Sleeping Beauty (11 page)

His rage over Tamarack consumed him. It was his; his father had given it to him. Ethan had been playing around with it for twenty years, developing it at his own pace. Now it was Vince's turn. He had his plans, his budgets, his schedules. Ethan had no idea of the scope of Vince's ideas: under his control, Tamarack was going to be transformed from a small, pleasant mountain resort to a town of highways, sprawling hotels, and exclusive shops, a glittering magnet for royalty and the world's wealthiest pleasure seekers, a town that would provide everything for those who could afford it. It would provide more, of course: it would be a cornucopia of riches for the Chatham Development Corporation, and in particular, for Vince Chatham.

That was Vince's plan. There were other plans the family had made, for a future reorganization of the company, with Charles moving up to president of Chatham Development in Chicago when Ethan retired, and Vince as vice president of Chatham Development and president of The Tamarack Company. That was settled; everyone had agreed to it; and everything Vince had done for the past two years had been in preparation for his move to Tamarack. He was going to make Tamarack the most spectacular project of the decade, and because of that, and because it would be so visible, it was also going to be the springboard—though no one knew this yet—for Vince Chatham to go into politics.

But all it took was half a minute, and a few whining sentences, for his father to snatch it away from him.

He left Ethan's house and automatically drove the half mile to Anne's house, as he had done twice a week for almost two years. He parked a block away, as he always did, and as always, went in through the side entrance, his stride strong and purposeful with anger. The anger was so intense he could not focus it. Bitch, he thought, as he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Fucking bitch. But as soon as he fastened on Anne as the center of his rage, his thoughts swung to his father.
Bastard. Kicked out like a goddam servant.
In the upstairs hall, he knocked against a small table and a lamp fell to the floor and shattered. He left it there.
Fired! His own son!
But his anger was already swinging to Charles—
mealymouth son of a bitch; none of this would have happened if he'd stood up for me and told them she was lying
—and then to Marian.
Another bitch. Taking her side. Two bitches: my fucking sister and that other one.

He had reached Anne's room. He flung open the door and lunged in. It was unnaturally still. The bed was made, the books were neat on the shelves, the window was closed. The vase on the table that always held fresh roses was empty. Vince stood in the middle of the room, between the fireplace, where they had lain together on the soft rug, and the bed, where she had spread her legs for him whenever he wanted, and for the first time it struck him that she was truly
gone. He'd been robbed of Tamarack and he'd been robbed of Anne. Both of them had been his, and both of them were gone.

His rage rose again, vast and incoherent, an overwhelming wave of blind fury. He attacked the window seat, her favorite place to curl up, flinging the fringed pillows to the floor and clawing at her stuffed animals, hurling them across the room. He tore down the draperies, then stumbled and cursed as he tried to extricate his feet from the soft folds almost to his knees.
Should have beaten the hell out of her. Should have killed her.
He'd threatened that, more than once, and she'd kept quiet for almost two years. And then destroyed it all.
Fucking bitch, I was too good to her. Too loving.

He assaulted the bed, ripping off the flowered quilt, the pale pink blanket, the silken pillows, the sheets he'd stained, over and over and over, that bitch, that bitch to lead him on, then ruin him with his father, and then disappear, out of his reach, away from his cock—

“Vince!” Marian cried. “My God, Vince, stop!”

He froze, his back to her. His hands were filled with wadded sheets. The pink blanket trailed away from his fingers. A corner of a pillow was between his teeth. Slowly he let the sheets and blanket fall to the bed. He unclenched his teeth and the pillow dropped on top of them. He forced his heartbeat to slow down as he straightened and turned to face her.

“You don't have to screech at me, Marian,” he said pleasantly. He gave her a sheepish smile. “I lost control; got completely carried away. I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me, the whole awful week, I guess, and then I just had a row with Dad and walked out. I couldn't imagine working for him anymore, he's impossible, so damned uptight in his old age. So I walked out and there I was without a job, and I guess I just blamed everything on Anne—poor, sad little Anne, it's not her fault she messes up everything she touches, is it? I'll send someone over to take care of all this damage; don't you worry about it for a minute.” He shook
his head in disbelief. “I just can't imagine what got into me.”

