Plain Jane (11 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Plain Jane
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Jane thought a moment. “Obsessions come from so many things. Maybe his parents gave him a battery-operated toy and forgot to give him the batteries. Or maybe the toy made too much noise, and his parents threw away the batteries. I don't know. Did you try hypnosis?”
“Not yet, but I've been thinking about it.”
“It'll probably come out under hypnosis.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Can I throw out a hypothetical at you, Mike?”
“Shoot,” he said with a shrug.
“If you were married or engaged to be married and your wife or fiancée was raped, would you be able to handle it or would you turn away from her?”
He sucked in his lower lip and stared out at the street. “I don't honestly know, Jane. I'd like to think I would be there for her and that I could work through it, but since it's never happened to me, I can't give you a cut-and-dried answer.”
Jane steepled her hands and touched her chin. “Okay, let's try a different approach. If the woman you loved was raped, would you feel like she was sullied, dirty?”
“I don't think so. Maybe because of my training. I don't know. I know a lot of relationships end because the man can't deal with it for one reason or another. I remember this one asshole who thought his wife actually encouraged the rape. Mind you, she had been stabbed, too. Like she would really encourage
that.
”
“Since you've dealt with it, what's the mind-set, Mike? Try to pin it down for me, will you?” She didn't realize she was digging her nails into his arm until he put his other hand on top of hers.
“Hey, take it easy, Jane, and tell me the truth. Are you talking about your patient or about you?”
“All of the above and before you can ask, no, I was never raped, but a friend of mine was.”
“A close friend?” When she shook her head, he went on to the next question. “Married or soon to be married?”
“Soon to be married. She was afraid to tell her fiancé because she was sure he would break off the engagement. I tried to convince her that he wouldn't do that, but now I know I was probably wrong. I don't think most men can deal with rape.”
“When and where did it happen?”
“On the campus of LSU, the night before the last finals. There were five guys. Three of them raped her.”
“You were there?”
She nodded. The memories of that night had never faded. Each and every detail was crystal-clear—except for their faces. “Yes, I was there. I tried to help her, but they held me down and kept me quiet. They didn't rape me if that was your next question. I was too fat and ugly. Miss Piggy, one of them called me.” She paused to get a second wind. It had been a long time since she'd told her story, and yet it hurt her as much now as it had way back then. “I was finally able to get out a scream, and it scared them all away.”
“Was your friend badly injured?”
Jane heaved a huge sigh. “No, not that she would admit anyway. I tried to get her to go for help, to the police, the hospital or the crisis center, but she wouldn't do it. She insisted I take her back to the dorm. Once we got there, she said she felt dirty and wanted to take a shower. I saw her ugly bruises. She was battered from head to toe. I could only imagine what she'd been through.”
“I'm sure you did all you could. There's only so much you can do. In the end a person has to make up her own mind. You know that.”
“I don't know that, Mike,” she said, casting her eyes downward. “She was in no mental condition to make rational decisions. I was, so I should have been more persistent and got her the help she needed. Instead, I let her swear me to silence, and I've regretted it every day of my life since. She killed herself two days before graduation.”
“Christ.” Mike closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry, Jane.”
“I've always wondered if she took my advice and told her fiancé after all. He sure as hell didn't mourn long. He got married a year later, a real trophy wife. They have three kids—the kids Connie had dreamed about having. After I found out what she'd done, I considered telling her parents what happened. I thought they had a right to know. I never did, just like I never took her bag of discarded clothing to the authorities like I swore I would. I thought it would help find the rapists, that the semen would still be on the clothes. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about what I didn't do. Then this jackass patient of mine comes along and starts complaining about his wife being raped. It all came back front and center. The guilt is wearing me down.”
“That's a hell of a load of guilt to be packing around all this time. You didn't do anything wrong, Jane. Can't you see that?”
“No, Mike, I should have tried harder. She was such a beautiful girl, so warm and friendly. My mother would have loved having her for a daughter. Connie said her mother was writing out the wedding invitations that very night.”
“You have to stop blaming yourself,” Mike said, putting his arm around her back and pulling her toward him.
“Easier said than done. I should have gone to Slidell to see her parents. Do you know why I think I didn't go?” Jane said, enunciating each word carefully. “Because I didn't want anyone to know why those boys didn't rape me, too.” She looked him straight in the eye. “God, I finally said it out loud.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Maybe you'd better go now. That's enough confessing for one day,” Jane said, her voice edgy.
“Go? Go where?”
“Don't you want to leave? I just . . . literally bared my soul. I confessed my horrible, ugly secret so you must be . . . what's the word,
disgusted
?”
He looked at her like she'd just sprouted a second head. “I'm not disgusted, and I do not want to leave. I'd like to help you work through your pain and guilt. I think you should visit your friend's parents like you had always intended to. Give them the bag of clothing and let them decide what to do with it. It's not your decision, Jane. You might even want to talk to the ex-fiancé. I'll go with you if you like. I think it would do you a world of good.”
