“Will you tell me what happened?"
Nikki hung her head. “I can't."
“You don't have to tell me, but I wish you would."
“I-I'm too ashamed.” She pulled away and lay down on her side, drawing her legs up to her chest, she hid her face in the pillow. “I just want to go to sleep."
“But you need a doctor, and we must notify the police."
Panicked, she bolted upright. “No. I won't go. I'm fine."
“You're anything but fine."
“I-I'm all right. Please don't. Don't call anyone."
“Then tell me. Whatever we need to do—we'll decide together."
Nikki looked away from Maman's sympathetic gaze. She couldn't face anyone, much less tell what happened. “I—uh, went out after the shoot with Ian. Max tried to talk me out of going."
“Maxim was at the shoot?"
“Yeah, I didn't know he was coming, but he was there—watching. I guess he wanted to see how it went. He tried to stop me from going out with Ian. Even said he'd take me to dinner."
“You didn't want to go with Maxim?"
“Well, I did, but he was being so weird about it."
“Hmm, I see."
“Anyway, I went with Ian to this jazz club in Soho. We met a couple of his friends there. They were all older. I ordered a drink. I know I shouldn't have, but I didn't want them to think I was a kid."
“The club served you a drink?"
“Yeah, they didn't even card me."
“Incroyable."
“I only took a sip or two, and Ian got real grabby. Wouldn't keep his hands off my butt, so I told him I was going to the restroom. I called a taxi."
“That was very smart of you."
“Not really. When I came back, Ian was all apologetic and said he was sorry and why didn't I finish my drink, no hard feelings. I didn't want to act like a hard-nose, so I did. After a few minutes, I got sick at my stomach and dizzy. The next thing I r-remember is waking up."
“And?"
Nikki buried her head in Maman's shoulder. “I-I was in b-bed with him. Ian. I don't remember, but we must've h-had s-sex."
“Are you sure?"
“Yes,” Nikki wailed. “I didn't have any clothes on. And he said we did. He said awful things. How could he? I don't remember,” she wailed.
“Ma pauvre petite. He must have put something in your drink."
“I feel so stupid. I should've gone with Max."
Renée patted Nikki's back, comforting her. But her next words were anything but comforting.” You must be seen by a doctor, and we must call the police."
“No!” She pulled away, tears streaming down her face once more. “You can't call anyone. Please don't.” She looked around anxious to escape. “I'll run away.."
“But there are things to be considered. You don't know what happened, if he used protection. You must see a physician."
“Protected? I never thought about that.” She collapsed onto Maman's shoulder and wept.
“Now, now. We'll work this out, but that's why you need to be seen."
“No. Hospitals report stuff like this to the police. I don't want anybody to know, Maman. No one."
“I will call a doctor. Perhaps my personal physician will come here, but no matter what, you have to have medical care. You simply must. I'll call Max—"
“No! You can't tell him. Please, please. I don't want him to know. I beg you, please don't call him."
“Maxim already knows something's wrong. He called just before you came home. I'm afraid I hung up on him when you returned."
“I don't care what you tell him. Just don't tell him what really happened. Please,” she begged. “H-he tried to stop me, but I wouldn't listen."
Eight
Forty-five minutes after his mother had literally hung up on him, Max stood in the foyer of her townhouse. “Maman?” He started to bound up the stairs, but saw his mother standing at the head of the staircase, holding a finger to her lips.
“Shh. Don't come up."
“Why not? What's happened?"
Renée descended the steps. His mother, always graceful, seemed awkward in her movements and nearly stumbled two steps from the bottom. Maxim grabbed her left arm and steadied her. “What is it? Please, Maman, you must tell me."
Renée closed her eyes and shook her head. “The worst,” she told him wearily. “Let's go into the kitchen. I don't want her to overhear us. She's asleep, now."
