Now and Forever

by Danielle Steel

  “Tomorrow.”

  “All right. Then all you have to do is try and stay calm till tomorrow. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Jessica nodded, but she wasn’t quite sure. That meant a day, and a night, and a morning. And the night would be the worst. Full of ghosts and voices and echoes and terrors. She had twenty-four hours to survive until she saw Ian.

  But there was one thing she did want to do. Now. Before she saw Ian. And that was to talk to Martin about an appeal. He was in his office when she called, and he sounded subdued.

  “Are you all right, Jessica?”

  “I’m okay. How’s Ian?” Her voice caught on the words, and at the other end Martin frowned. He was remembering how she had looked the night before when he’d dropped her off.

  “He’s holding up. He was awfully shocked, though.”

  “I can imagine.” She said it softly, with a distracted smile. Shocked. They both were. “Martin, I called because I wanted to ask you something now, right away, before I see Ian tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “I want to know what we can do about an appeal, how we do it, do you do it, all of that.” And how the hell do we pay for it? That was another thing.

  “Well, we can talk about that after the sentencing, Jessica. If he gets probation, then there isn’t much point in pressing for an appeal, except as a matter of record, to clear Ian of the felony. He might want to do that. But I think you should wait till after the sentencing to make a decision. There’s a limited time in which to file an appeal, but you’ll still have plenty of time then.”

  “How soon is the sentencing?”

  “Four weeks from tomorrow.”

  “But why wait till after that?”

  “Because, Jessie, you don’t know what’s going to happen. If they send him home on probation, Ian may not want to spend his last dime, or yours, on an appeal. It’s not as if he’s in a delicate position professionally where it can hurt him to have that on his record. All right, it can hurt him,” he reconsidered, “but not that badly in his profession. And if he’s free, what do you care?”

  “What do you mean, if he’s free?” Jessie was feeling confused again.

  “All right, the alternative is, if they don’t give him probation, they’ll send him to prison. In that case, you may well want to appeal. But all an appeal is going to do for you, Jessica, is get you a new trial. You’ll have to go through the whole ordeal again. There isn’t a shred of evidence we didn’t submit. Nothing would change. So you’d be going through it all again, maybe to no avail. I think right now our push should be for probation. And we can worry about an appeal after we see what happens with that. All right?”

  Jessica reluctantly agreed, and hung up. What did he mean, “if” they set Ian free? What was the “if”?

  Chapter 21

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled and instinctively her hand went to the gold lima bean at her throat, and played with it for a moment as she looked at him. She had survived the twenty-four hours, and Houghton had not returned, “I love you, Ian.”

  “Darling, I love you too. Are you really all right?” He looked so worried about her.

  “I’m fine. What about you?”

  His eyes told their own tale. He was in county jail this time, and he was wearing the filthy overalls they had given him. They had stuffed his clothes in a shopping bag and returned them to Martin. He had sent them back to Jessie the evening before, along with the Volvo. After that she had taken the two pills Astrid had left her.

  “Martin says they might give you probation.” But they both remembered the article they had read the day of the trial. It had been in favor of abolishing probation on rape cases. The public mood was not lenient just now.

  “We’ll see, Jessie, but don’t count on it. We’ll give it a try.” He smiled and Jessie fought back tears. What would happen if he didn’t get probation? She hadn’t even begun to face that yet. Later. Another “later,” like the trial, and the verdict. “Have you been behaving yourself? No panic, no freakies?” He knew her too well.

  “I’ve been fine. And Astrid’s been taking care of me like a child.” She didn’t tell him about Houghton. Or the night of semicraziness that she had had to fill with pills just to survive. She had crawled through that night as if it were a mine field.

  “Is she here with you now?” He looked around but didn’t see her.

  “Yes, but she waited downstairs. She was afraid you’d feel awkward. And she figured we’d want to talk.”

