by JLee Meyer
Rochelle knew about the project and would now demand to share the credit. She’d done so before, what was new? But what about the friends Laurel had made? What about Stef? She wouldn’t be able to go into the hotel for a few days, not until she could cover the external marks with makeup. The thought was like another physical blow. The project, and the women involved in it, were her lifeline, all she looked forward to.
Hugging herself and rocking to help ease the pain from her bruised ribs, she decided that she would offer to share the project without complaint. That way, Rochelle would leave her alone and she might still be able to see Stef. With stunning clarity, she realized that seeing Stefanie Beresford was the most important part of the whole equation. Nothing mattered as much.
Laurel sank into the bed and carefully pulled her legs up to curl into a ball. Whatever she did, she wasn’t willing to let go of the new, separate existence she led researching in the hotel. She had never been so happy or felt so relaxed.
Imagining Stef’s beautiful face and smile gave her solace as she drifted to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Three days later, after class, Ember Jones lingered after the others left, which seemed to take forever. Although no one asked, the class had been subdued today, the students pensive. Once or twice one of them approached after they were dismissed, but seemed to reconsider and exited the room. All except Ember.
With concern written on her lovely young face, she inquired, “Dr. H?”
“Yes, Ember. May I help you?” Laurel tried to look neutral, professorial. She hoped it was working.
“Are you okay?” Ember looked embarrassed, staring at her boots and shifting her weight.
“What? Oh, you mean my face. Well, I am an absentminded professor, I guess. I was so absorbed in a book I was reading I walked into a door a few days ago. Almost knocked myself silly. That must have been why the class was so quiet today. Tell them I’m fine, will you?”
Looking unconvinced, Ember noted, “Haven’t seen you at the hotel either.”
Desperate to have the conversation over, Laurel said, “Well, other responsibilities took precedence, but I’ll be back in a few days. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going. See you soon, Ember.”
Ember gathered her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. “Sure. Next class.” She started for the door and turned just before exiting. “If you ever need anything, you just let me know, Dr. H. I can come over really fast.”
Touched beyond words, Laurel could only nod, fighting back the tears that threatened to form as she smiled at the young student, so noble and full of idealism. She was the second person, her sister Kate being the first, to offer help. Was the situation with Rochelle so transparent that others could see it despite her efforts to conceal?
Rochelle hadn’t said much beyond a halfhearted and defensive apology. Laurel kept her silence, staying in for the past two days to nurse her face and side. Rochelle had brought home dinner for them each evening and kept her drinking to a minimum. She was nice to Laurel, but definitely wanted to know about the project. She explained that, as her partner, and most importantly the department chair, her help was essential if Laurel planned to publish in any prestigious journal. She also managed to use this logic to make the incident Laurel’s fault for not telling the truth about the project.
Silent while Rochelle lectured her, Laurel was surprised to realize she didn’t feel guilty for lying to her partner. She told her as little as possible, not mentioning what intrigued her the most: the Elysium Society. She had the feeling that there was more to the social group than Mrs. Castic had let on. A discovery of anything that wasn’t commonly established before would guarantee a well-received paper in a good journal, perhaps even a book. As much as Rochelle talked, she hadn’t had that many papers in those journals herself and would think nothing of coopting Laurel’s work so she could take the credit.
Laurel collected her notes and left the classroom, her head down. She wasn’t going to be bullied into handing all her research over to Rochelle. The very idea inflamed her and she almost knocked down the restroom door as she entered. Angrily, she splashed her face with cold water. All the feelings she managed to keep in check seemed to burst in her head, making her almost dizzy. She held the edge of the basin and took a deep breath to calm herself.
“Get a grip. Why the hell are you so angry? Rochelle is the chair of the department, her name would have to be on the paper. It’s done all the time. And let’s not leave out the fact that she’s your partner. Your lover.” The last words sounded so foreign to her that she stopped and just stared.
Would someone who loved her wreak such havoc on her face? She could barely walk upright, her side ached so badly. What kind of love was that? Never in her life had she ever thought she would be in an abusive relationship. She knew she should leave immediately. But what if all the nasty things Rochelle constantly told her were true? Could Rochelle make sure she was blacklisted from other universities? Was the only reason she was still at Cal her personal relationship to Rochelle?
What if Rochelle was right and, as a partner, she was as good as it would get? Maybe Stef would be just as abusive once she got to know her. But Stef had never been anything but kind and considerate, not just to her but to Mrs. Castic and Ember. It was obvious that Denny and her mother adored her.
Focusing on the wounded eyes in the mirror, Laurel said, “No. Stef is nothing like Rochelle. Nothing. But it doesn’t matter, this is something you have to deal with by yourself.”
She needed a plan. While the project wasn’t the reason for her to leave, it was a catalyst. Rochelle’s escalating drinking and violence had Laurel frightened, and she knew she needed to get out of her situation before something worse happened, and before Rochelle figured out that Stefanie Beresford was a factor in her decision to walk away.
Laurel allowed herself a shaky smile. She finally had the courage to do what she should have done a long time ago, and her attraction to Stef had everything to do with that. But she needed to keep her intentions hidden. If Rochelle guessed, it could push her over an edge she was already teetering on.
