by Judith Gould
She eyed a balled-up blouse with disgust and flung it aside. She had, to reverse the old cliche, someplace to go but nothing to wear.
Damn.
She rifled through the jumble of clothes in renewed desperation. Skirts and dresses flew out behind her, arcing through the air and falling soundlessly to the carpet. Oh, God. Where was your fairy godmother when you needed her? Was owning one extravagant outfit too much to ask? Duncan Cooper deserved a beautifully dressed woman hanging on his arm.
In the end, she chose lime-colored panty hose, a short black tank-top dress with thick shoulder straps, a floppy purple velvet pullover tunic, comfortable flat espadrilles.
She eyed herself critically in the full-length mirror. She didn’t look too bad, all things considered. Well, at any rate, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Like it or not, it was the least she could do.
She hoped she wouldn’t disappoint.
After the doorman rang and announced Duncan Cooper, she grabbed a lemon-yellow ankle-length cotton duster and hurried out to the elevator.
When she reached the lobby, the doorman pointed out beyond the canopy, where a sleek red Ferrari Testarossa, with air manifolds just forward of the rear fender, waited with a growl. Duncan Cooper leaned across the passenger seat and chucked open the door when he saw her coming.
For the moment, her worries about how she was dressed were forgotten. “This is your car?” she breathed, running her eyes appreciatively along its length. “Wow!”
He stared at her, his eyes riveted. Was he dreaming, or was she the most magnificent woman he had ever laid eyes on? Yes, that. Definitely, undeniably, inarguably that.
“You’re the one who deserves a wow,” he said softly with a grin. “Well? What are you waiting for? Hop on in, beautiful, and fasten your seat belt!”
Chapter 34
R L. Shacklebury expected a frosty reception—hell, after the fiasco on the phone, he deserved one. He wouldn’t blame Edwina if she tried to scratch his eyeballs out.
Blast that damned Catherine Gage all to hell! he thought grimly. And blast me all to hell too! How could I have been so stupid as to let myself be led by my cock?
Minutes before boarding the Trump shuttle in Boston, he had called Sally, his secretary, and instructed her to arrange for Edwina to receive one enormous FTD bouquet every hour on the hour.
“This has something to do with Catherine Gage?” Sally asked in a knowing voice, right on the mark, as usual.
“MYOB,” he told her without rancor. “Just see to it that the flowers are delivered like clockwork.”
Appropriately subdued and willing to do anything to get back into Edwina’s good graces, after landing at La Guardia he had the cabbie detour by a florist’s, where he bought every flower in the glass-fronted cooler.
“All of them?” asked the florist, who was ready to lock up and couldn’t believe his good fortune.
“All of them,” R.L. repeated.
“It’s your money!” The florist laughed.
R.L. stuffed the back of the cab with the mountain of flowers and got in beside the driver. Already he was feeling his spirits lift a little. So she might scratch his eyeballs out. So what? He’d wear her down with kindness until, sooner or later, she couldn’t resist him any longer. And then she would be his again.
Thus, laden with yet another extravagant peace offering, R.L. headed to the San Remo, a sheepish but determined smile fixed on his face.
Try as she might, Billie Dawn just couldn’t get the unbidden tune out of her mind. It had begun forming the moment they’d passed Forty-second Street, and now, as they approached the Thirty-fourth Street exit of the FDR Drive, her head was literally pounding with the half-forgotten lyrics of “Downtown.”
For Petula Clark going downtown might have meant forgetting troubles and cares, but for Bille Dawn it meant other things entirely. For her, downtown meant:
Bikes.
Brutes.
Violence.
Fear.
Drugs.
Fights.
Rape.
Downtown did not harbor good memories for Billie Dawn.
Never would. Never could.
She finally spoke up as the vertical glitter of the Waterside complex slipped past on their left. “Where are we headed?” Her voice was low and tremulous, and she moved as close to Duncan as the bucket seat would allow.
