The Taming (17 page)

“And you could be on
my
phone.”

“I’m counting on that. Now get going,” I said.

She got up.

“But wait!” I grabbed her by the arm. “Finish your drink first.” I handed her the half-filled glass and then picked up mine. “Bottoms up.”

We both drained our glasses until there was nothing left but the ice cubes.

“Now go. And remember … something pretty … and
sexy
.”

She blushed before she disappeared into her bedroom.

First thing, I refilled both glasses. A little alcohol could go a long way, and a lot of alcohol even further. Not that I was planning on going anywhere that night. Her mother wasn’t coming back and I had already had too much to drink to even think about driving. The only question now was how far could I get Katie to go?

I looked around the apartment. It was nothing short of pathetic. Other than the flat-screen there wasn’t one item that would ever have been allowed in my house. Actually, there wasn’t really anything good enough to be found in the garbage in my neighbourhood.

I started to think about what my father had told me about market value. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew he was right. I had the house, the car, the look, the feel, the future, the status and the money. I certainly had so much more. Katie was going to have to compensate in other ways. That’s what I was counting on.

I heard the door open and looked up. She was dressed in the outfit I’d guessed she’d be in—the one I’d bought her. Nice, low-cut top, and she was even wearing heels. I
loved
heels. She’d dabbed on some makeup and brushed out her hair. It didn’t matter much because those weren’t the areas I was going to be focusing on.

“Well?” she asked.

“Nice … very nice.”

That word didn’t even come close. She almost took my breath away. She was beautiful, and she didn’t know it. Beautiful and innocent and grateful … and mine.

I looked around the apartment, searching for the best backdrop for a picture. There was no best place, only less-bad places. I took her by the hand and led her over to a simple blank wall.

“Now give me a smile,” I said as I aimed the phone camera at her.

Katie smiled. A sweet little smile that said she wasn’t just happy but grateful. And I knew, right then, that I could get her to do anything I wanted. Anything. And I started thinking that what she needed was to be protected, to be cared for. She was an innocent in a world filled with predators. All she wanted was somebody to care for her, to love her.

And then I remembered something my father always said—repeatedly, incessantly. It didn’t matter if it was business or your personal life: either dominate or be dominated; either be in control or be controlled. Somebody was always up in every relationship and somebody was always down. And I wasn’t going to be down—not again, not in this one.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I think I’m a little woozy … a little drunk.”

“Only a little? Here, have another drink.”

I reached over and grabbed her glass from the table. She took it and tipped it back. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought she needed more alcohol.

“Now, how about if we turn the heat up a little,” I suggested. I reached over and undid her top two buttons.

She went to brush my hand away. “Evan … I don’t know if—”

“I
do
know. It’s just a shot for me. Something
just
for me. But if you’re afraid or you don’t trust me I can just leave, right now.”

I started to get up and she reached over, taking my arm, stopping me.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said.

“You can’t have it both ways. Either you trust me or you don’t.”

“I trust you!”

“Then show me,” I said. “Show me you trust me. Show me you love me … the way I love you.”

“You love me?” she asked, her voice filled with doubt. “You really love me?”

“Don’t be stupid.” She winced. “Of course I love you. Don’t you love me?”

She hesitated for a second and then her hands went up to her blouse. She undid the buttons all the way down until it hung open, revealing her lingerie underneath.

“Beautiful,” I said as I clicked off a few pictures. “Now just a few more shots to let me know that you care for me the way I care for you … that you’re mine.”

She was mine—mine to control—and I’d have the evidence to prove that this time whatever happened was her idea, too, that it was voluntary. Nobody could say anything different.

“Now, how about going a little bit further,” I suggested.

She hesitated. I knew she knew what I meant.

“For me,” I said gently.

She gave me a smile … a sad little smile … and for a split second I thought better of what I was asking her to do, I felt bad.

And then she did what I’d asked.

All of it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I
puked all day. Just when I thought that there was absolutely nothing left, not a thing more that could possibly come up, I’d barely make it to the bathroom and heave some more. I knew the drill, sort of. I’d watched and heard my mom go through this for as long as I could remember. Okay, well, not this bad for sure, but I had seen and cleaned “hangovers from hell,” as she called them. I knew I’d survive, although for most of that day I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

The next day would be the start of dress rehearsals. I didn’t pick up my manuscript once. I didn’t eat a single thing. I did shower—four times.

And I still felt dirty.

There were some marks on me, in places that I had to contort myself to see and some in more, uh, obvious places. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, remember what exactly, specifically, had happened, and any time I caught a flash of something, I winced so hard that my head erupted. I reeled with hurt, was dizzy with the betrayal. How could he? He was supposed to take care of me.

Was there a camera? Yes, on the phone. Evan had bought me a phone, but he’d also taken pictures of me with a different phone, his phone. He’d had me pose, lots of poses in … I winced again. I didn’t know whether I felt more ashamed or angry. How dare he! Righteous rage and shame battled it out while I listened to “The Hour of Power” from the Crystal Cathedral. Apparently Jesus forgave me. Jesus forgave everybody everything, so he had to forgive me for, for … whatever had happened last night. I checked the time, 11:00 a.m. I was going to have to watch this show every Sunday from now on. I had a feeling I was going to need a lot of forgiving. Maybe Jesus would forgive Evan, too. I sure wouldn’t, no way.
Just wait until he calls
.

