Malice

by Danielle Steel

  “Almost,” she blushed, “in July. And no, not married or engaged. I'm too smart for either one, thanks very much.”

  “Oh sure, Grandma, give me a lecture.” He laughed and she tried not to think about how attractive he was when he did. She didn't really want to get to know him. “At twenty-two, you're too young to even go out. I hope you don't.” He was teasing but she wasn't, and he sensed that.

  “I don't.”

  “You don't? You're not serious?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you planning to become a nun when you grow up, after your career in a law firm?” He was amused by her now that she was opening up a little bit. She was an intriguing girl. Smart and bright, and funny when she let it show, which wasn't often.

  “I have a friend who's trying to talk me into it actually.”

  “Who is that? I'll have to have a talk with this friend. Nuns are completely out of style these days. Don't you know that?”

  “I guess not,” Grace laughed again, “she is one. Sister Eugene. She's terrific.”

  “Oh God, you're a religious fanatic. I knew it. Why am I cursed with people like you … my wife wanted me to bring the Dalai Lama over from Tibet to stay with us … you're all crazy!” He pretended to brush her away, as a waiter poured their coffee and Grace laughed at him.

  “I'm not a religious fanatic, I swear. Sometimes it's appealing though. Their life is so simple.”

  “And so unreal. You can help the world without giving it up,” he said solemnly. It was something he felt strongly about. He liked helping people without taking extreme positions. “Where do you know this nun from?” He was still curious and they didn't have to leave the hotel for another ten minutes.

  “We work together at a place where I do volunteer work.”

  “And where's that?” She saw as he talked to her that he was perfectly shaved, and everything about him was immaculate, and she tried not to notice. This was business.

  “It's called St. Andrew's, on the Lower East Side. It's a home for abused women and children.”

  “You work there?” He seemed surprised, there was more to her than he had suspected, even though she was young, and sometimes very crabby. He was starting to like her better.

  “I do. I work there three times a week. It's an amazing place. They take in hundreds of people.”

  “I never figured you for doing something like that,” he said honestly.

  “Why not?” she was surprised.

  “Because that's a big commitment, a lot of work. Most girls your age would rather go to the discos.”

  “I've never been to one in my life.”

  “I'd take you, but I'm too old, and your mother probably wouldn't want you to go with me,” he said, implying no threat at all, and for once even Grace didn't react. But she also didn't tell him she had no mother.

  The limousine picked them up for their meetings a few minutes after ten. And the next day they concluded the deal, in time to fly back to New York on the nine p.m. flight, which got them back to New York at six the following morning. As they were landing he told her to take the day off. It had been a long two days, and they hadn't slept on the plane. He had worked, and she had helped him.

  “Are you taking the day off?” she asked.

  “I can't. I've got a meeting at ten with Arco, and I've got a lot to do. Besides, I have a partners’ lunch and there's some complaining I want to do.”

  “Then I'm going to work too.”

  “Don't be silly. I'll make do with Mrs, Macpherson or someone from the typing pool.”

  “If you're working, so am I. I don't need a day off. I can sleep tonight.” She was very definite about it.

  “The joys of youth. Are you sure?” He eyed her thoughtfully. She was becoming just what the others had said she was, loyal, hardworking, and nice to be around. It had been a long time coming.

  He dropped her off at her apartment on the way home, and told her to take her time coming in, and if she changed her mind, he'd understand. But she was there before he was. She had all his notes from the plane typed up, his memos for his ten o'clock meeting on his desk, and a series of files she knew he'd want laid out. And his coffee exactly the way he liked it.

  “Wow!” He smiled at her. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

  “You put up with me for the past three months. I was pretty awful, and I'm sorry.” He had been a perfect gentleman in California, and she was prepared to be his friend now.

  “No, you weren't. I guess I had to prove myself. We both did.” He seemed to understand it perfectly, and he was really grateful for the caliber of her work, and the minute attention she paid to detail.

  At three-thirty that afternoon, he forced her to go home, and said he'd fire her if she didn't. But something had changed between them, and they both knew it. They were allies now, not enemies, and she was there to help him.

  Chapter 11

  June was incredible in New York that year. It was warm and lush, with hot, breezy days, and balmy nights. The kind of nights where people used to sit on their stoops and hang out the windows. The kind of weather that made people fall in love or wish they had someone to fall in love with.

  There were two new women in Charles Mackenzie's life that month, and Grace was aware of both of them, though she wasn't sure she liked either one of them.

  One was someone he said he had grown up with, she was divorced and had two kids in college. The other was the producer of a hit Broadway show. He seemed to have a definite attraction to the theater. He had even given two tickets to the play to Grace, and she had taken Winnie and they'd loved it.

  “What's he really like?” Winnie asked her afterwards when they went to Sardi's for cheesecake.

  “Nice … very, very nice …” Grace admitted. “It took me a long time to say that. I kept thinking he was going to try and tear my clothes off, and I hated him for it before he even tried.”

  “Well, did he?” Winnie asked hopefully. She was desperate for Grace to fall in love with someone.

