The hypnotist opened the door wearing an embroidered green caftan, a vivid blue wool scarf around her throat, and heavy purple slippers. Grazia shucked her snow boots onto a mat by the door and padded behind Evie over broad oriental rugs and through high-ceilinged yellow rooms on whose walls hung huge multicolored paintings. The hypnosis room was a small green refuge off the kitchen, probably once a pantry. Grazia sank into a soft armchair and raised the footrest, eager to get started. Evie took a straight-backed chair. Between them was a small table with a low lamp and a digital tape recorder. Evie picked up pen and paper. She took notes as Grazia described all that had happened.
“I want to know who he is,” concluded Grazia, closing her journal. She had been consulting it to insure she left out nothing. “For practical reasons, I have to know what he looks like so if I see him, I can protect myself. He’s following me and sending me anonymous threatening messages.” She read off the messages.
“Is self-protection the only reason you want to know his identity?”
“No.” Grazia had been thinking this over. “This happened when I was changing my life. I’ve left my boyfriend and I’m looking for a new job. I need to make good decisions. But now I don’t trust myself to choose the right job or find the right man. If you can help me find my past, I can see the mistakes I made that caused this man to assault me. Then I won’t make those mistakes again.”
“In other words, you think that your life is a story and that one decision led to another decision, and if you find where your story went wrong, you can start writing a better story.”
“Yes. I want to know why I trusted this man and didn’t cover my glass like Manuel warned me. I want to know my mistake of trust. Cindy says that I did nothing to cause this man to do this to me but I want to make sure.”
Evie nodded. “Many people come here asking me to lift the veil hiding their past. Like you, they believe that remembering the past clearly will allow them to see how they reached their present and enable them to create the future they want.”
“And you can help them?” asked Grazia, with hope.
Evie lifted her hands. “I’ve heard so many life stories that I’m not convinced that our lives are a story of one decision after another. I suspect people come to me so they can reconstruct a past that makes sense. I don’t know if that’s possible. There’s so much we will never know. To me, what is important is to build a healthy life and go forward with it, regardless of what happened before. However, that’s only my opinion. You came to me because I’m a hypnotist, and I will do what I can to unblock your memories of Saturday night. But I cannot promise that what happened will make sense. I also cannot promise that you will understand how your trust failed you and how you can avoid making a mistake of trust in a future that doesn’t yet exist. Futures cannot be so easily planned.”
“Just find me that man’s face,” said Grazia impatiently.
“Let me warn you,” Evie persisted. “If we succeed in opening your memory, what you see will be frightening and troubling. It may not even be accurate. From what I know of Rohypnol, it takes days to leave your body. Your brain is still affected. During hypnotic trance, you might see a nightmare version of what happened. Can’t you wait a few days to let the drug leave your body?”
“No. I leave on Friday and I want to remember enough before then to help the detective find this man.”
Evie was unconvinced. “Sexual assault takes a long recovery time, physically, psychologically and emotionally. It would be better for you all the way around to trace this man’s identity by other means. Can you hire a private detective?”
Grazia shook her head. “I want to do this myself, Evie. I’m a lawyer. I have to get inside my clients’ heads to figure out what they aren’t telling me or what they don’t know how to explain. Then I can I properly advise them. Now I have to get inside my own head so I can properly advise myself.”
“Even if hypnosis does open some blocked memories,” argued Evie, “what you remember depends on factors like where you were when you saw this man’s face. Maybe you didn’t see him clearly. Maybe you were so afraid that you couldn’t focus.”
“Just try,” Grazia said impatiently. “Rohypnol blocked my brain from forming memories. But I should remember what happened before I swallowed the drug. And I don’t! The crisis counselor says it’s dissociative amnesia caused by fear. Help me get past this fear, Evie. Somewhere in my brain are memories that will lead me to this man.”
