Public Secrets (36 page)

“You’re such a damn fool. God knows where you’d be without me.”

“I was … thinking about Luke.”

“Well, save the long face until you’re gone. It makes me sick. Johnno’s going to be here any minute to get you.” He leaned close so that his face was all she could see. “What are you going to tell him if he asks how things are?”

“That they’re fine. They’re wonderful. You’re sorry you can’t come, but you felt since you didn’t know Luke, you’d be intruding.” She recited the instructions he gave her like a parrot. “I’ve got to come back straight from the service because you’ve got a touch of the flu and I want to take care of you.”

“Just like a devoted wife.”

“Yes. A devoted wife.”

“Good.” It was disgusting really, how cowed she was. She hadn’t even uttered a peep when he’d knocked her around the night before. He’d wanted her to leave with his dominance fresh in her mind. Of course, he’d been careful not to hit her in the face, or anywhere it might show. He intended to give her a proper beating when she got back. Just to remind her that a woman’s place was in the home.

His mother’s place had been in the home, Drew thought viciously. But she’d left soon enough, like the whore she was, leaving him with his wreck of a father. If the stupid old man had given her a few licks now and again, she wouldn’t have taken off.

He smiled at Emma. No, like Emma his mother would have sat with her hands folded in her lap and done just what she was told. All a woman needed was a man to set the rules, and enforce them.

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to go.”

He enjoyed seeing her eyes widen. It was a great game to dangle the funeral in front of her nose like a carrot on a stick.

Her hands sprang wet with sweat, but she fought to keep them steady in her lap. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to, Drew.”

He stroked her face then, gently, so that she could almost remember what it had been like in the beginning. It made it worse somehow, to remember. “No, you go ahead, Emma. You
look so good in black. You’re sure that bitch Marianne isn’t going?”

“No. Johnno said she couldn’t make it.”

Another lie, and one she prayed Johnno wouldn’t reveal. Drew had done all he could to separate her from Marianne. And done it well enough, Emma thought wearily, that her old friend no longer called or bothered to drop by.

“That’s fine, then. If I found out she was going, you’d have to skip this little jaunt. She’s a bad influence on you, Emma. She’s a slut. Only pretended to be your friend so that she could get closer to your father. And then to me. I told you that she came on to me. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, that’s Johnno. Come on now, put on that sad sweet smile we all know and love.” Her lips curved automatically. “That’s a good girl. Now don’t forget to mention the benefit to any reporters,” he instructed as they walked downstairs. “Make sure you tell them how committed I am to raising money to research a cure for this horrible disease.”

“I will, Drew. I won’t forget.” She was terrified her knees would buckle. Maybe it was best if she didn’t go. Drew had told her again and again how helpless she was without him. “Drew, I—” But he was opening the door, and Johnno was standing there.

“Hello, baby.” He put his arms around her, as much to comfort as for comfort. “I’m so glad you’re going.”

“Yes.” She looked dully over his shoulder at Drew’s face. “I want to go.”

She fought demons during the flight. He was going to come after her. He had found out she’d taken the fifteen dollars and would come to punish her. He’d read her mind. He knew she wasn’t going back.

So great was her fear that she clung to Johnno’s arm as they deplaned and searched the crowd at the gate for Drew. She was sweating by the time they reached the limo, and shaking, and struggling just to breathe.

“Emma, are you sick?”

“No.” She moistened her dry lips. There was a man by the curb, lean, blond. What was left of her color drained. But he turned and it wasn’t Drew. “I’m just upset. Can I—can I have a cigarette?”

Drew wouldn’t let her smoke. He’d dislocated her finger the last time he’d caught her. But he wasn’t here now, she reminded herself as she pulled on the cigarette. She was alone in the limo with Johnno.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come. I had no idea it would upset you this badly.” He was dealing with his own grief, great, stunning waves of it, and could only wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll be all right,” she told him. Then repeated the words over and over in her head like a prayer.

She hardly noticed the service—what words were said, what tears were shed in the warm, moist heat of noontime. In her heart she hoped Luke would forgive her for caring so little that he was being mourned. She felt dead herself, emotionally dead.

As people walked away from the quiet gravesite, away from the white and pink marble stones and lush flowers, she wondered if she would have the strength to follow through.

