Authors: Fern Michaels

Plain Jane (21 page)

BOOK: Plain Jane

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Both dogs sat in the open doorway staring at her with unblinking intensity. “What happened to that old saying, âbe the best that you can be'? Does it just apply to the military and the pretty people of the world? Can't the people who aren't pretty try to look pretty? What's wrong with that? That was just the outside he was looking at, and he made a judgment. I'm the same inside. Why didn't he see that? I waited all my life to look like that. My mother should have named me Cinderella. I'm back to my rags now. Speaking of mothers, I hate you, Mother!” Jane screamed at the top of her lungs. “Do you hear me? I hate you! Look what you did to me! You did this. It's your fault I feel like this. Couldn't you have loved me just a little bit? Did you always have to be so damn critical? Couldn't you have said one nice, kind word to me? Just one nice fucking kind word. I hope you're roasting in hell!”

Jane dropped to the floor, her back against the old claw-footed bathtub, and sobbed. Both dogs flew across the room, each vying for her lap as she continued to cry, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. “Some killer dog you are, Flash,” Jane hiccuped, as the Malinois licked at her tears. “I'm just going to curl up here for a minute. Just one little minute.”

The dogs looked at one another as Jane curled into the fetal position. When her light breathing told them she was safe and asleep, Flash trotted out to the bedroom and tugged an afghan with a huge bouquet of purple tulips crocheted in the center from the back rest of the rocker. He dragged it to the bathroom. When he whined low in his throat, Olive took one end while he took the other. Together, they tugged, inched and nosed the light coverlet until it covered Jane completely up to her neck. Flash's “officer down” training had just kicked in. One of the first things he'd learned was to cover a body. Both dogs returned to the open doorway and stretched out, their heads on their paws, their eyes wide and alert.

When the room grew dark, Olive got up and with one paw, flicked the light switch. She returned to her position in the doorway next to Flash. Their gaze never wavered until eight o'clock, when Flash's ears went straight up in the air. A deep growl erupted from his belly. Olive turned her head to stare into the darkness of the open hallway. Neither dog made a sound as they raced out of the room and down the steps. The moment headlights arched on the dark living-room wall, Olive ran to the front window and nosed open the plantation shutters. Flash watched her before he, too, raised a paw to press the spring release on the opposite shutter. They waited, their ears flat against their heads, their tails between their legs. The motion light on the peaked roof turned night into day as Mike Sorenson stepped out of his car.

Flash pawed Olive as much as to say, is this the enemy? Uncertain as to what was going on, Olive trembled. The Malinois picked up on Olive's uncertainty. His lips curled back as he snapped and snarled at the paned window. Mike, one foot on the step, the other poised in midair, carefully removed his foot from the step and backed up, his eyes on the snarling dogs at the window.

Flash growled, the hair on his head and neck standing on end. Olive backed away from the window, as did Flash. She used her nose to close the shutters. Flash followed suit. Both dogs ran through the house to the back door. Once again, the motion light over the back porch sprang to life, illuminating Mike advancing up the path leading to the back porch. He stopped in his tracks when he heard a bloodcurdling howl. He backed up slowly, dropping the key in his hand. The dogs waited until the sound of the car's engine sprang to life in the quiet night. The moment the noise from the engine faded into nothingness, both dogs made their way to the second floor.

Jane slept deeply and peacefully on the bathroom floor, her guardians ever watchful.

Mike Sorenson drove his sleek sports car into the crowded parking lot of Snuffy's Bar and Lounge. He sat down at the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. Snuffy's had long been a favorite watering hole for many of his colleagues. He looked around now to see if he recognized anyone he could strike up a conversation with. Not that he felt like talking.