“You know what's funny? He singled me out at an alumni fund-raiser. We had never met before. I only knew him by reputation. He was the star quarterback on the football team. Yet he came over and started up a conversation with me.”
“So, why do you suppose he did that?”
“I wish I knew.”
Mike upended his glass. “Tea's all gone. Let's change the subject and talk about what happened between us in the attic.” His expression dared her to object.
Jane had to admit that she felt better for having told him about Connie. She was far from over it, but now she realized there was hope. She mentally shook herself and put a smile on her face. “Okay. You first.”
“You have to admit what we shared was more than just a kiss. It was . . .”
“Spectacular,” she supplied for him.
“Right. Spectacular,” he agreed.
Was it her imagination, or was the sun suddenly brighter and warmer? She snuggled into the crook of his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “Are you going to break my heart, Mike Sorenson?”
“Not on your life, lady.”
 
 
“I should be heading home,” Mike said a long time later. They'd spent the rest of the day going through the house room by room and exploring the grounds. “It's a long drive to Lafayette.” He looked at the grandfather clock in the parlor.
“So it is. Twelve miles with no stoplights and next to no traffic is an awful lot at this time of night.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh.”
“Are you hinting that you'd like to stay the night?”
The clock chimed midnight.
“I could sleep on the sofa,” he said hopefully.
“The sofa's good. Comfortable, too. I have Frette sheets. Trixie got them for me. Soft as silk. Actually, they're better than silk. I have blankets, too, and extra pillows.” She put her index finger to her chin. “But you don't have any clean clothes for the morning, or a toothbrush and shaving gear,” Jane said with wicked delight.
“How about you loan me a pair of old sweats and one of those unisex Gap or Old Navy T-shirts? You must have an extra toothbrush, and I know you shave your legs. I could borrow your razor. That would work for me.”
“What about underwear?”
“Not a problem,” he said with confidence. “I'll do what all us guys did in college, turn them inside out. We did that because none of us were good at washing clothes. We were also lazy. Everything I owned was pale blue because I washed my whites and my blue jeans together.”
“Be honest. You don't have any intention of sleeping on my couch, do you?”
“Nope.”
“We don't really know one another, Mike. What if we decide tomorrow that it was all a big mistake?”
“What-ifs are not in my vocabulary. That day I saw you in the restaurant with that floppsy-doodle hat I knew I wanted to make love to you. When you smiled at me, I felt this . . . this . . . hell, I don't know what it was, but it was
something.
”
“I know. I felt it, too. And I have an admission to make. I did hear bells and whistles.” She turned out the light, took his hand, and led him up the stairs.
5
Jane threw her briefcase, purse, tennis shoes, and hat onto the backseat of her car, her nerves twanging with fear. She whistled sharply for Olive, who came on the run. “C'mon, c'mon, girl. Trixie said she needed us on the double. Let's get you buckled up, and we'll hit the road.”
As soon as the engine kicked over, Jane slid the car into gear, careened around the corner, and raced down the road, going seventy-five and eighty all the way to the McGuire farm.
What could possibly be wrong? There had been tears in her godmother's voice when she'd called. “Come quick. I need you, Janie girl,” Trixie had blubbered. As far as Jane knew, Trixie didn't know what a teardrop was. She was the happiest, most contented person Jane had ever known. She was also tough as nails and full of spit and vinegar.
Fred. Something must have happened to Fred. Oh, God, please not Fred,
Jane prayed. Tough as Trixie was, she would fall apart without Fred.
Five minutes later, Jane slammed on the brakes and fishtailed to a stop in front of Trixie and Fred's house. “Hurry up, Olive. Good girl.” Olive raced up to the front door, Jane right behind her. Jane opened the front door and saw Trixie sitting on the floor, a huge dog half on and half off her lap. Fred was hovering close by, his eyes moist.
“My God, what's wrong?” Jane asked, looking back and forth between them. She was relieved to see that they were both all right. “I got here as fast as I could. Where did that dog come from?”
Olive walked up to the huge Belgian Malinois, lay down in front of him, and looked him in the eye as if to introduce herself.
Tears dripped down Trixie's cheeks. “I never should have taken him,” she bleated. “The vet just left. He checked him out and couldn't find anything physically wrong with him, but he won't eat, and he just lies here.” She leaned over the dog and hugged him. “We've done everything we can think of to make him happy, but he misses his handler. I think his heart is broken.”
Jane moved in for a closer look. “Where did you get him?”
