She had sent Luana and Sally postcards only a few days before, telling them that she was okay and Chicago was great. But she knew them both well, and she suspected they'd never write her. But she still wanted to let them know that she was safe and well, and had reached a safe harbor. And that they weren't forgotten.
“You looked so upset a few minutes ago,” Marjorie pursued it, but Grace was smiling now.
“I'm just happy. This is like a dream come true for me.” Marjorie would never know how much so. The one thing she didn't want anyone to know here was that she had killed her father and served time in prison. She wanted to leave that behind her.
“It's like a dream for me, too,” Marjorie confessed. “My parents were so poor I had to share my only good pair of shoes with two of my sisters. And they had feet two sizes smaller, and Mom always bought them in their size. I never lived in a place like this, till I came here. And now I can afford it, thanks to the Swansons.” It was thanks to her own good looks, and she knew that. She was planning to move on to New York when her contract was up, and do some modeling there, or even Paris. “It's fun, isn't it?”
“It's terrific.”
The two girls chatted for a while, and eventually Grace went back to her hotel and packed. She didn't care if she had to sleep on the floor until her furniture arrived. But she was not going to spend one more night in that cheap hotel, killing cockroaches, and listening to old men spit and flush toilets. She moved out the next day, and dropped her bags off on her way to work. And at lunch time, she went to buy a bed and some furniture at John M. Smythe on Michigan Avenue. She even bought herself two little paintings. They promised to deliver it all on Saturday, and in the meantime, Grace had every intention of sleeping on the carpet.
She had never been happier in her life, and the job was going splendidly. But on Friday, when she reported to Marquez, she found she was in trouble, and he loved it.
“You moved,” he accused her, pointing a finger at her, almost as soon as she walked into his office. He'd been waiting for her for days. And the only reason he knew was that he dropped by at the hotel again, and they told him she'd checked out for good on Tuesday.
“Yeah? So? What's the problem?”
“You didn't notify me.”
“The probation papers say I don't have to notify you for five days. I moved three days ago, and I'm notifying you right now. Does this take care of it, Mr. Marquez?” He was out to get her, and she knew it. But there was nothing he could say to her, she was right. She had five days to notify him that she had moved, and she had only moved on Tuesday.
“So what's the address?” he snarled at her, prepared to write it down, but as she looked at him, she realized what was going to happen.
“Does this mean you'll be dropping by on me from time to time?” she asked, looking worried, and he loved it. He liked making her uncomfortable, catching her off guard, frightening her, if possible. She brought out all his basest sexual instincts.
“It might. I have a right to drop by, you know. Do you have something to hide?”
“Yes. You.” She looked right at him and he flushed all the way to his receding hairline.
“What's that supposed to mean?” He dropped his pen and stared at her in irritation.
“It means that I have four roommates who don't need to know where I've been for the past two years. That's what.”
“You mean incarcerated for murder?” He glowed. Now he had a wedge he could use on her. He could threaten to expose her to her roommates.
“I guess that's what I mean. You make it sound so charming.”
“It is pretty charming, I'm sure they'd be fascinated to know your history. And by the way, what do you mean four roommates. Sounds like a bunch of call girls.”
“You wish.” She wasn't afraid of him, but he worried her a little bit, and she disliked him intensely. “They're models.”
“That's what they all say.”
“They're registered at the agency where I work.”
“Too bad. I need the address anyway … unless you want me to violate you, of course.” He looked ever hopeful.
“Oh for chrissake, Marquez.” She told him the address then, and he raised one nasty little eyebrow.
“Lake Shore Drive? How are you going to pay for that?”
“Split five ways it's costing me exactly two hundred dollars.” She had no intention of telling him about the money she'd gotten in her settlement with Frank Wills. Louis Marquez had absolutely no reason to know that. And the truth was, with the salary she earned, if she was willing to economize a little bit, she could afford the new town house.
“I'm going to have to look at this place,” Marquez growled at her, and she shrugged.
“I figured you'd say that. Want to make an appointment?” she asked hopefully. But he wasn't inclined to be that accommodating.
“I'll just drop by.”
“Great. Just do me a favor,” she looked at him unhappily, “don't tell them who you are.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don't care. Tell them you're selling me a car. Tell them anything. But don't tell them I'm on probation.”
“You'd better behave yourself, Grace,” he looked pointedly at her, and his meaning was not lost on her, “or I might have to.” And as she looked at him, for reasons she couldn't quite sort out, the ugly little man reminded her of Brenda in prison. He had her legs tied. And this time there was no Luana to save her.
Chapter 7
The group at the apartment got along splendidly. They never fought over bills, everyone paid their share of the rent, they were each nice to the other girls. They bought each other small gifts, and were generous with groceries. It was really the perfect arrangement. And Grace had never been happier in her life. Every day she wondered if it was real, or if she was dreaming.
