Facets (30 page)

She wavered. The last person she had imagined vacationing with was John. But she loved New York. And she loved Hillary. And she loved the idea of working up a tan. She had hoped to spend part of the vacation in Maine, but only part. Being with Cutter, while necessary to her survival, brought an odd kind of torment now. It might be nice to have a diversion from that.

“You have two weeks,” John pointed out.

“I really should study,” she pointed out right back.

“You’re studying plenty here.”

“But if I don’t make honor roll—”

“Going away for spring break won’t affect that. It’s not like you’ll be partying all night and waking up every morning hung over.” He seemed to catch himself, and for the first time his expression darkened. “Unless you think you’ll be bored.”

“Of course not. John, I don’t live to party, and I’ve never once been hung over.”

The darkness eased. With its passing, she almost imagined he had been hurt to think she might not want to go. Given that they hadn’t been a family for years, it was a fanciful thought.

“I’d like to go to New York,” she surprised herself by saying. “And Palm Beach. I’ve never been there. It would be fun.”

A good deal of Pam’s fun lay in anticipating the trip. In a school as private and elite as hers was, everyone went away for spring break. Most went with their families, and Pam had always envied them. This time, she was looking forward to a family trip of her own. “My brother and I are going to New York, then on to Palm Beach,” she told whoever wanted to know. It didn’t matter that her brother had been her enemy for most of her life; there was something right about being with family.

She almost imagined that John felt the same way. In the weeks preceding the trip, he was uncharacteristically affable. He asked questions about school, not in the grilling way she hated but as though he were truly interested. He engaged her in discussions about the business. He complimented her on the way she looked. He even came home with a pair of gold bangles that he had had one of
Facets’
designers make especially for her.

“It’s weird,” she told Marcy the day before she and John were to leave. “All this just because I started studying?”

Marcy carefully wiped the corners of the window she was cleaning. After a thoughtful silence she said, “He’s proud of you.”

“He’s never been proud of me before.”

“But he puts store in school marks. They mean something to him. The pictures you draw don’t.”

Pam knew that, which was why she didn’t show him the things she showed Cutter. “Still, he’s been so polite. He actually held my coat for me when we were going out last week. There has to be a reason.”

Marcy considered that while she cleaned another pane. “He’s getting older. Maybe he’s tired of the fighting.”

“Maybe.”

“And you’re getting older. Maybe he sees that.”

No doubt he saw the physical growth. But he hadn’t relented on his threat, which Pam thought he’d surely do if he trusted her as an adult. Of course, Marcy knew nothing about that threat, and Pam had no intention of telling her.

“Maybe.” She took a deep breath. “He’s probably thinking that when I turn eighteen I’ll be able to control my own stock in the company. I’ll be attending shareholders’ meetings. I could make things tough for him. Maybe he’s scared.” It was a lovely thought, to have a little power for a change.

Moving to another pane, Marcy wet it with her sponge. “Don’t jinx it, Pammy. The peace is good.”

Pam agreed, which was why she stopped asking questions and left with John the next morning for New York. Even more so than she had expected, he did things first class. The suite at the Pierre was large and sumptuous, the restaurants they ate at were lavish in food and decor, their theater seats were front and center. Although Hillary spent the weekend with them, John never left Pam alone, and while one part of Pam felt guilty about that, the other enjoyed the attention.

Monday morning, Pam and John flew south. Again their accommodations were without fault, and although John did leave Pam by the pool while he saw to business, she was happy enough there not to mind. The sun was bright, the water warm, the lifeguard friendly. She was feeling grown-up and attractive when John took her out to dinner, particularly when he kept her wineglass filled. He smiled at her with what she could have sworn was true affection, brushed a long wisp of hair from her bare shoulder, even put an arm around her as they left. She felt sheltered and cared for, warm and content, when, muzzied by the wine, she fell asleep on top of the covers.

She didn’t know what time it was when she woke up. The room was dark, and she was on her stomach, but John’s voice came to her quickly. It was low and gentle. “You’re still dressed, honey. That’s no way to sleep.” She felt her zipper open, felt the air whisper over her back.

“I can do it,” she murmured, but she was too groggy to move.

“I’ve got it.”

He slipped the dress down past her hips, rolled her over, and took it off. When he started on her stockings, she made a slurred protest. “John, really—”

“Let me. It’s my fault. I should have known you weren’t used to drinking.”

Exhausted, she lay back and let herself be taken care of. It had been a long time since anyone had catered to her quite so intimately. The luxury of it sent her off into a dreamy state. She imagined that Cutter was with her, that he was the one rolling down her stockings, unhooking her garter belt, removing her bra, then her panties. She imagined that his hands were the ones touching her body lightly and sweetly, making her moan.

When she opened her eyes, though, Cutter wasn’t the one looming over her. “John?” She fought for clarity. It was dark, hard to see. “John? Oh, my God!” She tried to scramble away, but he held her to him.

“No, no,” he whispered. “Don’t be frightened. You liked what I was doing.”

She twisted away. “You shouldn’t—we shouldn’t—” He followed the twist and took her breast in his hand. “Don’t, John!”

“It’ll be good.” His mouth was against her throat. “I’ll make it good.”

“No!” She writhed against the arm that restrained her, bucked against the one that slid down her body. “God, John,
don’t do that
!”

“If you fight, it’ll hurt.”

Fully awake and aware that she was a poor match for his strength, Pam clawed at the hand that had slipped between her legs. “God no, God no, God no,” she whispered. She twisted and turned, tried to get a foothold on the bed and push herself away, but he was half on top of her, his semiclad body large and hard as a rock. “You’re my
brother
. You can’t do this, John! Don’t, oh, please
don’t
!”