Trixie looked up. There were dark circles under her eyes. “I brought him home from the police station. You should have seen him, Janie. He was one ferocious, kick-ass dog. He's a K-9 cop, with a real badge, a bulletproof vest, and everything. His handler was transferred, and the department needed to retire him, so they put him up for adoption. All those cops down there were salivating over him. I just couldn't let them take him and turn him into a guard dog or a hunting dog. I thought if
I
took him, Fred and I could give him a good life, a comfortable and easy life. But he's miserable, and I'm afraid if he doesn't snap out of it, he's going to die. I thought you, being a psychiatrist, might have some ideas.”
Olive crawled forward and licked the big dog's face. Obviously, she knew something was wrong. She looked back at Jane, and her expression said, do something!
Jane dropped to her knees next to Trixie. “I don't know anything about how a dog's mind works, other than Olive's, and only then because I've raised her from a puppy. Did you call his old handler?”
Trixie nodded. “He said he probably misses working.”
“Well, then, you have your answer. You have to get him back on a work schedule.” Jane sat down and crossed her legs yoga-style. “Think about it, Trixie. What would you do if suddenly someone took away your computer and all your research books and said you were too old to write anymore? You'd go into a funk, too.”
Fred sat down in a chair across from them. “I think she's right, Trixie.”
Trixie appeared to give the suggestion some thought. “Okay, so let's say you are right, Janie. How am I going to get him working again? We're writers, not cops.”
“Use your writer's imagination! What was he used to? Riding in a cop car with the siren blaring? Wearing his vest? Right? His handler probably wore a uniform and carried a gun. What I've heard about K-9s is that they're used to track down the bad guys and sniff out bombs and drugs. Hey, you have all kinds of acreage here,” she said, extending her arms to illustrate. “You could, if you wanted, buy one of those rotating red lights they have at Radio Shack and a musical blow horn and ride over the acreage in hot pursuit of an imaginary something or other. Rent a cop costume. I know you and Fred have all kinds of guns. Strap one on, and you go, girl!”
“Do you think it would work, Janie, I mean really work?” Trixie asked.
“Yeah, Trix, I do. You could even go to the police impound lot and buy an old police car. If you don't take it on the road, I'll bet you could do whatever you wanted with it. I'll tell you what, I'll have my new office girl cancel all my appointments and run you down to the police station right now. Olive can stay here with—What's the dog's name?”
“Flash,” Trixie said. “Let's
buy
a police car. He's too smart to fall for anything that isn't real.”
“Let's do it then.”
Trixie got up off the floor. “Fred, you're in charge. Get his gear out so he can see it and strap on one of your guns. As soon as I get back, we're going to work!”
Flash's head popped up as if sensing something was afoot.
Olive barked.
At the police station, it took all of Trixie's persuasive powers to convince the desk sergeant that she meant business. In the end, and with a promise to pay for the entire Christmas and Fourth of July shindigs, Trixie had herself a fully equipped police car and two bags of marijuana that she planned to hide on her farm for Flash to find. Such mundane things as car title and insurance were to be discussed in the days to come. Trixie's promise not to take the police car on the road, once she got it home, clinched the deal. Toby Ellis donated one of his worn uniforms, while Chuck Trask handed over a pair of work boots.
Trixie and Jane walked side by side out of the police station. “What if it doesn't work, Janie?”
“I think it will, Trix, I really do.”
“It's been less than two weeks and Fred and I have already fallen in love with that big lug of a dog,” Trixie said, getting into the dilapidated police car. “I was afraid of him at first, you know. So was Fred. When he's on his feet, he's one awesome dog.” When Jane turned to go to her own car, Trixie called her back. “Wait a sec, Janie, I've got a plan. I'll follow you home and park in the front so he doesn't see the car. Then I'll scoot upstairs and come down in full regalia. While I'm doing that, you go out into the field and bury one of those bags. I'll keep the other one in our safe. It's airtight, so hopefully he won't smell it. What time is it?”
“Two o'clock. Why?”
“Flash worked the three-to-eleven shift. He knows when it's three o'clock. I swear to God he does. We have a whole hour to get this show on the road. Burn rubber, Janie,” Trixie said smartly as she turned on the ignition.
At precisely three o'clock, Trixie made her grand entrance into the living room. Fred's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Jane gasped and Olive let loose with a series of high-pitched, excited yips.
Trixie, resplendent in her black oversize uniform, gun belt secure around her skinny waist, slapped her holster, and shouted, “On your feet, Officer Flash, it's time to go to work!” She minced her way around so Flash could see the shiny boots and black trouser legs. He reared up and barked. “I said, let's go, Officer Flash!”
Jane giggled as Flash, his legs weak and unsteady, made his way to the front door.
“Hold it! Hold it,” Trixie shouted. “Full gear. That means the vest. Get over here!”
Fred clapped his hand over his mouth to stop his laughter as Trixie strapped Flash into his bulletproof vest.
“Somebody really needs to take a picture of this,” Jane muttered, sotto voce.
Trixie opened the front door. Flash beelined for the police car.