*
Stef was so full of conflicting emotions she was having difficulty breathing. Ember had come to her and told her about Laurel’s obvious injury, and her concern. She said the rumor was that Dr. Jacobs had hit her. According to Ember, Dr. Jacobs didn’t treat Laurel nicely, but no one knew of a history of physical violence, so perhaps Laurel’s bruises were caused by an accident.
Jock had dropped by to mention that she’d seen Laurel enter the building. It was all Stef could do to sit on her hands for an hour or so before going down to see her. As she approached the work room Laurel had taken over, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say, how she would tactfully ask how Laurel was doing, suggest that maybe she should take some action, offer to help. But when she reached the door and saw the bruise on her jaw, the swelling on one side of her beautiful face, she wanted to destroy something. The thought of someone laying a hand on Laurel in anger made her crazy.
Watching covertly, from just behind the door, Stef tried to calm down but she couldn’t. Laurel was deeply engrossed in a ledger, surrounded by the diaries and notepads of her research. She looked completely absorbed and terribly vulnerable.
“Laurel?” Stef did her best to strike a pleasant, innocent tone, as though she hadn’t noticed the remnants of the huge purple imprint of a hand.
Laurel gave her a cautious smile. “I didn’t hear you.”
Stef came in and sat on a box close to Laurel. She studied her and reached to gently touch the bruise on her jaw.
“Don’t.” Laurel turned away. But when Stef didn’t withdraw, she accepted her tentative touch.
“Who did this to you?” Stef’s voice was rough with emotion. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hide her anger or pretend the evidence of an assault wasn’t there.
Not meeting her eyes, Laurel said, “It isn’t important. It’s over.”
&
nbsp; “Yes, it is important. It’s you.” Stef pulled Laurel to her and in that moment, Laurel collapsed, clinging to her, breaking down completely.
Overwhelmed with tenderness, Stef held her and let her cry. When she tightened her embrace Laurel flinched and their eyes met. For a fleeting moment Laurel seemed afraid, then she focused on Stef, and Stef saw shame. Gently she eased back and, seeking her permission and receiving a slight nod, she lifted the tank top. Purple and yellow bruises covered Laurel’s abdomen and ribs. Tears fell and Stef did nothing to hide them.
“You can’t go back there.” That was the one thing she knew in her heart.
Laurel looked away. “It’s…complicated. I’ve decided I’m leaving, but I don’t have a place yet, and there are my classes, my job. I just need a little time.”
Stef tried to lighten the mood, reasoning with her, not making her wrong. “Laurel, why don’t you try hotel living? This floor still has a few rooms left. You’d be closer to the project. Then you wouldn’t have to commute so late at night. You could just go over to teach. You could eat here, too. Sika always complains she doesn’t have enough mouths to feed.”
Her eyes welling again, Laurel said, “That would be such an imposition. Besides, this is my problem, and I must deal with it. Rochelle is also my supervisor at the university. She could claim the project as partly hers.”
Not able to keep the steel from her voice, Stef said, “You were the one we agreed to let examine the papers, and you are the one who will write about what we’ve found. The only one. Tell her that if you want.”
Pulling away, Laurel sat up in the camp chair she used and straightened her clothes. She seemed embarrassed to have let down in front of Stef. “Thank you, but I’ll have to handle this situation myself. There are so many things to consider.”
“Listen, I’ll let you get back to work. But the offer still stands. You can move into one of the rooms on this floor at least until we need to renovate, no charge.” When Laurel emphatically shook her head, Stef amended, “Or a minimal rent. After all, these are not ideal conditions, right?”
“You’ve been more than generous, Stef, from the very beginning. I didn’t mean to dump my troubles in your lap. It’s just that this place feels welcoming to me. I… Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
Stef was stung by her words, cut off from what had been such a strong connection only moments before. Standing abruptly, she started for the door. As she reached it, she felt a hand on her back and turned to see the woman she constantly dreamt about, just inches from her.
Laurel leaned and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for…everything.”
It would be so easy to change direction, to take Laurel in her arms and kiss her passionately. Stef had to escape, needed to think. Now was not the time to complicate Laurel’s life further. She nodded and left the room, numbly taking the service elevator to the top floor and then the stairs to the roof. There, she stared into the growing dusk, the tall buildings of San Francisco all around her. She wished she had a drink, then thought she should take up smoking. Her mood seemed noir; all she needed to complete the picture was a trench coat and fedora.
On cue, Jock was behind her. “Got woman problems?”
Stef started. “Where did you come from?”
“I come up here a lot at the end of the day. It’s nice. Fresh salt air from the ocean this time of day, bustle of the city, I like it.” Studying Stef for a moment, she asked, “How’s Laurel?”
Stef felt her shoulders sag. “Bruised. Who told you?”
“Ember’s been worried. We all like the professor. Want me to go beat someone up?”
Jock was serious. Her tough talk made Stef smile. “Stand in line. I offered to have her move into the hotel, but she said she couldn’t.”
Jock was quiet for a moment. “Want a glass of wine? I have a good Zin over there.” She seemed a bit shy in the asking.
