The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes

by Diane Chamberlain

  “This ain’t blackmail, bitch,” Marty said to her. “It’s a kidnapping. Much more elegant than blackmail.”

  Genevieve reached behind her to rub the small of her back. “If you take me home now,” she said to Tim, obviously guessing he was the softer of the two men, “I can make sure they go easy on you.”

  “No way,” Tim said. “I’m not crapping out on Andie.”

  “You’re a fool,” Genevieve said.

  “Look.” Tim touched her arm, and she snapped it away from him. “You sit here with Marty and I’ll get you some tea and something to eat.” He looked at CeeCee, nodding toward the kitchen.

  “Sit down,” Marty ordered her. CeeCee felt a little afraid to leave her in his care. The woman lowered herself to the old couch, looking defeated and suddenly very tired.

  In the kitchen, CeeCee lifted her mask. “Oh, God, Tim, please don’t leave me alone with her!”

  “Put the mask down,” he snapped, and she dropped it over her face again. Tim filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. “She’s going to be fine,” he said. “She’s really a pussycat.” The red mark on his cheek suggested otherwise. “Don’t get too close to her, though. She might try to grab your mask or something.”

  “I just…I…” CeeCee stammered. “She’s so much taller than me.”

  “Babe.” He held on to her shoulders. His smile was meant to reassure her, but it was tight and uncertain. “I’m sure this isn’t going to last long. It’s actually good that she’s pregnant. It makes her less able to cause you any problems, right?” He waited for her to answer and she offered a reluctant nod.

  “You’re doing a wonderful thing for me,” he said. “For my family. Whatever you need, anytime, I’ll be there for you. I owe you.”

  Be there for me how, she wanted to ask? How could he be there if he was going underground? But she knew better than to bring up that subject again.

  “Now look.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun, and she backed away.

  “It’s not loaded, right?” she asked.

  “Actually, it is,” he said.

  She took another step backward until she was up against the pantry. “You said it wouldn’t be. Take out the bullets.”

  “I think it’s better if it’s loaded. Just in case. I don’t mean you would shoot her.” He looked suddenly worried. “Whatever you do, don’t shoot her. She’s all we’ve got to trade with. But you might need to shoot the ceiling or something to keep her in line. She’s feistier than I anticipated.”

  “Oh, Tim, I don’t want a gun!”

  “The safety is on,” he said. “Let me show you how this thing works.”

  She watched carefully as he toggled the safety back and forth. She supposed he was right. It would give her more confidence if she had a weapon. It didn’t matter that Genevieve was taller or bigger or stronger if she was the one with the gun.

  She took the gun from him, her gloved hands trembling.

  “Man, you haven’t stopped shaking since we got here,” he said.

  “Not since you left me here, actually,” she admitted. “I can’t stop.”

  “It’s all going to work out, I promise,” he said as he took a tea bag from the box in the pantry. “That asshole governor will want to keep this quiet and get her back before anyone’s the wiser. He’s that way. Very private. So I want you to stop worrying, okay?” He lifted her mask a couple of inches and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  She poured boiling water into a mug, spilling some of it onto the worn wooden counter.

  “You get the cookies,” he said, taking the mug from her. “And try to calm down. Don’t let her see how rattled you are.”

  She was worrying him, she thought, as she put a few sugar cookies onto a plate. Disappointing him.

  Genevieve was still sitting on the old sofa when they walked back into the room, and Marty stood at the window, looking less confident than he had a few minutes earlier.

  “I heard something out there,” he said. “A thud or something.”

  “It’s nothing.” Tim set the mug on the coffee table.

  “I heard it a lot while you were gone,” CeeCee said. “I think it’s just a branch brushing against the porch.” How was someone as paranoid as Marty going to survive on the run? She placed the plate of cookies next to the mug, taking one of them for herself, although she was hardly hungry. She needed something to do with her hands.

  Genevieve suddenly picked up all four of the cookies and threw them at the men. Then she threw the plate at CeeCee, catching her on the side of her face. Of Sleeping Beauty’s face.