“Oh, to a special place,” he replied evasively. “I think you’ll like it. Why?”
Billie’s face was pinched. “Is ... is it much further?”
“Not much,” he said. Having caught the undercurrent in her voice, he flicked a sideways glance at her. “We’re almost there.”
She nodded and turned back to the windshield, staring in petrified panic at the curving necklace of bobbing ruby-red taillights up ahead.
She felt his penetrating eyes upon her again. She kept staring straight ahead, her taut face lighting up and darkening in the come-and-go glare of oncoming headlights.
“Hey,” he said with a worried little laugh. “Did I lose you?”
“No,” she said quietly, “you didn’t lose me, Doc.” She looked out at the traffic a moment longer, then turned her head and looked at him. “Could we not go much further downtown, Doc? I’d really rather we didn’t.”
He frowned and glanced sideways at her in the semidarkness. His voice was gentle and understanding. “Sure, baby,” he said, switching on the turn signals and twisting around to look before he changed lanes. He eased the car to the right, and at Fourteenth Street swung onto the exit. After they crossed First Avenue, he abruptly pulled over to the curb and let the engine idle.
He turned to her and looked at her steadily in the pallid glow of a streetlight. “Billie?” he asked softly. “Are you all right?”
For a long moment she sat there tense and rigid, the damn song threatening to burst her eardrums. But to Duncan the only audible sounds were the throaty throbs coming from under the hood; that and the whoosh of traffic passing, as drivers, anticipating the changing light up ahead, made a run to get through before it went red.
Slowly she turned her face to his and swallowed bravely. “I . . . I’m okay, Doc.”
“Something’s wrong . . . very wrong. Why can’t you share it with me?” When she didn’t reply, he reached out and took her face in his hands. “My shoulders are big enough, Billie,” he added softly. “You can tell me anything. It won’t change the way I feel about you.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his. “You must think me an emotional mess. And you know what?” She laughed with bitter softness. “I am.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t think you’re a mess.”
She stared at him. “Then why did you pull over? So we could play Monopoly?” She twisted her head out of his hands and faced front again, staring out the curved windshield. “You pulled over because you know something is wrong. And you’re right.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “There is.”
His voice was gentle. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She kept staring out the windshield. “Yes, but . . . but I can’t. I want to, Doc. I want to desperately! But I just can’t!” She turned to him, her lips quivering, and her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “You . . . you’d be a lot better off not getting involved with me, Doc.”
“Says who?” he challenged.
“Says me,” she whispered.
“Why don’t you let me decide what’s good for me?”
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why should I get hurt? There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Nothing wrong! Only nearly everything, that’s all.”
The look in his eyes glowed with intentions so gentle and sure and good that it hurt her to see it.
“Doc, do you have any idea what you’d be letting yourself in for?”
“I don’t care,” he said staunchly.
“You don’t care now,” she said. “But there’ll come a time when you do.”
; “I think you’re wrong,” he said. “Just because you’ve been hurt and can’t talk about it yet doesn’t mean you’ll be like that forever. Maybe you even believe that if you unload what’s on your mind, nothing will come of it. But that’s not true. Sharing one’s hurt— that’s the first real step toward healing the wounds.”
“Nightmares can’t be healed,” she said in a strained whisper.
“Hey, we all have nightmares. Sleeping nightmares and waking nightmares. Sure, most of us haven’t been through the hell you have, but everyone is haunted by something.” His voice grew very quiet. “You can’t just hide your scars, Billie. Don’t you see? If you do, they’re liable to eat you up inside.”
“But what happened—”
“What happened,” he said harshly, “is not your fault! You’ve got to get that kind of thinking out of your head once and for all!”
“I . . . I’m not a good person, Doc. You saw what happened to me last winter. Things like that don’t happen to nice girls.”
He felt a roaring anger seize hold of him. “You were a victim, dammit! Nobody asks for what was done to you!”
“But don’t you see? I knew them. I lived with them!”
