Double-Crossed (31 page)

She watched him. His movements were delicate, like a woman's, but also otherworldly. She experienced him as more spirit than man. If it weren't for his biting sarcasm, she would see him almost as a saint, her guardian angel. He still unnerved her, and even though she'd never been a religious person, she knew that saints and angels shouldn't to make one feel as uncomfortable as he made her feel. She decided he must be in transition and perhaps his soul was the last thing about him to change.

“You're fine,” Dr. Zamenof told her. “There's nothing wrong with you. I think perhaps you are just tired, and maybe you went through quite a lot last night. You need a day of bed rest. How are you feeling now?”

“Terrible. I have this weird sense of foreboding. My stomach is tied up in knots because of it.”

“Do you think you are warning yourself against something?”

“Yes! That's what it feels like.”

“Maybe you're having second thoughts about your night.”

Suddenly her train of thought stopped. Could all this be about last night? Was it too much for her? Was there something deep inside her telling her that none of this could be good for her at all? Was a subconscious part of her speaking out?

But Suzanne! John! These were good people. What about Bill and Jen? They'd been so good to her. And Magenta! The beautiful Magenta. These were Peter's friends and fellow actors in his world.

She looked up into the pale, inexpressive eyes of the doctor.

I've looked into Peter's eyes, and I have never doubted
, she thought.
The only eyes I have doubted have been his, the doctor's eyes
.

She spoke. “Why are you always trying to make me doubt the people who are being good to me?” Now that Marianne had said it aloud, she felt alive. A surge of power went through her. He'd cast doubt on her, not the others.

“Because I don't believe they are being good to you.”

“But that's only based on your opinion. You have no evidence for that, and you're a scientist.”

“I'm looking at the evidence now. You're not well. No one should have taken you out for the entire evening the way you were. I can only guess he knew nothing of your condition, but I have been told that he did.”

“He did, but he knew what I was capable of.”

“He's not a doctor.”

“No! He's not! And you're not warm to the lifestyle he chooses. You're judging him on a deep distrust and fear that you have about BDSM.”

“I am concerned for a patient who is also my neighbor and my friend.”

“Doctor, you have shown distrust and disdain for my new boyfriend for no reason since we first started talking about him. If you are really my friend and doctor, can you please accept the choice that I've made?”

In the following pause, Marianne was sure she could see a vein on his temple throb, though his face looked as impassive as ever.

He took a deep breath, and Marianne noticed the vein disappear.

He looked at her, she noticed again how cold and empty his pale blue eyes were.

“People are infinitely stupid, Marianne. They smoke. They drink heavily. They take drugs. They avoid the very thing that will make the most difference to their lives in terms of making it last longer or giving it more quality. I looked after myself perfectly all my life, and while I helped those less fortunate than myself, I contracted a disease that will shorten the number of years I have left. I don't believe in heaven, Marianne. I think this is all that I have, here on Earth. I get frustrated when people don't realize how lucky they are. And I get frustrated when I realize how stupid people are. Ultimately people are sheep. They follow the nearest shepherd, regardless of where he is taking them. It's not just you. I loathe this 'follow without question' attitude in any person.”

Marianne's jaw dropped in amazement. “And this is what you think of me. That I'm following without question?”

“Yes, in a way. I hope you don't mind me saying it, but it is you who seems to think that friends should be honest. I do think you're following. You've not long left a terrible life that would horrify any analyst. You have had a desperate upbringing that has caused you damage in the long term. And you are refusing to deal with it, and instead, running into a lifestyle that is dangerous and goes against nature.”

“Goes against nature? What exactly does that mean?”

“It is natural for a man and woman to love each other. It is unnatural for the man to beat up the woman, even if she enjoys it.”

“Peter is not beating me up. I think you'd better leave.”

“Did I offend you?”

“Yes, Doctor, you did! Even I, with only my simple education, know that you're on dangerous ground if you appeal to nature to dissuade me from Peter.”