“Johnno.” Marianne stopped him, a gentle hand on his arm. Then instead of condolences, she kissed him. “I wish he could have taught me to cook,” she said, and made Johnno smile.

“You were his only complete failure.” He turned to Emma. “The driver will take you back to the airport. I need to go over to Luke’s apartment. Take care of a few things.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “You’ll be all right?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Though she hated herself, Marianne couldn’t make her tone friendly.

“I … wanted to come.”

“Really?” Marianne opened her purse and tossed a balled-up tissue inside. Her anger with Emma was like that, she thought. Balled up and frayed. “I didn’t think you had time for old friends anymore.”

“Marianne—” She couldn’t break down right here. There were still reporters close enough, watching her, snapping pictures. Drew was going to see the pictures, of her and Marianne together. Then he would know she lied. She cast desperate looks over her shoulder. “Can I … I need …”

“Are you all right?” Marianne tipped down her sunglasses and studied Emma’s face. “Christ, you look terrible.”

“I’d like to talk with you, if you have a few minutes.”

“I’ve always had a few minutes,” Marianne retorted. She dug
in her purse for a cigarette. “I thought you were going straight back.”

“No.” She took a deep breath, and stepped over the line. “I’m not going back at all.”

Through the haze of smoke, Marianne’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m not going back,” Emma repeated, and was terrified when her voice began to hitch. “Can we go somewhere. Please. I have to go somewhere.”

“Sure.” Marianne stuck a hand under Emma’s elbow. “We’ll take your limo. We’ll go anywhere you like.”

It took only a short time to reach Marianne’s hotel, which, when Emma began to shake, was the best place Marianne could think of to take her. They went straight up to the suite, a beautiful pastel set of rooms overlooking the crowded white sand and blue water. Marianne had already made the space hers by tossing articles of clothing over every available chair. She scooped up the sweatshirt and slacks she had traveled in, gestured for Emma to sit, then went to the phone.

“I want a bottle of Grand Marnier, two cheeseburgers, medium, a basket of fries, and a liter of Pepsi in a bucket of ice. I got twenty bucks for the guy who gets up here in fifteen minutes.” Satisfied, she swept her running shoes off another chair and sat. “Okay, Emma, what the hell’s going on?”

“I’ve left Drew.”

Not quite ready to forgive, she stretched out her legs. “Yes, I think I picked up on that, but why? I thought you were deliriously happy.”

“Yes, I’m very happy. He’s wonderful. He takes such good care …” She heard her own voice and trailed off with a kind of panicked disgust. “Oh God, sometimes I actually believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“What he’s trained me to say. Marianne, I don’t know who else I can talk to. And I think if I don’t say it right here and right now I never will. I wanted to tell Johnno. I started to, but I just couldn’t.”

“All right.” Because Emma looked much too pale, Marianne rose and opened the balcony doors. Sea air fluttered in. “Take your time. Is it another woman?” Marianne said nothing, just watched as Emma began to rock back and forth and laugh.

“Oh Christ, sweet Christ.” Before she could stop, the laughter
had turned to sobs, great wrenching sobs. Moving quickly, Marianne knelt beside her to take her hands.

“Easy, Emma. You’re going to make yourself sick. Hey, hey. We all know most men are bastards. If Drew’s been unfaithful, you just kick him out.”

“It’s not another woman,” Emma managed.

“Another man?”

She struggled, sucking in the tears. Afraid if she let them fall too freely she’d never be able to stop. “No. I have no idea if Drew’s been unfaithful, and I don’t care.”

“If it’s not another woman, what did you fight about?”

“We didn’t fight,” Emma said wearily. “I didn’t fight.” She hadn’t known it would be so hard to say, so hard to admit. The words were like a fist lodged in her throat, heated with shame. Taking deep breaths, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Sitting here, I can almost believe I imagined it all, that it wasn’t as bad as I thought while it all happened. He could be so sweet, Marianne, so considerate. I remember how he’d bring me a rose in the morning sometimes. How he’d sing—when it was just the two of us—how he’d sing as though I were the only woman in the world. He said he loved me, that all he wanted was to make me happy, to take care of me. And then I would do something—I hardly know what—but something, and then he would … He beats me.”