“So? That doesn’t lessen the violence any, nor does it put the blame on you.”
“Please,” she begged. “Just drop it? Let’s get off this subject?”
“Let it out, Billie!” he urged. “Share it. At least that way I can see to it that whatever triggered it tonight won’t ever happen again.”
She touched his arm. “You’re so sweet, Doc,” she said huskily. “You really do deserve better than me.”
“Bullshit!” he retorted. “You’ve got to stop putting yourself down!”
“Doc . . .”
Suddenly he understood. “It happened down here somewhere, didn’t it? That’s what’s brought it all flooding back. That’s why you asked me not to go further downtown?”
“Yes. It was . . . just above Houston Street.”
“Jesus. I wish I’d known. Then I wouldn’t have brought you down here. But for the love of God, Billie, you can’t keep things like this bottled up inside you. If you don’t let off some steam, you’ll explode. Once that happens, everybody gets hurt. The secret is to let the steam out a little at a time. That way, the pressure doesn’t keep building.”
“And there’s no explosion.” She raised her head and smiled a little.
“Atta girl. Now you’re talking.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
He shook his head. “It’s not easy, Billie. In fact, it’s probably the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. But you can’t let the past ruin the rest of your life,” he said gently. “The world is full of monsters, but by the same token, it’s full of gentle, loving people too. Don’t let what happened back in December make you lose sight of that.”
“Do you think . . .” she began haltingly. She bowed her head for a moment, took a deep breath, and then raised her face to his. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to . . . you know . . .” Her voice trailed off and there was a wild kind of desperation in her eyes.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific than that, Billie.” He gave her a little smile to soften the words. “I’m not psychic, you know.”
She pulled away from him. “Make love,” she said in a weary whisper. “I haven’t wanted to . . . not since last December. What if I can’t ever—”
He interrupted her sharply. “Don’t even think it! Billie, love had nothing to do with what was done to you! It wasn’t even sex. It was ugly, monstrous violence, the most vicious kind of violation a human being can suffer.” He clenched his fists on the steering wheel and glared angrily out the windshield. “There doesn’t exist punishment enough for that kind of crime!”
“I’m not seeking revenge, Doc. I just want to feel normal and whole again. Is that too much to ask for?”
She said it so longingly that he instinctively moved closer to her. “I promise you, you will feel normal again, Billie. But it will take time.”
She gave a discordant laugh. “I guess I’m young. I’ve got all the time in the world. Right?”
He didn’t reply.
“I’ll sure make some man very happy, I can tell you that. I can just see it now. The frigid wife.”
“Billie,” he pleaded.
“Don’t say anything, Doc!” The tears were rolling faster down her cheeks now. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? I mean, no man will ever want me. Not after the way I’ve been . . . soiled.” Her voice cracked on the word.
“I will want you,” he said softly. “I already do.”
She jerked, as though an invisible fist had blurred out at her from under the dashboard. “Don’t tease me, Doc!” she whispered. “Please don’t tease me!”
“I’m not teasing you, Billie. I love you. I don’t care how long it takes, or how much patience is required to help you get over this. In time, you will. Besides,” he added, striving for a little comic relief, “sex isn’t everything.”
“Oh, Doc!” she moaned, shaking her head at his folly. “You poor luckless bastard. You’ve got no idea what you’d be letting yourself in for!”
He flashed her a brilliant grin. “Oh, but you’re wrong. You see, I do know what I’m letting myself in for. And I’m in for the long haul—for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health and all of that.”
“What are you saying, Doc?” she breathed, her eyes suddenly wide.
“Exactly what my words imply,” he said blissfully. “Now, be a good girl and wipe away those tears. Then what do you say we get our asses in gear and head straight back uptown?”
“I . . . I’d say that was just fine,” she murmured tremulously, his sudden delight and unexpected confession of love nourishing her with much-needed strength, yet creating a maelstrom of new emotions.