Max's imagination soared into overdrive. Given Starr's less than salutary reputation, ‘the worst’ could only mean one of two things, neither of which he wanted to contemplate. He took a deep steadying breath and led his mother to the kitchen, but not before giving a last glance up the stairs toward Nikki's door.
Max eased his mother into a comfortable chair. Growing impatient, he insisted, “Tell me."
Maman hid her face in her hands and dropped into French. “Nikki went out with him. He became obnoxious, so she left him at the bar to call a taxi. When she came back, he was apologetic and encouraged her to finish her drink before the taxi came.” Renée took a ragged breath. “That's all she remembers,” Renée paused. “Until she awakened this morning—in his bed. She's...” Renée shook her head, unable to continue.
Max listened. Rage and horror mounted. Engulfed him. He clenched his fists, desiring to lash out—and break something—anything. “The son of a bitch. He drugged her.” Max closed his eyes, trying to stay in control. “How is she?"
“She is asleep, or at least, she is trying."
“Should I go up?"
“No, absolutely not. She is terribly ashamed. Does not want you to know at all, understand?"
“But—"
“She blames herself."
“It's not her fault. I'm as responsible as that slime ball Brit. I should've picked her up and carried her out of there."
“But you said she was determined to go with him."
“She was."
“Then you cannot blame yourself, mon fil.
“I went to the shoot because I was concerned about Starr's reputation. I didn't do enough."
Maman sighed. “I know. But we are faced with what must still be done."
“It's simple. We're taking her to the hospital and calling the police. Starr should be in jail."
“No—no, she will not hear of the police becoming involved. She became hysterical when I merely mentioned it. I shall call my physician. I will ask her to come here."
“Good."
Max walked over to the counter took a cup from an upper cabinet, and poured a cup of coffee. He watched his mother pick up the telephone. Anger alternated with disbelief. It had to be a nightmare for poor Nikki. And he had to accept responsibility for what happened. Indeed, he'd assumed that sweet, if at times heavy, burden the night he'd rescued her from the streets.
~ * ~
Nikki lay quietly, rolled up in a fetal position, pretending to sleep, wishing like hell she could wake up and it would all be a bad dream. She didn't know if she'd ever feel clean, not after a thousand showers. She'd heard Max come in. Thank God, he hadn't come up. She didn't know how she'd ever look him in the face, again. Mama was right, when she said I'd never amount to anything.
A light tap sounded on her bedroom door.
“Nikki?” It was Renée.
“I'm awake."
The door opened. “May I come in?"
“Sure."
Renée entered. Nikki stared at the wall, unable to look in the older woman's direction. The bed gave as Renée sat down.
“My physician, Charlotte Davenport, is outside. I want her to examine you. I have already told her what happened. She has seen cases like yours before, and she understands how traumatic this is for you."
Her throat closed. She couldn't get enough air. She clenched a corner of the sheet. Her lifeline.
“Nikki?"
Maybe if she didn't answer, Renée and her doctor would just go away.
“Will you see her, please?"
She heard the misery in Renée's voice and regretted she was the cause of it. Wordlessly, she nodded, then grabbed the older woman's hand. “Maman, stay,” Nikki begged in a hoarse voice she didn't recognize as her own, afraid of being left in the hands of a stranger.
“Of course, Chèrie,” Maman reassured her. “I will bring in Charlotte. The examination will be over quickly. I promise."
She held her breath until the doctor entered.
“Nikki, I'm Charlotte Davenport.” Her voice sounded soft ... and kind, but Nikki squeezed her eyes shut and kept her face averted.
“I'll tell you what I'm going to do before I do it, and I'll wait for your permission. Just nod your head or squeeze Renée's hand before I proceed. All right?"
She nodded, but kept her face to the wall. Renée sat beside her on the left.
“First, I'll draw some blood from your arm. It'll be tested for various diseases your partner might've had as well as for any drugs that he used. You'll need further blood tests at six and twelve month intervals."
Nikki nodded again, extending her right arm in the direction of Dr. Davenport's voice.
“Have you ever had blood drawn before?” the physician asked.
