Sleeping Beauty (37 page)

“What is it you want?” Anne asked.

“Yes, of course, you must be in a hurry; I'm sure your friends are waiting to celebrate your victory.” He smiled at her again. “I'm curious about why you came back, after such a long time. I can understand—barely—that you wanted to come to Ethan's funeral; I'm always amused when people feel they have to pay their respects, or whatever it is they think they're doing, to someone who's dead and therefore doesn't give a damn. But you did more than that; you went
to Tamarack with Gail. And you became Dora's attorney. Why?”

“For my own reasons,” Anne said. “They have nothing to do with you.”

“But you know they do. Anything that happens to my family has to do with me. I know how people operate; they operate politically. You're trying to make an alliance with the family, cozy up to them, and attack me from behind their protection.”

“Attack you?” She shook her head. “I have no intention of attacking you.”

“That's a lie,” he said softly. “I know what you want; you want to destroy me. Why else would you come back? You waited a long time, until I was in a prominent position, until I was vulnerable to rumors and gossip, and then you came back. You waited until my term was almost up, until time for my reelection campaign, and then you hooked up with Gail and Dora to get at me.”

When Anne was silent, he went on, in conversational, almost intimate tones. “I know you, Anne; I understand you. You were a raw little brat and I made you a woman, and you were too young to appreciate it. You've never understood what I did for you. I educated you, the same way Harvard educated you. There's no difference, you know; you had a lot to learn and you learned from experts. If I hadn't taken you in hand, you would have ended up with some pimply dolt with braces on his teeth pawing you in the backseat of a car. You were a hell of a lot better off learning from me. And you liked it; you loved it. For a long time. A long time. Then I suppose you met someone else, and you decided you'd had enough of me so you accused me in front of all of them. You didn't mention that you'd liked it. Women erase what they have no use for; they only remember what they want to. Like anger. They remember that best of all. They feed on it, like spiders. And then they want revenge. Look at you, my little spider; waiting all these years to spring at me. Waiting until you thought I was vulnerable.”

He's crazy
. The thought was absolutely clear in Anne's mind, but she could not hold on to it; his presence drove it away, as he had driven thought and will from her when he dominated her in her bedroom. He loomed before her like a lynx, eyes bright, poised to leap. Wherever she looked, she could not escape him. She tried to recapture the exhilaration she had felt that afternoon, at her victory, but it was gone. She saw only Vince. She could think only of Vince. Inside herself, she cringed. She would have run away again, but her legs and arms were so weak she could not move them. Even if she had been able to, there was nowhere to run: he would catch her, he would touch her.

“Of course I'm not vulnerable,” he said, still smiling. His voice was soft, and grew softer as he spoke. “But you are. You're a little lawyer who's trying to make a name for herself by taking sensational cases, and you don't want to make a mistake. But it would be a very big mistake to attack a U.S. senator by accusing him of something you say he did almost a quarter of a century ago. You haven't said a word for a quarter of a century, and all of a sudden, when he's a prominent man, you come up with this fairy tale. You'd be laughed out of town. It would be obvious you were trying to blackmail me; why else would you be doing it? You'd be called a conniving, opportunistic bitch, and who'd trust you after that? It could ruin you, couldn't it, little Anne? You know it could. Look at you: terrified that your lies might backfire, and then you'd be nothing. You'd be nothing, Anne. A discredited little lawyer with no clients.”

He's afraid
. The thought was even clearer than her earlier one, and this time she held on to it.
He thinks I can hurt him. He thinks I can destroy his political career
. The words rang in her head and she clung to them.
He thinks I can hurt him
. Her muscles loosened just a little, and as they did, the cringing within her began to ease.
He thinks I have power over him
. She made a fist and felt strength in her arm. And she was able to remember, for the first time since Vince had appeared, that she was in her own building and she had just won a case. His looming presence began to shrink. She could see around it. She could see her own lobby, her neighbors
walking past, nodding a quick greeting. Her cringing was fading away. It was easier to sit straight.
He's afraid of me
.

