Malice (43 page)

Life was peaceful again, for the next few days, with the exception of hate letters about her alleged abortion. But by the weekend, another of Marcus's photographs had been printed in
Thrill
again. She wore the same black velvet ribbon around her neck, and the same lack of clothes. It was essentially the same photograph they'd seen before, just a slightly different position, and only slightly more suggestive. It didn't shock her anymore, it just made her angry. And, of course, his supposed “release” from her allegedly covered this one also.

“What are we supposed to wait for here? An entire album?” Grace said in fury. But Goldsmith told them again that they had no legal recourse, all the same conditions existed as before. There was supposedly a signed “release” with her signature, and the fact that Marcus owned the pictures and she was a so-called celebrity because of whom she was married to allowed him to publish whatever he wanted. As celebrities, they had no right to privacy anyway, so they could not be “invaded,” and they couldn't prove loss of income, or actual malice. “Do you suppose we should call that bastard Marcus and try to buy the rest of what he has?” she asked Charles, but he shook his head.

“You can't. That would be like paying blackmail, and he might not sell them to you anyway. He might keep some of them back, there's no way of knowing.
Thrill
is probably paying him a pretty penny for this. Pictures like that of someone like you are worth a lot of money.”

“Nice for him, maybe we should get a commission.”

She was so angry, but there was nothing she could do. And the following week she went to some campaign events with Charles. It was hard to determine how much damage the tabloids had done, people still greeted her warmly. But it was certainly unsettling for all of them, and very distracting.

A third photograph was released two weeks later, and this time when Matt came home from school, he was crying. And when Grace asked what had happened, he said that one of his friends had called her a bad name. She felt as though she'd been slapped when he said it.

“What kind of a name?” She tried to sound calm, but she wasn't.

“You know,” he said miserably. “The ‘H’ one.”

She smiled sadly at him. “It doesn't start with an ‘H.’ Unless you mean harlot.”

“It wasn't that one,” he said miserably. He didn't want to tell her.

“Darling, I'm so sorry.” She put her arms around him, and wanted to run away again. But she knew she couldn't run away anymore. She had to face it with them.

It happened again at his school, and again the day after. And Charles and Grace got into a fight over it that night. She wanted to take the children back to Connecticut, and he told her she couldn't run away. They had to stand and fight, and she told him she refused to destroy her family over his “damn campaign.” But that wasn't what it was about, and they both knew it. They were just frustrated at their own helplessness, and needed to scream at someone, since they couldn't do anything to stop what was happening.

But Matthew didn't understand that, and when Grace went to tuck him in, she couldn't find him. She asked Abby where he'd gone, and she shrugged and pointed to his room. She was on the phone with Nicole and she hadn't seen him. And Andrew hadn't seen him either. She went downstairs to Charles in the den, still annoyed at him, and asked if he'd seen Matthew.

“Isn't he upstairs?” They exchanged a look and he suddenly caught Grace's concern, and they started looking for him in earnest. He was nowhere. “He couldn't have gone out,” Charles said, looking worried. “We'd have seen him.”

“No, we wouldn't necessarily.” And then in an undertone, “Do you think he heard us fighting?”

“Maybe.” Charles looked even more upset than she did. He was worried about kidnapping if Matt was wandering the streets somewhere. Washington was a dangerous city after dark. And when they went upstairs again, they found the note he had left in his room.
Don 't fight over me anymore. I'm leaving. Love, Matt. Mom and Dad, I love you. Say bye to Kisses for me.
Kisses was their chocolate Lab, because when they'd gotten her Grace had said she looked like a little pile of Hershey Kisses.

“Where do you think he went?” Grace looked panicked as she asked him.

“I don't know. I'm calling the police.” Charles's whole face was tense, and his jaw was working.

“It'll wind up in the tabloids,” she said nervously.

