The Lights of Tenth Street (51 page)

Within half an hour, Marco came in, his face somber. He announced that they would close up early that night; that everyone could go home. His voice was brusque and he never looked toward the television set. Instead, his eyes searched the crowd in the room and settled on Ronnie. He jerked his head toward the door.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”

Wiping her eyes, Ronnie picked her way through the haphazard cluster of sitting and standing staff members and followed Marco out into the hallway.

“I need to schedule this gig for you on Saturday night.” He spoke with no further preamble. “The special Christmas party with some business partners at my place. We’ll just have one dancer. You up for it? I’ll pay you directly, no money to change hands there.”

Ronnie tried to attend to what he was saying. How could he expect her to focus on business right now?

She sniffled a little, one eye still on the television set, glimpsed through the doorway. There was a heart-wrenching shot of a child crying in a policeman’s arms.

“Oh, Marco, isn’t it
awful?
” She sniffled some more. “How could anyone
do
something like that?”

Marco made an impatient movement with his hand. “Yes, awful. But I need to know the answer now, or I need to pick another girl. You in or out?”

Ronnie closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. “In, I guess.”

“Will you be able to pull it together by then?” Marco’s tone was cold.

Her eyes flew open again. “How can you be so … so
heartless?
” She could feel her ire rising and turned her back on the television screen. “Yeah, I’ll be fine by the weekend, enough to earn my keep for the party. Sure, no problem, Marco, if that’s all you care about!”

He scowled at her, irritated, and turned away, saying over his shoulder. “Fine, I’ll put you on the schedule.” He vanished into his office, and closed the door behind him.

Ronnie muttered a few choice words in his direction, then turned and headed back into the break room. School finals were in progress, and she had no idea how anyone was going to be able to concentrate on their tests tomorrow.

Y
ou still want to go to the game?” Sherry Turner was pacing around the living room, the television set on—as it had been almost continually since the dam attack—but muted. “You think it’s safe?”

On the other end of the line, Jo Woodward sounded exasperated. “Who knows, these days? Who would’ve thought three days ago that some remote, peaceful river valley would be
unsafe?
But it’s the same thing I thought after the 9/11 attacks—I hate the idea of letting the terrorists win.”

“Yeah, I know. Doug will be home any minute, and I’ll ask him what he thinks.”

“How’s the outreach going, by the way? The food pantry thing?”

“Hopping. All those immigrants that depend on day labor jobs have been just decimated these last few days. We’ve been collecting lots of extra food and have taken it over twice already this week.”

“God’s timing is amazing. What would those people have done if that hadn’t already been in place?”

“I don’t know. And it’s been important from a spiritual standpoint, too. Like everyone else, they’ve been really shaken by this. Even before, so many new people from the complexes were coming to church that we were considering starting either a Spanish service or a simultaneous translation. After this, I think it’ll be a must.”

Sherry looked up as Doug came in the garage door, loosening his tie. He set his briefcase beside the door and came to give her a peck on the cheek. He mouthed the words “
who is it?
”

Sherry whispered, “Jo Woodward. About our plans for Saturday night. You still want to go?”

Doug slipped the knot on his tie, considering. Then he nodded. “If the kids were going, I might not be so quick. But I think we have to get on with normal life.”

In Sherry’s ear, Jo was saying, “We have to get on with life, you know?”

Sherry almost giggled. “Doug just came home and he said the same thing.”

“Well, then, let’s do it.” There was sudden hesitation in the cheery voice. “If you’re—you know—still up for it.”

“Hey! None of that nonsense!” Sherry laughed outright. “We
want
to treat you to this game. We’ve been talking about it forever, and you agreed to let us, so no backing out now!”

Tyson slipped into his cluttered office and checked his e-mail for anything new from the client. One by one, the members of the S-Group arrived for the next planning meeting. When all were in place, Tyson stood and addressed the small group.

“The client is pleased. They are releasing to us the first bonus in the payment package—the first bonus for the first job delivered.”