The girls even tried to fix her up with their friends, but she drew the line at that. Groceries were one thing, but gifts of men were of no interest. She had no desire to go out with anyone, or complicate her life. At twenty, she was perfectly content to stay home and read a book, or watch TV at night. Every little freedom she had was a gift to her, and she wanted nothing more from life. Certainly not romance. Just the thought of it terrified her. She had no desire to go out with anyone, possibly ever.
Her roommates teased her about it at first, and then eventually, they decided she had a secret life. Two of them were sure she was seeing a married man, particularly when she started going out regularly, three times a week, on Monday and Thursday nights, and all day Sunday. During the week she would leave direcdy from work, and change there, and more often than not, she was home after midnight.
She had thought of telling them the truth, but eventually the fantasy that she was seeing someone worked a lot better for her. It made them leave her alone and stop trying to fix her up with their friends. In fact, in terms of how she wanted to live, it was perfect.
And the truth was that her three-times-a-week trysts were the heart and soul of her existence. Once she'd gotten settled in the town house with the girls, she had started looking for a place to work three times a week. Not for pay, but to give back some of what she had gotten out of life. She felt too fortunate not to do something to help others. It was something she had always promised herself, as she lay on her bunk at night, chatting with Sally, or while she worked out with Luana.
It had taken her a month to find the right place to volunteer. There had been no one she could ask, but she had read a number of articles, and there had been a special on TV about St. Mary's. It was a crisis center for women and children in an old brownstone, and when she'd first gone there, she was shocked at the condition it was in. Paint was chipping off the walls, there were bare bulbs hanging from sockets. There were kids shouting and running around everywhere, and dozens of women. Most of them looked poor, some were pregnant, all were desperate. And the one thing they had in common was that they had all been abused, some to within an inch of their lives. M
any of them were scarred, some no longer functioned normally, or had been in institutions.
The place was run by Dr. Paul Weinberg, a young psychologist who reminded her of David Glass, and after the first time she'd been there, Grace found herself aching for Molly. She would have loved to talk to her, and tell her all about it. It had been a deeply moving experience just being there. The place was mostly staffed by volunteers, and there was only a handful of paid employees, most of them doing internships for psych degrees, some of them registered nurses. The women and children living in the crisis center needed medical care, psychological help, they needed a place to live, they needed clothes, they needed tender loving care, they needed a hand to get out of the abyss they were in. Even for Grace, going to St. Mary's every week was like a light shining in the darkness. It was a place where souls were restored, and people were made whole again, as whole as they ever would be.
Just helping them helped her. It made her whole life worth something just to go there. She had volunteered for three shifts a week of seven hours each, which was a tremendous commitment. But it was a place where Grace felt at peace herself, and where she could bring peace to others. The women there had experienced many of the same things she had, and so had the children. There were pregnant fourteen-year-olds who had been raped by their fathers or brothers or uncles, seven-year-olds with glazed eyes, and women who didn't believe they would ever be free again. They were the victims of violence, and most of the time of abusive husbands. Many of them had been abused as children, too, and they were continuing to perpetuate the cycle for their own children, but they had no idea how to break it. That was what the loving staff at St. Mary's tried to teach them.
Grace was tireless when she was at St. Mary's. She worked with the women sometimes, and most of all, she loved the children. She'd gather them close to her, hold them on her lap, and tell them stories she made up, or read to them by the hour. She took them to clinics at night, to see the doctor for injuries they'd had, or just to get exams or shots. It gave her life so much more meaning. And at times it hurt too. It hurt terribly, because it was all so familiar.
“It breaks your heart, doesn't it?” one of the nurses commented a week before Christmas. Grace had been putting a two-year-old to bed. She had been brain-damaged by her father, who was in jail now. It was odd to think that he was in jail, and her father, who had done things that were almost as bad, had died a hero.
“Yes, it does. They all do. But they're lucky.” Grace smiled at her. She knew this story well. Too well. “They're here. They could still be out there getting battered. At least, for now, it's over.” The real heartbreak was that some of them went back. Some of the women just couldn't stay away from the men who beat them, and when they went back, they took the children with them. Some were hurt, some were killed, some never recovered in ways that couldn't be seen. But some got it, some learned, some moved on to new lives and came to understand how to be healthy. Grace spent hours talking to them, about the options they had, the freedom that was theirs, just for the taking. They were all so frightened, so blinded by their own pain, so disoriented by everything they'd been through. It made her think of the condition she had been in herself nearly three years before, when she'd been in jail and Molly tried to reach her. In a way, Grace was doing this for her, to give back some of the love that Molly had shared with her.
“How's it going?” Paul Weinberg, their chief psychologist, and the head of the program, stopped to chat with her late one night. He had been working shoulder to shoulder with the volunteers and employees, doing intakes. Most of them came in at night. They came in hurt, they came in frightened, they came in injured in body and mind, and they needed everything the team had to give them.
“Not bad.” Grace smiled at him. She didn't know him well, but she liked what she'd seen. And she respected the fact that he worked hard. They had sent two women to the hospital that night, and he had driven them there himself, while she cared for the children. Each of them had had four kids, and they were all in bed now. “It's a busy night.”
