One Way or Another(67)

“You look terrible, Angie,” Ahmet said, sitting back and taking off his dark glasses, the better to view me.

I made no answer.

“Come now, darling Angie, things are looking up.” He glanced at Mehitabel standing behind me, the leash and collar she had taken off held in her hand with the gooseberry-size emerald ring. “I told you no bonds. Get that thing off her,” he’d commanded and I heard the quick rustle of her green satin evening dress as she’d hurried to obey. Mehitabel was as much Ahmet’s slave as I was.

I prayed he would not tell me to undress, though I had lost any modesty I might have had about being naked in front of people. I was a puppet; pull my strings and I moved; put clothes on me or take them off … I had no say in the matter. I knew my fate at Ahmet’s hands and by now hoped it would come sooner rather than later, so as not to prolong the torture, because there was no doubt Ahmet was torturing me. Not in the way Mehitabel wanted, physically, sadistically. Ahmet was playing with my mind. He knew how much more terrible a game that was. Maybe, though, just maybe, I could play that game too.

“We are leaving here tonight.” Ahmet checked his watch. “Now, in fact. Better not to be late for your own party, my dear.”

I tried to keep my face expressionless but he caught the slightly raised brows, the question in my eyes.

“There is to be a grand party on the Lady Marina, a select group of guests, ‘everybody’ in fact who is ‘anybody’ in the south of France right now will be attending. Patrons is in charge of all the arrangements, my own Tunisian chef is in charge of the food, I told him it must be exotic, different, no smoked salmon rolls and dunking into tins of caviar; we shall nibble on quail eggs and lobster lollipops and the tiniest crisp lamb chops from the newest-born lambs that ever saw the hills of Provence. Murdered, I should say, in my own personal honor, at my behest.” He laughed when he saw my bewildered expression turn to one of horror. “What is it with you girls? Lucy Patron was just as shocked when I suggested that, yet I have no doubt you will enjoy them as much as the next guest, though of course they won’t be told of the chops’ background. I should hate to spoil anyone’s enjoyment.”

He put on his dark glasses, became once again the man in disguise, or was it the real Ahmet Ghulbian? I no longer knew.

“Mehitabel will dress you appropriately. We’ll leave in half an hour. I shall fly the Cessna myself.” He sat, looking at me, as though waiting to hear me ask where I was going. I didn’t need to. He told me. “Back to my yacht, Angie, where it all began,” he said, smiling.





47





ANGIE


I am surprised once again. Astonished, in fact. And scared to death, or close to it anyway. I’m strapped into a seat on the Cessna, next to Mehitabel, with Ahmet and a copilot at the controls. Whether or not we are going to the yacht I have no idea, because after the few minutes he’d spent in his library, staring at my no doubt terrifying appearance, he’d said nothing. I was no longer the young woman he’d seduced, made love to. Or had I seduced him? It had not really mattered at the time and it didn’t really matter now. I had done what I had done, I had willingly walked into this man’s arms, into his clutches, and into a whirlwind of fear, of pain, of near death, which still lurked, a shadow in my future. Or non-future. I want to say I did not care, yet somehow through everything, the human spirit takes control of the mind, sneaks in the back, whispering to keep going, to keep trying, to keep your courage. Never let go.

I was warm in the gray sweats I’d put back on. Mehitabel had tied a soft chiffon scarf over my shorn head. I put up a hand, remembering my earrings, felt them still there, the twin small diamonds that had been an ill-afforded fourteenth birthday gift from my mother. I had worn them proudly every day since, changing them only for fashion when I needed those kinds of dangling chandeliers for work. Thinking about that, I could remember the person I used to be, though I still don’t know the person I have become.

I heard the noise of the engine change slightly as the small plane began its descent. It was dark outside but I glimpsed a string of white lights along a coastline, the red and green riding lights on boats in a harbor, then suddenly a burst of stars and sprinkles in many colors as fireworks exploded from a long barge outlined against the horizon. A treat for the happy tourists, dining in seafront restaurants, lingering over late cups of espresso in the cafés in the normal world I no longer inhabited.

The Cessna bounced as it touched down then glided to a smooth stop. Mehitabel got to her feet, and stood looking down at me, elegant in her green satin evening dress. The jewels around her long neck glinted so beautifully I understood why women longed for them. They were money-no-object jewels and I knew Ahmet must have bought them for her, he probably chose them too because the slender strand was in excellent taste, nothing vulgar here. How the hell, I asked myself suddenly, was I able to think this clearly, when my mind had been destroyed? But had it? Could I still think, plot, plan? I told myself I was going to get out of here, out of this place, wherever they were taking me. I was alert, becoming myself again.

Ahmet was first off the plane, down the small flight of metal steps that dropped from the door, followed by the copilot, who did not look behind him to where Mehitabel and I sat. From the window I watched the pilot stride toward a small arrivals building, leaving Ahmet standing alone at the foot of those steps, waiting for us. Or, I suppose, for me. His prey, caught now, a bird in hand.