The Hungry House (16 page)

I
found myself having trouble tracking the conversation, but I tried to keep making conversational points. Eventually, I had a crowd of young men around me, some standing. They were talking about movies, with Neal leading the fray. I tried to remember if I had introduced myself to everyone in the group but was not sure. I realized I did not care. I was having a very good time. Every time I spoke, they laughed. Someone had taken a glass of champagne off a tray and given it to me. When I had to use the restroom, I tried to stand but toppled back onto my chair.

Seemingly out of nowhere,
Frank came to my rescue.

With a steady hand on my
back, Frank helped me up the stairs, remarking to anyone within hearing, "She's not used to champagne, you know. The kid's only 19."

That was
the last thing I remembered.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Someone opened the drapes. Light came into the room. I groaned. I felt groggy and disoriented.

"I have dry toast, coffee, and something with 'the hair of the dog that bit you' in it."
Frank said.

"Is the party over?"

"Oh, yes. It's over. The workers have been here since 11:00 a.m. tearing everything down, but it hasn't fazed you."

I
sat up in bed to look at the time. It was 3:00 o'clock. I remembered talking to a group of men and feeling very happy and then Frank ushering me up the stairs. Nothing after that.

"How did I get into bed
?  I don't remember that at all."

"Well, I think some of the
guys you were talking to gave you a little too much champagne towards the end of the party. One of them was even up here in your room, but I chased him out," Frank said.

"Oh."

"It's not the end of the world." Frank sat on the edge of the bed and smirked at me in a knowing way. As out of sorts as I felt it was infuriating.

"Got a headache?  How's your stomach?"
he asked.

I
became alarmed. "Frank, can I have some privacy for a few minutes?"

"Sure, kitten
. Anything you want." He got up and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

I
sat up and lifted the covers. The bed smelled like sex. I smelled like sex. How well I remembered from my high school trysts with "popular Dave." The first time Dave and I had sex, I had been surprised at how wet I had felt afterwards, not just from my own body but also from his. And that not unpleasant slightly bruised feeling. I felt that way now, only this time, the pain was definitely not pleasant.

Who di
d I sleep with?  I couldn't remember anything.

My
hands shook so much that I could barely open the shower door. As the welcome, cleansing water beat down upon my body, troubling thoughts raced through my brain. What if I'm pregnant? I easily became pregnant before. What if I caught an STD?

I washed my
hair and scrubbed thoroughly. Hair wrapped in a towel, I grabbed the Bloody Mary from the tray and then ran a tub of scented water. After I had lain in the tub for a few minutes, sipping the drink, I felt myself begin to calm.

So, I
had too much to drink and slept with someone, and I don't remember anything. I'm not the first one. The main thing to do is not to over-react. I have to be calm. If Frank is unsure about the details, then no one else knows. And, so what if they do?  I drank down the rest of my Bloody Mary, rested my head on the back of the tub closing my eyes. I just have to be strong. I just have to be strong. I silently repeated the familiar mantra.

###

Frank, on the other hand, was not worried about anything. In fact, he was in great spirits. He had enjoyed ravishing Vicky in his empty house, and he had taken his time. How long I have dreamed of this moment he had mused to himself. He had planned to do nothing but kiss her and touch her after he had removed her dress and rested his naked body over her and kissed her lips. He enjoyed it but found the experience lacking because she was not returning his kisses. He carefully removed her black strapless bra and matching underpants. He caressed her body at length.

After everything I've done for her, I deserve this
, he thought. The realization dawned on him that kissing her and touching her would not be enough, not nearly enough. I'll just say that someone else was in her room, he improvised to himself. She'll never know the difference.

For a moment, he felt a little shame at
what he was about to do. He quickly pushed that emotion away. If she had just done what I wanted her to do, then I wouldn't be forced to do this. He remembered the expression of disgust and revulsion on her face when he had kissed her hair and caressed her breast in the library. She had looked at his hand as if it were diseased and then vomited in the bathroom because she had been so revolted by him.

