One Way or Another(25)

Courage. My mother’s word rang again in my ear. I knew I must face him on his own terms, after all, the only thing left that he could do was actually to kill me and it suddenly struck me that Ahmet was not the man to do that. He might employ a killer but I knew instinctively he would not do the deed himself. The soft chiffon folds of the dress flowed around my bare legs as I walked toward him.

His eyes lit with a mocking smile. “Bravo, Angie,” he said. “I like women who do not show their fear.”

“I am no longer afraid of you,” I said, because there was, after all, nothing left to fear.

“Come, sit here, why don’t you?”

He indicated the ottoman on which his feet had rested. I did as he asked, clamping my knees together, smoothing the dress down in the ladylike fashion my mother had taught me. He poured the wine and offered me a glass. I didn’t want it but, since I had no choice, I took it. His fingers brushed mine and he gave me that smile again that told me he knew me well, knew everything there was to know about me, the way I had felt under his probing hands, the faint aromatic tang of my body under his lips. And I knew he knew what I was thinking, that I was also remembering the way his body had felt on mine, and I blushed.

“You are quite beautiful tonight, Angie,” he said, going back to his red leather chair. “Like a pretty feline, a smooth little *cat in that dress.”

His eyes still mocked me and I glanced away.

“No,” he said loudly. “Look up.” He was giving me an order. “Look at me! I want you to remember this night, and all the nights that went before. I want your body to remember me as well as your mind. Fair’s fair, Angie. I remember you perfectly. I remember that first time when you couldn’t wait for me to put my hands on you, to put my cock in you, and I remember how much you liked it.”

“You enjoyed it,” I said and wished I had not because it showed that of course I remembered. Then despite myself I added, “More than me.”

Ahmet shook his head, tut-tutting. “Angie, Angie, you must learn. It’s ‘more than I.’ Not more than me.” He laughed and took a gulp of his wine. “Perhaps I will have to get you a tutor, teach you the proper use of the English language.”

“You mean the way you had to be taught?” I don’t know how I knew, but I was right. I’d struck a sore spot and the color rose from his neck up his face, an angry red that made me know he was on the verge of hitting me. Courage, I told myself again and raised my chin, staring contemptuously at him.

“You are only up from the streets yourself,” I went on, unable to stop now I had started. “You are just a poor boy made good, a boy who didn’t learn the niceties of life at his mother’s knee. This good wine you are drinking you had to learn about, just like the rest of us poor folk did. Your own mother didn’t teach you, that’s for sure.”

His fist flew toward me, smacking back my head. I suddenly knew what was meant by seeing stars. They danced before my eyes like mini space rockets while the pain seared through my jaw and wine spilled from my dropped glass all over my pretty chiffon dress and the carpet.

“Mehitabel!” Ahmet’s voice roared through the room, sending more mini rockets through my head. “Mehitabel,” he roared again and, as if by magic, there she was standing next to me. I caught her looking at me, taking in the spilled wine, Ahmet’s furious red face, my own strange calmness.

“Take her away!” Ahmet roared. “Get her out of my sight. I will deal with her later.”

As Mehitabel took my arm and led me away I heard Ahmet’s beautiful wineglass crash against the limestone fireplace, and then I thought I heard what sounded like a sob, a deep, terrible sob that came from unknown depths. Of course I knew I must be wrong and it was only the sound of my own sobs I was hearing. Wasn’t it?





19





ANGIE


I did not know how much later it was when I woke. It was dark, I had no idea where I was. I cried out for help, knowing it was foolish, ridiculous, nobody would help me ever again. If I was ever to escape from this dark place I must be cleverer than them, smarter, more resourceful, I’d need to be friggin’ biophysicist material, a nuclear specialist. In that case I didn’t stand a chance! Brains and ingenuity were not in my makeup. I only got through high school by cramming for exams the night before. I had a good memory and did well enough to pass, but did I learn anything? If I had would I have been a greeter in a glorified steakhouse with other women’s husbands giving me the hopeful eye, simply because I was there and they could? I guess they thought I was worth a try, and who could blame them. And then the one time I succumbed—well, that’s not quite true, it wasn’t the only time, but my first time with a “really rich” man—look what happened to me.

I choked back the sob in my throat. I was definitely not going to cry. I was going to get out of here, that’s what I was gonna do.

I touched my jaw gingerly. It was sore as hell where Ahmet had punched me, probably black and blue and purple by now. Rage rose in my throat instead of sobs. The bastard. I would get him, I surely would. And that witch Mehitabel. One way or another.

I was lying back on a sofa; I had no recollection of how I had gotten there. Somebody had put my feet up, straightened out my dress. I knew it must have been her; that woman radiated evil even when she was smiling at you. It was there, in the back of her eyes, a subplot lying in wait for you.