Forbidden Sister (34 page)

I considered what to do. I couldn’t just turn him away. I had to call Roxy on her cell phone to tell her he was there and see where she was and what was happening.

“Yes, come in,” I said, stepping back.

“Nice place,” he commented immediately. He looked at me as I closed the door. “So what’s the story? You need help getting dressed? That part of the night’s activities?”

“No, no,” I said, pinching the sides of my robe closer. “I’m not Fleur du Coeur. I’m . . . someone else.”

“What do you mean?” He looked into the apartment. “There’s someone prettier than you here?”

“Yes, but . . . she’s late. I’ll call her. Why don’t you fix yourself a drink?” I added, nodding at the bar. “Everything’s there.”

“Late? How late?”

“I’ll call her right now,” I said, hurrying into the kitchen.

Roxy answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“There’s a man here to see you.”

“A man? What man?”

“A client, Roxy.”

“I have no appointment tonight,” she said. “Where is he?”

“I had to let him in. I told him to make a drink for himself while I called you.”

“What’s his name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“It’s a mistake,” she said, but she didn’t sound confident of that.

“Where are you?”

“I’m only ten or so minutes away.”

“What should I tell him?”

“Tell him . . . I’m on my way,” she said. “M.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell him anything about us. I mean, don’t tell him anything true.”

“I understand.”

“It’s important,” she said.

“Okay.”

She hung up. I stood there for a while. My heart was thumping. I had no idea what I would say or do if he asked any questions. He was sitting at the bar and turned quickly when I entered the living room.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s on her way,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t understand why she wasn’t here waiting. Time’s money,” he added. He downed what looked like a glass of straight whiskey. Then he looked at me. “So who are you? How do you fit into this? You another flower girl or something? I didn’t
know about you. I like younger women, especially pretty younger women.”

“No, I’m just a . . . roommate.”

“Just a roommate? I don’t know how you could be just a roommate,” he said. “You got a date tonight?”

“No, I don’t . . . I’m not . . . I’m just a roommate,” I said. “You want another drink or maybe some cheese and crackers?”

“No, I don’t want cheese and crackers, and I’m not here to get bombed, Miss . . . say, what’s your name?”

“My name’s not important,” I said.

“Oh, more mystery, huh? I like that.” He gave me that wide smile again.

“I have to get dressed,” I said, and started away, but he reached out and seized my wrist.

“Naw, you don’t have to get dressed yet. You just told me you’re not going on a date. You can keep me company.”

“Well, it’s not a date, but I’m meeting someone.”

“That’s not a date? More mystery?” he said, and pulled me a little closer. “You smell fresh. Just take a shower or something?”

“Please. You’re hurting my wrist,” I said. He was holding me very tightly, his grip burning my skin.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, releasing his grip on my wrist, but then he seized the belt on my robe. “What are you really, the warm-up girl? Like an act before the main act or something? Because I don’t mind.”

I shook my head.

“You invited me in for a drink. Is this some role-playing game, part of the service? Because if it is, I like it.”

“No.”

I backed away, but he held on to my robe’s belt.

“Please, let me go,” I said.

“I like that. Pleading. Sexy,” he said, getting off the stool. He tugged my belt and then reached for me, taking hold of the collar of the robe. “How about we get it on first, then?” he said. “Pass the time?”

When he brought his lips toward me, I pushed on his forehead, and then I spun, slipping out of the robe and running naked to my bedroom. I heard his laughter as I locked the door behind me. Shivering with fear, I hurried to put on a blouse and a pair of jeans. He came to the door and tried the knob.

“Hey!” he yelled. “What is this?”

“Please. Go away,” I said, crying now. He rattled the knob. I thought he might break the lock, but suddenly, he stopped. I held my breath, and then I heard Roxy’s voice and him walking away from my door.

I didn’t leave my room. Still trembling, I returned to my bed and sat waiting to see what was going to happen. I heard the music get turned off, but I didn’t hear any voices. The silence made me even more nervous. What was going on out there? Did Roxy realize she had forgotten a date? Was there a real mix-up, and was she explaining it to him? Would it matter to him?

I began to worry about Roxy. Although the man wore expensive clothes and jewelry, there was something very common and streetlike about him. My mind spun with images from mobster movies. I paced in my room, stopping when I thought I heard someone shouting. It grew quiet, and then it sounded as if something hit the building. I held my breath and listened. This time, I heard footsteps, and then I clearly heard the door slam. Was it the front door or the door to Roxy’s bedroom?

I went to mine and pressed my ear against it, listening. It was very silent again, ominously silent this time. If the man had left, why didn’t Roxy come to see me? Terrified but seeing nothing else I could do, I
unlocked the door and opened it slightly. Still, I heard nothing.

My first thought was to close it again and wait for Roxy. Of course, she could have left with the man, but if she had, she surely would have come by to tell me she was going, wouldn’t she? There was no point in her pretending there was no one but her there now. I waited and listened, and then I began to move slowly toward the living room. I kept as quiet as I could. There was no one there—no one at the bar and no one in the kitchen or the dining room. The apartment was still dead quiet. Nothing looked moved or touched. His whiskey glass was still on the bar.

I paused and listened for voices again but heard none.
Dare I do it?
What else could I do? I had to find out what was happening. I practically tiptoed to Roxy’s bedroom. The door was closed. My heart was racing so hard and fast I thought I might faint in the hallway. After every few steps, I paused to listen. It was too silent. Roxy must have left with him, I concluded, and went to her door. I stood there for a moment, and then I pressed my ear against it to listen for voices, sounds, anything. I thought I heard a sob.

