Inner Circle (11 page)

Carmen
Garza slowly cruised the 5 Freeway in her newly gifted Maserati, making the last few miles along the wind-kissed coast to her condo in the finely manicured suburban-filled Laguna Beach area. It had been a long day of fittings and selecting the wardrobe for her upcoming Tresses campaign, and she was exhausted. Landing the job as spokesmodel for Tresses was the big break she had been waiting for, but it would not be without its challenges. After today, it had become obvious that the schedule would be grueling, leaving very little room for anything that even remotely resembled a personal life. It was a good thing she’d met Drew.

Pierre, her manager, warned her beforehand that the contract would require long days, extensive traveling, and numerous personal appearances, and this was just day one. Still, it was the opportunity of a lifetime, and she was determined to make the most of it. As the former Miss Teen Argentina, she had gotten a taste of the business with a few commercials and a few soap-opera spots, but with a bit of luck and the right connections, her Tresses contract would be her opportunity to break into the entertainment industry seriously.

Carmen heard the phone ring and glanced at the caller ID. It read “
ANONYMOUS
,” and she smiled as she answered the call.

“Hello!” She waited for the familiar voice.

“Hey, baby, where are you?” Drew’s Brazilian accent was thick.

“Almost home,” she responded slyly.

“So how did it go today?”

“It was fabulous! We spent all day selecting my wardrobe for the next two weeks, including the pieces for the first photo shoot. As exciting as it was, I still couldn’t help but think of you,” Carmen flirted.

“Nice. Sounds like you had a pretty busy day.”

“Yeah, it was cool. I can’t wait to start shooting.”

“I’m happy for you, but you know I’m going to miss you once you start the tour,” Drew whined.

“I’ll miss you too,” Carmen said. “Am I going to see you tonight?”

“No, I’m sorry, baby. I thought I was going to be able to get away, but my wife had a thing, and I’m home with our boys. You understand, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Carmen lied. “Guess it’s for the best. I’m exhausted,” she yawned quietly.

“Well, get some rest. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“Promise?” she teased.

“You got it.”

Carmen sighed as she disconnected the call. True, she was exhausted, but she had been looking forward to an evening of romantic lovemaking with Drew. Besides the Tresses campaign, Drew had been the best thing that had happened to her since she arrived in L.A. nine months prior. Although she never aspired to be anyone’s mistress, after two weeks with Drew, she couldn’t resist him. Not only was he irresistible, but Drew made being a mistress something most women would only dream about. Disappointment, however, came with the territory. It was the one downside to being involved with a married man, especially one with celebrity status. Of course, the upside included several perks, including gifts and endless connections, all of which kept Carmen interested and content with their now eight-month relationship.

She glanced at the five carat diamond bracelet Drew had given her last week. The thought of him made her moist. She wasn’t sure if it was his dick that gave her so much pleasure or the expensive gifts he always left behind after fucking her. Either way, she vowed to go along for the ride for as long as he was willing to travel.

Almost drunk with exhaustion, Carmen momentarily veered off the freeway. She turned up the music and rolled down the window, hoping the noise and cold air would help keep her awake.

Finally home, she pulled her Maserati into the garage and lowered the door. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she checked her rearview mirror, sensing the presence of someone. She failed to see the black-clad figure that darted under the door just before it closed.

Carmen entered the condo, turned on the light, and quickly punched in the alarm code. She tossed her bag onto the kitchen counter and slipped off her shoes. The clock on her microwave read six o’clock. Exactly fourteen hours had passed since she’d last read it earlier that morning. The six-inch stilettos she just escaped from had registered every minute, and she wiggled her toes, trying to bring life back into them as she made her way down the hallway to the foyer. Pausing a moment, Carmen retrieved the mail from the front table where her housekeeper had left it before leaving for the day. As she made her way back into the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of Merlot and sat down to review the small stack of envelopes.

There were three bills which she set aside for her assistant, a postcard reminder from her dentist, and a letter from her little sister back in Argentina.