“I don't care. I want to find him tonight, before anything happens.” They were both frantic and the police reassured them that they would find him as soon as possible. They said that kids his age wandered off all the time, and usually stayed pretty close to home. They asked for a list of his best friends and a picture of him, and they set out in the squad car. Charles and Grace stayed home to wait for him, in case he came back. But the policemen were back with him half an hour later. He had been buying Hostess Twinkies at a convenience store two blocks away and feeling very sorry for himself. They had spotted him at once, and he didn't resist coming home. He was ready.

“Why did you do that?” Grace asked, still shaken by what he'd done. She just couldn't believe it. None of their children had ever run away. But they'd also never been under that kind of pressure.

“I didn't want you and Dad fighting over me,” Matt said sadly. But it had been scary outside, and he was glad to be back now.

“We weren't fighting over you, we were just talking.”

“No you weren't, you were fighting.”

“Everybody fights sometimes,” Charles explained, and pulled him down on his knee as he sat down. The police had just left and they had promised Charles not to tell the papers. There had to be something private in their lives, even if it was only their eight-year-old running away for half an hour. Nothing else was sacred.

“Mommy and I love each other, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know … it's just that everything has been so yucky lately. People keep saying stuff in school, and Mom cries all the time.” She looked guilty as she thought about it. She did cry a lot these days, but who wouldn't?

“Remember what I told you the other day,” Charles explained. “We have to be strong. All of us. For each other. We can't run away. We can't give up. We just have to stick together.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, only half convinced, but happy to be home again. It had been a dumb idea to run away and he knew it.

His mother walked him upstairs and tucked him in and they all went to bed early that night. Grace and Charles were exhausted and Matthew was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow. Kisses was lying at the foot of the bed, and snoring softly.

But the following week, another photograph was released and this one showed Grace full face, staring into the camera, with glazed eyes and a look of surprise on her face, with her eyes wide-open as though someone had just done something really shocking and deli-ciously sensual to her. They were the most erotic series of photographs she had ever seen, and little by little, bit by bit they were driving her crazy.

She called information then, and wondered why she had taken so long to do it. He wasn't in Chicago. Or in New York. He was in Washington, they told her finally at
Thrill
It was perfect. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She knew she had absolutely no choice. It didn't matter what happened to her anymore. She had to.

She opened the safe and took Charles's gun out, and then she got in her car and drove to the address she'd jotted down on a piece of paper. The kids were at school, and Charles was at work. No one knew where she was going, or what she intended to do. But she knew. She had it planned, and it was going to be worth whatever it cost her.

She rang the bell at his studio on F Street, and she was surprised when someone buzzed her in without asking who she was. It meant either that they were very big and busy, or extremely sloppy. Because with a lot of valuable equipment around, they should have been more careful, but fortunately, they weren't.

It was all so easy, she couldn't imagine why she had never thought of it before. The door was open, and there was no one there, except Marcus. He didn't even have an assistant. He had his back to her, and he was bending over a camera, shooting a bowl of fruit on a table. He was all alone, and he didn't even see her.

“Hello, Marcus.” Her voice was unfamiliar to him after all these years. It was sensual and slow and she sounded happy to see him.

“Who's that?” He turned and looked at her with a surprised little smile, not recognizing her at first, wondering who she was, he liked her looks, and … then suddenly he realized who she was and he stopped dead in his tracks. She was pointing a gun at him and she was smiling.

“I should have done this weeks ago,” she said simply. “I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. Now put down the camera, and don't touch the shutter or I'll shoot you and it, and I'd hate to hurt your camera. Put it down. Now.” Her voice was sharp and no longer sensual and he put the camera down carefully on the table behind him.

“Come on, Grace … don't be a bad sport … I'm just making a living.”

“I don't like the way you do it,” she said flatly.

“You look beautiful in the photographs, you have to give me that.”

“I don't give you shit. You're a piece of slime. You told me you never took my clothes off.”

“I lied.”