Evie flipped through the notes she had been taking while Grazia talked. “This flash of gold that you saw at the end of your nightmare may be the fragment of an important clue. In fact, the whole nightmare very likely has the seeds of vital memories,” she commented. She switched on the digital recorder and quiet music. “Close your eyes,” she began in a gentle, calm voice. “Your right arm is heavy. Your left arm is heavy. Your neck and shoulders are heavy. Waves of relaxation are flowing over you.”
Under the flow of Evie’s smooth words, Grazia began to detach from the panic that had been floating around her since she woke up Sunday morning. She began to feel that some other woman was seated in this comfortable chair, a calm woman whose mind Grazia could enter.
“You are dressing to go to the Brazilian Bar,” prompted Evie in a quiet, factual tone. “You are happy. You have just completed a long and difficult task and it is out of your hands. And you are free of Francisco. What are you doing?”
“I’m putting on my new green lace underpants and bra. Tonight I may just have a good time. Or maybe I will find a real partner, someone who wants marriage and babies—something Francisco never wanted.”
“You are talking to Manuel in the lobby.”
“Manuel wants to go back to Naples. My mother can help him find a job. He is giving me his email and phone.”
Evie’s voice led her onward. “It’s snowing.”
“Jacky is licking my fingers. A monk is stepping into the street. A taxi is honking.”
“You are opening the door to the Brazilian Bar.”
“So loud! Laura is talking to some Italians. Email. Job interview! Laura is giving me champagne. Gold bracelet.” She gagged. “Sick. Vomit.”
“You are outside now.”
Grazia’s voice grew hoarse. She spoke in jerks. “Let me go!” she gasped and began shouting in Italian. Her hand closed around a car door handle. A face loomed before her.
Evie’s voice came in her ear, clear and loud. “When I snap my fingers, you will awaken. You will feel calm and refreshed. You will remember all you need to remember.”
Grazia slowly opened her eyes. She took a deep breath, then yawned and stretched. She felt relaxed and at ease. So why was her face covered with sweat?
“Was I really hypnotized? I could hear myself talking. People were speaking Italian. I saw a face.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“It was too dark.”
Evie handed her a glass of water and watched Grazia drink it. Then she played back the tape. Grazia listened in amazement at the information that hypnosis had revealed. She translated the Italian: “I said, ‘This taxi is for me. Get away. Jacky. Help me.’” More began dropping into her mind. “When Manuel told me to go to the Brazilian Bar, we planned to meet Sunday evening after his shift. He wants to go back to Italy. My mother could get him a hotel job. He gave me his phone and email.” She pulled out her smartphone and stared at the entry.
“Laura handed you the champagne glass,” said Evie, consulting her notes.
Grazia felt excitement well up inside her. “The detective thinks the drug was in the champagne. That means whoever handed the glass to Laura dropped in the Rohypnol. It could be Nick, even.”
“Not necessarily. Someone could have dropped it in while you were holding the glass. Manuel warned you to keep your hand over the glass but maybe you didn’t follow his advice.”
“I’m going to the Brazilian Bar this afternoon. I’ll ask Nick who he handed the glass to. I’ll find him, Evie
! I’m getting close! Hypnotize me again! I need to know more!”
Evie shook her head. “You became emotionally agitated while you were in the trance. In my opinion, your brain is blocking these memories because they are too painful and frightening for you right now. I’m not a psychologist, and I wouldn’t know how to guide you if you had a breakdown. One thing is sure: you definitely stored some memories of that night. Whether hypnosis can unlock them is another matter. I suggest you rest for twenty-four hours before we try again.” She shook her head in doubt. “Even then, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’m only willing to go ahead tomorrow because the drug should be gone from your brain and won’t be blocking your coping abilities.”
“Hypnotize me in my hotel room,” said Grazia, impulsively. “It used to be a sanctuary from the chaos of New York, but now I feel anxious there. I must have memories of what happened in that room.”
“You’re walking straight into your nightmare!” exclaimed Evie.
“Nightmares come from daytime memories, don’t they? I might even see his face.”