“Probably asking for more money,” Carmen whispered as she tossed the letter onto the coffee table. She sipped her drink and pushed the button to retrieve her voice mail.

“You have no messages,” the machine announced.

Carmen was surprised that Pierre hadn’t called. Pierre Jourdan had been her manager, agent, and best friend, as well as the driving
force behind her career for the past ten years. He had discovered her at the age of fifteen shopping in a mall in Buenos Aires, and after what amounted to begging and pleading, had finally convinced her mother to enter her into the Miss Teen Argentina pageant. Carmen won, and Pierre had immediately taken over the reins of her life. Any success she had attained could be traced directly back to Pierre’s efforts. It was Pierre who had the foresight to convince Carmen not to cut her hair six years ago, and it was her waist-length mane that had ultimately sealed the Tresses deal.

A quick scroll through the missed calls revealed that Pierre had indeed called three times. She smiled, knowing that he hated leaving messages. Carmen considered calling him back but with further thought decided against it. It would take her at least an hour to cover the events of the day with all of the detail that she knew Pierre would require. Today was one of the first meetings he’d missed, yet she didn’t mind, because she knew his sights were set on even bigger things for both of them.

Carmen rose from the table, planning to bathe before tackling that conversation. She looked around her quiet condo, realizing just how much she hated being alone in such a big space. And since she knew Drew wouldn’t be coming over to rock her world, she was eager to bathe in order for her to get her rocks off in a conversation with Pierre about all the money they would make with this new campaign.

Turning out the light, Carmen headed down her plush carpeted hallway toward her bedroom. In the bathroom, she lit a candle, turned on the shower, and grabbed her loose-fitting cotton lounger that hung behind the bathroom door. She peeled off the spandex leggings and oversized top, then removed her black lace panties and matching bra. Her nakedness was soothing. Gathering her hair into a ponytail, she braided it tightly and pinned it into a bun on the top of her head. Climbing into the shower, she closed her eyes and stretched, allowing the water to massage her stiff muscles.

Carmen didn’t hear the door open as the black-clad figure
entered the house from the garage, and she never saw the figure make its way past the kitchen and down the hallway to her bedroom.

It happened so suddenly that she had little time to react. The first blow sent her head crashing into the shower wall with such force that she nearly passed out. Before she had time to recover, she felt herself being pulled backward by her hair as she gasped for air. Carmen tried hard to resist as her arms flailed wildly, but it didn’t work. Instead, her resistance just made her more vulnerable as her feet slipped, causing her to fall face forward into the water. Managing to turn over onto her knees, Carmen caught a glimpse of a figure completely dressed in black and wearing a ski mask. She punched upward, surprised when the blow landed on what appeared to be her attacker’s chin. Then she felt a kick to her side, and when she reached down to protect herself, she felt the heel of a boot stomping her wrist. The pain was unbearable. She grabbed her attacker’s leg, making the attacker lose balance and tumble backward.

Carmen seized the opportunity to stand and run, but her attacker was quick, tripping her and sending her sprawling face-first into the wall. She landed in the hallway and could feel what she knew was her own blood splattering onto her cream carpet. She screamed out, not knowing if anyone could hear her. She felt her acrylic nails give way as she gripped the carpet in an effort to crawl away. She was too late, though. Her attacker was on her back, digging a knee into her shoulder blades, causing her to scream even louder. She searched for any identifiable sign from her attacker but couldn’t find one—the room and her attacker’s onyx-colored attire were way too dark. She opened her mouth with hopes of biting her attacker, but her face was forced into the floor negating any attempts at self-defense.

Carmen braced herself, sensing that rape was imminent, but instead of penetration, she felt her attacker wind her braid around a fist, pull her head backward, then slam it into the floor. Dazed, Carmen struggled to keep her focus. Her heart raced as she imagined her own death.

“Please . . . don’t kill me,” she managed to whisper. “You can take whatever you want, just please, spare my life.”

Her attacker remained silent until Carmen heard a loud buzzing sound nearing her ear. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain at the base of her neck.