“You're smarter than I gave you credit for.”

“Perhaps that will always be the reason we're no longer friends.”

“Enough of my foolishness. You're in good health. Get some good sleep today, and I will leave you alone.”

Without saying another word, Marianne walked to the door and opened it. The doctor didn't say anything else, either, but glided past her and out into the corridor. Marianne let the door close and then leaned against it, her back symbolically keeping it shut, shutting out all the fears and confusion and worry with him.

“No more of that! I need to feel surer of my choices and surer of Peter,” she declared to herself.

Marianne wondered if she should call Peter and tell him everything was okay and there was no strain between them anymore. However, she was so tired, and telling the doctor where to go had been hard. If the call to Peter didn't go perfectly well, Marianne didn't think that she could handle it right now.

She decided it best to go back to bed. She felt exhausted now, but happy in herself that she'd made the right decisions.

* * *

From deep in another place, Marianne felt a finger prodding hard at her chest.

Frowning, she opened her eyes to the hideous, scarred face of Don.

Immediately she cried out, grabbed at her sheet, and scrambled to the other side of her bed. There, she felt that she'd bumped into someone, and she turned to see Joe sitting next to her. She'd bumped hard up against him, with only the sheet between herself and her own nakedness. She cried out and moved away, but she couldn't go far because Don sat on the other side of the bed, and she didn't want to be up close to him.

She saw her position. Naked and stuck between the two men she feared most.

“Hello, little one.” Joe's voice, laced with the sarcasm and hatred she'd heard directed at others, though never at herself, addressed her. “I see you are awake now. That's good, because we have things that we need to talk about. Get up and get dressed.”

“Get out of my apartment! You have no right to be in here.”

“Oh, darling, this little moment has nothing to do with rights. Not mine, not yours. It has to do with other things.”

Marianne scrambled to the end of the bed, throwing on a T-shirt and pair of jeans she had sitting there. Automatically she grabbed a pair of sneakers pulling them on as she kept talking.

“Why are you here? Get out of my apartment! We had a deal. I leave you alone, and you leave me alone!”

“No. That can't be done. You see, the people who want to hurt me seem to have found a person to testify, and I know that person is you. I skipped over the tax fraud—ignored it—but now I've been notified that there is a witness for my other dealings, someone else who is willing to make a lot of trouble for me.”

Marianne stared at him in disbelief. The danger of the situation struck her. Whoever his betrayer, Joe thought it was Marianne, and nothing would save her from that position. How could she prove he'd made a deadly mistake? She kneeled on the bed facing between the two men but looking at Joe, imploring him with her body and her words.

“But you can't think it's me? It is not me! I had an agreement with you. Joe, please, we have a history. I would never hurt you.”

Marianne saw the fist coming. Her responses were still in slow motion, so slow that she couldn't react. Joe had glanced over at Don, and Marianne turned her head to follow the look, even though she had seen it so many times before, but never, not in her wildest dreams, aimed at her. He used a trick. If she'd been thinking straight, she'd never have turned her head. She'd often wondered why others had done it in her place. Now, in this moment, she turned her head, just in time to meet the crushing blow as Don's fist met her skull. The punch hit hard, and Marianne fell to the bed, panting. She felt a trickle down her forehead, and she knew he'd drawn blood.

“The concern about whether it's you or not is over. I have enough proof that it's you.”

Marianne's stomach wrenched itself into knots, and her head ached, but she knew that she had to think carefully and clearly. She knew Joe when he was like this, and she knew she faced the end of her life. She'd be hit again if she mentioned his identity error, even though that must have been what had happened. But he was so sure of his facts, someone must have told him about her—invented the story for his ears. However, she wasn't willing to hurt Joe; that had never changed. She thought she'd try a different tactic.

“It was my understanding that the hearing went well. That you're out of trouble.”