Olive stood on the threshold, whining.
Siren blasting, dome light flashing, Trixie pushed the pedal to the metal, careened around the corner, and sped down the dirt road through the open fields that surrounded the house. Twice, Fred and Jane heard the sound of gunshots.
“Dammit, I should have gone along,” Fred grumbled. “She's having all the fun.”
Jane put her arm around his waist and hugged him. “You can do it next time.”
Fred hugged her back. “You're a damn good psychiatrist. I think you should expand your practice to include dogs.”
“I don't think so.” Jane giggled. On the other hand, if she had to deal with more Brian Ramseys, it was a definite possibility.
“In all the years I've known Trixie,” Fred said, thoughtfully, “I never, ever saw her cry. She's been crying every single day since she brought Flash home. She even slept down here in the kitchen with him. She's been cradling that big head of his in her lap and singing to him. She cooked him steak, chicken, liver—everything—to try and tempt him into eating. She would have made a hell of a mother.”
Jane looked askance at Fred and saw the love shining in his eyes. What she would give to know that kind of love just once in her life. “I know, Fred. I don't know what I would have done without the two of you. Everyone needs someone to love and have someone love them in return.” They held each other a moment. “I think Flash is going to be just fine. I'm sure his problem was nothing more than separation anxiety. First his handler leaves him, then he was retired from the only life he'd ever known. I don't think you're going to need me anymore, and Olive looks like she's getting ready to pitch a fit, so I should head home.”
“How's it going with your new fella?” Fred asked as he walked Jane to her car.
“It's going nicely. Actually, it couldn't be better. I really like him, and we have a lot in common: our work, mutual friends, old houses, etc.” She flashed him a big smile. “He and Olive didn't get along at first, but they're doing much better now. You know how protective Olive is of me. The other day I asked him if he'd like to cohost the talk show with me, and he said he would, which means the station can expand to two days a week like they've been wanting to do. Mike and I aren't sure if we'll be alternating days or going with companion views like that couple who talk about money matters. It's up to the station manager to decide. I'm leaning toward the two of us on together. I think it would be thought-provoking. And, of course, there's the added advantage that I would get to see him more often. He's going to be sitting in on the show this coming week as my guest expert. I'll field him a couple of questions so the listeners get used to him.”
“What about that patient you were telling Trixie and me about?”
“He canceled again last week. Said he had to go out of town. He has an appointment tomorrow, so we'll see. Don't worry about me, Fred. I can handle it.”
“Next to Trixie, I love you more than anything on this earth, Janie. I don't want to see you spend even one minute of worry over someone like him.”
“I'll let you know how it goes. Give Trixie a kiss for me.” She opened the car door, and Olive jumped in. “By the way, how's the new book coming along?”
“I'm doing most of the writing for a change, but I don't mind. Trixie has been so wrapped up with Flash, she couldn't get her mind on murder and mayhem. I know what she would write anyway. Just takes a little more time. If it makes Trixie happy, it's okay with me.”
Jane hugged him good-bye. Olive sat in the driver's seat and offered up her paw.
Fred took it and squeezed it. “Take care of her, Olive.”
 
 
Trixie McGuire knelt in the brush, the Malinois at attention. His huge body quivered, and his nostrils flared with anticipation as he waited for Trixie's signal.
“Go, boy!”
Flash galloped across the field, covering more distance in a single stride than Trixie could cover in five. Then he stopped.
Winded, her gun at the ready, Trixie caught up to him, dropped to a crouch and fired off a full round into the air. “Now this,” she mumbled, “is definitely a Kodak moment.”
While Flash sniffed around, she thought about the Bite Suit she would have to purchase and the police-dog training sessions she and Flash would have to participate in to keep up the charade. When in hell was she going to write? “I think I just retired,” she mumbled again. She whistled sharply for the big dog, who came on the run.
“Did you find anything?” The dog started back to the car. “Guess not,” she said to herself, following him. “We'll try another area. It's out here somewhere, boy.”
Back in the car, Flash took his place in the backseat, panting from his exertions. His eyes were bright, and his ears stood tall. He was obviously in his element. Trixie smiled and turned on the siren and the flashing dome light. She drove the car back the way she'd come. Later, when she talked to Fred, she would swear to him that she heard Flash sigh with contentment. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes and skidded around in a tight circle on two wheels. “I think I saw something, Flash!” As soon as she put the car into park, she pushed the remote control to open the back door, and the dog hit the ground running. Trixie left the siren on and the lights flashing as she rambled after the dog. She shoved a new clip into the gun and as before, fired off the entire round. She repeated the process one more time until she was too tired to continue. “It was dry tonight, baby. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow. If I'm still alive,” she muttered under her breath. “C'mon, boy. Let's go home and tell Fred you're your old self. Is that goddaughter of mine smart or what?”

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