“I haven't been waiting to do anything to you,” she said, her voice steady and very cold. “I haven't even thought of you.”

He shook his head reproachfully. “Another lie. You think about me all the time. That's why you came to Ethan's funeral. An excuse to come back. That's why you went with Gail. That's why you jumped at the chance to work for Dora.”

“I haven't thought of you.” The cringing was gone. Her hands were in her lap and both of them were fists. “You make me sick. I never liked it, or—my God—loved it when you forced me. I hated you. You didn't make me a woman, but you destroyed my childhood, and I will never forgive you for that, or for the way you manipulated me. I was never a person to you; you treated me like a doll you could bend into any shape you wanted. I stopped thinking of you the day I left that house and I never thought of you again. I had a life to build, and if I thought of you, I was so sick, so deathly sick, I couldn't go on. I never thought of you. I try to find pleasure and satisfaction in my life, and you are such scum that thinking of you would destroy any peace I might find. Scum. I never thought of you.”

His face was dark and distorted. “Bitch,” he said, spitting it through his teeth. “Fucking bitch.” From the corner of his eye, he saw heads turn. “No one will believe you,” he said tightly, keeping his voice down. “I'll make you a laughingstock; I'll stop you—”

“I don't want to talk about it
. I don't want to publicize the past; I don't want to bring it back to life; I don't want to think about it. It's dead. I want to keep it buried where it's been, all these years.”

He looked at her, his shoulders hunched. “I don't believe you,” he said after a moment. “I know how you lie; you've always lied. You lied about me that night; you didn't tell them how you'd led me on and how you loved it with me; you were tired of me and you tried to destroy me. But it didn't work; you were the one who left, sneaking out like a
criminal. And I stayed. I'll always stay, and you'll leave. I'm telling you: you'll leave again. I won't have you hanging around them. I won't have you showing up in magazine and newspaper stories about my family; I won't have you giving reporters something spicy to write about. Is that clear? You'll disappear the way you did before; you won't go near them again.”

He's afraid, Anne told herself again. He's afraid, he's afraid. Not me; I'm not afraid anymore; he is. He's afraid. I have nothing to be afraid of. She took a long breath. “If I want my family back, I'll do what I can to be part of them again. You can't stop me. If you try, I'll beat you.”

He smiled thinly. “How? By telling your lies again? I told you: they won't believe you, any more than they did the first time. So then what will you do? Tell the press? Radio? Television? I won't let you. Listen to me.” He leaned forward. “Other people have tried to cross me. I've had them stopped. Do you understand? I've had them taken care of.”

Anne shook her head. When he had leaned forward, coming closer to her, she had begun to feel sick again.
He's afraid, not me; he's afraid, he's afraid
. But still she felt faint. “I'm not going to tell anyone,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Go away. Leave me alone. I just want to forget it.”

Vince pulled his chair closer to the coffee table, closer to Anne, and leaned farther forward; she thought she could feel his breath. “I'm going to tell you exactly where we stand. I wasn't going to, but I think you should know. I've always been honest with you, Anne; you can believe every word of this.” He paused, watching her. “Last month, when Dora told me about you, I called a friend of mine, a man who worked with me in Denver. He always took care of problems, people who got in our way, that sort of thing. We're still working together, so I called him and told him to take care of you. To get rid of you. Do you know what he said? He said he doesn't do that kind of thing anymore. He said he's almost seventy years old and he's looking for more respectable occupations. I was very disappointed in him. Ah, I see I have your attention.”

Anne was sitting very still, watching him, her eyes wide, her breathing quick and shallow. Her fists had opened and her hands were lying loosely in her lap. She was very cold.

“That left me in a terrible dilemma,” Vince went on. “My friend was the only one I trusted for this kind of work. I could hire someone else, of course—there are always people who'll do anything for a quick buck—but that would replace one problem with another. You would be gone, but my employee would then be the one to have an advantage over me.” His voice became ruminative. “I've given this a great deal of thought. I could, of course, kill you myself, but you know, I can't do it. It isn't in me. That may surprise you—I assure you, it surprised me—but that's the way I am. I'm not a murderer.”