What in hell had gotten into Jane? And what was up with the two dogs that were set to eat him alive? Olive acted like she didn't even know him. More to the point, where was Jane and what was she doing? His heart started to flutter when he recalled the conversation they had in the lobby. He'd been stunned at her appearance. So stunned, he babbled the first words that came to his mind. Big mistake, Sorenson. What had he said that had been so awful? Didn't he have a right to act surprised? Damnation, he loved her curly hair, loved having it tickle his face when they made love, loved to run his hands through the springy curls. She could have mentioned it. Mentioning something like cutting your hair wasn't a sin. Shit! He realized more than ever that he knew absolutely nothing about women.

Mike took a healthy pull from the scotch glass as he swiveled around to survey the room. He saw a few people he had a nodding acquaintance with but no one he cared to unload on. He turned back to the bar and reached for a pretzel. He'd finish the drink, go home, and call his mother.

He felt rather than saw someone sit down next to him. Familiar perfume wafted its way to his nostrils. He turned. “Coletta!”

“Mike! I thought it was you. How are you?”

“Fine. You?” He had to get out of there and he had to do it
right then.
The last thing he needed was for Jane to find out he had a drink with his old girlfriend.

“Fine. Why are you drinking by yourself? Holidays getting to you?”

She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. He narrowed his eyes to see her better. She looked like she'd been
shellacked.
He wondered if her face would crack if she smiled or grimaced. No one had eyebrows like hers. Perfect arches. Once he'd thought he wanted to drown in those dark eyes. Once. Light-years ago. He studied her hair, which was longer now and swept back from her face. There wasn't one hair out of place. Like the rest of her, her hair looked like lacquer had been sprayed on it.

“Actually no. I love the holidays. I was on my way home and was hoping to see Jonesy in here,” he said, referring to a mutual friend. “He's not here, though, so I'm going home and work on a couple of case histories. What are you doing here?”

“Meeting a friend, who just happens to be late. I heard you were seeing someone.”

“True. Are you seeing anyone?”

“More or less,” Coletta said, smiling. “What's her name, do I know her?”

“Jane Lewis. I doubt if you know her. She's a colleague.”

“The one with the radio show?” Her expression was incredulous. “My God, Mike, she's positively
dowdy.
I've seen pictures of her in the local paper.”

Mike bristled. “What's that supposed to mean? She's not dowdy. Actually, she's quite glamorous,” Mike said, remembering their little exchange in the lobby earlier.

“It doesn't mean anything. I wouldn't have thought she was your type. You always went for the flash.”

“No I didn't, Coletta. I got your number real quick, didn't I? They don't come any flashier than you,” Mike said, sliding off the barstool. He tossed some bills on the counter.

“See you around, Coletta.”

In the car with the engine idling, Mike closed his eyes. “I was wrong, Jane. You don't look anything like Coletta. I don't know what made me say that. I don't know what the hell got into me this afternoon. I'd love you if you were bald.”

The moment Jane stirred, both dogs jumped up and hovered around her as they waited for her eyes to open. When they did, they were all over her, their tails wagging, growling playfully as they nudged her to get up. Clearly it was time to play.

Jane groaned as she struggled to her feet. The Queen Mother of all headaches pounded inside her skull. She reached for the edge of the sink to pull herself upright. Three aspirin found their way to her hand. She stuck her mouth under the faucet and gulped at the water and swallowed the aspirin. “I'll never do that again!” she muttered. Her watch on the edge of the sink told her it was 2:30
A.M.

Holding on to the sink for support, she turned and saw the afghan on the floor and the dogs sitting next to it. She dropped to her knees and cuddled them. “My protectors! You guys are too much,” she said, hugging them both. “What do you say we go downstairs and sit on the back porch? Maybe some fresh air will make this headache go away. You can go for a little run while I contemplate the sins of demon alcohol.”

In the kitchen, Jane opened the door to let the dogs out. Coffee and a big glass of tomato juice loaded with Tabasco was definitely called for. She carried the glass with her as she shuffled around the kitchen because picking up her feet and setting them down jarred her shoulders and neck causing her head to pound even more.

She wanted to die.