She nodded.
“All right then, you know what I'm going to do. I'll wrap this rubber tourniquet around your arm. It'll be tight. I'll swab the inside of your elbow with alcohol. It'll be cold. Then there'll be a slight stick."
Again, Nikki nodded her assent. All right already, just do it and get it over with. She winced as the needle slid home. No big deal, really.
“That's it, for the blood-letting. Next, I'd like to examine you for any injuries or marks."
Biting her lip, she nodded her assent once more, but when the physician touched the sheet covering her, an involuntary tremble shook Nikki from head to toe.
“These scratches?"
Renée explained, “She used a scrub brush ... in the shower."
“I see. Not terribly surprising."
The doctor's touch, gentle and soothing, encouraged Nikki to take a peek at the woman who was so kind and understanding. A middle-aged woman with short gray hair ... and a kind face. Just as Nikki expected. She shut her eyes again.
“I'll leave a prescription for an ointment. There'll be minimal scarring. The scratches look angry, but they're superficial."
“Thank you, Charlotte,” Renée said.
“The next part of the examination will be the most uncomfortable for you, but it's necessary. I'll be as gentle as possible, but I must be thorough—with your permission, of course. Have you ever had an examination of this type before?"
“Just get it over with,” Nikki croaked, hating the sound of her own voice. Talking, any response, made it seem more real. She just wanted to be left alone. Would they never leave?
She clenched her jaw and clung to Renée's hand when she felt the sheet being adjusted. Her legs jumped at the physician's first touch.
“Take some slow deep breaths, dear. It will help you relax."
She tried. The deep breaths did help. Before she realized it, the exam was completed. She heard the snapping sound of the doctor removing her gloves.
“I've done swabs for STD's and DNA traces, though I doubt there'll be any DNA evidence left."
Renée stood up, but Nikki continued clinging to her hand. “We understand,” Renée said. “Thank you, Charlotte. I don't know what we would have done without you."
“One more thing. Nikki, I understand you don't want the authorities involved, but you must have counseling. It's essential."
Furiously Nikki shook her head. No way would she spill her guts about this to anyone else. It was so over.
“We'll keep that in mind,” Renée answered. “You've been so kind."
“I'll leave you some numbers. I'm so sorry this happened.” The doctor paused, then stressed in a quiet, firm tone, “You must talk to someone—a therapist, or at least a rape-victim support group."
Renée patted Nikki's hand. As comforting as Maman had been—truthfully, she couldn't have made it without her, but now she was ready for both women to clear out.
“All right then. Call me, if there are any problems. I'm leaving a couple of hormone pills for her to take now, and two more tomorrow morning. They'll prevent any possibility of pregnancy."
“I understand,” Renée assured her.
“Nikki, you do understand you aren't to blame for this. You are young and someone older took advantage of your innocence. He, and no one else, is at fault. More than likely, you aren't the first and won't be the last."
Oh, patronize me, why don't you? The longer she listened, the more her anger mounted, but she wouldn't give way again. She wanted to scream her rage. Every cell in her body wanted to scream.
“Perhaps...” Maman began, “...we could continue instructions downstairs. We should give Nikki some time to rest."
“Of course. Good-by for now. And again, I'm so sorry this happened."
She's sorry? That's rich, Nikki thought. Get out of here. Get out of here. Get out of here. Then finally, sounds of their retreating footsteps, the door opening and closing.
Alone. She'd had enough of being poked and prodded. She'd be damned if she'd see a shrink who would try and unscramble her brain. I'm not looking back, she vowed. It's over. A done deal. As far as she was concerned, Ian Starr didn't exist ... and the night before never happened.
~ * ~
Downstairs in the kitchen, Max paced back and forth stopping long enough to pour his fourth cup of coffee. Hearing the sound of his mother's voice quietly conversing with her physician, he looked up. Dr. Davenport was a slightly-plump, middle-aged woman with fine skin and kind blue eyes.