“Lie still, Pam,” he warned.

But she had no cause to listen. There was nothing he could threaten her with that would be worse than rape. That realization brought her a burst of strength. “Get your hands off me!” she screamed. When he covered her mouth, she bit his hand, then took advantage of his surprise by bringing her knee up against him. Her aim was off; the angle wasn’t right and she didn’t have enough room to put force into the blow, but she startled him enough to buy a minute. That was all she needed. Scrambling out from under him, she scurried to the edge of the bed, fell to her knees on the floor, then staggered to her feet. A split second later, she was in the bathroom with the door locked.

It seemed an agonized forever before she caught her breath. Then, wrapping her hands over her head, she slid down the length of the door, huddled in a ball, and began to cry. Nausea, revulsion, fear, horror—she suffered them all. Soft, tortured sobs shook her. At some point, feeling chilled to the bone, she swaddled herself in a bath sheet, but that did little to help. She had no idea what to do.

“Pam?” His voice came to her after a time, low and somber.

She didn’t answer.

“You can’t stay in there all night, Pam.”

For lack of a viable alternative, that was just what she planned to do.

“You’ll have to come out sometime.”

The thought of looking him in the eye after what he’d seen and done sent a new wave of nausea through her.

“I’ll call the concierge if I have to.” He knocked hard on the door. “Are you all right?”

“I feel sick.”

“That’s the wine. Open the door. I’ll give you an ice cube to suck.”

“It’s not the wine,” she murmured, but for a minute she wasn’t sure. What had happened was horrendous enough to have been unreal. She would have given anything to believe she’d been hallucinating.

The hallucination, though, was all that had come before—the attentiveness, the compliments, the seemingly genuine interest—and in that, John had been at his cruelest. He had led her to think that they might be a family, when all along he had other things in mind.

He was sick. She had to get away from him. But sitting in a locked bathroom wasn’t going to do it.

Leaning heavily against the sink, she rinsed her face with cold water. Then she tied the hotel’s thick terrycloth robe around her, picked up the shoeshine machine, and opened the bathroom door.

John was sprawled in the bedroom chair looking dark and disheveled. His head was low, but he was staring at her. Holding the makeshift weapon at the ready, she flipped on the nearest light.

“I want to go home.”

“We have reservations to stay for two more days.”

She gave a rigid shake of her head. “Tomorrow. I want to be on the first flight out.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“I think it is.”

“I won’t touch you.”

“I can’t trust you.”

His eyes drilled her. “It was the wine, Pam. We both had too much.”

“I had too much. You planned it that way.”

“No. I was enjoying myself. I had more than I should have, and then when I saw you lying like that on the bed—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, cringing. “Don’t say it. It’s sick.”

At the last word, his jaw clenched. “There could be an argument made,” he said slowly, “as to which one of us is sick. You’ve been leading me on ever since I mentioned this trip. You’ve been playing up to me—”

“I have not!”

“—looking sweet and sexy. You may be seventeen, but you acted like twenty-five tonight. The way you were writhing when I was trying to get you ready for bed was indecent. Is there a problem that I don’t know about, Pam?”

She was aghast. “I don’t have any problem. You’re the one—”

“Your mother was like that. She came on to me too.”

“You lie!” Pam cried.

“No. She was a hungry bitch.”

“Don’t
say
that.”

“Ask her, if you don’t believe me.”

Pam’s stomach was churning, pushing her anger up and out. “I can’t ask her and you know it! She’s too fragile. And anyway, it’s not true. It’s one more thing your sick mind has dreamed up.” Her voice shook. “You’re the one with the problem, John. You’ve always had a problem, but this time you’ve gone too far. I’m not forgetting what happened tonight. What you tried was disgusting. It was immoral and illegal. It was
sick.
As soon as I get back to Boston, I’m going to report you—”

“To who?” he asked, but he didn’t look particularly upset, which made her madder.

“To the police. To Bob Grossman. To my guidance counselor.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” she asked indignantly.

“Because given your age and the mental instability on your mother’s side, they’ll never believe you. They’ll think you’re a hysterical young girl, lashing out at the brother who is trying to keep you on track. They’ll think you need psychiatric help. You’ll be taken for a fool.”

Pam swallowed hard and shook her head. “They’ll listen to me.”

“But you haven’t got any proof, Pam. There are no bruises on your body. And you’re still a virgin.”

“How do
you
know that?”

“Precisely.” He gave a silky smile. “I don’t know for sure, but a doctor will. If you’ve given it away, we’ll know that it wasn’t to me. But I’ll want to know who you did give it to, so I’ll go to your school. I’ll question your friends and their parents. I’ll make a lot of noise about my ‘wronged’ sister. Mmmm, I’ll relish playing the role of the injured brother. It would add a nice twist to the image.”

“You’re sick,” Pam whispered, but despair was creeping up on her fast. She was a virgin, of course, so John’s threat was empty. By virtue of the same fact, though, no one would believe what he’d tried to do. He was right: she didn’t have any proof. And much as she wanted to think differently, his credibility was greater than hers. People would believe what he said.

She was back to square one, without any idea of what to do. The problem was temporarily alleviated when all that had been churning in her stomach came up. She ran to the bathroom in time to be violently sick and stayed there until John appeared at the door.

“Go to bed, Pam,” he said in a coldly familiar voice. “And don’t worry. I won’t touch you. You’re pretty unappealing this way.”

By the time she mustered the strength to turn her head, he had disappeared into his own room and shut the door.