There were careful smiles and nods. “About time,” a couple of people muttered.

“We’ve all been under a great deal of stress these last few weeks, and we think it’s about time we combined business with pleasure. It’s the holidays, after all. We’ll meet Saturday at the house of one of our principals—Marco, who most of you know—and after the all-day strategy session, we’ll have a little all-night bash. I’m told that as entertainment, we’ll be joined by one of Marco’s showcase girls, who have—all unwittingly—been of so much use to us.

“Just one caution: I don’t know which girl Marco will be able to get for Saturday. Remember that some are more … amenable … to various attentions than others. These girls are thoroughbreds and each one needs to be handled differently. Some are more relaxed, some more jumpy.”

One of the men looked irritated, his eyes hard. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you should all remember how much we have invested in these girls before you act, okay? Remember the lesson we taught Glenn, just recently, for the breakdown in discipline.”

One or two of the men nodded, but Tyson had an uncomfortable feeling they would do exactly what they wanted to do, whether he liked it or not.

Ronnie stepped back, uncomfortable. What was
with
these guys tonight? They weren’t playing by the rules.

She gave another desperate glance around, looking for Marco. Again, he was nowhere to be found. Dozens of drinks had been knocked back, and she could tell that the men in this elite little group were used to getting their way.

Another man put his arm around her, his hands wandering, unwelcome. She again fended off the inappropriate touch, trying to act calm even as her heart began to pound.

“Uh—sorry, gentlemen. I’ll just be a moment. I need some air.”

She hurried out onto the deck, shivering in the chill air. The deck had a dizzying view of a plunging hill beyond, putting to rest any thoughts she had about climbing over the edge and down to the ground floor to try to find her boss.

She heard footsteps behind her and spun around, face to face with three of the men, their expressions leaving no doubt of their intentions. She opened her mouth to scream, but one clamped a hand over her lips, pressing her bare back against the wooden railing.

“Now, you be a good girl, you hear? You don’t know who we are, but you’ll do just what we say. We’re paying your salary; that’s who we are. That’s all you need to know. And if you don’t cooperate, we’ll toss you over the edge. I don’t care how much we have
invested
in you.”

Ronnie closed her eyes, blocking out the strange words, the drunken and ruthless eyes. No choice. Again, no choice. She stopped struggling, stopped caring, and watched from afar, from behind the wall that had been built brick by brick since she was eight years old.

“Sorry, Macy. Sorry.” Marco repeated the words over and over, his voice regretful but calm.

He waited through her shuddering tears as she clutched at him, shivering, fighting off shock. She was sitting in the front seat of his luxury car, his long overcoat covering the few clothes she had been wearing when it all started. He had to get back to the party for the bigwigs, but had snuck out to drop her at the subway. He would have someone bring her car to the club in the morning.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He gave her arm a final, awkward pat. “They had me busy downstairs.” In the back of his mind, he wondered whether he had purposely been diverted away. They must have known that he would never consciously allow one of his girls to be abused, no matter what the orders were.

Ronnie gave a final few gulping sobs, trying to pull it together so she could get out of the car. Act normal, girl. Even when everything was crumbling, act normal. All she wanted was to get home and crawl in bed, never to come out. She climbed out of the car, stiff and shaky, and slammed the door behind her. Where was all the indignation, the fury that Marco had poured out on Glenn?

She wove her way into the station on shaky legs, bought a token, and climbed the stairs that led to the aboveground platform of the rail station. She had to stop halfway up, bracing herself against the concrete stairwell to stop her head from spinning.
Once on the platform she shivered from cold as well as from shock, Marco’s overcoat providing little defense against the wind.

The subway was alive with chatter about the play-offs, the Falcons having narrowly beaten the Eagles in the final minutes of the game.

Doug and Sherry stood near Jo and Vance Woodward, clutching the standing subway poles for balance as the train rocketed them toward home. The subway gradually emptied, and the two couples were able to find seats together.