In order to check the answering machine to see if there had been any calls, she would have to either turn her head or turn her entire body around to see if the red button was blinking. It seemed like a lot of trouble, so Jane shuffled around in a circle. There was no blinking red light. No one had called. Mike hadn't called.

Jane could feel the tomato juice gurgling in her stomach. “Please, please, stay down,” she begged her stomach. “I hate throwing up. I really do.” Maybe the coffee would help. Strong, black coffee, Trixie's cure-all for everything. Fred disagreed, saying black rum tea would cure anything, even the warts on a frog.

She inched her way to the door, reaching for the jacket on the hook opposite the door to throw over her shoulders. She used her shoulder to open the old-fashioned screen door, loving the creaking sound it made. Trixie said wooden screen doors were supposed to squeak and creak. The sound was as comforting as seeing the first fireflies of summer or the first gentle rain while the sun was still shining.

Jane looked toward the field and frowned. Headlights. It was probably Trixie coming to check on her. How good and kind she was. How caring. She never would have made it this far in life without Trixie and Fred. She sipped at the coffee in the cup while she waited for her godparents to arrive.

Flash loped up to the porch, the sensor light shining down on something he was holding between his teeth. Jane reached for the shiny key. She stared at it. It looked like her house key. Damn, it
was
her house key. Flash barked. “Thank you, Flash.” The big dog's head bobbed up and downâTrixie's version of dog training, teaching Flash manners. Olive should be so talented.

Jane continued to stare at the key. Trixie had one. Mike had one. One was kept hidden under the windowsill with electric tape. Four in all, counting the one on her key chain. Had Mike come by to return his key? Her heart took on a thundering beat inside her chest at the thought.

The police cruiser skidded to a stop. Fred and Trixie got out at the same moment, their faces registering shock at seeing her sitting on the steps. “Are you all right, Janie?” Fred asked, his face and voice full of concern.

“The bad news is I have never felt this bad in my entire life. The good news is I will probably live,” Jane said, as Trixie put her arms around her and hugged her. “Trixie, look what Flash found.” She handed the key to Trixie. “I think it's Mike's. I must have been out cold because I didn't hear him come by. I'm sure he wouldn't just drop it off and leave without knocking. Still, I think it's pretty shitty, don't you? Damn, I thought he was the one.
The one,
Trixie! Boy, when I screw up, I screw up. Big-time.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Janie. For starters, you don't know if it is Mike's key. It might not be your house key at all,” Trixie said.

“Oh, it's my key all right. There are only four. I had this one made for Mike not too long ago. It's still shiny. You have one, I have one, and there's one under the windowsill. I rest my case.”

Trixie sat down on the step next to Jane. “Maybe he dropped it. Maybe it fell off his key ring. There could be a dozen reasons why you're holding it in your hand. Don't jump to conclusions, sweetie.”

Jane leaned forward and dropped her head between her knees. “He didn't call,” she said, groaning. “He could have called me and left me a message. He didn't.”

“There could be a dozen reasons for that, too,” Trixie insisted. “Maybe you didn't hear the phone ring. Sometimes people don't like to leave messages. When it gets light out, things will look differently. Can we do anything for you, honey?”

“Show me how to grow a new head.” Jane knew she sounded pitiful, but she couldn't help it. At the moment she was pitiful.

“Hangovers are a bitch,” Fred remarked, his sage wisdom coming too late to help Jane.

Jane sat up straight to show them she was fine. “I just came out here to clear my head. You two can go home. I'm okay. I appreciate you checking on me.”

“Do you want us to leave Flash with you?”

“No. I think he misses you. You guys are his constant, just like you're mine. He needs you. Olive and I will be just fine. I'm going to go back to bed for a little while. I'll call you in the morning.”

“Think about calling Mike,” Trixie suggested. “He loves you.”

“All right, I'll think about it,” she promised as she shoved the key into her pocket.

It was agony to climb the stairs to the second floor, but she made it. She stopped at the top and closed her eyes as she willed the pounding in her head to ease up. When it didn't, she staggered to her bedroom and crawled into bed. She wished Mike was there to hold her close, to kiss her aching head.

