Do you… I mean, can you… Is it pleasurable for you?”

  Even with everything that had happened, he still found his lips curling. Poor modest little Madeleine. Such a hard topic for her. How anyone who knew her could have thought she was some promiscuous home wrecker was inconceivable.

  “Do I come?”

  “I guess that’s a way of putting it.”

  “No. I never get there. I make sure they have a good time and they never know the difference.”

  “Yes, but it’s why you were never with the same woman twice. Always someone new so they would never suspect after being with you for a prolonged time.”

  He shrugged. While that was the reality of his life, it wasn’t always about hiding his condition. He hadn’t had any intention of ever getting married, so there was no reason to engage in a serious relationship.

  He had fun with them. He partied with them and danced with them and drank with them. He let them adore him, which was always an ego boost. When it came time to perform he made sure they always left completely satisfied.

  “Have you seen a psychologist?”

  “Yes.”

  She took a breath then and he knew the next question would be a difficult one. “One of the blips that stands out about your past is the fact that you served the full three years of your sentence. I didn’t dig because it didn’t seem necessary for what you were trying to do, but I would have thought as a first-time offender you would have been out in less than a year with good behavior.”

  Michael took another gulp of his drink. He’d told her what he thought was the worst thing about him, but maybe this next truth would be even more disgusting in her mind. She was a woman who believed very much in the system, after all. If it was the final cut to the tenuous string holding them together, so be it.

  “I wasn’t well behaved. After…it…happened, I was changed. Something inside me was broken and I thought I wasn’t ever going to get myself back. You have to understand, in prison it’s all about dominance and submission and holding on to your power. Gangs come together to protect one another as much as they do to target the weak. I’d been made a victim. I had only one choice to change that. I found the man who did it in the rec room and whaled on him with every ounce of strength I had. All my anger and my rage…I slammed into his body until finally I beat him into a coma.”

  “Michael,” she whispered.

  “No, you need to hear this. You need to know what’s inside me. I wanted to kill him. My plan was to kill him. I would not have stopped until he was dead if the guards hadn’t pulled me off him. Do you understand? Do you know what it makes me?”

  She didn’t turn around, but she didn’t remove her weight, either. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to leave now?”

  This time she did turn to face him. “Did you think I would go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not. You were in a violent place. You reacted violently. I’m not going to judge that man.”

  “Well, if you won’t, I will.” He pushed against her to let her know he wanted up and she obliged. He walked back to his liquor cabinet and poured another drink, then he walked over to the phone in his kitchen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling a cab.”

  “I told you I’m not leaving,” she said stubbornly.

  “Well, you’re not staying.” He used information to get the number of a cab service and then had them dial the number. He rattled off his address to the dispatcher and was told a car would be by in less than twenty minutes.

  She was standing when he came back to the great room. Her arms straight at her sides like she was readying herself for the next attack.

  “I want you to leave. Look, not forever…okay. But for tonight. I need…some space.”

  “Why do I have the feeling if I walk out that door I’ll never see you again?”

  Because there was a chance it was true. He didn’t know what was going to happen next. Not with him, not between them. He did know he needed some time.

  “Please,” he said.

  Finally she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go for now. But this isn’t over between us. I won’t let it be.”

  He watched her gather her coat and purse and after a few minutes a horn sounded letting them know the cab was there. She didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t, either, for that matter, but before she left she looked at him and he could see a determination in her face that made him a believer.

  No, this definitely wasn’t over between them.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE’D COME. Two days of the silent treatment had apparently been enough for her.

  He should have been elated. This was the first time she’d ever ventured out into what would be considered a public event. And she’d done it for him. But it was probably only because she was furious with him.

  “Okay, everyone, go out there and have a great day. Let the race begin!”

  Michael snipped the scissors that sent the tightly strung green ribbon flying. Instantly runners flew through the opening, with the professional marathoners starting at a blistering pace while the first-timers took things slow.

  While he didn’t envy any of the participants—he would much rather race in a
car than on foot—it was a perfect day for the event. Spring was in full bloom and the slight nip of the early morning air would keep the runners from getting overheated.

  The race started in Chene Park and would run along the river for miles until eventually it finished on the other side of the park where the amphitheater was. Some of the bigger contributors were invited to a concert later that evening that would feature some of Detroit’s most successful musicians.

  For now, Michael concentrated on ignoring the woman tucked off to the side and instead spent time shaking the hands of the other sponsors and event coordinators. While the volunteers broke down the tables and got ready to set up a new camp at the finish line, Michael had his picture taken with people and signed autographs. Basically doing anything he could think of to avoid her.

  It wasn’t until most everyone was gone but for a few stragglers that he realized he was going to have to talk to her.

  She wore sunglasses that nearly covered her face and a ball cap that dipped low over her forehead. To anyone else she was unrecognizable. To him she stood out like a sore thumb.

  But she’d come. For him.

  It was easy enough for her to know where he was going to be since she was the one who scheduled the event. But it was hard to believe that she had risked coming somewhere where there were a lot of cameras and even local-TV news crews.

  It could only mean she was feeling desperate.

  Since he’d put her in a cab and sent her back to her hotel after what he thought of as the “big confession,” he hadn’t called her or returned any of her messages. It seemed easier to avoid her. Because wanting her, but not being able to have her, being with her, but not being able to make love to her—that seemed like a sure form of torture.

  The only thing worse was being separated from her. It was a lose-lose situation for him.

  He could tell she was pissed by the way she held her arms crossed over her chest and kept her pointy chin raised in the air. He was going to pay for avoiding her. Probably deservedly so, but it wasn’t like he’d planned on sneaking off and never talking to her again. He wasn’t a coward or a person who couldn’t handle confrontation.