“And you must have had me sign the release when I was practically unconscious.” She was icy cold with fury, but she was in complete control now. It was entirely premeditated. This time it really would be murder one. She was going to kill him, and looking at her, he knew it. He had driven her too far, and she had snapped. She didn't care what they did to her this time. She'd survived it before. And it was worth it.

“Come on, Grace, be a sport. They're great pictures. Look, what's the difference. It's done. I'll give you the rest of the negatives.”

“I don't give a damn. I'm going to shoot your balls off. And after that, I'm going to kill you. I don't need a release for that. Just a gun.”

“For chrissake, Grace. Give it up. They're just pictures.”

“That's my life you've been fucking with … my children … my husband … my marriage …”

“He looks like a jerk anyway. He must be to put up with you … Christ, I remember all that prudey bullshit nineteen years ago. Even on drugs, you weren't any fun. You were a drag, Grace, a real drag.” He was vicious, and if she'd been less wound up she'd have seen that he was coked up to the gills. He'd been using the money from
Thrill
to support his habit. “You were a real lousy piece of ass even then,” he went on, but at least she knew the truth about that.

“You never slept with me,” she said coolly.

“Sure, I did. I've got pictures to prove it.”

“You're sick.” He started sniveling then, whining about how she had no right to come in here like that and try and interfere with how he made his living.

“You're a rotten little creep,” she said as she cocked the trigger, and the sound of it startied both of them.

“You're not going to do it, are you, Grace?” he whined.

“Yes, I am. You deserve it.”

“You'll go back to prison,” he said in a wheedling tone, as his nose ran pathetically. The past nineteen years had not been good to him. He had stooped to a lot of things in the meantime, few of them legal.

“I don't care if I go back,” she said coldly. “You'll be dead. It's worth it” He sank to his knees then.

“Come on … don't do it … I'll give you all the pictures … they were only going to run two more anyway … I've got one of you with a guy, it's a real beauty … you can have it for free …” He was crying.

“Who has the photographs?” What guy? There had been no one else in the studio, or had there been while she was sleeping? It was disgusting to think of.

“I have them. In the safe. I'll get them.”

“The hell you will. You probably have a gun in there. I don't need them.”

“Don't you want to see them, they're gorgeous.”

“All I want to see is you dead on the floor, and bleeding,” she said, feeling her hand shake. And as she looked at him, she didn't know why, but she suddenly thought of Charles, and then Matthew … if she shot Marcus, she would never be with them again, except in prison visiting rooms, probably forever. … It took her breath away, thinking about it, and all she suddenly wanted to do was hold them, and feel them next to her … and Abby and Andrew. … “Get up!” she said viciously to Marcus. He did, crying at her again. “And stop whining. You're a miserable piece of shit”

“Grace, please don't shoot me.”

She backed slowly toward the door, and he knew she was going to shoot him from there, and all he could do was cry and beg her not to.

“What do you want to live for?” she asked angrily. She was furious at him now. He wasn't worth her time. Or her life. How could she have even thought he was? “What does a miserable piece of slime like you want to live for? Just for money? To ruin other people's lives? You're not even worth shooting.” And with that, she turned around, and hurried down the stairs, before he could even think of following her. She was out the door and back in her car, before he could even cross the room. All he did was sit down on the floor and cry, unable to believe she hadn't shot him. He had been absolutely certain she was going to kill him, and he'd been right, until the last five minutes. Just seeing him again, standing there, sniveling, coked out to the gills, had brought her to her senses.

She drove home and put the gun away, and then she called Charles. “I have to see you,” she said urgently. She didn't want to tell him on the phone, in case someone was listening, but she wanted him to know what she'd almost done. She had almost gone crazy. She had, for a while, but thank God, she had come to her senses.

“Can it wait till lunch?”

“Okay.” She was still shaking from what had happened. She could have been in jail by then and on her way back to prison for life. She couldn't believe she had almost been that stupid. But that's what it had driven her to, all the lies, and the agony, the humiliation, and the exposure.

“Are you all right?” he sounded worried.