Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (13 page)

     Christine sat now in the darkness devouring buttery popcorn as she watched Allan Quartermain lead a safari through the African wilderness, and although she knew what was going to happen next, it was just as exciting as it had been the first time she saw it. She paused, her hand in the popcorn box, and held her breath.

     When Deborah Kerr started to faint and Stewart Granger ripped her blouse open, Christine thought that she too was going to faint.

     And then she realized that she really
was
feeling faint; there were alarming pains in her abdomen. Putting the popcorn box on the floor and gripping the arms of her seat, she hoped the discomfort would pass. But the cramps got worse until she finally jumped up and rushed to the ladies' room. She hurried into a cubicle, and just as she pulled up her skirt, she saw blood on her slip. Christine stared at it in dumb shock. Then she screamed.

     An usherette came in and found a hysterical Christine, twisting this way and that in front of the mirror, trying to see where the blood was coming from. "I'm dying!" she wailed. "Oh God, help me!"

     "Oh lordy," muttered the usherette, a woman in her fifties crammed into a tight uniform designed for someone much younger. "You're not dying, sugar. Here," she said, unrolling toilet paper and folding it into a thick pad. "Put this inside your panties and go back into the theater and tell your folks to take you home right away."

     "I didn't come with my folks," Christine said miserably. "I came alone."

     "At this hour of the night? Well, sugar, get yourself home as fast as possible. Your ma will take care of you."

     Christine sniffed. "I don't have a mother," she said. She looked at the usherette through swollen eyes. "Are you sure I'm not dying?"

     The woman sighed and said, "No, sugar, you ain't. It's something all girls get at your age. You'll live."

     "But what is it?"

     "You get a female relative to tell you that, an aunt or a cousin."

     "But I don't have—"

     The usherette steered Christine to the door and said, "You get home now."

     Christine ran all the way back up California Street and banged on Mrs. Longchamps's bedroom door. The housekeeper was distressed, calling Christine a poor neglected thing. She tried to explain to the girl, through her Victorian embarrassment, what was happening. "It's a wonderful thing," the housekeeper kept saying, showing Christine how to use the clumsy pads. "It's God's miracle and our special woman's gift. It means we can have babies. It means we are women."

     Mrs. Longchamps didn't sound terribly convincing, and Christine hadn't seen any particular happiness or pride on her face as she had talked. Yet Christine felt herself grow excited nonetheless, because if she was a woman now, if she was grown up, then that meant that soon her father would take her with him on business trips instead of leaving her at home.

     She read and reread the postcard that had come from Johnny, telling her how much he loved her but that his business trip had to be extended. She lay back on her bed and pressed the postcard to her heart, hoping to draw her father's love out of it.

     Suddenly she felt a presence nearby. She opened her eyes and saw Hans standing in the doorway, his flat, colorless gaze on her.

     "I hear you're a big girl now," he said, coming in and looking down at her, his eyes seeming to linger on her breasts. "How would you like me to
be your boyfriend? I know about you, Christine, about your sneaking off to the movies. Now, I wouldn't want to tell your daddy, and if you're nice to me, I won't."

     She sat up on the bed and drew her knees up. "What?" she said.

     "I told you. I won't tell your father as long as you're nice to me." He came into the room and closed the door. "It's the housekeeper's night off and I sent Will on an errand. You and me have the place to ourselves, little girl."

     "I...I have some money," she said, confused. "Eight dollars. You can have—"

     Hans laughed. "You don't have to pay me for it, girlie. I'll give it to you for free."

     "What?"

     He reached down and seized her wrist, and she cried out.

     "Be quiet or I'll have to get rough," he said, pulling her up off the bed. "Christ, you're heavy. Actually, I like 'em plump. So how old are you now? Twelve? I like 'em young, too."

     Christine tried to twist away, but he grabbed her other wrist and pulled her up against him and held her fast around the waist. His face was inches from hers; she looked into his colorless eyes and saw no depth in them. "Please. Don't," she said.

     "Now, your daddy," the bodyguard went on, pinning her arms behind her with one hand while he fumbled under her blouse with the other, "your daddy likes 'em skinny. Like that blond bitch. But I like a girl with meat on her bones. And baby," he said as he squeezed her breast, "you've got—"

     It was then that she started to scream. He plastered his mouth over hers and ripped her blouse open, but Christine continued to struggle. She felt something hard pressing against her thigh. A gun! He was going to kill her!

     Then suddenly she broke free and ran for the door. He caught her and swung her around, slapping her hard across the face. "I told you to be nice!" he shouted. "Now I'm going to have to get rough."