“Stop! What are you doing . . .” she screamed while trying to toss her head from side to side. “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!” she screamed even louder, but the attacker pulled her hair, snapping her neck backward before slamming her head into the floor again. She fought to concentrate but felt herself losing the battle to remain conscious. With the next blow, the room went black.

Carmen woke to the sound of the shower running. She was cold, and her head was pounding. She opened her eyes to darkness and froze, suddenly remembering why she was lying naked in her hallway. She listened, afraid to move, fearing that her attacker was still in the house. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, so in fear, she continued to wait.

Quietly, Carmen slid her hand between her legs, not knowing what to expect, and was surprised to feel no pain or soreness. Oddly, it felt perfectly normal.

After what had to be thirty minutes but felt like an eternity, Carmen struggled to her knees and began crawling to her bedroom. A sharp pain ripped through her wrist making it difficult to move quickly, and when she finally managed to stand, her legs felt like Jell-O.

She made her way back into the bathroom where she quickly closed and locked the door. The candle she’d lit earlier had already burned down. She turned off the shower and stood still, listening for any other sounds in the house. Finally feeling that she was alone, she turned on the light and looked in the mirror. She was horrified by what she saw.

Staring back at her was a face she barely recognized. Her lips were bloody and swollen, and her face was badly bruised. But even
more disturbing, the head belonging to the swollen face was completely bald!

Carmen grabbed her head in shock. She tried to scream, but the resulting sound amounted to only a loud gasp. Panic-stricken, she looked around the bathroom and spotted her lounger. She dressed quickly and pressed her ear to the door. Still silence.

Gathering the nerve to unlock and open the door, Carmen slowly crossed the bedroom to the phone at the side of the bed. She retrieved the receiver and tiptoed quickly back to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Carmen dialed as fast as she could, but her hands were shaking so badly that she had to start over three times. Finally, she heard the ring at the other end, then a connection.

“Carmen! Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for over an hour!” Pierre chastised.

“Pierre! Please . . . come quickly. I’ve been attacked!”

“Attacked? What are you saying?” Pierre asked, unsure of what he had heard.

“Yes! Attacked! Pierre, please come now!” Carmen said with as much alarm as she could depict in a whisper.

“Are you okay? Have you called the police?”

“No! Pierre, please!” Carmen begged.

“Okay. I’m on my way!”

Pierre
arrived in thirty minutes, making the forty-seven-mile drive in record time. He rang the doorbell, and when there was no immediate response, he used his spare key to let himself in. Met with total darkness, Pierre quickly turned on the light in the foyer and glanced around cautiously.

“Carmen! Carmen, it’s Pierre.”

Carmen opened the bathroom door and noticed light in the hallway.

“Pierre?”

“Yes, where are you?”

She walked slowly in the direction of his voice, looking from side to side, still not totally convinced that her attacker had left. She spotted Pierre standing in the hallway and staring back at her as if he were seeing a monster.

“Oh my God! Carmen!”

Carmen collapsed into Pierre’s arms and began crying uncontrollably.

He helped her to the couch and held her, waiting for the initial wave of emotion to subside.

“Carmen, what happened? Who did this to you? And why haven’t you called the police?”

“I was in the shower and someone attacked me. I didn’t know anyone was in the house. I tried to fight, but whoever it was just kept pulling my hair and slamming my face into the floor until I guess I passed out. It was awful, and when I finally came to and got to the bathroom, I saw myself and my hair. Oh my God, Pierre, my hair!” Carmen grabbed her head and began crying again.

“Did they . . .” Pierre couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No, I don’t think so,” Carmen said.

Pierre heaved a sigh of relief. Recuperating from the attack would be hard enough without throwing rape into the equation.

“We have to get you to a hospital,” Pierre said.

“No! I can’t have anyone see me like this! Look at me! Pierre, if this gets out, I’m ruined.” Blood continued to drip from her lip, forehead, and under her eye.

Pierre glanced around the room and spotted Carmen’s bag on the kitchen counter. He checked the contents. Her wallet and the other items in the bag seemed undisturbed. Her car keys were still on the counter.