Glamour (28 page)

Only it hadn’t worked out that way. Since day one, Sally was surrounded, first by workmen, then by customers. And obviously she was key to Rodeo Girl, whatever his mother told people. Leo had no power over her anymore.

Today she was wearing a short skirt, kitten heels, and a cream silk blouse. Her smooth, tanned legs seemed to run on forever. Her flaxen hair was caught back in a smooth ponytail, worn low at the neck, and her mouth showed wide teeth when she laughed.

All the eager, desperate schoolgirls he’d fumbled with or taken to bed paled into nothingness compared with Sally. And the further away he got from her, the more he wanted her.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Barry agreed.

“Pity you didn’t bang her when you had the chance,” Simon Bernardillo said.

“He never
had
the chance. Remember? Chick turned him down flat,” piped up Keith Brand, from the back.

“That’s right,” Barry said, and laughed.

Simon started to hum “Dream, dream, dream” from the Everly Brothers song, and his annoying friends fell about laughing.

“Can it,” Leo said, shortly.“She’s just another piece of tail, fellas. Let’s go play ball.”

Aggravated, he put the Porsche into gear and slammed his foot down.The car screeched off; in the side mirror he saw Sally Lassiter glance in his direction, idly, then, unconcerned, go back into the shop.

It burned him. She’d tricked him, that minx. She’d come up to him, sweet as pie, and teased him, knowing she was never going out with him. He resented it. Sally should have been grateful, and pliant. Submissively asking him to be pleased with her. Now, she had a job, she was effectively an adult, and he still went to high school! Okay, he was a senior, but it was still totally humiliating. The working woman and the schoolboy . . .

Leo was a peacock. He hated it when his friends laughed at him. Unacceptable. He was going to have to teach that girl some manners. She damn well
would
go out with him, and in public. Or else.

He left after practice, so as not to be obvious about it, and went over to his dad’s garage on Fifth Street, where they had a liquor concession and nobody asked questions. Leo took a little supply, some crates of beer and a pint of vodka. He liked that best because it didn’t leave a smell on your breath. And it was hard liquor. A man’s drink, something to get riled up on before he confronted Sally. She had a snappy, cool way about her when she put you down, and Leo wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted to stand up to her. He packed the beer into the trunk, then unscrewed the vodka and took a good, fiery swig before stashing it in the glove compartment. His throat burned, and he felt himself gearing up. Carefully, not wanting to attract the cops, he turned the car south, heading back to Main Street and the way Sally walked home. It was a long walk to the tract on the outside of town, and she never got the bus; she liked the exercise. Perfect for him. He raised his headlights, and started to scour the side of the road.

Sally was tired, but glowing. Saturday night, and a particularly great week for tips. Mrs. Ellis, the wife of the local realtor, had been so thrilled with her personal shopping session—Sally guided her to a whole new wardrobe in one afternoon—that she’d pressed five hundred-dollar bills into her hands. And there had been over four hundred from the rest of the clientele, which meant she’d gotten almost a month’s worth in just a single week. There was now some real money in their bank account. They lived on a thousand a month, and with what was left over from L.A., and all her work this year, Sally now had thirty-two thousand saved, with the promise of more to come....

It would be almost a year soon, and then she’d ask for a raise. A big raise. Rodeo Girl was a huge success. Three thousand a month, just for starters, and Sally thought she might walk Elaine through share structure and get her to give Sally a slice. Once they’d done that, she could hire staff, maybe start a new store, maybe even one in Dallas . . . she didn’t have to be working here for twenty, twenty-five thou a year....

Maybe, Sally suddenly thought, maybe she could even go home....

A car honked; she jumped out of her skin, spun around, her hand flung up against the dazzling light.

“What the . . .oh, hey. Leo.” She dropped her hand and drew aside as his Porsche slowed down. “You startled me.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Leo Fisk was smiling at her, with that familiar, lascivious look in his eyes.“You’re far too cute to be tramping home in the mud, Sally. Let me give you a lift.”