  “Tell her I love her. And I’m glad you’re not here alone. Jessie, I’ve been worried sick over you. Promise me you won’t do anything crazy. Please. Promise.” His eyes pleaded with her.

  “I promise. Honest, darling. I’m okay.” But she didn’t look it. They both looked like hell. Ravaged, shocked, exhausted, and in Ian’s case two days’ growth of beard didn’t help.

  For half an hour they exchanged the disjointed banalities of people still in shock. Jessie stayed busy trying not to cry, and she managed not to until she rejoined Astrid downstairs. They were tears of anger and pain.

  “They have him up there in a goddam cage like an animal!” And that damn woman was probably in her office, doing her job, living her life. She had gotten her revenge and now she could be happy. While Ian rotted in jail, and Jessie went crazy alone at night.

  Astrid took her home, cooked her dinner, and waited until she was half asleep. It was an easier night for Jessie, mostly because she was too exhausted to torture herself thinking, to wander. She simply slept. And Astrid was back early the next morning with fresh strawberries, a copy of The New York Times, and a brand-new Women’s Wear Daily as though that still mattered.

  “Lady, what would I do without you?”

  “Sleep later, probably. But I was up so I thought I’d come over.” Jessie shook her head and hugged her friend as she poured two cups of tea. It was going to be a long haul, and Astrid was a godsend. It would be another twenty-seven days until the sentencing. And God only knew what would happen after that.

  Jessie had the shop to think of too, but she wasn’t ready to face that yet She managed it with increasingly rare phone calls and a great deal of faith in Katsuko. Astrid took her along to her own appointment with the hairdresser, more to keep an eye on her than anything else. Jessie could only see Ian twice a week, and there was a frightening aimlessness about her in the meantime. She’d start to say things and then forget them, take objects out of her handbag and then forget why she’d brought them out; she would listen to Astrid talk and look right through her as though she couldn’t see or hear her. She wasn’t making a great deal of sense. She looked the way she felt, like a lost child far from home hanging desperately to a new mother. Astrid. But without Ian nothing made any sense. Least of all living. And with no contact, it was hard to remind herself that he still existed. Astrid was just trying to keep her afloat until the next time she could see him.

  There had been a small article on the back page of the paper the day after the verdict. But no one had called, only the two friends who had appeared for Ian in court. They were shocked by the news. Astrid took the calls and Jessica dropped them each a note. She didn’t want to talk to anyone now.

  On Monday she went back to work, and Zina and Katsuko were subdued. Kat had spotted the article, but hadn’t mentioned it on the phone; she had wanted to wait until she could say something to Jessie in person. And she had known from the sound of her voice on the phone that Jessie didn’t want them to know. It was a painful moment when she and Astrid walked into the shop. She read the knowledge at once in their faces, and Zina instantly had tears in her eyes. Jessie hugged them both.

  Now the two girls knew why Houghton had come to the shop, why Jessie had been so frantic, why the Morgan was gone. They finally understood.

  “Jessie, is there anything we can do?” Katsuko spoke for both of them.

  “Only one thing. Don’t talk about it after this. There’s nothing I can say
right now. Talking doesn’t help.”

  “How’s Ian?”

  “He’s surviving. That’s about the best you can say.”

  “Do you have any idea what’ll happen?” She shook her head and sat down quietly in her usual chair.

  “Nope. No idea at all. Does that answer everybody’s questions?” She looked at the two women’s faces, and she already felt tired.

  “Do you need any help at home, Jessie?” Zina had finally spoken up. “It must be lonely. And I don’t live very far.”

  “Thanks, love. I’ll let you know.” She gave the girl a squeeze as she headed toward her office with Astrid at her heels. The last thing she wanted was to spend evenings with Zina commiserating. It would be worse than the terrors of being alone. She turned at the door to her office with a serious look on her face. “One thing, though. I’m not going to be around much for the next few weeks. I have things to do for Ian. People to see about the sentencing, and just a hell of a lot on my mind. I’ll be here whenever I can, but you two count on carrying the ball for me. Like you’ve been doing. Okay?” Katsuko saluted and Jessie smiled. “Couple of nuts. It’s nice to be back.”