  “You bitch!” Marty was on the woman in a flash, pinning her arms to the sofa, and CeeCee saw a sharp flicker of fear in her eyes.

  “Leave her alone,” she said, surprised as the words left her mouth. “You can’t blame her.” It suddenly occurred to her that befriending the woman might be the right approach. Her sympathy for her was genuine. As Marty backed away, CeeCee could tell that Genevieve was struggling to keep from crying. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes blinked back tears. She sat down next to her. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.

  Genevieve stared at her. “What have you let these guys talk you into?” she asked.

  CeeCee quickly stood again as she felt the upper hand slip away from her. “I think for myself, bitch,” she said, but Genevieve’s eyes bored hard into CeeCee’s until she had to look away.

  Tim pointed to the governor’s wife. “Do what Sleeping Beauty says, or there’ll be trouble,” he said. “Marty and I are leaving.”

  “I don’t feel well,” Genevieve said, her hand rubbing her back again. “I could be going into labor.”

  “Right,” Tim said with disdain. He looked at Marty. “You ready?”

  “You bet,” Marty said, but he opened the door slowly and peered outside before walking onto the porch.

  CeeCee stood next to the coffee table, watching the men leave. She listened to the van doors slam shut and the engine cough to life, and she thought, What now? She felt Genevieve’s eyes on her. The woman hadn’t touched her tea. “Do you want more cookies?” she asked.

  Genevieve ignored the question. “So, what happens now?” she asked. “Will they tell my husband where I am and he can come get me?”

  A horrible thought. Surely they wouldn’t send the husband here. She’d be a sitting duck if he showed up.

  “They’ll come get you and take you back,” she said, as if she knew that for a fact.

  “Where are they going now?”

  “Someplace where they can call your husband.”

  “Why didn’t they call him from here? Then I could talk to him and let him know I’m alive. That would make more sense.”

  “There’s no phone here.”

  Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Then why didn’t they take me someplace where there is a phone?”

  It was a good question and CeeCee didn’t have the answer. “Look,” she said, “this is the way it is, so we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

  Genevieve suddenly got to her feet and CeeCee panicked. “You sit down!” she said.

  She thought Genevieve was going to ignore her, and she suddenly realized she’d left the gun in the kitchen. Her voice must have carried power, though, because the woman dropped onto the sofa again.

  “I wasn’t kidding that I don’t feel well,” she said. “My back aches.”

  “You probably pulled something when they nabbed you,” CeeCee said.

  “It ached before that. It’s ached all day.”

  “When is your baby due?”

  “Three weeks from now.”

  “Then it’s not the baby,” CeeCee said as if she knew about these things. Babies did come early, but a backache had nothing to do with labor. At least she hoped it didn’t. She walked over to the bookshelf. “You want a book to read?” she asked.

  “I don’t want a book,” Genevieve said. “If you think I can concentrate on reading, you’re as crazy as your f
riends.”

  CeeCee sat down in the chair by the window and folded her hands on her lap.

  “What color’s your real hair?” Genevieve asked.

  “None of your business.” She realized that she’d completely forgotten about disguising her voice. Too late now.

  “I don’t think you’re as tough as you pretend.” Genevieve almost smiled. “You really should have gotten a tougher mask than that.”

  CeeCee touched the thin plastic mask.

  “Do you go to Carolina?” Genevieve asked. “You’re not one of my students, are you? You sound like one of them.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I were,” CeeCee said.

  Genevieve looked annoyed. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

  Damn. She’d hoped they could get through this entire fiasco without either of them needing to use the bathroom.

  “I have to go with you,” CeeCee said.

  “Are those your orders?” Genevieve moved forward on the couch as though preparing to stand up. “Don’t let her out of your sight?” She was talking to her like she might a child. It was irksome enough to be annoying, and CeeCee was glad. It made Genevieve less sympathetic.

  “I think for myself,” CeeCee said.

  “Fine,” Genevieve said. “I need to go to the bathroom. Now.”

