The Heaven Trilogy (97 page)

He leaped from the floor like a child now. “I have a surprise for you, Helen. What do you want first, the dope or the surprise?” She pushed herself to her knees. His eyes glinted with delight.

She ran a finger along his arm seductively. “You have to ask? You know how much I like to fly, honey.”

He threw his head back and howled with laughter. He was mad, she thought. He had actually lost his senses. Glenn led her to the bar where he produced a pile of powder and within the minute Helen was feeling better.

“Now the surprise,” he insisted with a crackerjack grin.

“Yes, the surprise,” Helen cried, raising her fist. She was feeling so much better. “Lead me on, my king.”

His eyes flashed mischievously and he loped for the apartment. She followed, giggling now. “What is it? What is it, Glenn?”

“You'll see! You're gonna love it!”

He crashed through the door and pulled up. She stumbled in and peered about the apartment. “Where? What is it?”

Glenn's eyes glistened, round, eager. He kept his eyes on her and crept to the bathroom door. “Is it here?” he asked in play, and opened the door. She looked in. Nothing.

“No. Stop playing, you big oaf.”

“Is it here?” he asked, lifting the bedspread.

“Come on, Glenn, you're driving me crazy. Show me.”

He stepped to the closet, eyes wide, a gaping smile splitting his face. “Is it here?” he asked.

“What are you playing at, you silly—”

Her words caught in her throat. The closet was open. A person stood, bound like a mummy and propped in the corner. A woman.

Ivena!

At first Helen did not comprehend what she was seeing. Why was Ivena here? And wasn't it odd that she was tied up like that? The woman's eyes were open, looking at her, crying tears that wet the gag in her mouth.

Realization crept over Helen like a hot lava flow, searing her mind despite its state of numbness. Glenn had brought Ivena to the Palace! And he had hurt her, badly enough to produce a bloody nose and a bruised face.

Those soft brown eyes stared at Helen, and she felt her heart begin to break. “Ivena?” she croaked.

“Do you like my surprise, Helen?” Glenn asked. He was no longer smiling.

“Oh, Ivena. Oh, God, Ivena!” Helen sank to her knees. Her world began to swim. Maybe this was one of those bad trips.

Glenn was laughing now. He was enjoying this. His whole body shook like a bowl of jelly and that struck Helen as odd. The door to the closet was shut now, and she wondered what she had seen in there. She'd dreamed that Glenn had bound and gagged Ivena, of all people, and propped her up in the closet. Goodness, she was hallucinating badly.

Helen giggled with Glenn, testing the waters at first. But when he howled with humor, she let restraint fly out the window and joined him, laughing until she could hardly kneel, much less stand.

The world drifted into a safe place of fuzzy edges and warm feelings. She was home, wasn't she? Hands hauled her up onto the bed.

Yes, Helen had come home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE MASSIVE storm that pounded Atlanta stretched right up the eastern coast and dumped rain on New York that dark night as well. But in the delicate ambiance of Brazario's Fine Dining, the party from Delmont Pictures was oblivious to it. Here the light was soft, the smell of coffee rich, and the laughter gentle. Jan picked at his soft-shell crab and nodded at Tony Berhart's assertion that if a movie could make the women cry, it was destined for success. Well,
The Dance of the Dead
would make most men cry as well, he said, and that would make it unstoppable. The studio's VP of acquisitions lifted a toast to accent his point.

“Here, here,” agreed Roald, who lifted his own glass in acknowledgment. They had arrived on different planes, he, Karen and Roald, all from separate states, brought together by the good folks at Delmont Pictures.

Karen sat across the table to Jan's right. Three tall red candles burned between them, casting an orange glow over her face. She laughed with Roald. She had perfected the art of socializing like few Jan knew, laughing at precisely the right moment but knowing when to stand up and be heard as well.

Jan thought back to their encounter just an hour earlier. The wind was blowing when he reached the restaurant, and he held the door for a woman approaching to his left. She was less than five feet away before they recognized each other.

Karen.