Mike.

Maybe she had misinterpreted his reaction to her hair. He'd said she looked totally different. Different didn't necessarily mean bad. It simply meant different. Even she'd thought she'd looked different when she'd gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, God,” she groaned. “What's the matter with me anyway? Maybe when I wake up it will all be just a bad dream. You're in charge, Olive,” she mumbled as she drifted into the arms of Morpheus.

Jane woke with a start. The headache that had threatened to lift her into orbit was now just a dull ache. With more aspirin and a hot cup of tea, it would disappear. She gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed. When the world stayed in place, she moved into the bathroom, where she showered and brushed her teeth. Afterward, she stared for long minutes at her reflection, particularly her new hairdo, which looked almost as good now as it had at the luncheon. “I like it. I think I have a keeper here,” she mumbled as she ran a brush through the soft, feathery curls.

Downstairs she heard her antique clock strike ten. In her entire life she'd never slept past eight o'clock. On the other hand, she'd never been so drunk before either. “Let's see what the world has in store for us today, Olive. With the office closed and Mike in a snit, I'd say we're pretty much on our own. That means we can go Christmas shopping. We can get a Christmas tree if we want or we can sit here and do nothing but watch soap operas. What we are not going to do is feel sorry for ourselves; nor are we going to think about Mike Sorenson.”

Jane hung up her soggy towel and left the bathroom, Olive on her heels. She tried not to look at the answering machine but eventually gave in. Her heart felt like it was leapfrogging in her chest when she saw the blinking red light. She put water on to boil, postponing the moment when she would press the PLAY button and hear Mike's voice. When she could no longer stand the suspense, she hit the button and waited. When Sharon Thomas's voice came over the wire, she said, “Oh shit!”

“Jane, it's Sharon Thomas. I'd like to set up an appointment with your attorney and mine for January 3 if that's agreeable with you. I'm interested in buying your practice. By the way, I saw Mike last night at Snuffy's. Were you putting me on when you said you two were an item? Maybe you should have told him that. He was what I would call being up close and personal with a sculptured-looking model type at the bar. The only way I can describe her is drop-dead gorgeous. Have your attorney get in touch with mine . . . Grover Mandel. Have a great holiday, Jane.”

There were no other messages. Jane sat down with a thump and stared at her cup of tea. The shiny house key was lying in the center of the table. She must have taken it out of her pocket last night and put it there. She reached for it and threw it across the room. Olive walked over to it and started to sniff it before she picked it up and brought it back to Jane. “Thank you, Olive,” she said, sliding the key into her junk drawer.

Jane upended her teacup and gulped at the contents until it was gone. Then she flew upstairs and changed her clothes. She was going to Crowley later in the week after she called Todd Prentice and invited him to lunch. If she could find his card, that is. She thought she remembered putting it in her desk drawer. Today, she'd do
a late lunch,
she thought, glancing at her watch. After thatâChristmas shopping!

When Jane sat down at her desk, she did a double take when she noticed the Lucite container with Connie Bryan's disks on top of the computer monitor. She clearly remembered moving it to the side of the desk and putting the green frog on top. “Who moved . . .” She cut herself off, afraid to voice her question.

She stared at the box of diskettes before she reached for it with shaking hands. Had she moved it and just forgotten? She clearly remembered the day she and Olive had watched her files slide out of her briefcase onto the floor and wondered if there might not be something to the whole ghost thing. No. There were no such things as ghosts. Ghosts didn't exist, except in her dreams. Someone had moved the box. Mike maybe. But how? Olive and Flash wouldn't have let anyone in, not even Mike.

Jane let her gaze travel around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Everything looked the same. An intruder wouldn't just move a box of diskettes and not touch anything else.

Jane rubbed at her temples. “I must have done it myself,” she muttered.