     He thrust his hand up under her skirt, but Christine kicked and fought. They fell against the nightstand, knocking picture frames off and shattering the glass. She felt his cold fingers on her bare flesh as he tried to force her legs apart.

     His strength began to overcome her. Pinned against the wall, she started to cry.

     And then suddenly the bedroom door crashed open. Hans flew back away from her, and Christine saw Johnny fling the startled bodyguard around and then throw him out into the hall. "You bastard!" he cried. "You filthy bastard!"

     Christine stumbled out of her room, clutching her torn blouse, and watched in horror as her father beat Hans unconscious, blood spattering the floor.

     When Hans lay still, Johnny came back to Christine and took her into his arms. "Are you all right, baby?" he said. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

     She sobbed into his neck, still shaking with fear. "Daddy, w-what are you doing here?"

     "Mrs. Longchamps telephoned me. She told me about...what had happened at the movies. I thought I should be with you. I wanted to surprise you."

     Christine was startled to see tears running down his face. "I'm all right, Daddy," she said in alarm.

     "I'm going to make it up to you, Dolly. I'm going to take care of you and protect you. No one is ever going to hurt you again."

     As Christine sat glumly in the visitors' parlor of St. Bridget's Convent School for Girls in Tiburon, she realized that she had misinterpreted her father's words when he had said he was going to protect her. She had thought he was going to stay at home; she hadn't dreamed that he would send her away.

     One of the sisters came in, a young woman in a long black habit with countless veils and a starched wimple and a collar that creaked. "Everything is in order, Mr. Singleton," she said in a soft voice. "Christine can stay with us, starting immediately."

     "Thank you, Sister," he said. "May we have a few moments alone?"

     When the nun had left, Johnny turned to Christine. She thought that she had never seen him look so awful. His face was drawn and haggard, as if he had gotten old in just twenty-four hours. And Christine felt somehow that it was her fault.

     "Now listen, Dolly," he said very gravely. "This is just for a short time. I realize now that I can't protect you like I want to. So you'll be safe here while I do some rearranging of my life."

     "Do they know—" she began.

     He gave her a quizzical look, then said, "Oh, no, Dolly, they don't. No one knows about what happened but you and me."

     Christine could not put her feelings into words. She felt worthless and dirty. After knocking Hans out cold, Johnny had called a doctor, not for Hans, who was dragged away by Will, but for Christine, to make sure she was all right. It was the doctor's examination that had upset her the most, the man's cold, clinical inspection of her body, not being kind or gentle about it, but brusque. It had felt far more humiliating somehow than what Hans had done to her; it had left Christine feeling she had been violated twice.

     When the doctor had left the room and murmured to Johnny, "Your daughter is still a virgin, Mr. Singleton," she had burned with shame.

     "It's all my fault," she said. "I was bad."

     He took her by the shoulders and said, "Don't you ever say that. You're a good girl, Dolly. You're a special person, and I'm proud of you, proud that you're my daughter. I always want you to hold your head up high, like you were a princess, because then people will know how special you are."

     "I'll try," she said, crying.

     "You'll be safe here, Dolly," he said, drawing her into his arms. "The sisters will take good care of you, and pretty soon you'll have forgotten everything that happened. We'll start over again, you and I."

     She had held on to him and cried. "Please don't leave me here! Please take me with you!"

     "Don't worry, Dolly," he said, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. "It won't be for long. Just for a little while. We'll be together again real soon. And we'll never be apart again."

Perth, Western Australia

     As she rode in silence to the airport, with Charmie next to her and Ricky sitting up front with the driver, Philippa took out the folder Ivan Hendricks had brought. She stared for a long time at the classified ad: "Anyone knowing the whereabouts of, or information leading to, Christine Singleton..."

     Then she looked again at the photograph of Beverly Burgess, who appeared reluctant to have her picture taken, and she wondered, What does this woman know about Christine Singleton?

     Philippa shivered in the car's air-conditioning.

     Was it possible that Beverly Burgess knew
everything?

T
HE PHONE RANG FOUR TIMES BEFORE A SLEEPY VOICE
answered. "Yes?"

     
The caller's voice came over a long-distance line: "It's about Philippa Roberts." A parrot squawked irritably and was immediately silenced.

     
"What about her?"

     
"She's leaving Perth. She's going back to California. She's planning a surprise visit to the Starlite corporate headquarters."

     
There was a pause, arid then the sleepy voice wasn't sleepy anymore. "A surprise visit? That means she suspects something. What else?"

     
"After that, she goes to a Palm Springs resort called Star's. She thinks her sister might be there."

     
"Okay, find out where she stays in L.A., who she sees, her every movement, and then report back to me. But first, there's something I want you to do..."