  “Of course not. He's a perfect gentleman.” She told her about California.

  “That's too bad.” Winnie sounded disappointed. Grace was her vicarious thrill in life, her only contact with youth, and the daughter she'd never had. She wanted great things for her. And especially a handsome husband.

  “He's got a bunch of women running after him. But I don't think he's really crazy about anyone. I think his ex-wife really burned him. He doesn't say much, and he's pretty decent about her, but I get the impression she took a chunk of him.” Not only financially, but a piece of his heart that had never recovered.

  “One of the girls on fourteen said it cost him close to a million dollars,” Winnie said in a whisper.

  “I meant emotionally,” Grace said primly. “Anyway, he's a nice man. And he works like a dog. He stays there till all hours.” He always called a cab for her, or a limousine when she worked late for him, and he was always careful to let her go on time the nights she worked at St. Andrew's. “He's very considerate.” And he had been complaining ever since she'd told him about St. Andrew's. He thought the neighborhood was just too dangerous for her to be going there by subway at night. He didn't even like it on Sundays.

  “At least take a cab,” he growled. But it would have cost her a fortune. And she had been doing it for months now with no problem.

  Winnie told her then that Tom's wife was having another baby. And they both laughed wondering how long it would take for Bill's wife to start another baby too. The two men were like clones of each other.

  After they left the restaurant, they hailed a taxi and Grace dropped Winnie off and went home herself, thinking how much she liked her job now.

  Charles went to California again in June, but he didn't take her this time. He only stayed for a day, and he said it wasn't worth it. And the weekend he came back, she worked with him on Saturday in the office. They worked till six o'clock, and he apologized for not taking her to dinner afterwards. He had a da
te, but he felt terrible working her all day and then not doing anything to reward her.

  “Next week you should take a friend to ‘21’ and charge it to me,” he suggested, looking pleased at the idea, “or tonight, if you like.” Grace knew immediately that she'd take Winnie, and the older woman would be ecstatic about it.

  “You don't have to do that for me,” Grace said shyly.

  “I want to. You have to get something out of this, you know. There are supposed to be perks for working for the boss. I'm not sure what they're supposed to be, but dinner at ‘21’ should definitely be one of them, so make yourself a reservation.” He never tried to take her out and she loved that about him. She was completely relaxed with him now. And she thanked him again before they both left. She thought he had a date with someone new, and she somehow had the impression that she was a lawyer in a rival law firm. There had been a lot of messages lately from Spielberg and Stein.

  She stayed home and watched television that night, but she called Winnie and told her about their dinner at ‘21,’ and Winnie was so excited, she said she wouldn't sleep in the meantime.

  And the next day, Grace went down to St. Andrew's as usual. The weather was still warm, and there were lots of people in the streets now, which, in some ways, made it safer for her.

  She had a long, hard day, working with the new intakes. The warm weather was bringing them in in droves. Somehow, there always seemed to be new excuses for their beatings.

  She had dinner in the kitchen with Sister Eugene and Father Tim and she was telling them about the movie stars she'd seen in the lobby of the hotel when she went to California.

  “All was well?” he asked. They hadn't had time to talk about it in the month since she'd been there and back, but he assumed so, or she would have told him.

  “It was great.” She beamed.

  It was eleven o'clock when she left, which was later than she usually left on a Sunday. She thought about taking a cab, but the weather was so warm, she decided to take the subway after all. She hadn't even gotten a block away when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her hard into a doorway. She saw instantly that he was a tall, thin black man, and she suspected that he was a drug addict or just a petty thief. Something in her gut went tight, and she watched him as he shook her hard and then slammed her against the door where they were standing.

  “You think you're a smart bitch, don't you? You think you know it all …” He put his hands around her throat, and her eyes never left his. He didn't seem to want her money. All he wanted was to abuse her.

  “I don't know anything,” she said calmly, not wanting to frighten him, as he almost strangled her in a fury. “Let go, man … you don't want to do this.”

  “Oh yes, I do,” and then, in a single gesture, he flicked out a long, thin knife and pressed it to her throat with a single practiced gesture. Without moving an inch, she was instantly reminded of her time in prison. But there was no one to save her now … no Luana … no Sally …

  “Don't do it … just take my bag. There's fifty dollars in it, it's all I've got … and my watch.” She held her arm out. It was the farewell gift Cheryl had given her in Chicago, A small price to pay for her life now.

  “I don't want your fucking watch, bitch … I want Isella.”

  “Isella?” She had no idea what he was talking about. He reeked of cheap Scotch and sweat as he held her against his chest with his switchblade at her throat.

  “My wife … you took my wife … and now she won't come back … she says she's goin’ back to Cleveland …”

  It was about St. Andrew's, then, and one of the women she'd helped there.

  “I didn't take her … I didn't do anything … maybe you should talk to her … maybe if you get help, she'll come back …”

  “You took my kids …” He was crying then, and his whole body seemed to be twitching, as she frantically searched her memory for a woman named Isella, but she couldn't remember her. She saw so many women there. She wondered if she'd ever seen this one. Usually, she remembered who they were. But not Isella.