“It ain’t muddy,” she replied. “I like the exercise. . . .”

“I know, but take a load off.You should relax once in a while. Go home early.”

Well . . . it was unseasonably chilly. And she didn’t want to be rude to Leo; he was Elaine’s son, after all.

“Okay, why not.” She opened the door and climbed in. “Thanks.”

“So,” he said, pulling out into the road again,“Sally, you never did give me that date. I reckon that call I put in for you with Mom came out pretty good, huh? You owe me a dinner, at least.”

Sally sighed. Not that she hadn’t been expecting this moment to come. She was only surprised it had taken him this long to get around to it.

“Leo, look. You’re a real good-looking boy”—hell, he hated that, he wasn’t a goddamn boy—“and I know all the girls are wild to go out with you, but I’m just not ready for a romantic relationship right now.”

“What are you talking about? You’re eighteen, baby. Legal in every state. I can’t believe you’ve never had a boyfriend.”

Well, she sort of had—dates, back when she was fourteen, fifteen. Boys she met from church or sports, or sons of her father’s business partners.The odd movie, a kiss in a parking lot. Fumbles. But nothing more.

“I’ve dated,” she said evasively. “But really I’m just focusing on work right now. I want to save up and get a place of my own. . . .”

“All work and no play makes Sally a dull girl,” Leo said. He slurred the
s
’s, and she realized with a shock that he was more than a little drunk.

“Make a left right here, Leo,” she said. But he missed the turning and shot past the intersection.

“Oh—you missed our street. Never mind. . . .” She didn’t particularly want him to turn back, in the traffic. “Just pull over and I’ll walk.”

He didn’t look at her; his eyes were fixed straight ahead, and he pressed his foot down on the gas.

“Just pull over,” Sally repeated, uneasily.“And thanks for the lift.”

Leo drove on.

“I don’t think you’re being fair, Sally,” he said, and there was a silky tone to his voice she didn’t like. “I think you tricked me. Day you came to see me in school. All dressed up in them tight jeans. Made me think you’d go out with me. If you weren’t coming on to me, what was all that makeup for?”

They were going fast now, very fast.Too fast.The dial was on ninety, and the car was wobbling. The lights of Hartford disappeared in the distance.

“Please stop,” she begged.

“Answer the question,” he said.

“I wanted to impress your mother with how stylish I could be. . . .”

“Yeah, well.You impressed
me
, honey. Made a
real
impression.”

The car pulled to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sally cried.

“You wanted me to pull over.”

She glanced wildly around. They were in the middle of nowhere, a cornfield to the left. Quiet road—no traffic.

“Leo, you’re drunk. I’m walking back and we’re gonna forget this ever happened,” Sally said. She tried for confident, but her voice cracked with fear.

He reached for her, one hand brushing against her breasts.

“Come on baby, you’ll like it. All the girls do.”

“Get away from me!” Sally shouted.

“No, I’ve had it. Enough teasing.You’re gonna get just what you asked for.”

She tried desperately to twist away, but he was strong. Slight, for a man, skinny, not the type of body she liked. But a man is far stronger than a woman, even a weak man. Sally knew that instinctively, and she was frightened.

“Leo, you’re better than this . . . what would your mom think? Don’t, don’t touch me!”

Angrily, he backhanded her across the face. Sally gasped in pain and shock. That would leave a welt. She kicked back and tried to clamber out of the door.

“You’re trying to ruin it,” he hissed, grunting. “Bringing my mom into it . . . that ain’t sexy . . . you’re just an uppity bitch.”

“You’re a bully and a coward,” Sally sobbed. “I’ll scream. . . .”

The light in his eyes was manic. She couldn’t believe it. She knew this boy, had seen him at school and in town for years.

“You do, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled.“And dump you right in that damn cornfield and you can rot away in the fall.”