There was a long silence. “There is nothing I hate more than being helpless,” Vince said softly. “That's why I didn't come to see you weeks ago, when Dora told me about you: I had to know what my options were. This is what I've decided. If you make trouble for me, my dilemma will be resolved. If you broadcast your insane accusations to the press, I'll have nothing to lose by hiring someone to kill you. And that's what I would do. In an instant. Is that clear? I would not hesitate. If you're quiet, and disappear again, you should be quite safe. At least safe from me.” He smiled. “We're in this together, Anne. Isn't that amazing, after all this time? We're together. We both have a lot at stake.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Dora thinks you're quite clever. Sharp and tough, she called you. If she was right, I have no doubt you'll behave intelligently and circumspectly. That means, of course, staying away from my family. You're to have nothing to do with them. I said this before: I want to make sure you understand it. There's going to be a lot of publicity about me in the next few years, and I will not have you be part of it. If you go near Gail or Dora or any of the family, I'll find a way to stop you. You must take my word for that, Anne; if you go near them, I'll stop you.”

He looked down at her. “I've enjoyed our chat. It's good to see you looking so well. And of course, so successful. I wish you good luck. You might do the same for me.”

Anne looked at him. He stepped back from the hatred in her eyes. And then he strode away, across the lobby and out the door, too fast for the doorman to hold it for him.

Anne picked up her briefcase and went to the elevator. She looked straight ahead; she was not thinking. At her floor, she walked blindly to her door, unlocked it, and locked it behind her. The antiseptic coolness of white walls and white furniture drew her in, and she went straight to the window seat overlooking the gardens below, kicking off her shoes and curling up in the corner.

Office workers were walking across the plaza and the garden, pulling off their suit jackets as they emerged from the buildings. So hot outside, Anne thought, but so perfect in here. Not as freezing as the lobby—she stopped herself. Her thoughts veered away from anything to do with Vince. How strange, she thought, to live in two worlds at once: hot and cold, stifling and liberating, threatening and calm. Having a family and not having a family. Her thoughts raced, as if the faster they went, the more she could keep them under control. I've always had a family, she thought; I just never went after them. Vince's smile broke through her thoughts, and a sob caught in her throat. Frantically, she pushed her thoughts forward. She knew now that she would like to be part of the family again, at least some of it. She'd like to try, to see if she could. It was so hard for her to be open, to give anything of herself, to let anyone into her carefully defended life. But they seemed to like her. And she had liked being with them and making plans for future visits. She had liked the idea, when she let herself think about it, of not being alone all the time.

If you go near Gail or Dora or any of the family, I'll find a way to stop you
.

She bent her head until her forehead was against the cool glass. All I want is a chance to be part of them again.

Suddenly, she was angry. She raised her head and let her anger grow.
You son of a bitch, what will you do? Find a way to kill me? You already killed me once. You killed the child in me, the youth and joy and awakening I had a right to. Do you think I care if you come after me again? Try, damn you, I'll
fight you all the way. You won't crush me again. I won't let you. Never again. Never again
.

She turned from the window and leafed through her small address book for a telephone number. Pretty soon I'll know it by heart, she thought. She held the telephone in her lap and dialed. “Gail,” she said, “is it all right if I come for a visit this weekend?”

O
n the Saturday before Labor Day, Charles showed up in Marian's backyard in the early morning, and found her cutting chrysanthemums and dahlias. “How nice,” she said mildly, though Charles had expected her to be surprised; he never visited her in the daytime, or without calling ahead. “Just in time for breakfast,” she said, and put her shears in the basket with the purple and white flowers. She wore a long cotton skirt and a long-sleeved blouse, pink gardening gloves, and a straw hat covering her white, perfectly waved hair. Charles thought she looked like an old-fashioned watercolor of a lady in her country estate. “I always eat late when Fred isn't here,” she said.