  “No one can take your kids away from you … or your wife … you have to talk to them … you need help … what's your name?” Maybe if she called him by name he wouldn't kill her.

  “Sam … why do you care?”

  “I care.” And then she thought of what might have been her only salvation. “I'm a nun … I gave my life to God for people like you, Sam … I've been in prisons … I've been in a lot of places … it's not going to do anyone any good if you hurt me.”

  “You a nun?” he practically shrieked at her. “Shit … nobody told me that … shit …” He kicked the door behind her hard, but no one came. No one saw. No one cared on Delancey. “Why you messin’ with my bizness? Why you tell her to go home?”

  “So you can't hurt her anymore. You don't want to hurt her, Sam … you don't want to hurt anyone …”

  “Shit.” He started to cry in earnest. “Fucking nun,” he spat at her, “think you can do anything you want, for God. Fuck God … and fuck you … fuck all of you, bitch …” He grabbed her by the throat then, and banged her head hard into the door, it felt like it was full of sand and everything went gray and blurry for an instant, and then as she started to fall, she felt him kick her hard in the stomach, and then again, and someone was pounding on her face and she couldn't stop him. She couldn't call out to him. She couldn't say his name. It was a hailstorm of fists pounding on her face, her head, her stomach, her back, and then it stopped. She heard him run, she heard him shouting at her again, and then he was gone, and she lay tasting her own blood in the doorway.

  The police found her that night, on their late night rounds, slumped over in the doorway. They poked her with their nightsticks, like they did the drunks, and then one of them saw her blood on it, shining in the streetlights.

  “Shit,” he said, and called out to his partner, “get an ambulance, quick!” The officer knelt down next to Grace and felt for a pulse. It was barely there, but she still had one. And as he turned her over slowly on her back, he could see how badly she'd been beaten. Her face was covered with blood, and her hair was matted to her head. He wasn't sure if there were any broken bones or internal injuries, but she was gasping for air even in her unconscious state, and his partner came up to him a minute later.

  “Whatcha got?”

  “A bad one … she's not dressed for this neighborhood. God only knows where she came from.” He opened her handbag and looked in her wallet as they waited for the ambulance to come from Bellevue. “She lives on Eighty-fourth, she's a long way from home. She should know better than to walk around down here.”

  “There's a crisis center down the street,” the policeman who had called the ambulance said as the other one checked her pulse again and put her handbag under her head as they laid her gently on the street. “She might work there. I'll check it out after you hop the ambulance, if you want.” One of them had to ride with her to make the report, if she lived that long. She wasn't looking good to either of them, her pulse was getting weaker, and so was her breathing.

  The ambulance came less than five minutes later, with shrieking sirens, and the paramedics were quick to put her on a backboard and give her oxygen as they slid the board into the ambulance.

  “Any idea how bad it is?” one of the cops asked the senior paramedic. Grace was completely unconscious and had never stirred since they found her. All she'd done was gasp for air, and they were giving her oxygen with a bag and mask.

  “It doesn't look good,” the paramedic said honestly. “She's got a head injury. That could mean anything.” From death to retardation to a permanent coma. There was no way for them to tell there. She looked terrible in the light as they raced uptown to Bellevue.

  Her face was battered almost beyond recognition, her eyes were swollen shut, there was a knife wound on her neck, and when they pulled open her shirt and unzipped her jeans, they saw how bad the bruises were there. Her attacker had very nearly killed her. “It l
ooks pretty bad,” the paramedic said to the cop in a whisper. “There's not much left of her. I wonder if the guy knew her. What's her name?”

  The policeman opened her wallet again and read it aloud to one of the paramedics, as he nodded. They had work to do here. They had to try to keep her going till they got to Bellevue.

  “Gome on, Grace … open your eyes for us … you're okay … we're not going to hurt you … we're taking you to the hospital, Grace … Grace … Grace … shit…” They had an IV going and a blood pressure cuff on her and it was dropping sharply. “We're losing her,” he said to his colleague. It was going down, down, down … and then it was gone, but the paramedics were quick to respond and one of them grabbed a defibrillator and literally yanked her bra off and put it on her.

  “Stand back,” he told the cop as they pulled into the driveway, “got'er,” her body received a huge shock, and her heart started again, just as the driver yanked open the doors and two attendants from the emergency room rushed forward.

  “She was in cardiac arrest a second ago,” the paramedic who had shocked her explained as he covered her bare chest with her jacket. “I think we're dealing with some internal bleeding … head injury …” He told them everything he knew and had seen as all five of them ran into the emergency room, running beside the gurney. Her blood pressure plummeted again as soon as they got inside, but this time her heart didn't stop. She already had an IV in her, and the chief resident came in with three nurses and started issuing orders, as the paramedics and the policeman disappeared, and went to the front desk to fill out papers.

  “Christ, she's a mess,” one of the paramedics who'd come in with her said to the policeman. “Do you know what happened to her?”