Jane reached down to scratch Olive behind the ears. She was wagging her tail so hard her whole body was wiggling. “I'm losing it, girl, really losing it,” she said as she opened the box and counted the disks. They were all there, but out of order. The one requiring a password was now in the back. “I know I put it in the front with a rubber band around it.” The rubber band was gone, and in its place was a small piece of paper taped to the disk. There was one word printed on the paper: JANE.

Jane's fingers froze in midair. She swallowed and looked down at Olive, who was looking up at her with expectation. Things were getting more interesting all the time. “Whatever is going on here, and something is definitely going on, we're going to take it one step at a time, Olive. Small steps. There's a reason for everything. At least that's what I tell my patients all the time. It's so weird that I'm not afraid. What do you suppose that means? You need to learn how to talk, Olive,” Jane groused.

Heart racing, Jane turned on the computer, slipped in the disk, and waited. When the window appeared asking for the password, she typed in her name just the way it was on the piece of paper, in caps. She held her breath, waiting to see if it would say Access Denied. It didn't. Instead it opened up to the file list. There were three files. The first one was a diary of sorts, the second was a daily log, and the third was a letter addressed to her.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, so strong that she had to push herself away from the desk so she could put her head down between her legs to ward it off. It was several moments before she felt confident enough to begin reading.

Dear Jane,

I meant to write you when I first returned home, but I was in no condition to do much of anything except try to act normal so no one would suspect what happened to me that night. It took such energy it left me drained. All I wanted to do was sleep. I don't know, I may never mail this to you, but then again, who knows what tomorrow will bring. You were such a good friend to me that night. I wish now I had listened to you. Shame, like guilt, is a terrible thing.

My parents were so happy when I got home. I play-acted for them, but I think my mother suspected something was wrong. I just kept saying it was wedding jitters. So many times I wanted to tell them, but I just couldn't. Even though I knew they would still love me, they would have looked upon me differently, like I was tarnished.

Todd changed when I got home. At first I thought it was me, but it was him. He would cut our dates short and make excuses for leaving my house early. We didn't
't
have sex at all. He wasn't interested. I found that strange, but at the same time welcome because I don't
't
honestly know what I would have felt. He blamed the change on me and needled me constantly to tell him what was wrong. He kept saying I had a secret and badgered me, wanting to know what it was. I can't explain it, but it was almost like he knew, Jane.

Then my parents went to my grandparents' house for the weekend, and I had the house to myself. I invited Todd over, cooked him a wonderful dinner, wore one of his favorite outfits, and tried to seduce him for no other reason than to prove to myself that I still had feelings for him and he still had feelings for me.

He had every excuse in the book not to get into bed with me. I think that's when I knew for certain that he knew what had happened to me. I suggested we call off the wedding, and he said it would be better just to postpone it temporarily. I agreed.

I was sick to my soul, Jane. I got even sicker as the days went on and I heard he was seeing some girl whose father was sinfully rich. I confronted him, and he said they were just friends. I believed him because I needed to believe him.

I started having really bad dreams then. They were worse than the ones I had when I first returned home But at least they served a purpose. I remembered two things that might help identify the boys who raped me One of them wore a thick, heavy ID bracelet and one of the others had a chain on his neck with some kind of medallion on it. It swung like a pendulum over my head while he was raping me. I know I don't have the courage to go to the police with that information now, but maybe I will at some point. I know I should have listened to you that night and at least gone to the crisis center. It was foolish of me to have ignored you, but I was so in love, and I didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize my wedding plans.

Now, in spite of all my efforts, I have no wedding plans. In my heart I know it's over between Todd and me. I don't have the same feelings for him that I once had, and he's made it obvious he doesn't feel the same toward me.

I don't know what I'm going to do, Jane, but I do know that I have to do something. And I have to do it soon. I can't live like this, in fear and secrecy.

I want to thank you for all you did that night and apologize for not saying good-bye before I left. We didn't know each other long, but for that timeâyou were the best friend I ever had.

I wish you every happiness in the world, Jane.

Connie Bryan

BOOK: Plain Jane

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