The Price of Fame - KJ1 (4 page)

And then the weight simply disappeared off her, replaced moments
later by the safety and comfort of that tall, dark stranger, who had come
to her rescue for a second time.

At first, when she heard her name being called, Jay thought the
insistent voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she didn’t trust it. She
didn’t trust anything right then; she just wanted to die.

Then the woman had spoken again. “Jay, honey, are you hurt? I need
to see. Can you straighten out your arms and legs so that I can see where
you’re hurt?”

At the term of endearment, said with such compassion, the young co-ed looked up momentarily with glassy eyes, trying to focus on the face
gazing down at her with such concern and tenderness.
Could it really be her, or is my mind playing tricks on me?
She had thought so often about
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Lynn Ames

the tall, dark stranger, she wondered if this wasn’t a figment of her
imagination.

Then she’d been wrapped in warmth. The tall woman’s sweatshirt
smelled sweet.
Just like her,
Jay thought through the numb haze of shock.

For two days afterward Jay hadn’t spoken a word. The few friends who knew of her ordeal had been very supportive, and the rape counselor from the hospital had found her a great therapist. Over the course of the next year, with the help of that counselor, she had been able to work through the devastating effects of the incident. She still had occasional nightmares, reliving the horror in her sleep. But always, always she remembered that feeling of safety she had gotten from the hand holding hers that night: that tender, compassionate voice and presence that had been her salvation.

Vaguely, Kate was aware of footsteps echoing on the marble walkway. She looked up slowly, trying to focus her abused eyes, thinking dimly to herself,
Wow, you must be more tired than you know; you’re
hallucinating.
For five years she had tried hard not to dwell too much on the memory of the one woman who had made her consider the possibility that love at first sight might be more than a cliché. Now, for the second time that day, Kate found herself thinking about Jay. Not only that, this time she was seeing her as if she were really here, in Albany. She thought about the very first time she had looked up to see the same vision; it had been the autumn of 1981.

Kate grumbled one more time to herself about the absurdity of tennis
being a fall sport in Vermont, much as she had been doing for all of her
four years on the team. The temperature hovered in the high 40s and it
was all she could do to hold onto the racquet. Her hands were freezing.

She applied more sticky powder to her hands on the changeover and
rubbed them on the grip. She hated using the stuff, but already she had
lost the racquet out of her hand twice. Most of the other matches were
over, and a crowd had gathered to watch what was being billed as the
best match up in the conference. Kate was the #1 singles player on her
team and ranked second in the division overall. Her opponent, a bulky,
5’8” redhead with wild curls, was top ranked and had yet to lose a match
that season. Kate’s only loss of the year had been to that same woman on
her home court; she intended to return the favor.

They were locked in a tight third and deciding set; it was a
psychological battle as much as a physical one. Kate had lost the first set
in a tiebreaker, 7-6. She had come back to take the second set 7-5, even
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The Price of Fame

though her opponent had been up 5-3 at one point; the dark-haired
woman simply refused to lose. The score was 6 games all and 6 points all
in the final tiebreaker, and Kate would be serving the next two points
with a chance to finish the match. They had been at it for nearly three
hours, and dusk was fast approaching.

Kate was tired. She had been up late the night before, first studying
for an Economics exam, then giving the late newscast on the college
radio station, and finally working on her independent study paper in
Abnormal Psychology. She put all that aside, though, as she pocketed the
balls and headed to the baseline. She had been oblivious to the crowd to
that point, so intent had she been on out-thinking and out-slugging her
opponent.

So when she stepped up to the baseline to serve and began her ritual
of bouncing the ball twice with her racquet and then twice with her hand,
she was surprised to hear a loud chorus of shushing noises. She chanced
a moment to look up and was shocked to see the large number of
spectators gathered on the hillside just above the court. She scanned the
crowd quickly, noting most of the members of her team, as well as the
opposing team. She also glimpsed a couple of her friends and several
faculty members. And then her eyes were drawn up slightly higher, to a
figure standing a little apart from the rest.
Oh my,
thought Kate. A young
woman was standing there, her hands in her lacrosse team sweatshirt
pocket, sea green eyes sparkling down at her and long golden hair
reflecting the dying rays of the sun.

The senior’s heart nearly stopped beating, then began to beat double
time when the woman smiled a full, brilliant smile at her. Kate smiled
back reflexively. “Gorgeous” was the word that popped into her mind,
before she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. The entire
exchange hadn’t taken more than several seconds, but to Kate, it had
seemed like the world had momentarily stopped turning.

She shook her head and began the ritual over once again, bouncing
the ball twice with her racquet, and then twice more with her hand. Then
she arched up, releasing the ball and initiating her powerful swing
simultaneously. The serve caught the service and sidelines, spinning
away from her opponent, who made a hapless lunge toward the ball. Ace,
7-6 in the tiebreaker, and Kate was serving for the match. She stepped
confidently over to the deuce court and went through her ritual one more
time. She knew it was silly, but it was something she’d been doing ever
since she was old enough to hold a racquet; an even number of bounces
for the first serve, and an odd number for the second. She launched
herself upward to meet the toss and sent a blistering serve down the
middle. Her opponent managed to get her racquet on the ball, sending a
reasonably strong topspin backhand back across the net; Kate, however,
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Lynn Ames

had anticipated the shot and followed her serve in to the net. Moving
forward gracefully, she put the ball away with a crisp high forehand
volley to end the match.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and she waited for her opponent to meet
her at the net to shake hands. As she walked off the court, gathering her
tennis bag and sweats, the senior looked back to where the vision had
been standing. The blonde gave her a huge grin and a thumbs-up, then
she was gone, melting into the crowd of spectators no doubt heading for
warmer surroundings.