Chapter 17
Grazia dozed off in the taxi, exhausted by the emotions brought out by her discussions with Raoul, with Cindy, and under hypnosis. She needed to think it all over, record it, review her previous notes, and decide what to do next. Her head ached. At the Hotel Fiorella reception desk, she nearly wept with relief when Luigi had no anonymous messages.
Flopped on her bed, her eyes drifted closed, but she roused herself and located Manuel’s email and cell phone in her smartphone contacts. She tried his cell phone but the recording said the phone was not in service. She fired off an email explaining her situation and asking if he had seen her return on Saturday night in a disheveled state and with whom. She noted her email in her journal with date and time, and then she recorded everything that had happened that morning.
Finished, she called Laura. It was eleven-thirty at night in Milan but Laura was awake. She sounded guarded. “Don’t ask me the name of my hotel. I forgot to get it from my secretary.”
“I’ll find out another way,” Grazia snapped. She was starting to agree with Detective Cargill that Laura knew more than she was saying. It made her angry. “This afternoon, I saw a hypnotist. She probed my blocked memories for clues about what happened Saturday night.”
“Hypnotist!” Laura sounded alarmed. “Any momentous revelations?” she added cautiously.
“I saw you hand me the glass of champagne. I saw your gold bracelet.” She hurried on. “The detective and I believe the Rohypnol was dropped into my champagne glass.”
“Oh, Grazia, how can you be sure the champagne was drugged?” Laura flung out. “You have no witnesses and no evidence. All you have is that so-called dark hole in your memory!”
“Who handed you the glass, Laura?” Grazia demanded, sharply. “If you don’t know his name, describe him!” Grazia held her breath. Here was the moment she had been waiting for. Here was the date rapist’s identity.
“The bartender, I suppose. I don’t remember; it was so crowded at the bar. The bartender was pouring from the bottle and passing glasses to whoever was closest. He did that with both bottles of champagne.”
Despair flooded Grazia. She wanted to scream, to sob. Sick with disappointment, she latched onto Laura’s last words. “Both bottles?”
“Oh, yes. Two bottles. He was really celebrating your wonderful job interview.”
Grazia clutched her hair. The importance of what she had lost while she was drugged overwhelmed her. “He?”
“The guy who bought the champagne. One of those Italians we were with.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know.”
Grazia scribbled this in her journal. The process steadied her. “I’ll ask Nick this afternoon. The bartender.”
“Grazia, why push this? You’ve had a horrible experience. I deeply sympathize, but it would be healthier to put it all behind you.”
Grazia ignored her. “Raoul told me that I got sick, and you took me to the ladies’ room. Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?”
“Who’s Raoul?”
“A Italian I met this morning at breakfast in a cafe. He remembered me from Saturday night. He was one of those Italians we were talking to. He remembered you.”
“I don’t remember any of their names.”
“I showed him a photo of you from my smartphone.”
“You said your photos had been erased.”
“Only those from the Brazilian Bar. I showed him the one I took of you at Lord and Taylor. Why didn’t you tell me I got sick and you took me to the ladies’ room?” Grazia’s voice rose.
“It didn’t seem important.”
“It was vitally important!” Grazia shouted. She lowered her voice. “After that, you took me outside. That’s what Raoul said. And I didn’t come back. That means I went to my hotel. How did I get there, Laura? Which man took me?” Her voice rose again.
“You went by taxi. My airport van was waiting but I couldn’t leave you there on the sidewalk—laughing uncontrollably, raving about your work and your successes. A taxi pulled up just then and let some people out. I grabbed it and opened the door for you.”
“But I walked home with a man! I know because—”
“You can’t know. You have a black hole for a memory.” The connection closed.