She didn’t know if he meant it or not. Sheer terror froze her to her seat.

“Now,” he said, fumbling at her shirt, “let’s get this off of you. Yeah . . . yeah, you sure are well built, baby, and I’m gonna be your first, just like I told them boys. . . .”

His hand was on her. She was tight, dry as a bone. He didn’t care. Sally sobbed and leaned her head back. She didn’t want to die, so she said nothing.

And Leo Fisk raped her.

He dropped her home afterward; she said nothing. Leo was full of good cheer.Told her she was sexy, she was hot.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see you again,” he said.“Take you out to the movies tomorrow. How’s that? It’ll be better next time.You’ll get the hang of it, baby, you’re too hot-looking, you got it in you.”

She climbed out of the car, and he was gone, tires spinning down the road.

Sally had seen true-crime shows about rape victims. How they would get in the shower and scrub themselves till they bled. Or went to the police, and pressed charges.

Sally did neither of those things.

Instead, she ignored the prone figure of her mother, snoring upstairs on the bed, and went to grab her suitcases. Sally furiously started to pack.

The police would not believe her. There were no witnesses. The Fisks were popular. She knew that, sick as it was, deep down in her bones. And she didn’t want the publicity . . . vultures crawling over her, all that prurient interest in the rape of a teenage blonde.They’d find Mona, too, drunk and depressed, still eking out the days in her personal hell.

Forget this shit-hole of a town. Sally was gone. Earlier than she’d expected, or wanted. But she had thirty thousand in the bank.They could rent, back in L.A. And she could start her own store. Buy a lease—get it done. Screw working for Elaine. She was angry, angry in the very depths of her soul. She was going to go the hell home, make some money, show all of them. The bastards who’d dropped them when her dad died. The snooty friends who never called. All the bullies, all those snooping vultures in the press.

Sally needed money. If she had money again, she’d have some protection. If she wasn’t poor, Leo could never have got away with raping her, treating her just like a chattel.

Never again. She knew how to make it. She was a real Steel Magnolia. First, she was going to change their lives, again. Next, she was going to cure her momma and get rich. And last, she was going to take revenge.

Not just on Leo Fisk. On the whole damn world.

CHAPTER 8

“You can’t fire me.”

He was young, but still, older than her.Thirty at least, in his fancy Armani suit, with a Princeton degree and an arrogant air she disliked. Plus, he was looking her over, checking her out, with a degree of impertinence Jane objected to. Violently.

“I can and I am. You know our policy, Michael. Up or out. The San Diego store is failing to attract customers and growth.”

“A rise of nine percent. Read the report,” he replied with contempt.

“That is insufficient. The Sunset Boulevard store is making between twelve and fifteen percent growth per year.”

“That’s a special case,” he said.

“Of course it is.” She smiled thinly. “I run it. And now staff have been trained to follow my principles.Which is why I’m sitting here in head office, and you’re being sacked.”

He stared. “My God, you’re every bit a bitch as they say you are.”

“And I hear that you’ve sexually harassed every new immigrant worker San Diego took on.”

“Bullshit. Prove it.”

“I don’t have to.” Jane shrugged. “I have your lack of performance. There’s a severance package on the table, but there won’t be one for long.”

“What the hell do you know?” He jumped to his feet, puce with rage. “You’re just a kid—no college degree, no MBA. A couple of
fluke
years in L.A. and all of a sudden you think you’re Jack Welch.”

“Grow up,” Jane said dismissively. “And get out. I’m busy—I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m leaving.” He turned at the door and stared at her, eyes angry. “Everybody knows why you’re here,
Miz
Morgan.You’re the best little whore in the company. Fucking half the board of directors, no doubt. And I bet you’re
real
good at it.”

“Security can be up here in thirty seconds. And they really are good at it,” Jane replied, coolly.“So if you value your rib cage, I suggest you leave. And by the way—the severance package just evaporated.”