  “What if I pitch in and help?” Astrid was looking at her with interest as she sat down at her desk.

  “To tell you the truth, I need you more everywhere but the shop. Kat has this place under control. The real problem is me. Mornings, evenings, late nights … you know.” Astrid did know. She had seen Jessie’s face at eight-thirty in the morning, and had heard her voice at two. It told a perfect tale of what the nights were like. The terror that daylight would never come again. That Ian would never come home. That the world would swallow her up and never spit her out. That Houghton would break down the door and rape her. Real fears and unreal fears, demons of her own making and men who weren’t worthy of the name—all tangled together in her mind.

  “Any idea what time you’ll be through work? I’ll pick you up. We can have dinner at my place tonight, if you feel up to it.”

  “You’re too good to me.” And it was amazing, considering how short a time they’d known each other. But Astrid knew what it was like. She had a healthy respect for what Jessica was going through.

  Most of Jessica’s efforts went toward Ian’s sentencing. Twice she saw the probation officer detailed to the case, and she hounded Martin night and day. What was he doing? What did he have in mind? Had he spoken to the probation officer? What were the man’s impressions? Should Martin talk to the man’s superiors? She even went to speak to the judge one day at lunchtime. He was sympathetic, but didn’t want to be pressured about the sentencing. Jessie had the distinct impression that had she been a little less ladylike the judge might have been a little less kind in his reception. As it was, he was not overly welcoming. She also collected letters from a number of discreet friends, testifying to Ian’s good character. She even got a letter from his agent, hoping to show that Ian had to be free to complete the new book, and that going to prison would destroy his career.

  Thanksgiving came and went like any other day. Or at least Jessica tried to ensure that it did. She treated it like any day when she wasn’t working. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of past Thanksgivings. She refused to let it be festive in any way. That would have been too much for her. She spent it with Astrid, and Ian spent it in jail. There was no visiting at the county jail on Thanksgiving Day. He ate stale chicken sandwiches and read a letter from Jessie. She ate steak with Astrid, who went out of her way to ignore the holiday this year, sacrificing a long weekend at the ranch with her mother. But the sacrifice was well worth it. She was worried about Jessie, who always seemed to move about in a haze now, stopping and starting, jangled, at one extreme or the other: fuzzy and full of pills, or wild from too much coffee.

  And she worked night and day. Figuring out what to do for the sentencing, and suddenly pouring her energy back into Lady J, as she hadn’t in years. She worked on Saturdays again. At home she did anything, everything —cleaned the basement, straightened out the garage, redid her closets, tidied the studio—anything, trying not to think. And maybe, maybe, if she did everything perfectly, maybe at the end of the month, he’d come home. Maybe they’d give him probation, maybe …she moved like a whirling dervish, but she had to; the pounding of her mind was deafening her. And constantly there was fear. She never escaped it. Sheer, raw, endless terror. Beyond human proportions. But she wasn’t human anymore. She barely ate, she hardly slept. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel. She didn’t dare to be human. Humans fell apart. And that was what scared her most. Falling apart. Like Humpty-Dumpty. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men … that was what she was afraid of. Ian knew it, but he couldn’t stop her now. He couldn’t touch her, hold her, feel her, make her feel. He couldn’t do anything except watch her through the window and talk to her on the phone at the jail as she played nervously with the cord and snapped her earring absentmindedly.

  And he continued to look steadily worse—unshaven, unwashed, ill fed, and with dark circles under his eyes that seemed to get darker each time she saw him.

  “Don’t you sleep in here?” There was a raw edge to her voice now. It was higher, shriller, scareder. He pitied her, but he couldn’t help her now. They both knew it, and he wondered how long it would take her to hate him for it. For failing her. He was terrified that a day would come when he couldn’t keep the boogey man from the door for her, and then she would turn on him. Jessie expected a lot. Because she needed so much.

