Public Secrets Part 227

"London then, to Bev. She'd want to help you."

"No pa.s.sport. Drew locked it in a safe-deposit box. I don't even have

a driver's license. He tore it up." She sat back because even the few

bites of food had made her queasy. "Marianne, I have fifty-five dollars

in my purse-I stole fifteen of that from the housekeeping money. I

don't have any credit cards. He took them months ago. I have the

clothes on my back and that's it."

Because she wanted to break something, Marianne rose and poured another

Grand Marnier. All this time, she thought. All this time she'd been

sulking in the loft, nursing hurt feelings while Emma had been going

through h.e.l.l.

"You don't have to worry about money. Your credit's good with me. I'll

get a cash advance on my credit card, then call and authorize them

to accept your signature. You can have your pick. Visa, MasterCard, or

American Express."

"You must think I'm pathetic."

"No, I think you're the best friend I've ever had." Tears burned the

back of her eyes. Marianne let them fall. "If I could, I'd kill him

for you."

"You won't say anything, to anyone. Not yet."

"Not if that's what you want. But I think your father should know."

"No. Things are bad enough between me and Dad without adding this. I

think what I need most of all now is a little time. I thought about

going into the mountains somewhere, a cabin in the woods, but I don't

think I could stand the quiet. I want to lose myself in a big, noisy

city. I keep thinking of L.A. Every time I thought about running, I

imagined running there. And I've been dreaming about it again, a lot."

"About Darren?"

"Yes. The nightmares started a few months ago, and they won't let up. I

feel like I need to be there, and I hope it's the last place Drew would

expect me to go."

"I'll go with you."

Emma reached over to take her hand. "I was hoping you would. For a

little while."

IT WAS DARK in the bedroom. And filthy. Jane's last day maid had quit

the week before, nipping a couple of silver candlesticks on her way out

the door. Jane wasn't aware of the theft. She rarely left the bedroom

these days. She made occasional runs to the kitchen for food, wheezing

and panting on the stairs. Like a hermit, she horded the drugs and

bottles and food in her room.

It had once been ornately decorated. She'd had a fancy for red velvet.

It still hung at the windows, heavy creases caked with dust. But in a

rage she'd torn down the curtains that had draped the plump, round bed.

Now, because she was so often cold, she huddled under them.

The red and silver flocked wallpaper was stained. Jane had a habit of

throwing things at her lovers-lamps, bric-a-brac, and bottles. Which was

why she had such a difficult time keeping anyone in her bed for more

than two nights running.

The last one, a tall, muscular dealer named Hitch, had tolerated her

temper fits longer than most, then, philosophically, had knocked her