“I have an informant.
That
you didn't know. The government has a very good case against me this time. No longer tax bullshit. This time it's people smuggling. This time I'll go to jail for a long time.”

“But I don't know anything about that. I didn't even know until recently that you were doing it.”

She realized her mistake as the words were leaving her mouth, and she prepared herself for the next blow. Because she lay facedown on the bed already, it came in the back of her head. This time she felt faint after it and realized she wouldn't be able to tolerate very many of them.

“You stupid infant! You know about how I brought
you
here. That's all they need, you fucking juvenile. They only need you. No one else is traceable. I've been a fool to let you go. I should never have trusted you.”

At the end of this sentence, Marianne felt the blackness taking over, and she fainted away.

* * *

When she woke up, Marianne looked around and instantly recognized the back of The Pink Pussycat. Again, a place she thought she'd never be in, tied to a chair, hands behind her and roped together, in the supply room. She'd known (but had chosen to turn a blind eye) about people being locked in here before, but she'd always preferred to stop being involved at that point. In other words, she now thought bitterly to herself, she'd turned and looked the other way.

Now it was her turn. Suddenly she thought of the Holocaust poem about the inactivity of intellectuals…
And then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew… And then…they came for me…and by that time there was no one left to speak up
. Now here she was, and there was no one left to speak up for her.

With the blinking of her eyes, Don noticed she'd come to, and stood up from a chair where he sat in the corner, and walked toward her. She had no idea what he would do. He bent over and peered deeply into her eyes.

“Awake, huh? I'll tell the boss.”

A swelling of hatred for this man came over Marianne. “I bet you're thrilled with this situation,” she spat.

“I knew who you were all along. This moment is inevitable as far as I'm concerned. Joe would see your true colors eventually, and I'm just so pleased I was by his side when it happened.”

He bent over so that his ugly, scarred face hovered level with hers. She could see the rippled hide and the paper-thin membrane that covered the corner of his left eye so closely it revolted her. “It's a pleasure for me. I will beat you and kill you when the time comes and get a nice salary for it, but I'd happily do it for free. You could call it a long-held ambition.”

Marianne pulled her head away from his foul, distorted face.

He stood and turned his back on her, walking toward his chair.

“As soon as Joe gives me his orders, I will kill you.” Then Don swung around to face her. “I feel almost as though my life has been building up to this.”

However, he didn't sit in his chair. Instead, he opened the door to the room, and spoke to a guard who stood outside.

“She's awake. Tell him.”

Marianne saw the man on the chair outside the door leap to his feet and move quickly away before Don closed the door. Once again, she'd been left alone in the room with this maniac. He turned, sat on the chair, and looked at her. However, he didn't say anything. Marianne guessed he felt he'd said enough. And indeed, he had.

She waited for a full five minutes before the door opened again. She knew it had been that long because she watched the clock above the door. It occurred to her that the only reason to keep a clock that large above the door of this food storeroom except to torture people who knew that they had hours, maybe only minutes, to live. She'd never wondered about that clock in all the years she'd been into the storeroom to gather supplies. Now that she neared the end of her life, the clock seemed very important.

When the door did open, Joe walked in with Jimmy. Jimmy had the decency to avoid her eyes. Was it only a week earlier that she'd greeted him at the door, and he had professed missing her?

Thank God he won't look at me
, she thought.

It made her feel she had a friend in the room. Funny how aware she'd become and how sharp her senses were now. If she didn't know they wanted to kill her, she would have felt it an insult that he averted his eyes. Now, because everyone in the room knew that she was in her last moments, his avoidance occurred to her as friendship.

How much I have missed in my lif
e
? she thought.

“Look at you,” Joe said. “Don't stare at Jimmy as if he will save you. There's nothing going to help you now.”

Marianne looked over at Joe. He was right. She was appealing to Jimmy, even though she knew as well as anybody he could do nothing and that she should never expect that he try to stick his neck out for her, anyway.