Marian looked confused. “You can be so sweet, Vince, why do you do all these things?”

“What things, my dear?” Vince asked gently.

“Everything. Having . . . sex . . . with Anne . . . Oh, God, Vince, how could you?”

“But my dear, I told you I didn't. I didn't touch her. She's a confused, wretched little girl who tells very big lies to get attention. I'm surprised you don't know that by now, Marian; you've spent a lot of years with her.” He walked to her, noting the brief alarm that flickered in her eyes as he came close. He touched her shoulder lightly, and lightly kissed her cheek, as he edged past her through the doorway. “It's the worst thing in the world when a man can't count on his family.”

“We were happy,” Marian said mournfully. “We were so happy. And now Anne is gone and Father is miserable and Nina just cries and William won't talk to anyone and Fred is no help at all and I don't know what to do! Everything is so confusing and I blame you for that, Vince; whatever you did to Anne, you frightened her and upset the whole family, and I blame you for all of it.”

He opened the doorway to the side stairway. “I know you do,” he said coldly without looking back. “Maybe someday I'll be able to forgive you.”

His step was jaunty as he left the house and walked to the car. That would shake her up; Marian couldn't bear it when people spoke coldly to her and left her without a smile and a kiss good-bye.

He whistled a march as he drove the short distance to his house. He had a lot to do, plans to make, options to sort out, people to call. He'd have to talk to Rita about some of it. He'd prefer to leave her out of it altogether, but she'd been in a foul mood since that damned dinner—in fact she hadn't spoken to him last night when they got home—and he'd never get her back to normal if he kept her in the dark now about his plans.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said to Dora, swinging her to his shoulder. “How was your day? Don't I get a kiss?”

Dora giggled. “I can't kiss you from up here!”

“Well, then.” Vince brought her down and held her against his chest, her face a few inches from his. For a fleeting moment he thought he saw in her eyes and the shape of her mouth a resemblance to Anne, but of course he knew there was none. Dora was only five; Anne was a woman. He let Dora give him a wet kiss, then put her down. “Where's your mother?”

“Upstairs. She's cleaning drawers. She's been doing it all day.”

“Spring cleaning,” Vince said, amused. A good wife, he thought. She's not speaking to her husband, for some reason or other, but she makes sure the house is in order. “You stay down here, Dora; I want to talk to her for a while. Watch television or something.”

“Nothing's on.”

“Then do something else. I don't want you bothering us.”

Rita was in their dressing room. The mirrored closets on one wall and all the mirrored drawers on the other were open. Clothing was stacked on the floor and on the two velvet chairs in front of the mirrored wall at the back of the room. Rita's lush blond beauty was reflected dozens of times—an endless succession of Ritas—as she sorted, scrutinized, folded, and neatly piled their clothes. No, Vince saw. Not their clothes. Only hers.

He ignored them. “I want to talk to you. In the study.”

“I'm busy.” She was examining a button.

“You can do that later. Damn it, you can't refuse to talk to me forever. Things are happening; we have to make some decisions.”

“I already did that.” She picked up a blouse and folded it around a sheet of tissue paper. “I'll be out of here by tonight. Me and Dora.”

Vince rocked back on his heels. “Out of here? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I'm leaving you,” she said.

She looked his way, briefly, her green eyes wandering over
his face, her full, glossy lips in a pout he still thought was sensual. Her hair was a mass of pale blond curls that reached almost to her waist, and her figure was rounded and full, with curves that a man could bury his face in and feel aroused and comforted by at the same time. Vince, who had always scoffed at what he called her tiny brain, and for two years obsessed with Anne, still could not keep away from his wife's soft nestling hollows. “I'm leaving,” she said. “What else could it mean?”