Surprised at the considerate offer, and who was offering, Stef nodded and followed her across the rooftop to a little sheltered area that was set up with a makeshift table of concrete blocks and a few metal patio chairs. Jock handed her a wineglass and poured the wine expertly. They swirled the wine and sniffed appropriately, then took a sip.
“It’s good. Are you a wine devotee?” Stef couldn’t see very well in the light but guessed that Jock was blushing.
“I’ve done work in some of the wineries in Sonoma and Napa and learned some things from their winemakers. One thing led to another, and now I just appreciate a good bottle of wine. Nice to share it with someone.” They sat enjoying the silence for a while before Jock ventured, “Do you care for Laurel?”
Immediately shaking her head, Stef said, “I can’t. She’s in a relationship. Good or bad, she’s with someone else.”
Jock put a comforting hand on her shoulder just as Denny rounded the corner and pulled up short. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were entertaining.” She did an about face and abruptly stopped. Whirling back she said, “Stef? What are you doing here?”
The tone in her voice fell somewhere between accusation and shock. For some reason Stef felt guilty and stood abruptly. “I came up for some air and found Jock and we were…what are you doing here?”
“Well, I came up to see what Mademoiselle was pouring this evening. Do I need an excuse?”
“Do I?” Stef knew she sounded defensive. Was she taking her frustration about Laurel out on Denny?
Jock interrupted them. “Hey, I have another glass. If you two best friends can calm down a minute, we can continue to enjoy the evening. Deal?”
Denny nodded and then seemed to reconsider her attitude. “I heard about Laurel. Have you talked to her?”
Stef deflated, taking a large gulp of wine as Jock poured a glass for Denny. “She looks like hell and there are bruises on her stomach. Looks like her bitch partner kicked her.”
Jock asked, “How did you find out about her stomach?”
Stef heard only concern in her voice, so she answered and then explained how Laurel had just shut her out.
“She’s ashamed, Stef. You need to give her some space to work it out.” Denny stopped talking and they all sipped silently.
Stef finally added, “Maybe so, but if that woman so much as touches her again, I’m going to beat the shit out of her.”
Jock raised her glass. “I call second.”
Followed by Denny. “I call third.”
Toasting required opening a second bottle. By the end of the evening they had shared a pizza, too, and Stef had begun to change her mind about Jock Reynolds.
Chapter Ten
Denny slipped into Stef’s office and closed the door, leaning on it. “The suits are here. Think I should get my gun?”
Smiling at Denny’s joke, Stef took a deep breath to calm herself. She had only needed to make one call before she came up with the money to continue the renovation. The loan officer who’d arranged the first mortgage had vouched for her. The representatives of the private investment firm were here to get her signature and hand over the check. The interest rate was excessive, so the monthly payment was going to be high, and there was a balloon payment after five years. She had to have the money to finish the hotel and get it producing revenue, then she could worry about the rest. Private investor groups usually made a ton of money off second mortgages.
“Are their names Bruno and Vinnie?” she asked.
Glancing at the closed door, Denny said, “No. One looks like a successful businessman. The other is a woman, more like an assistant, I think. The man reminds me of your brother George. Very expensive and well tailored. He was pleasant enough, but sees me as the secretary. I’m sure he’s happy to be charging rates that border on usury.”
Stef shrugged. “It’s just business to them, Denny. Money. They’ve got it and we need it. Let’s get this over with.”
The suit was named Trip Boynton, a short, round man with perfectly manicured hands and a four-hundred-dollar haircut, if you counted the cost of the
highlights to his mouse brown and thinning hair. His clothes were designed to obscure a soft physique, and he had a perfect tan. Unfortunately for him, his large nose and small hazel eyes made him look like a rat. A rich rat, and she was the cheese.
“Ms. Beresford, what a pleasure. My partners and I were happy to be of assistance in bringing this grand old hotel back to its former glory.”
All this was said while he politely shook her hand, but lingered a bit too long before releasing it. Stef wanted to wipe her hand on the pant leg of her suit. Boynton’s entire focus was on charming her, and it was making Stef want to grind her teeth. He introduced his assistant almost as an afterthought. Miss Agnes Brady was a plain, thickset woman who looked decidedly uncomfortable. She clutched her briefcase as though it contained diamonds.
“Why don’t we get down to business.” Stef wanted him gone, and soon. “I have other appointments and I’m sure you do, too.”
“Of course. Miss Brady, papers please.”
Stef suspected he narrowly avoided snapping his fingers at the woman.
Agnes Brady fumbled with the lock on her case and hastened to produce a thick sheaf of documents that made Stef’s heart constrict. She was taking a huge risk, but there was no other choice. Gulping down her anxiety, she looked the contract over. The terms were as agreed upon with the usual inclusions. It seemed boilerplate. Boynton kept checking his microthin watch, as if he was late for something. Either that or he wanted her to notice how very expensive it must be. He had to have known she grew up in a house full of such watches. Maybe he just had a thing about it.
As soon as she’d signed the last form and Miss Brady pulled out her stamp and booklet to notarize it, Stef gave her fingerprint for the book and they were gone. Boynton breezed out first, leaving poor Miss Brady to struggle after him.