“Well? How is she?” he asked in a level tone. Unfortunately his stomach had tied itself into a knot. Whether from worry about Nikki or the caffeine—not that it made a damn difference.
The doctor lifted a finely arched eyebrow and looked at his mother.
“Sorry. Charlotte, this is my son Maxim Devereaux. Maxim, this is—"
The physician extended her hand and interjected, “Charlotte Davenport, Mr. Devereaux. Physically, Nikki will be fine. She has no serious physical injuries."
“That's a relief.” Max murmured. He felt powerless, not allowed to see Nikki—but he could well understand why she didn't want to see anyone. And he was definitely the wrong gender.
“However, I'm not so sure about her emotional state. She is very fragile, which is to be expected. She'll need counseling. It doesn't matter that she's refused, right now. She'll need it sooner or later—but the sooner the better.” Charlotte pulled a Palm Pilot from the black leather satchel she carried. “Here are some other numbers you might need, once Nikki agrees to counseling."
“Here,” Max said, handing his mother pen and paper from the nearby counter.
Charlotte rattled off the numbers while Renée scribbled them down. Merci, Charlotte. I cannot say it enough."
“I am glad I could help."
“Is there anything else we may do in the meantime?” Renée asked.
Charlotte frowned, looked back and forth between them, then smiled. “She will need a great deal of love and patience. This is a life-altering event for her. She will never be or feel the same again.
“She will recover?” Max asked.
“If she has counseling. Whether she does or not, she'll go through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. She might be emotionally labile—you know—angry one minute, depressed, the next. She may withdraw from those who care most about her. She might even continue as if nothing has ever happened. Denial is a powerful weapon in the arsenal of coping mechanisms. It is difficult to predict how Nikki will respond. And...” she paused, “...I must warn you, she is at greater risk for being raped, again."
“What?” Maxim asked, stunned. “I would think just the opposite would be true."
“No, I'm afraid it isn't unusual for a victim of rape t
o engage in further risky behaviors."
“Mon Dieu.” Renée sighed, then sank down into the nearest chair. “I don't know if I'm up to this."
“Well, actually, it's not your problem. She has a mother, true?"
“No—I mean yes, Nikki does have a mother, but they don't get along,” Max explained. “I am certain she won't want her mother involved in this. Madame Prentice is cold, calculating."
“That's too bad. However, she's still a minor, you could turn her over to the juvenile authorities,” Charlotte suggested.
“No,” Max interjected. “That's not an option. My mother has legal custody of Nikki."
Renée nodded vigorously. “Nikki has been with us for nearly a year. She's very dear to me. I suppose I am a little overwhelmed.” Renée continued in a firmer voice, “Her place is here with me. I will do everything I can for her."
Charlotte smiled. “Good. As I said, she'll need all the love and support you can give her. I warn you, it won't be an easy. The most important thing you can try to get across to her is that it's not her fault. Her innocence and trust were callously betrayed, but she can, must in fact, learn to trust again, but more wisely."
“Of course."
Max extended his hand to the doctor. “Thank you, for your kindness."
Charlotte returned a rueful smile. “I'm so sorry it was required. I don't envy you the next few months. Please call me if there's anything else I can do."
“We will, Charlotte,” Renée murmured, “Thank you for everything."
“Sorry, I can't do more. I will call you with the test results.” Charlotte reached into her bag and pulled out a small envelope. “Here are the pills. Two now and two in the morning."
“Pills? Pourquoi?” Max demanded.
Charlotte ignored his question, walking toward the front door. “Good-by. I'll call you tomorrow, Renée."
“Yes, tomorrow."
His mother ignored him too. What kind of conspiracy was this? Max waited, anxiety mounting, until his mother returned. “Well, what are the pills for? If she's in pain, are four enough?"
“Maxim, they are to prevent pregnancy."
“Oh.” What else could he say? Pregnancy had been the last thing on his mind.
See You In My Dreams Page 9