“You're not going anywhere. Are you out of your mind? You've got a house and a child, you've got a husband, and you'll stay right here, where you belong.” He smiled and took her hand. “You were upset last night, sweetheart; we all were. But you were magnificent; you stood up for me and said all the right things. I bought you a little something today; shall I get it? I was going to give it to you at dinner. I thought we'd go to Le Perroquet.”

She pulled her hand away. “I don't want any presents and we aren't going to any fancy restaurants. You should watch your money, Vince; Dora and I are going to cost you a bundle. There's the apartment, and we have to buy—”

“What apartment?”

“The one I rented in Chicago. It's on Lake Shore Drive, very nice. But we have to buy new furniture; the stuff they've got there is unbelievable. And there's Dora's summer camp, and her tuition at the Latin School—”

“Bullshit. You're crazy. You're not going anywhere and you're sure as hell not taking Dora anywhere. She's mine and nobody takes her away from me.”

Rita turned back to the piles of clothes. “My lawyer says you can talk to him about that.”

Vince stared at her. “When did you go to a lawyer?”

“This morning.”

“For what?”

“For a
divorce.
God, Vince, you're slow today. You always accuse me of being slow, but you take the cake. Could you hand me that suitcase? The one on the top shelf?”

Vince gave a bark of laughter. “Shall I pack it for you, too?”

“No, I can— Oh, you're being cute.” She shrugged and pulled one of the velvet chairs to the closet, moving the clothes to the floor. “I'll get it myself.”

Vince looked at the curve of her calf as she stood on the chair. He ran his hand down it, wanting her. “Come in the other room; we can settle everything there.”

“No! Damn it, Vince, get the hell away from me.”

He shoved his hand between her thighs and grabbed her crotch. “Get off that chair.”

“I'll scream! And Dora'll call the police. I told her to, if she ever heard me scream. Call and tell them I'm being raped.”

Vince jerked his hand away. “Why did you tell her that?”

“Because you raped Anne.” She lowered the suitcase to the floor and dropped two smaller ones beside it. She looked down at him, her mouth tight, the pout gone. “And it went on, didn't it? On and on. I mean, she wasn't talking about one quick screw and then a good-bye. She said you made her do things.
Do! Things!
We know what she meant, don't we, Vince? All your favorite tricks, the ones you showed me how to do. Not a little screw one night when you had too much to drink, oh, no, oh, no, lots more than that. She was talking about lots of nights, and all your favorite stuff, wasn't she? You bastard, Vince, you rotten bastard. You think I'm staying around after that? You think I'd let my little girl stay in the same house with you after that? We're getting out of here; you're not fit to live with. I told your family those lies about that poor kid so you'd take care of me; you're gonna pay me for lying. You'll pay me for the rest of your life. You always think I'm so dumb; who's dumb now? Who's gonna pay for the rest of his life because he couldn't keep his prick out of a little kid who was scared to death of him and then he needed his
wife
to stick up for him with his family? Boy, are you dumb, Vince. Once upon a time I thought you were smart. But you're just about the dumbest bastard I ever knew. Get out of my way.”

He backed away just as she jumped off the chair.

“So I'll be out of here tonight. And my lawyer'll call you and I guess we'll figure out some way for you to see Dora,
'cause there's no way I'm letting you be alone with her. I told my lawyer that. He said you probably won't make trouble about it; you don't want any publicity, he said. You think he's right?” Head cocked to one side, she scanned Vince's face. “I think he's right.” She opened the large suitcase and began to fit neat piles of clothing inside. “Go away; I don't want to talk to you. I don't like you anymore, Vince. You're a real shit.” She worked in silence. “Go away!” she cried, and slammed her palm against the floor. “I don't want you here!”

He moved. He had been moving all day, he thought. He walked down the stairs and out to the front yard. He had left his car in the driveway, and he opened the door and sat in the front seat, staring unseeing through the window. He had to think, he had to plan, he had to make decisions. But all he could think about was the women.