I looked at my iPhone. It was already programmed and loaded with “all the apps I’d ever want.” I didn’t even know what apps I wanted. But Evan knew. He was amazing that way. He knew which clothes would look good on me, which colours. What my favourite flowers were.

I stumbled my way into the living room again. There they were. Yellow orchids. The smell almost knocked me flat. A cloying citrusy aroma danced around the Ajax that was still clinging to my hands from the last cleanup.

He’d said he loved me. It all came flooding back. How he’d taken more pictures. Just for him, to remind him of how hot I was. “You’re so beautiful, baby. This will remind me how much you love me. This will be my private show, from my private actress, my Katherina.” He’d looked at me like there would actually be a possibility of me saying anything but yes. “My adorable Katie, you
do
love me, don’t you?” Then he’d poured me another glass and I’d gulped it down and felt terrific. It was the same feeling like when I was on stage. Which I was, in a way, I guess. The liqueur, the way he looked at me, the flowers, the gift. God. I felt all warm and giddy and bold, powerful in a Katherina sort of way. I even gifted Evan with parts of Katherina’s submission speech. That was still pretty early on in the night, so I got most of it right. I think.

“Katie?” He was so, so gorgeous. “Katie, will you do this for me?”

Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth
,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world
,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
 …And place your hands below your husband’s foot
.
In token of which duty, if he please
,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease
.

And he laughed! I loved when I could make him laugh. Apparently I didn’t even need the stage, just Shakespeare’s words were enough. He pulled me to him and growled his Petruchio response.

Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate
.

And my heart soared when he said it.

The flowers stared at me accusingly. I picked up the vase, held my breath and ran out into the hall all the way to the garbage chute. I opened the little door and threw the whole thing down the chute—water, flowers, vase and all. I exhaled.

“
Kiss me
.”

Dear God.

I felt my way back to the apartment. When he called, I was going to ask him: how could anyone who loved anyone make someone do the things he’d made me do?

Had he
made
me do them? Had he? That was the worst part, I wasn’t sure. I barely made it back in time to puke in the kitchen sink.

“Don’t you like the phone? I even programmed your little friend Lisa in there, and Travis, too.” Evan had looked so sweet, so loving then, so like a little boy. “I know I’ve been hogging you.” He looked at the floor. “This way, you’ll be able to at least talk to them on your down time.” He kissed my eyes.

He laughed, I giggled. He loved me. I loved him. Of course I loved him. How could I
not
love him? “I love you more than anyone, more than Kate loves Petruchio.” But he didn’t believe me. And I had to prove it. I caught an image. Evan grabbed me as I moved, and pulled me onto the floor. I was afraid, but for just a second. Last night or now? My head spun dangerously.

No, not afraid. I was angry, and I had every right to be. I was drunk, and Evan pushed and pushed, and I wasn’t ready and still he pushed. Right, not afraid, I was furious, and when he called, I would give him what for. I was going to tell him that he’d had no right, I was out of my head drunk, and, and, dear God, whole parts of the night felt good. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. I couldn’t even acknowledge that to myself without rushing for the toilet.

Shame washed over me again. Finally, I was what my mother had been accusing me of being all these years.

The bottle! I got up from the sofa carefully and began to search for the evidence. I was for sure afraid of my mother, and if she found that bottle, my life would be over. I overturned cushions and opened every cupboard door before I had to stop for another throw-up. What came out was clearer now, more like spit than barf. I scrubbed up again. My hands were raw from all that Ajax.

He must have taken the bottle with him. I’d ask when he called.

I’d have to make sure to wear long sleeves and high collars until everything faded.

My head was clearing a bit, and by dinnertime I could hold down water. Joey and Mom would be home soon. Evan had better call before they got back, or I’d have to go to my room and close the door while I tore into him. But he was so beautiful, and he said
I
was beautiful. And I almost believed him. I could not stop looking at him, all fair and cut like a statue, yet sometimes so sweet and unsure. And he said he loved me, he really did, and I’d make him say it when he called.

He had worn a blindingly white shirt in the thinnest, softest possible cotton. “Like it? I bought it just for you, I wanted to look nice for you tonight, Katie.” Then he’d opened the bottle.

I inhaled and memorized the scent of him, imprinted Evan on me. Did he know that, could he tell? He always smelled like what I imagined a beach would smell like—sun, waves, wind, clean and strong. I had another flash and braced myself for a slow, rolling wave of shame.

I glanced at my bedside clock: 5:57 p.m. Maybe I wouldn’t even answer the phone. That’d teach him. No, I’d answer it and take him apart.

My stomach began churning at 6:18. It was different from the hangover nausea. This was fear, pure and simple, no ribbons and pearls on this one. I started pacing. This was not the terror of the flashbacks, or the shame of broiling anger, this was fear of the biggest, baddest kind.

Dear God in heaven, what if he didn’t call?

Chapter Twenty-Seven