When he was finished with her and had redressed her
in her underwear, he stood by the side of the bed and looked at her. Her face carried a troubled expression, which made her appear even younger than usual. Fragile. Vulnerable. She sometimes appeared to be younger than her 19 years and never more so than at this moment. When he returned to his bed to sip whiskey and relive his experience, he realized that he would want to do this again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Three weeks later, when Margaret returned from her trip to the Los Angeles area to visit Tim's children, she was appalled at the changes she observed in Vicky. Before she left, Vicky had been depressed part of the time and eating and sleeping erratically. But, at times her spirits had risen, and she had seemed like her old self. In the short time Margaret had been away, Vicky's mental state appeared to have greatly deteriorated. There were new signs of an unquiet mind.

Vicky
tried to act cheerful, but when she thought no one was watching her, Margaret observed that she appeared to be agitated and worried. Margaret began to wonder what had happened while she was in California. She quickly discovered that if she asked Vicky in a direct fashion she would be met with resistance and evasions. Several weeks went by with no improvement in Vicky's demeanor.

O
ne evening as she set down a tea tray in the library, Margaret sat on the sofa next to Vicky and asked, "Vicky, you seem worried or upset about something. Would you care to talk about it?"

"No
. Everything's fine--I don't know why you keep asking me." In fact, her face looked pinched and drawn. She had lost even more weight. Her arms were shockingly thin.

Margaret persisted
. "Well, I don't mean to pry into your private thoughts, dear. It's just that I care about you, you know."

"Well, it's nothing
. It's just another phase I'm going through. Try not to worry." Vicky smiled.

"I do worry about you
. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'm available." With that, she arose and left the room.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After Margaret left the room,
I sat staring at the tea tray and the steaming cup that had just been poured for me and wondered how much longer I could go on like this. I constantly felt cold, no matter how warmly I dressed, and I was exhausted. My nerves were shot from keeping my secret. In the mornings for the past few days, I had woken up to nausea and vomiting, and I wondered how long it would be before someone heard me. Maybe they had heard and simply chose not to comment. When my breasts became sore and tender, I had looked up my symptoms on the internet and discovered that I very well could be pregnant--again.

So I bought a test that was supposed to work as early as six days into the pregnancy. Late one night, I peed and waited three minutes, per the instructions. One line--not pregnant. Two lines--pregnant. There were two lines! Oh, God. It couldn't be right. I did it again. Two lines.

I got into bed and cried. Finally, at dawn I slept.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I
made an appointment with an obstetrician. Something told me Frank's doctor should not know anything about this. I had grieved over my situation in private, pretending to read in my room, feigning a cold. My first thought was that I had to have an abortion. In general, I was against abortions. But, I had no idea who was the father of my child. Maybe it had even been rape; I had felt extremely sore that morning.

I
believed that the children of rape were innocents, but I also knew that it could be impossible for a woman to carry her rapist's baby to term. Could I do it?  Would I do it?
These questions often kept me awake well into the night.

Now that the
crisis might be upon me, a strange feeling of protectiveness overwhelmed me. I discovered that if I were pregnant, I wanted to guard the life growing inside me. I tried not to dwell on the ways that might destroy all my plans and dreams.

After an examinati
on, including a pelvic exam, I was sent to the lab for a pregnancy test to confirm my home results and then back to the exam room. I spent the time speed reading the magazines on the back of the door and then pacing back and forth, silently praying, "Let it be negative."

My
tall, young doctor came bounding back into the exam room, looking cheerful, "Your test is positive. You're pregnant."

I felt my mouth quiver.
"What am I going to do?"

The doctor sat on his stool
directly across from me. His manner became serious. "I take it this is not good news for you."

"No
. It's not." I sobbed in silence.

"Are you going to keep this baby?" he asked, as he passed her a tissue
box.

"Yes
. That's not the issue." I dried my eyes and blew my nose. It was no use. The tears kept flowing.

"All right
. What
is
the issue?  Tell me. Remember, everything you say is confidential." He again handed her the tissue box and waited.

"It's going to sound really bad."

"Trust me. I've heard everything."

I
looked around the small exam room space and tried to summon the courage to explain my predicament. It seemed as if time stood still.