  “Stay here one minute.” CeeCee darted into the kitchen and grabbed the gun. Just touching it started her hands shaking again. She checked to be sure the safety was on, then carried it into the living room.

  “Whoa!” Genevieve said. “You don’t need that!”

  “You can get up now, and I’ll walk with you,” CeeCee said.

  Genevieve struggled to her feet, giving CeeCee a wide berth as she walked toward the hallway. She held one arm out as if she could block a bullet with her hand. The other hand she held protectively over her belly.

  “It’s that door on the left,” CeeCee said.

  Genevieve walked into the bathroom and started to shut the door behind her, but CeeCee stuck out her foot to keep it open.

  “Oh, come on,” Genevieve said. “What do you think I’m going to do in here?” She pointed to the small, square window above the toilet. “I’m hardly going to be able to get through that window.”

  That was true. CeeCee didn’t want to watch her while she went to the bathroom, anyway.

  “Okay.” She removed her foot from in front of the door. “You have to leave it open a crack, though.”

  “Fine,” Genevieve said again.

  CeeCee leaned against the wall, waiting, listening to the rustle of clothing on the other side of the door. Genevieve urinated for a long time, then flushed the toilet. CeeCee straightened, gun held in front of her, as she waited for her captive to walk into the hallway. Then suddenly, so quickly CeeCee had no time to react, the bathroom door slammed shut and the key clicked into place in the lock.

  Chapter Twelve

  Oh, CeeCee, I get so scared sometimes! I’m not afraid of dying anymore, but I’m afraid of what will happen to you and that’s what keeps me awake at night. During the day, when I’m thinking rationally, I know you’ll be okay. At night, though, the worst thoughts fill my head. I have to remind myself that you have loads of gumption! I think you may need it, darling girl.

  “Open up!” CeeCee pounded on the bathroom door.

  “I just want to be by myself,” Genevieve said. “I told you. I can’t get out through the window, so just give me some space, all right?”

  “No, it’s not all right.” CeeCee was frantic. She kicked at the door and rattled the knob. “Open it!” She heard the medicine-cabinet door squeak open and remembered the razor blades. The cookie she’d eaten rushed into her throat. Hands trembling, she aimed the gun at the doorjamb near the lock, released the safety and pulled the trigger.

  The explosion nearly knocked her off her feet, and Genevieve screamed. The door and jamb were splintered and CeeCee reached for the knob. The damn thing was still locked. “Open the door!” Behind the mask, tears burned her eyes.

  “All right, all right!” Genevieve pulled the door open and raised her hands in the air. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked. “Don’t shoot!”

  Holding the gun on the woman, CeeCee checked the medicine cabinet and was relieved to see that the packet of razor blades was still there. “Get into the living room,” she said.

  “Fine,” Genevieve said. “Just stop pointing that thing at me.”

  CeeCee flipped the safety back on and lowered the gun to her side as they walked into the living room. Genevieve sat down on the sofa again, leaning forward and rubbing her back. “You’re a loose cannon, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Keep quiet,” CeeCee said. She was glad now of the mask. The plastic features would remain frozen no matter what emotions she felt behind them. Her trembling hands in their white gloves, though, were a giveaway.

  “Put that gun away. Please,” Genevieve said.

  She sat down in the chair by the window again and rested the gun in her lap, wondering what they would do now. Would they sit there facing each other for the entire night? Maybe all day tomorrow as well? Exactly how far was it to Jacksonville? She looked at her watch. Quarter past midnight! She’d had no idea it was that late. Were Tim and Marty in Jacksonville yet?

  “Please take off that mask,” Genevieve said.

  CeeCee shook her head. Her scalp was perspiring beneath the wig. It felt like worms crawling through her hair and she wondered who else might have worn the wig before her. She longed to rip it off and scratch her head.

  “Why are you doing this, Sleeping Beauty?” Genevieve’s voice had softened, and with it, her features. She was very pretty. Maybe beautiful under other circumstances. Right now, her skin was a little too pale. Wan, even. Her blue eyes looked clouded and troubled in the overhead light, and there were two small, vertical lines between her eyebrows.

