Gradually she embraced the feeling of sexual power that overcame her, finally understanding how important it was to her survival.
It took almost two years of plotting and planning and squirreling money away, until one day Velma decided it was time for them to go. Anya was excited, but also terrified. What if Olga came after them? What if the unknown was even more scary than servicing a series of men she’d grown used to? And worst of all–what if Velma deserted her?
However, she was prepared to take a chance, because Velma was her everything and she couldn’t risk losing her.
They set off at three in the morning while everyone in the house was sleeping. Velma had a regular customer with an old car whom she’d persuaded to help start their journey. Another customer had gotten them fake passports. Velma’s sexual skills were extraordinarily persuasive.
Their journey out of Poland was harrowing, especially when they reached the border. Anya was petrified their fake passports would be discovered and they’d be sent back. But Velma worked her magic on the border guards, flirting and exchanging vulgar jokes. Anya knew that Velma would’ve gotten out of the car and blown every one of them if she’d deemed it necessary. It wasn’t. However, once they’d crossed the border, the driver of the car wanted sexual gratification from both of them before dropping them off at a railroad station.
After he’d left, Velma cussed him out as a dirty Polish pig. She was not at all grateful for the help he’d given them.
The next few days they spent on trains making their way toward Amsterdam, where Velma swore she had a connection. Sometimes the trains were okay, but most times they were dirty and crowded, and Anya found herself wondering if she’d made the right decision.
Velma was not slow at plying her trade. Whenever she spotted a likely prospect, she took him off into the lavatory and gave him what he required.
“Easy money,” she informed Anya. “You must do the same.”
Anya shook her head. “I don’t want to.”
Velma gave her a hard look. “You’ll do what it takes,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll see the back of me.”
So Anya did as the older woman told her, and found herself once again servicing a series of men as the various trains rattled and bumped their way across Europe. By the time they reached Amsterdam she was exhausted. Not Velma.
“We’re spoiling ourselves and staying in a hotel for the night,” she informed Anya. “Tomorrow we start afresh. Tomorrow we start making real money.”
Anya was excited. She’d never stayed in a hotel, and the thought of a proper bed and a shower was quite energizing.
Velma hailed a cab at the train station, and after she’d chatted up the driver, he’d recommended a modest motel. After checking in, Velma threw herself on the bed and declared that Amsterdam was the most beautiful place on earth.
Anya was inclined to agree.
“This,” Velma announced, “is where we belong.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sitting in the passenger seat next to Ryan on their way to see his sister in Silverlake, Cameron felt completely comfortable. It was almost as if they were old friends, not two people who’d only met the night before.
She could tell he was preoccupied–thinking of his sister, no doubt–and she did not wish to pry, but suddenly he started opening up about the situation.
“I’ve got three sisters,” he began. “Evie’s the youngest. She ran off with this moron when she was eighteen. Now three kids later, she’s stuck with him.”
“What does he do?” Cameron asked quietly.
“Drinks and spends any money he can get hold of.”
“I mean, what does he do professionally?”
“The jerk’s a stuntman, and not at all skillful. I’m amazed he hasn’t killed himself by now, ’cause believe me–stunts an’ booze do not mix.”
“Has he threatened your sister before?”
“Not that she’s told me. But I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’m sorry,” Cameron said softly.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, his face grim. “So am I.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, a companionable silence. Neither of them felt the need to talk, there would be plenty of time later. And in spite of everything, Cameron was sure there would definitely be a later.
Lucy Lyons Standard had a plan. Since her recent announcement of a career comeback had apparently left her husband cold, she’d decided to develop the project herself. After all, it was she who’d come up with the story idea, so why wouldn’t she get a script written? That way she’d have something to show Ryan, because she was convinced that once he read it, he would be very interested in developing the project further.
Phil steadfastly refused to discuss it with her. Every time she tried to bring the subject up, he walked out of the room.
She retaliated by refusing to cook his meals or share his bed. Not that either of her punishments were a big deal, since their housekeeper was a better cook than she was, and she imagined that he was getting plenty of sex from his twenty-three-year-old Asian assistant who had small pointy tits and a laugh like a hyena.
The problem with Phil was that he had no taste; he’d fuck a plant if it looked at him sideways, he’d fuck the plainest woman in the world, and make her feel like a goddess. He might not be the best-looking man in the room, but women were drawn to him like bees to honey. It was as if they sensed that Phil was a master in the bedroom; it was as if they knew he possessed a golden tongue and was expert at using it. Over the years he’d perfected the art of pleasing a woman orally, zeroing in on the precise pleasure points that could bring her to the dizzying height of ecstasy. Damn him!
Lucy drove toward the beach in her white convertible Mercedes, the latest model. Phil was generous when it came to material things, not so generous at sharing his powerful talent. How easy it would’ve been for him to offer to write a script for her, help her get her career back on track.
But no. He continued to refuse to discuss it.
So now she was forced to hire an unknown writer, because as Phil Standard’s wife she could hardly go to an established screenwriter–it would make both of them look ridiculous.