“What?” If Emma had said that Drew sprouted wings and flew off the terrace every afternoon, it would have been easier to believe. “He hits you?”

The disbelief didn’t register; she was too deep inside herself. “Sometimes I can’t even walk for days after. It’s been worse lately.” She stared at a pretty pastel print on the wall. “I think he might want to kill me.”

“Back up, Emma. Emma, look at me.” When she caught her friend’s face in her hands, Marianne spoke slowly. “Are you telling me that Drew physically abuses you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, carefully, Marianne let out a breath. Watching Emma’s face, trying to make sense of it all, she sat back on her heels. “Does he get drunk, do drugs?”

“No. I’ve only seen him drunk once—on our wedding night. He doesn’t do drugs at all. He likes to be in control. Drew has to
be in control. I always seem to do something, something stupid to set him off.”

“Stop it.” Enraged, Marianne sprang up. Her eyes were flooded as she paced the room. “You’ve never done a stupid thing in your life. How long has this been going on, Emma?”

“The first time was a couple of months after we moved uptown. It wasn’t so bad, he only hit me once that time. And he was so sorry after. He cried.”

“My heart breaks for him,” Marianne muttered. She stalked to the door to admit room service. “Here, don’t worry about setting it up.” She signed the check, handed over the twenty, and got rid of him. First things first, she decided, and ignoring the food, poured the Grand Marnier.

“Drink,” Marianne ordered. “I know you hate the stuff, but we both need it.”

Emma took two small sips and let the warmth course through her. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t seem to be able to think for myself anymore.”

“I’ll think for you for a couple of minutes. I vote we castrate the sonofabitch.”

“I can’t go back. Marianne, I think I’d do something, something really horrible if I went back.”

“You seem to be thinking just fine. Can you eat?”

“No, not yet.” She had to sit, just sit for a moment and take in the enormity of what she’d done. She’d left Drew. She’d gotten away, and now she had her friend, her oldest and closest friend with her. Closing her eyes, she felt a fresh wave of shame.

“Marianne, I’m sorry, so sorry. I know I haven’t returned your calls, I haven’t been a friend to you these past months. He wouldn’t let me.”

Marianne lighted two cigarettes, and passed one to Emma. “Don’t worry about that now.”

“He even told me that you had—that you had tried to take him away from me.”

“In his dreams.” She nearly laughed at that, but Emma’s face stopped her. “You didn’t believe it.”

“No, not really. But … There were times I believed anything he’d tell me. It was easier.” She shut her eyes again. “The worst is, it wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

“If you’d just called me.”

“I couldn’t talk to you about it, and I couldn’t bear to be around you because I was afraid you’d find out.”

“I’d have helped you.”

Emma could only shake her head as her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap. “I’m so ashamed.”

“What the hell for?”

“I let him do it to me, didn’t I? He didn’t hold a gun to my head. That’s the one thing he never did to me. He didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have the answers, Emma. Or I do have one. You should call the police.”

“No. Good God, no. I couldn’t bear to … to see it spread all over the papers. And they wouldn’t believe me. He’d just deny it.” Fear came sprinting back, on her face, in her voice. “I can tell you, Marianne, he could make you believe anything.”

“All right, we’ll hold on the cops and get you a lawyer.”

“I—need a few days. I just can’t talk to anyone else about this. All I really want is to get as far away from him as I can.”

“Okay. We’ll plot. Now we’re going to eat. I think better on a full stomach.”

She bullied Emma into taking a few bites, then pushed the Pepsi on her, hoping the sugar and caffeine would put color back in her friend’s cheeks.

“We’ll hang around Miami for a few days.”

“No.” Emma was thinking clearer now, though the nerves were still jangling inside her head. Of all the wild plots and plans that had rushed into her mind over the last two days, only one seemed right. “I can’t even stay tonight. It’s the first place he’d come looking for me.”

“London then, to Bev. She’d want to help you.”

“No passport. Drew locked it in a safe-deposit box. I don’t even have a driver’s license. He tore it up.” She sat back because even the few bites of food had made her queasy. “Marianne, I have fifty-five dollars in my purse—I stole fifteen of that from the housekeeping money. I don’t have any credit cards. He took them months ago. I have the clothes on my back and that’s it.”