  “I sleep now and then.” He tried to smile. Tried not to think. “What about you? Looks like a lot of makeup under your eyes, my love. Am I right?”

  “Are you ever wrong?” She smiled back and shrugged, snapping the earring again. She had lost twelve pounds, but she was sleeping a little better. She just didn’t look it. But the new red pills helped. They were better than the yellow ones, or even the little blue ones Astrid had let her graduate to after that. They were the same kind, only stronger. The red ones were something else. She didn’t discuss it with Ian. He would have been difficult about it. And she was careful. But the pills were the best part of her day. The two bright moments with Ian were the only livable parts of her week, and in between she had to get through the days. The pills did that for her. And Astrid doled them out one by one, refusing to leave the bottle with her.

  Ian would have been frantic if he had known. She had promised him solemnly, after Jake had died—no more pills. He had stood at her side all night while they’d pumped her stomach, and afterward she had promised. She thought about that sometimes when she took the pills. But she had to. She really had to. Or she’d die anyway. One way or another. She worried about things like jumping out a window, without wanting to. About little demons seizing her and making her do things she didn’t want to do. She couldn’t talk to customers in the shop anymore. She stayed in the back office because she was afraid of what she’d say. She was no longer in control. Of anything. Jessica was not in her own driver’s seat. No one was.

  The four weeks between the verdict and the sentencing ground by like a permanent nightmare, but the sentencing finally came. The plea for probation was heard by the judge, and this time Jessie stood beside Ian as they waited. It was less frightening now, though, and she kept touching his hand, his face. It was the first time in a month that she had touched him. He smelled terrible and his nails were long. They had given him an electric razor at the jail and it had torn his face apart. But it was Ian. It was, at last, the touch of the familiar in a world that had become totally unfamiliar to her. Now she could stand next to him. Be his. She almost forgot the seriousness of the sentencing. But the courtroom formalities brought her back. The bailiff, the court reporter, the flag. It was the same courtroom, the same judge. And it was all very real now.

  Ian was not granted probation. The judge felt that the charges were too serious. And Martin explained later that with the political climate what it was, the judge could hardly have done otherwise. Ian was given a sen
tence of four years to life in state prison, and he would have to serve at least a fourth of his minimum sentence: one year.

  The bailiff led him away, and this time Jessie did not cry.

  Chapter 22

  Three days later, Ian was moved from county jail to state prison. He went, like all male prisoners in Northern California, to the California Medical Facility in Vacaville for “evaluation.”

  Jessica drove there two days later with Astrid, in the black Jaguar, and with two yellow pills under her belt. Astrid said these were the last she would give her, but she always said that. Jessica knew she felt sorry for her.

  Except for the gun tower peering over the main gate and the metal detector that searched them for weapons, the prison at Vacaville looked innocuous. Inside, a gift shop sold ugly items made in the prison, and the front desk might have been the entrance to a hospital. Everything was chrome and glass and linoleum. But outside, it looked like a modern garage. For people.

  They asked to see Ian, filled out various forms, and were invited to sit in the waiting room or wander in the lobby. Ten minutes later a guard appeared to unlock a door to an inner courtyard. He instructed them to pass through the courtyard and go through yet another door, which they would find unlocked.

  The inmates in the courtyard wore blue jeans, T-shirts, and an assortment of shoes, everything from boots to sneakers, and Astrid raised an eyebrow at Jessie. It didn’t look like a prison. Everyone was casually playing with the soda machines or talking to girlfriends. It looked like a high school at recess, with here and there the exception of a sober face or a watery-eyed mother.

  What she saw gave Jessie some hope. She could visit Ian somewhere in the courtyard, could touch him again, laugh, hold hands. It was madness to be regressing to that after seven years of marriage, but it would be an improvement over the doggie-in-the-window visits at the county jail.