A few weeks ago a lawyer friend–more of an acquaintance really–had sent over a couple of spec scripts written by his college kid son for Phil to take a look at as a favor. Phil hadn’t bothered to read them. Lucy had.
The scripts were surprisingly fresh and sharp. Lucy was impressed, so much so that she was on her way to meet the kid–a student at UCLA–and discuss her story idea to see if he might be the writer for her.
She was determined–one way or the other–to show Phil that she could make a comeback–with or without his help.
Evie met them at the door to her house with a burgeoning black eye. She was shivering uncontrollably.
Suddenly Cameron experienced a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, the feeling she’d always gotten after Gregg had finished beating her up–it was a mixture of fear, hate, and helplessness.
Evie had the same emotional look in her eyes as she flew into her brother’s arms, sobbing.
“Sonofabitch!” Ryan muttered furiously. “Sonofafuckingbitch! Where is he?”
“He left,” Evie said, her voice no more than a whisper. “He grabbed my purse and ran out of here.”
“And the boys? Where are they?”
“In school, thank God.”
Cameron took a tentative step forward. “Uh…hi,” she said.
“This is Cameron,” Ryan said quickly. “She’s a friend of mine.”
“Maybe we should get you inside and put some ice on that eye,” Cameron suggested in her best sympathetic tone.
Evie looked questioningly at Ryan.
He nodded. “She’s right, let’s do that.”
The three of them went inside the house which looked like a hurricane had hit it: furniture was overturned, a glass vase was shattered in the center of the room, and books and CDs were scattered all
over the floor.
“What exactly happened?” Ryan asked, keeping his voice even, but both women knew that inside he was seething with rage.
“Marty got out of jail yesterday,” Evie said in a low voice. “When he came home he was angry, accused me of not pulling any strings to keep him out of jail in the first place. We fought about that, then he took my ATM card and went out. He came back this morning still drunk from the night before, smelling of whiskey and…” she hesitated for a second, glanced at Cameron and stopped talking.
“Go ahead,” Ryan encouraged. “I told you–Cameron’s a friend.”
“Well…” Evie managed. “I could smell another woman all over him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I…I accused him and that’s when he went berserk, screaming like a crazy man. He wrecked the room, hit me, demanded more money, and walked out.”
“Has he ever hit you before?” Ryan asked, barely able to control his anger.
“No,” Evie said, not meeting her brother’s stern gaze.
Yes, Cameron said silently. He’s hit her before. It’s etched on her face. Believe me, I’ve been there. I know the look.
“I can assure you that he’s never doing it again. Never,” Ryan said, his bluer than blue eyes blazing with rage.
“He didn’t mean to do it,” Evie blurted helplessly. “He was frustrated.”
Sure, Cameron thought. And why not take it out on you? You’re an easy target. A woman. And women find it hard to fight back. In fact, we’re programmed not to.
“Jesus, Evie, I don’t care what he was,” Ryan said, pulling a chair back to its rightful position and sitting his sister down. “Hitting a woman is an inexcusable act of cowardice.”
“Where’s the kitchen?” Cameron asked. “I’ll get some ice for that eye.”
Ryan pointed her in the right direction.
“She’s nice,” Evie said softly, asking no questions.
“She’s…uh…my trainer,” Ryan managed.
“Yes,” Evie murmured. “I can see you’re all dressed for a work-out.”
Ryan felt a flash of guilt. What did Evie think was going on?
His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his pocket to check on the caller. It was Mandy. Call three. She was anxious and he didn’t give a shit.
“You can’t stay here,” he said to Evie. “We’re collecting the kids from school, then I’m driving you over to Mom’s. After everyone’s safe I’ll come back here and deal with Marty.”
“I’m not going to Mom’s,” Evie said, panicking. “She’ll think I’m such a failure.”
“No, she won’t. Mom’ll understand.”
“Says you,” Evie said, shaking her head.
Cameron came back into the room with a dustpan and brush. She was also holding a packet of frozen peas which she instructed Evie to put on her eye. Diligently she began sweeping up the broken glass from the shattered lamp.
Watching her, Ryan was bemused. This girl was so utterly unlike Mandy. The thought of Mandy dealing with this situation in such a concerned and efficient way was laughable. Cameron seemed to know exactly what to do.
“I’m over my hysteria,” Evie said, holding the frozen peas to her damaged eye. “I can deal with him. I know my husband, he’ll be full of apologies.”
Of course he will, Cameron thought. He’ll tell you how sorry he is, and how much he loves and adores you, and as soon as he’s in another nasty mood, he’ll beat the crap out of you again.
“I’m not leaving you here,” Ryan said. “No way.”
“Please, Ryan,” Evie begged. “You have to. I can handle him.”
They argued back and forth some more while Cameron cleaned up the room, until finally Evie convinced him that everything would be okay.
“If you’re sure…” he began, reluctant to leave.
“I’m sure,” she said, quite recovered. “So go have your…work-out, and I promise I’ll check in with you later.” She reached out and touched Cameron’s arm. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. Thanks for being so sweet.”