She pulled up as if slapped.

“Hello, Karen.”

She recovered quickly. “Hello, Jan.” She walked past him and he entered behind her.

“So, here we are then,” he said. “We meet after all.”

“Yes.” She cast him a quick glance, then scanned the foyer for a sign of their hosts. “They should be here. Have you seen Roald?”

“No. No, I just arrived. Are you okay, Karen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I'm fine, Jan. Let's just get this movie out of the way. We can do that, can't we?”

“Yes . . . I heard you were seeing someone. I'm glad.”

“And so am I. Let's not talk about it. You do what you need to do, and let me do what I need to do. Okay? Where's Roald?” She crooked her neck for view.

“I really had no choice, Karen. You do realize that, don't you?”

“I don't know, Jan. Did you?”

“I don't know what you've heard, and I don't expect you to understand, but what happened between Helen and me, it was beyond us. God is not finished with this story.”

“And what happens to the rest of us poor sad sacks while God finishes your story? We just get trampled for the greater good, is that it?”

“No. But this love for Helen, it did come from him. The attraction between you and me was somewhat misplaced. Surely you see that now.”

“Oh come on, Jan. Don't cast this off on God. You know how pathetic that sounds? You dumped me for another woman because God told you to?”

“Then forget how it happened. Were we really right for each other? You're already with another man. And I'm with another woman.”

She stopped her searching and looked into Jan's eyes without responding.

“We were caught up in the momentum of it,” Jan said. “Perhaps you were as interested in
The Dance of the Dead
—in the Jan Jovic franchise—as in me.”

Finally she responded. “Maybe. And what would that make your attraction to me?”

“A strong infatuation with the woman who made me a star.” He smiled.

They held stares. “A month ago I would've slapped you for saying that.”

Roald had walked in then and effectively ended the conversation.

Now she looked at him from across the table, and smiled, proud of her pet project. Professionally delighted to be with the author of
The Dance of the Dead
if not his fiancée.

“Well, I'm sure you're wondering why we called you all here so suddenly,” Tony said. “We appreciate your understanding.”

The table grew quiet. The Delmont executive glanced around at them and settled his eyes on Jan. “I'm sure Karen has told you there's been a change.” He smiled. “This is how we in the world of entertainment like to introduce changes. We entertain first, and then we discuss business.” A few chuckles. “But let me assure you, you'll be pleased with what I have to say. Your contract with Delmont Pictures allows for the studio to sell the movie rights at our discretion as long as it does not materially affect you. It's something we would do only if it were clear that the sale would make fiscal sense for all parties. We have received and accepted such an offer.”

Meaning what? Jan glanced at Karen.

“You're selling the movie. Why?” she asked.

“Yes, we're selling the movie. The deal both guarantees us a good profit and offers you higher payment. An additional three million upon completion.”

They sat stunned. It was Karen again who pressed for details. “Forgive my ignorance here, Tony. But why?”

“They're an upstart studio, you've heard of them, I'm sure. Dreamscape Pictures?”

She nodded. “They have that kind of money?”

“Yes. Point is, they want full assurances that you will fulfill your contract, so they threw in the three-million incentive. They're obviously extending themselves on this deal and they can't afford any missteps. And, if you want to know, I think it was a smart move on their part. This movie will make a bundle. A new company like Dreamscape could use that.”

“And why not you?” Jan asked.

“Because ten million in the bank is always going to trump a hundred million on the table.” Tony shrugged. “If it means anything to you, I voted against the deal.”

Roald spoke up for the first time. “So bottom line is, we lose nothing. And all things remaining equal, we gain three million dollars. What about production and distribution? These guys know their business?”

“They have solid partners. And with the amount of money they're putting on the deal, you can bet they won't settle for a home movie. You'll get what you want.”

“What kind of contract?” Karen asked.

“Virtually identical to the existing one. Like I said, they're just interested in protecting their investment.”

Karen nodded. “Well. Then I guess congratulations are in order, Tony. You've done us well.”