Sherry sat snuggled in the crook of Doug’s shoulder, content to watch, listen, and enjoy the security of her husband’s arms again. In the last few months he had become a different man. In their early counseling sessions, Pastor Steven had warned them that every husband—just like every wife—responded differently, that some would need more time, more healing, more patience than others. No one could predict the path that each couple would need to walk.

One more time, Sherry breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that their path, while painful and dark at times, had been a path to restoration. Her husband was becoming more whole, more loving with every day. Somehow, being forced to confess and confront his problem so openly had freed him.

Doug told Sherry that he had to be on guard every day—that he always would have to be, that the temptation would always be there if he let himself open the door even a crack. She had grown used to asking him the tough questions and loving him through both the bad and good answers. But it was so worth it to see him living without the fear that regression was inevitable. He had been, really and truly, set free.

The train approached the last stop, and Doug took Sherry’s hand as the foursome made their way to the doors. Jo and Vance filed off first, Doug and Sherry right behind them, pushing through the crowd waiting to board. Vance stopped suddenly, causing Doug to bump into his back.

“Jo, look!” Vance said.

Jo put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh. That’s—”

“That’s her!”

“Go, quick!”

Shivering, Ronnie waited to board the train. She felt dizzy and faint. She would not cry in public.
Would not cry
.

A gentle hand gripped her arm, and she jumped.

“Ronnie?”

Mr. and Mrs. Woodward stood there, their kind eyes darkened with worry.

“Ronnie, are you okay?”

Ronnie felt Mrs. Woodward’s hand tighten on her arm. Then she heard Mr. Woodward’s concerned voice. It sounded odd, as if it were coming through a rapidly deepening tunnel.

R
onnie’s head was pounding, her mouth dry. She lay still, letting other sensations arrive one by one.

She was lying on a bed. She could feel the weight of a thick, soft comforter, smell a gentle scent.

It was dark. No, her eyes were closed. She unstuck her heavy lids and opened her eyes.

The brilliant rays of midday shone on the floor by the bed.

Ronnie lay still for a minute, letting the questions rush in as her mind cleared.

What was going on? Where was she?

Heavy floral curtains hung at a nearby window—expensive curtains. Her eyes wandered the unfamiliar bedroom. There were tasteful pictures on the wall, antique furniture, and an elegant lamp on the table by the bed. A glass of water stood there, beside a large leather-bound book with “Holy Bible” on the front.

Ronnie sat straight up, wincing at the pain in her head. She reached for the glass of water. She needed to wake up, to snap Alice out of Wonderland.

She sipped the water, welcoming the reality of the pounding against her brain. And memory rushed back. Marco’s party … the attack … the shaky drive to the MARTA station. The Woodwards!

She vaguely remembered being revived from a faint, talking incoherently, being helped down the stairs and into the backseat of a van, where she must have passed out again.

Uncomfortable and embarrassed, she fingered the soft blanket on the bed. Suddenly, she gasped as a thought hit and she looked down at herself, taking in the unfamiliar nightshirt for the first time. She groaned and fell back against the pillows.

She heard steps coming near, and the doorknob turned. Mrs. Woodward walked in, saying something in a whisper to another woman.

They both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw her sit up. For a frozen moment, no one spoke, and then Mrs. Woodward smiled.

“Sorry, Ronnie. We left the room just a few minutes ago. We didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Ronnie stared at them, uncertain what to say. Her gaze traveled to the woman standing by Mrs. Woodward.

“This is Sherry Turner,” Mrs. Woodward said. “You’re in her guest bedroom.” She came forward and sat on the edge of the bed. “Ronnie, I want to tell you something before another minute passes, before you decide its time to get up and leave.”

Ronnie’s eyes flickered to Sherry Turner, wondering what she knew. What they both knew.

Mrs. Woodward didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as Ronnie felt. “You should know that all of us—my husband and I, and the Turners—know at least a little about your situation. For months now, Vance and I have felt just awful about that night at the church, about what happened. That’s why we tried to contact you. You deserved better, and we are sorry.”