“Hey-” Cameron said, wishing there was more she could do. “I understand.”
Oh yes, I really do. I’ve been there, and the only answer is to get out while you still can. Do not procrastinate, because once it happens, it’s a sure thing that it will happen again.
After hugging his sister, and making her promise to call him at any time of the day or night, Ryan took Cameron’s arm and led her outside to his car.
“This doesn’t feel right,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you think I should stay and give the sonofabitch a taste of what he gave her?”
“She doesn’t want you to stay,” Cameron pointed out. “She has to work out what she needs to do on her own.”
“You think?”
Cameron nodded. “That’s usually the way it goes.”
He studied her face for a moment. “How come you know that?” he asked at last.
“I had a…uh…friend who suffered through the same thing,” she said, taken off-guard. “Eventually she…uh…wised up and got out.”
His blue eyes were intense as he continued staring right at her. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“You wised up and got out.”
Inexplicably her eyes filled with tears. How did he know? Just thinking about what had happened to her was too upsetting to go there. Gregg was her past. She was strong now, invincible, and she would never allow anyone to get close enough to hurt her again.
That was the plan, and she was sticking with it.
Chapter Eighteen
Everything was organized. Mandy had hired a chef, three waiters and a barman, which was excessive for nine people, but what the hell–she wasn’t about to help out, and her housekeeper was unable to come back that evening on such short notice. Mandy had a mind to fire the woman, but then she’d have to train someone new, and she had no intention of suffering through that nightmare again.
It was all Ryan’s fault. When they were first married she’d insisted that they hire a live-in couple, but he’d said absolutely no way–he enjoyed the freedom of not having help living on their property. It was a battle he’d won. Usually when it came to domestic matters she got her own way, but sometimes Ryan was adamant, and that had been one of those times. No live-in help.
She was embarrassed to tell any of her friends. Lucy and Phil employed a couple from Guatemala, two daily housekeepers, a laundress, an English nanny for their two children, and three assistants who worked from their house. According to Lucy, she needed all the help she could get, what with Phil–the messiest man on the planet–the kids and their menagerie of assorted animals.
Impulsively Mandy reached for her phone and called Lucy, who answered immediately.
“I’m in the car,” Lucy announced, driving with one hand on the steering wheel. “On my way to interview a writer for my idea.”
“Does Phil know?” Mandy asked.
“Fuck Phil,” Lucy snapped. “He’s a dictatorial asshole.”
“Are you two still not speaking?”
“Oh, we’re speaking all right,” Lucy said ominously. “I just won’t let him anywhere near me in the bedroom, and as much as he gets on the side, Phil hates it when I don’t allow him his nightly fix.”
“Nightly?” Mandy was impressed. It must be true about Phil and his insatiable sexual appetite, not to mention his enormous penis. Not that size was that important, and besides, Ryan was hardly lacking in that department.
Once, at their annual Christmas party, Phil had come onto her in the bathroom. He’d locked the door, muttered that she was a hot little piece of ass, shoved her back against the vanity and attempted to stick his thick tongue down her throat.
She’d pushed him away and informed him she was not the kind of woman who cheated on her husband, especially when her husband was supposedly one of his closest friends.
Phil had laughed himself red in the face (he was totally drunk), unlocked the d
oor, and promptly informed anyone who’d listen that she was a frigid bitch.
Ha! she’d thought at the time. He should only know the things Ryan and I get up to in our bedroom. Frigid, my ass.
Of course that was then–early days–before two miscarriages and a stillborn baby, before marriage took over and she and Ryan grew so used to each other that sex didn’t seem that exciting anymore.
However, if Ryan was dissatisfied with their sex life, she’d better do something to liven it up. He’d uttered the dreaded word “divorce” and that was quite unthinkable. She realized he was drunk and angry at the time, so of course he hadn’t meant it. But still…
Mandy couldn’t stand her father’s shrieks of triumph if she and Ryan ever got a divorce.
“I warned you he was a goddamn loser,” Hamilton would yell. “A loser with weak sperm!”
Yes, Hamilton never tired of informing her that the miscarriages and the stillborn baby were all the result of Ryan’s weak sperm. Even Mandy was shocked that he would say such vile words.
She sighed, and considered how best to make the peace with Ryan. The first step was the family dinner, and having arranged it, she saw no reason why she had to suffer through it alone.
“Are you guys busy tonight?” she asked Lucy.
“Why?” Lucy responded. She’d learned never to say yes until she found out the reason the question was being asked, especially when the question was coming from Mandy.
“I’m putting together a small, more intimate dinner for Ryan,” Mandy said, trying to make it sound enticing. “It’s at the house. I’d love it if you and Phil could come.”
Lucy took a moment before answering. An intimate dinner at the Richards’ house sounded like the perfect opportunity for her to corner Ryan and talk to him about her story idea. “I’ll have to check with Phil, but that sounds nice,” she said, slowing down as she approached her destination. “I’ll call you back.”