The executive looked at Jan. “What do you think, Jan?”

“I think Karen's right. If they want to pay us three million dollars for what we would've done anyway, I won't turn down their money. So we're now at an eight-million-dollar deal? Isn't that rather much?”

“That, Jan,” Roald said, “is exceptional. And Karen's right: Tony, you have done us very well. I think this calls for celebration.”

Tony laughed. “We are celebrating, Roald. Can't you tell?”

It did become a celebration then, for another two hours, drinking and laughing and enjoying the benefits of wealth. In many ways the evening was like a mountain peak for Jan. Not only had God given him Helen, he had returned Jan's favor with the world, it seemed. With Karen and Roald and
The Dance of the Dead
. Everything was going to return to normal now. And normal as a millionaire was something he was getting to like. Very much.

HELEN PRIED her eyes open and stared at the clock by the bed. It was 10:00 A.M. Hazy memories from the night drifted through her mind. She'd called Glenn . . .

Helen jerked up. She was in the Palace! And Jan . . . Jan was in New York. She collapsed, flooded with relief. But the sentiment left her within the minute.

She rolled to her back and groaned. Rain still splattered on the window. Jan wasn't scheduled to return until the next day, Sunday, but he would have called, no doubt. She would have to concoct a reasonable story for not answering the phone.

Oh, dear Jan! What have I done? What have I gone and done?
Helen put a hand over her eyes and fought the waves of desperation crashing through her chest. One of these days she would have to end this madness. Or maybe Glenn would do it for her. A notion to call out to God crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. This wasn't some fanciful world filled with visions and martyrs and a God who spoke in the darkness. This was not Jan's
Dance of the Dead
. This was the real world. Glenn's world. Jan had grown up in a different land altogether. Jan and Ivena both—her husband and her mother. Mother Ivena . . .

Ivena.

Ivena!

A chill spiked through her spine. Helen scrambled from the bed, squinting against a throbbing headache. She had imagined seeing the dear woman bound and gagged. Helen threw the closet door open.

It was empty.
Oh, thank you, God! Thank you!
So then she had imagined it all. Drugs could do that easily enough. She wandered into the bathroom, splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. She had to get home—to Jan's home. To her home. It was crazy coming here!
This is the last time.

She stopped her brushing and stared at the mirror, her mouth foaming white.
This is the last time, you understand? You understand that, Helen? Never again.
She suddenly spit at the mirror, spraying it with toothpaste.

“You make me sick!” she muttered and rinsed her mouth.

Helen pulled on a pair of blue jeans and slunk from the apartment, headed for the bar and a cigarette. Maybe a drink. The large room lay in shadows, lightless except for the foreboding gray that made its way through the far windows. The room's pillars stood like ghosts in the silence. She veered to her right and made for the bar.

Helen had reached the counter and was bending over it when she heard the sound. A soft grunt. Or a moan of wind. No, a soft grunt!

She spun around and faced the shadows.

A form sat there, its white eyes staring at her from the gloom.

Helen jumped, terrified. The form was human, bound to a chair, gagged. Helen could not move. She could only stare for the moment while her heart pounded in her ears and the woman drilled her with those white eyes.

It was Ivena. Of course, it was Ivena, and that hadn't been a dream last night. Glenn had taken the woman and . . .

The horror of it brought a sudden nausea to Helen's gut. She brought her hand to her mouth and fought for her composure. The injustice of it, the sickness of it—how could any human do this? And then in that moment Helen knew that she was staring at a mirror. Not a real mirror, because that was Ivena bound to the chair twenty feet off. But a mirror because she was no less bound than Ivena. Helen was looking at herself and the sight was making her nauseous. But unlike Ivena, she came here willingly. With desire, like a dog to its own vomit.

A groan broke from Helen's mouth and she stumbled forward, gripping her stomach with one hand. She couldn't read Ivena's expression because of the gag, but her eyes were wide. The ropes pressed into her flesh—the pink dress she wore was torn, Helen could see that as she neared. And yes, her face was badly bruised.