Kate smiled at the memory for a second until, unbidden, thoughts intruded about the third and last time she and that woman had crossed paths, seven months after the tennis match and some four months after the incident on the ski slope.

Kate was walking down the hill from the college radio station on her
way to meet friends downtown following the 11:00 newscast, enjoying
the light breeze and the moonlit night, the smell of pine trees strong in
the air. She had just taken her tennis team sweatshirt off with the intent
to drape it over her shoulders when she heard what sounded like a
struggle.

Kate looked around, aware as she did that there had been a series of
sexual assaults on campus in the previous two months. She spotted a
small movement in the bushes just off the path some twenty feet ahead.

Throwing the sweatshirt to the ground, she broke into a run, yanking the
bushes aside with her hand as she reached the noise. What she saw
enraged her. A beefy man, his face covered with a nylon stocking, was
straddling a young woman; he was in the process of pulling her pants
down. She also saw the glint of steel in the moonlight.

Heedless of the danger, she coiled her body and launched herself at
the man, careful to get under his arm so that the blade would be aimed
upward, away from his victim. She knocked him sideways and off of the
woman, her momentum sending both the assailant and her careening into
a nearby oak tree. The man caught his balance first, slashing at Kate
with the knife he still held in his hand; she tried to roll away, but he
managed to slice her right shoulder. Blood immediately poured from the
wound but, furious, she ignored it. Pushing to her feet she smashed him
in the stomach with one of her long legs, following that with a knee to his
groin. He howled in agony, and she used that opportunity to kick the
knife from his hand. As he recovered and reached for it on the ground,
she stomped on his wrist so hard that she could hear the bones snap. Just
as she was about to take a shot at his head with her foot, a local
policeman came running up, his gun drawn, warning the man to move
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The Price of Fame

away from the weapon and lie face down on the dirt. He cuffed him and
looked up into cerulean blue eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Kate sighed. “But there’s a woman over that way a little,”

she pointed over her shoulder, “who may not be.”

“I’ll radio for an ambulance right away, backup should be here
shortly.”

“You worry about him, I’ll see what I can do for her.” And with that,
Kate already was streaking back toward the path.

She looked around for a moment, trying to locate the woman, before
spying the reflective tape on the back of a pair of running sneakers. And
then she realized why she had had such trouble spotting her: the victim
was curled into a tiny ball, lying huddled near where Kate first had
encountered her and her assailant. She was in the fetal position, with her
arms wrapped tightly around her knees, which were pulled up to her
chest. The sight broke the senior’s heart.

She moved quickly, but carefully, trying not to traumatize the woman
any further. Bending down, she began speaking softly to her.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” When she got no response, she tried
again. “Can I just get a look at you, see where you’re hurt?” Again,
nothing. Kate didn’t want to add to the woman’s misery, but she knew
she had to get a better handle on exactly how far the scumbag had gotten
and whether or not he had cut her with the knife. In the position the
victim was in currently, she couldn’t even see her face.

“Hey, I only want to help you. He can’t hurt you anymore, I promise.

Please.” It was a plea. The woman began to rock back and forth as if in
mute comfort. Kate decided she had to make a move; she simply couldn’t
chance waiting any longer. Reaching out tentatively, she
touched the
woman on the back. The traumatized victim lifted her chin inches from its
position tight against her knees as if noting someone else’s presence for
the first time. Kate gasped.

“Jay,” she cried. “Jay, is that you?” All the while her mind was
praying that it wasn’t the young woman whose face had been visiting her
in her dreams for months.
Oh, God, not her.
Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes.

She gently wrapped an arm around Jay, who flinched involuntarily at the
contact.

Although she was stung by the reaction, Kate refused to pull back.

“Jay, honey, are you hurt? I need to see. Can you straighten out your
arms and legs so that I can see where you’re hurt?”

Seeing a flicker of a response, Kate continued her coaxing. “I just
need a peek, Jay, then I won’t bother you anymore, okay?”

With tremendous effort, but without looking up, Jay loosened her
death grip and dropped her arms to her sides. Kate moved forward
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Lynn Ames

instantly and, as gently as she could, examined Jay to determine
her
condition. Bile rose to her throat as she noted the ripped blouse, the cut
bra, the half-opened jeans and the scrapes and bruises that liberally
covered her chest and abdomen. She could see the swelling on the young
woman’s jaw and the beginnings of a bruise there, as well as her split
lip. She noted the bruising around Jay’s nipple, too. God, she wanted to
kill him.

Kate didn’t want to ask the next question, but she knew she had to.

Softly, circling Jay with her good arm and stroking her blonde hair, she
asked, “He didn’t penetrate you, did he, honey?” She closed her eyes
against the answer, knowing that if it was in the affirmative, she might
well take matters into her own hands and strangle the bastard.

Jay couldn’t seem to find her voice. Instead, she shook her head no.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut as the tears of relief leaked out of the
corners; thank God for small favors.

At that moment she heard doors slamming and the sirens of
additional police cars. She looked down and was suddenly aware of how
painfully exposed and vulnerable Jay looked. Kate remembered that she
had dropped her sweatshirt just a few feet away and she moved to
retrieve it.