"My employer had a party
. I live with him--at his home. It's a long story. Anyway, my mother recently passed away, and he had a party to cheer me up. Apparently, there was a man in my room late that night. But, the thing is, I don't remember anything about it. All I have is a blurry recollection of walking up the stairs to go to bed."

The doctor's expression took on a severe edge
. "Did you drink?"

"Yes
. I suppose it went to my head. But, I only had two drinks. So, I don't understand why I can't remember anything."

"Was either one of those drinks a dark blue color?"

"Yes, the last one. Is that important?"

"It sounds like you might have been given one of the so-called "date rap
e" drugs. Possibly Rohypnol. It is a dark blue color when placed in a liquid. That would explain the fact that you have no memory of that night. Even in someone not used to alcohol, two drinks would not completely erase your memory. How long ago were you given the blue drink?"

"Almost six
weeks ago."

"The doctor sighed
.”Oh, that's too bad. Rohypnol can only be detected in the blood stream for about 60 hours. Why didn't you tell anyone what happened?"

"I didn't want anyone to know what I had done
. I was embarrassed. My employer told me there was a boy--a man--in my room."

"I
t wasn't your fault. Just remember that." He looked extremely concerned.

"Okay."

"Who gave you the blue drink?  Do you remember?"

"Yes
. It was Frank--my boss. Oh, no. Is it possible that Frank did this to me?"

"It's
entirely possible. And, with a paternity test, you can find out for sure. I'm going to have some more blood taken to test for sexually transmitted diseases, while you're in here. Fortunately, I saw no evidence of any damage to your organs during the exam. I'm also referring you to a counseling service that specializes in sexual assault. My assistant will make an appointment for you. I'm going to check and make sure you have been seen by them, so don't neglect to keep your appointment. They can assist you with all the issues that come up."

He handed me
a card. "I want to see you again in two weeks to see how everything is going."

First nause
a, then dizziness swept over me, and then there was nothing but darkness. Upon awakening, I saw, Dr. Benson's anxious face staring down at me.

"Feel
ing a little better?"

"Yes
. I think it was all just too much for me to take in."

"It
is
a lot. Just lie there for a while. There are a couple of things we need to go over. First, you're very thin. Here is some nutrition information." He handed me a brochure and some printed papers. Remember, your baby needs nutritional support."

He sat down at a computer. As he keyboarded and looked at the screen, he said, "What's your pharmacy?"

"Burlingame Fred Meyer."

"I'm sending in a prescription for neonatal vitamins. You can pick it up today."

When he was finished with the computer, he came to sit in front of me. "Finally, you should consider making arrangements to move away from your employer, soon. It might not be safe there. Also, do you plan to press charges against this man?"

"No, I don't think so
. I've waited so long that I don't think the charges would stick. Especially since he is so wealthy. He could make anything go away. Now, I want to concentrate on the future."

"Of course, that's entirely up to you, but I
really encourage you to contact the police and press charges. Plus, if he is the father of this child and is as wealthy as you say, then he should help you with financial expenses. It would be to the child's benefit."

Bitterness welled up within
me. If he is the father, I don't want him to know anything about this child.

"Thank you for all your good advice
. I'll take care of everything and see you in two weeks."

“Did
you drive here?"

"Yes
.”

"I don't want you to drive home right now
. Is there someone who can come and pick you up?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Okay. Can you walk now?  Let's give it a try." He placed his arm around my shoulders as the nurse opened the door.

Once seated in
the waiting room, I tried to slow down my breathing. My heart pounded in my ears and on my chest. So much information. I closed my eyes.

Then I
called Bett's cell phone. "Hi, I'm at the doctor's office and need a ride home. If I don't hear from you within 30 minutes, I'm going to take a cab to your parents' house."

After 30 minutes, I
called Bett's parents' number. Bett's mother, Diana, answered. I explained that I needed a ride home from the doctor's, eliminating the details.

"How long will you be home?  I want to meet Bett's there."

"Oh, I'll be home the rest of the day. But, I thought you said you couldn't drive--"

"I can't, but I'm going to call a cab."

"Oh, no you're not, my dear." Once Diana had made up her mind, there was no changing it. "What's the address?  I'll come get you."