I certainly didn’t want to confront that man again, but I had to do it. I had to take a chance.

“Roxy?” I called. “Are you there?”

It grew silent again.

“Roxy?”

“Go back to your room, M. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Are you all right?”

“Go back to your room,” she ordered.

I started away but then stopped and brought my ear to the door again. I didn’t hear the man’s voice. I thought I heard the water running in her bathroom sink. Very gingerly, I turned the doorknob and opened the door a little more than an inch. Through the crack, I could see into her bathroom. The door was open, and she was bent over her sink. I heard her gag and spit, and then, when she raised herself, I could see her in the mirror. She had what looked like a black-and-blue mark on the left corner of her mouth, and her lip looked swollen. I pushed the door open. There was no one else in the room.

“Roxy!” I called.

She spun around. “Get out!” she screamed, and slammed the bathroom door closed.

I stood there, even more terrified than before. “What happened? What did he do to you? Who was he?” I asked.

She didn’t reply, but I didn’t move. Finally, she opened the door and looked out at me.

“This is the first time this has happened to me,” she said. “There was a real screw-up. I had no appointment tonight and certainly wouldn’t have had one with someone like him if I knew anything about him.” She pressed a cold washcloth against her mouth.

“He hit you? Why did he hit you?”

“I wouldn’t do what he wanted.”

“What did he want?”

“Forget about it, M. It’s over.”

“No. Tell me,” I said.

She sat on her bed. I went over and sat beside her. She kept her gaze on the floor.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Should you go to see a doctor?”

“No, of course not.” She took a deep breath.

“Did he hit you anywhere else?”

“No. This was enough to satisfy him,” she told me.

“What did he want, Roxy?”

She studied me a moment and shook her head. “He wanted me to bring you into the room.”

“What?”

“You know, a
ménage à trois
. Satisfied?”

“I thought you said the men, the clients you have, are all well screened, that this sort of thing can’t happen.”

“I told you. This was the first time.” She thought a moment and then said, “Maybe it wasn’t such a screw-up.” She rose and went to her window to look down at the street.

“What do you mean, maybe it wasn’t?”

“Mrs. Brittany has funny ways of making a point. She’s been on me about this sister-act idea of hers ever since she came here to bawl me out. She’s always reminding me about how much she has done for me, pressuring me. I owe her. I can’t say no.”

She turned to me.

“So you see, Papa was right to tell you to stay away from me,” she added.

“No, he wasn’t right,” I said, shaking my head. “You only tried to help me.”

“Right. I’m a big help. You should have gone off with Uncle Orman and Aunt Lucy. None of this would have happened. We both would have gone our own ways and not hurt each other. I only made trouble for myself.”

I felt the tears building around my eyes. “That’s not so, Roxy. I wanted to be with you. I needed you.”

She looked up sharply. “No one needs me, except Mrs. Brittany.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong. Just go about your schoolwork, M. Dinner should be up soon. Eat it yourself. I’m not very hungry, and it probably will hurt to chew anything for a while.”

“What about the man?”

“What about him?”

“Are you just going to forget about this?”

“I’m not about to call the police or anything, if that’s what you mean. He’s gone. I’ll deal with it in my own way.”

She returned to her bathroom and closed her door. I heard her running a bath. I left, and on the way back to my room, I heard the buzzer. I was afraid the man had returned, but when I looked through the keyhole, I saw that it was the delivery boy from the restaurant. I opened the door and took the food, but I had lost my appetite, too. I tried to eat a little, taking my time and hoping that Roxy would come out for something, but she didn’t. I was certainly not in the mood to do any homework.

Later, I heard her come out, but before I could say anything, she told me she was leaving. I imagined that she was off to see Mrs. Brittany. I didn’t know who else she would go to for anything. I watched the clock, tried to work, but couldn’t concentrate on anything. It was nearly eleven by the time she returned. As soon as I heard her come in, I charged out of my room.

“What happened? Where were you?”

She took off her jacket and flopped onto the sofa.

“I was right. She sent this goon up. I think she really believed that I would involve you if I was faced with it and knew it would please her.”

“What did you tell her? What did she do when she saw your face?”

“She was sorry about that, but she said I’d live. Mrs. Brittany is not big on sympathy, especially if she thinks you are partly to blame. She reminds me a lot of Papa.”

“But what did you tell her about her idea? I mean, involving me in . . . ?”

“I told her I would work on the idea.”

“You did?”

“Sure. I can stall her and get her off our backs for a while. Maybe after time passes, she’ll forget about it.”

I didn’t believe it for a moment. One thing Papa had taught me was never to fool yourself.
“Burying your head in the sand, even for a short time, is self-defeating. Prepare yourself, and train for trouble. Face your problems and challenges head-on and defeat them,”
he often preached, as if I really was in his army. I was sure it was advice his own father had given him.

But I saw that Roxy wanted me to believe that she had things under control, so I kept quiet.

“I told Mrs. Brittany you had a holiday coming up and I would use the time to work on it. I told her we were going to France. That was part of what I was doing today. I made our ticket arrangements. You’re out on Friday, and we’re off on Saturday. I’ve called Uncle Alain. He’s very excited about it.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Good. Just put this out of your mind. It won’t happen again. I promise,” she said.

“Okay. I left food in the fridge for you,” I told her.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll nibble on something. Thanks.” She rose and then paused just before going into the kitchen. She kept her head down. “I’m sorry I said what I said before in my bedroom. I’m glad you’re here.”

Before I could respond, she went into the kitchen. I returned to my room, finally believing that I would be able to get to sleep.