  “I’m doing it because Tim’s sister is a victim of the system,” she said, parroting Naomi’s words. They sounded as inauthentic as they felt coming from her mouth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Genevieve asked. “‘A victim of the system’?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” CeeCee felt the tremor in her hands again. She clutched the handle of the gun between her hands to stop their shaking.

  “Do you know her? The sister?”

  “No, but I know Tim and I know he loves her and I love him so I want to help him.” The words spilled out before she could stop them.

  Genevieve cocked her head, looking at her differently. “You’re in love with Tim?” she asked.

  “Yes, but that’s not the only reason I’m—”

  “There’s something you should know about your…boyfriend,” Genevieve said. “I taught him in my Spanish class, Sleeping Beauty. He’s a…a womanizer.”

  “You taught him?” She remembered Tim saying that Genevieve was a Spanish professor, but not that he’d had her.

  “He’s a lady-killer.” Genevieve sat as far forward on the couch as her belly would allow. “He played around with every woman in that class. He even had an affair with one who was married.”

  CeeCee raised the gun and pointed it at her. “Shut up,” she said. “I don’t want to hear your lies. You may have taught him, although I’m not sure I believe that, but you don’t know him.”

  “Please put the gun down.”

  “You promise to shut up?” CeeCee asked.

  “Not another word about your darling Casanova.”

  “I said shut up.” CeeCee lifted the gun higher, the barrel jerking through the air in her uncertain hands. She had to be careful. The cotton fabric of her gloves was slippery.

  “I’m sorry.” Genevieve leaned back on the sofa, clearly afraid of the gun. “Put it down, okay?”

  CeeCee lowered the gun to her lap again.

  Genevieve sighed and rubbed her forehead. “How long is this going to take?” she asked.

  “That depends on your husband,” Cee
Cee said. “What’s he like? How do you think he’ll react?”

  Genevieve shot her an angry look. “He’s a man of integrity,” she said. “He loves me tremendously, but he won’t do anything that would compromise his integrity.”

  CeeCee squirmed. She loved Tim tremendously. Was she compromising her integrity for him? Holding a gun on a pregnant woman didn’t feel all that magnificent at the moment. It felt wrong.

  Suddenly Genevieve started to cry, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I want to go home.” She looked at CeeCee. “I have a five-year-old daughter,” she said. “I was supposed to pick her up at the sitter’s after my class. She’s probably so scared.”

  Was this her new tack, CeeCee wondered? She’d failed in her character assassination of Tim, so now she was trying to win sympathy for her daughter. At least that would give them something safe to talk about.

  “What’s her name?” CeeCee asked.

  “I truly don’t feel well.” Genevieve adjusted her girth on the sofa.

  “It’s just nerves,” CeeCee said. She didn’t feel well either. “What’s your daughter’s name?” she repeated.

  “Vivian. I dropped my purse when they grabbed me or I could show you her picture.”

  “What does she look like?”

  Genevieve closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “Strawberry-blond hair,” she said. “I’m glad she’s not a redhead, like me. I’m glad she was spared that.”

  “Why?” CeeCee asked. “Your hair’s a beautiful color.” She felt her true personality slipping out and knew she’d better keep her guard up.

  “Thanks, but I don’t like it.” Eyes still shut, Genevieve patted her hand on her belly. “I hope this one is a blonde or a brunette,” she said, her voice tired, as though she knew they were simply filling dead air with their conversation. “Anything but a redhead.”

  CeeCee remembered being five or six, waiting for her mother to pick her up from school. She’d waited by the wide double doors for a long time, watching for her always-prompt mother, but she hadn’t been afraid at all. She’d played hopscotch with imaginary lines on the sidewalk, looking up only when a neighbor called to her from a car, saying that her mother had to work late and she would take her home. She hoped Vivian was similarly resilient and unafraid when her mother didn’t show up. She hoped that fervently.