Grazia bounced her phone onto the bed with a curse. She leaned back against the pillows and tried to push away the anger that was clouding her mind. She tried to relax her tense muscles. But as soon as she un-tensed one arm, the other tensed up. She searched for positive thoughts to help her relax, like her yoga teacher emphasized. She thought of all the nice people who were helping her—Evie, Cindy, Janine, Detective Cargill, Stanley, Sophia, Edmondo, Luigi, and Raoul. The mental discipline worked. She drifted off to sleep, but awake with a jerk when her smartphone pinged. She grabbed at it. Francisco? No, Evie was emailing the audio recording of her hypnosis. Grazia clicked it on and picked up her pen to take notes.
Two hours later, she awoke having missed the entire session but feeling remarkably refreshed and alert. It was now after five o’clock and time to go to the Brazilian Bar to talk to Nick. She opened the curtains and stared down at the dark street. The predicted snowstorm had arrived on schedule, and a sheen of white gleamed under the streetlights. Fat snowflakes slid down her windowpane and piled up on the sill. Why couldn’t the memory of that other snowy night slide into her mind like these snowflakes were sliding down the window?
She took a deep breath, told herself to exhale her anxiety, and moved into one of her memory recall techniques. She fastened her eyes on the snow gently falling on the sidewalk below. She imagined her feet walking this snowy sidewalk on Saturday night. Next to her was a man. He was helping her walk. She could hardly stand. She looked up into his face and saw—
A tap on the door jerked her into the present. She lunged at the peephole. Sophia was holding a small bunch of violets. Grazia unlatched the chain.
“I’m going off shift. Have you been resting?” Sophia asked.
Grazia buried her nose in the fragrant violets and arranged them in a glass of water. “This room is claustrophobic. I keep thinking about what happened here. I need to go out, do things, and be with people! I saw Cindy for counseling this morning. And I went to a hypnotist this afternoon. She unlocked some memories but I still don’t see the man’s face.”
“What have you remembered?”
“Manuel told me to go to the Brazilian Bar. He said I should keep my hand over my glass. He gave me his email and phone so we could meet Sunday evening. Laura handed me a glass of champagne, or one of them. I vomited. That’s all I remember. I telephoned Laura and she said she took me outside and got me a taxi. But I know I walked to the hotel with a man because Mrs. Springer and her dog saw me at ten-thirty. Sophia, if I can just find a suspect, the dog can identify him! He bit the man!” She returned to the window to stare gloomily at the falling snow.
>
“You are pushing yourself too hard. You will make yourself sick.” Sophia’s dark Italian eyes were large with worry.
“But I’m getting closer, Sophia. I know he’s Italian and that I met him at the Brazilian Bar. I know he was wearing a dark knit cap and a dark wool coat. I know Manuel saw him. Where is Manuel! Why doesn’t he answer my emails!” She flung up her arms with exasperation.
Sophia pulled a slip of paper from her uniform pocket. “My friends wrote down more names of Italian men registered at nearby hotels.”
Grazia glanced at it. “Laura’s name isn’t here.”
“Where does she work? If her employer paid the hotel bill, my friends could find the booking quicker.”
“I’ll check online.” Grazia tapped Laura’s name and “lawyer” into an Italian search engine. And there she was, smiling behind a massive wooden desk, view of the Milan skyline behind her. Grazia read the name of the firm. She clutched her hair in despair. “She works for the law firm that represents the contractor I’m negotiating the Kourtis contract with. I’ve been drafting the terms. You saw the papers all over the room. The first message I got talked about a fascinating conversation. Oh, Dio, what if I talked about the Kourtis contract? If I did, Laura took it straight to her boss. That would destroy the negotiations! And my reputation! I will never get a job in another law firm.”
With trembling fingers, Grazia wrote down the law firm name for Sophia, then copied the photo onto her flash drive. “I’ll print her photo in the business lounge and leave it for you with Luigi. You can show your friends at the other hotels along with the photo I gave you of Laura at Lord and Taylor. That might help them remember her and who she was with. And I’ll show both photos to Nick at the Brazilian Bar.”
Date Rape New York Page 12