“It always is right before Christmas. Everyone goes nuts over the holidays. If they're going to beat their kids and wives, this is the time to do it.”
“What do they do? Run ads? ‘Beat your wife now, only six more days to do it before Christmas.’ “She was tired but still in good humor. She liked what she was doing.
“Something like that.” He smiled at her, and poured her a cup of coffee. “Ever think of doing this for real? I mean, on a paid basis?”
“Not really,” she said honestly, but she was flattered by the question, as she sipped the steaming coffee. Paul had the same woolly hair as David Glass, and the same kind eyes, but he was taller, and better-looking. “I used to think about getting a psych degree. I'm not sure I'm that good at this. But I like what I do here. I love the people, and the idea that we might make a difference. I think doing it as a volunteer is good enough for now. I don't need to get paid for it. I love it.” She smiled again, and he seemed to be studying her carefully. She intrigued him.
“You're good at what you do, Grace. That's why I asked. You should think about that psych degree some more, when you have time.” He was impressed by her, and he liked her.
She had worked until two o'clock that night. Half a dozen new women had come in, and there was just too much going on for her to leave them. When everyone was settled, Paul Weinberg had offered to drive her home, and she was grateful for the ride, she was exhausted.
“You were great tonight,” he praised her warmly, and she thanked him. And he was surprised to see where she lived. Most people on Lake Shore didn't bother to volunteer three days a week at St. Mary's. “What's the deal?” he asked her, as they pulled up outside her house. “This is a pretty fancy place, Grace. Are you an heiress?” She laughed at the question, and she knew he was teasing her, but he was curious too. She was a very interesting young woman.
“I share a town house with four other girls.” She would have invited him in but it was late. It was after two-thirty. “You'll have to come by sometime, if you can get away from St. Mary's.” She was friendly, but he sensed that she wasn't flirting with him. She treated him like a brother, but his interest in her was definitely not platonic.
“I get away once in a while,” he smiled. “What about you? What do you do when you're not helping women and kids in crisis?” He wanted to know more about her, even though it was late, and they were both tired.
“I work at a modeling agency,” she said quietly. She liked her job, and she was proud of it, and he raised an eyebrow.
“You're a model?” He wasn't surprised, but he thought it was unusual that someone who'd have to spend so much time on themselves would give so much to others. Because she did give a lot, to the women, and the kids. He had watched her.
“I work in the office,” she smiled at him, “but my roommates are all models, all four of them. You're welcome to come back and meet them.” She was trying to tell him she had no interest in him. Not as a man, at least. It made him wonder if she had a boyfriend, but he didn't want to ask her.
“I'd like to come back and see you,” he said pointedly. But he didn't have to do that. She was at St. Mary's three times a week, and he was always there when she was.
She volunteered for extra duty on Christmas Eve and couldn't believe how many women came in that night. She worked tirelessly, and she didn't get home till four a.m. And she managed to go to the Swansons’ the next day for their annual Christmas party for all their photographers and models. It was fun, and much to her own surprise, Grace actually enjoyed it, when she went with the others. The only thing that bothered her was that Bob had danced with her several times, and she thought he held her a little too close, and once she couldn't have sworn to it, but she felt him brush her breast with his fingers as he reached for an hors d'oeuvre. She was sure it had been an accident and he hadn't even noticed. But one of her roommates made a comment later that night which made her worry. It was Marjorie wh
o had noticed it, mother hen that she was. She was always checking on all of them, and she knew his tricks from her own experiences with him.
“Was Uncle Bobby warming up-tonight?” she asked Grace, who looked startled.
“What's that supposed to mean? He was just being friendly. It's Christmas.”
“Oh God, sweet innocence,” she groaned, “tell me you don't believe what you're saying.”
“Don't be a jerk.” Grace was defending him. She didn't want to believe that Bob cheated on Cheryl. But he was certainly surrounded constantly by temptation.
“Don't be naive. You don't think he's faithful to her, do you?” Divina added to their conversation. “Last year he chased me around his office for an hour. I almost broke my knee on that damn coffee table of his, getting away from him. Oh yes, Uncle Bob is a busy boy, and it looks like you're his next target.”
“Oh shit.” Grace looked at them with dismay. “I thought maybe something was going on, and then I figured I'd imagined it. Maybe I did.”
“In that case, so did I.” Marjorie laughed at her. “I thought he was going to tear your clothes off.”
“Does Cheryl know he does that stuff?” Grace asked unhappily. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in the middle, and she had no intention of inviting his advances, or of having an affair with Bob Swanson. She didn't want to have an affair with anyone. Not now anyway, and maybe never. It just wasn't what she wanted.
Paul Weinberg had called her several times to invite her to dinner, but she had declined. But on New Year's Eve, when she was working at St. Mary's again, he insisted that she at least sit down with him for ten minutes, and share a turkey sandwich.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he accused her as she sat there with her mouth full of turkey. It took her a minute before she could answer.
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