“Good. Then here goes!” He shifted into first, looked back over his shoulder, spied an opening in the traffic, and pulled smoothly out into it.
Beside him, Billie Dawn was wiping away the last vestiges of her tears. Her confidence was building, slowly but most surely. “Downtown” had become a diminishing background noise.
Chapter 35
R .L. waited as the San Remo’s porters piled the jungle of floral bouquets outside the door of Edwina’s apartment. When they turned to him and asked if there would be anything else, he shook his head. “That’s it, gentlemen.” With a flourish, he handed each man a crisp new greenback and smiled.
The men stared at the money in their hands. “Hey! These are C-notes!” one of them exclaimed, adding reluctantly, “Sure you didn’t make a mistake?”
“Positive.”
“Thanks!” Their grateful chorus was accompanied by smiles of relief as they made a speedy getaway, lest he change his mind.
Now that he was alone, R.L. eyed Edwina’s door with more than a modicum of trepidation. He couldn’t blame her if she refused to see him. But he had to see her, and apologize, and explain.
“Well, R.L., old boy,” he told himself softly, rubbing his hands together, “here goes. If any occasion ever called for your Irish gift of gab, this is it.” And with that he shoved aside tall, waxy stalks of birds of paradise, leaned over a mountain of tulips, and fought his way past scratchy branches of flowering quince, barely managing to reach the buzzer.
Ruby flung the door open. “Now, see here—” she began hotly as she caught sight of the hedge of flowers. Then she saw R.L. and squared herself, hand on a hip. “You!” she accused, her big brown eyes narrowing.
“That’s right, me,” he said as suavely as Cary Grant. “Hello, Ruby.”
“Humph. Hello yourself.” She eyed the latest floral delivery with malevolence. “Are you crazy or something?”
“Never felt saner in my entire life!” R.L. gave her a chipper smile and did a double-take. All around Ruby, the inside of the foyer looked like the hall outside. It was a sea of floral arrangements. Sally had taken him at his word.
Ruby lifted her hands in futile helplessness. “Flowers, flowers, and now you bring more flowers,” she muttered darkly. “You know what this place is beginning to smell like?”
“A summer terrace on the Riviera?” he suggested, struggling through the floral mountain blocking the door.
“A funeral parlor’s more like it,” said Ruby with a stern waggle of a forefinger. “I’ve got a good mind not to let you in.”
But of course, despite her mutterings and grumbles to the contrary, Ruby adored him, and he knew it. She was his strongest ally, always ready to put in a good word for him. Shrewdly and instinctively, she, better than Edwina, knew what was good for Edwina. And, as Ruby’s devotion to Edwina knew no bounds, the effort she expended pouring oil upon troubled waters was considerable.
“Well?” R.L. asked.
“Well, what?”
“Doesn’t it look romantic?” He gestured around at the flowers. “Come on, admit it, Ruby.”
“You think it’s romantic?” Hallelujah’s incredulous voice scoffed from directly above.
Her voice was so close and so loud that R.L. nearly jumped out of his skin. Startled, he leaned his head back, looked up, and nearly gagged. Her face was just above his. Feet hooked casually through the banister of the second-floor railing, she hung there, upsidedown, like a bat.
“Hallelujah Cooper, you get off that railing this very instant!” Ruby scolded, her brow lowering wrathfully. “If your mama catches you doing this, she’ll take a hairbrush to your bottom!”
“Oh, Ruby,” Hallelujah said with maddening blitheness, “you know Ma never lays a hand on me.”
“And I know she should!”
Hallelujah eyed R.L. with amusement. “You must have done something totally grody and absolutely geeky to have to buy Ma all these flowers just to make up.” She grinned disarmingly. “What’d ya do? Shack up for a quickie and get caught?”
Ruby had taken all she could take. “Get down from there!” she bellowed.
“You mean up, don’t you?”
“I mean now!”
With an exasperated sigh Hallelujah did a series of seemingly effortless acrobatics before casually disappearing from view.
