The Look of Love (5 page)
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
H
udson had a standing card game every Wednesday night. He looked forward to it—not only because he liked to play gin but because he liked Michael Ghant, the evening security guard at Elysium, and he wanted to maintain their friendship. Hudson Sherwood also liked to keep up with what was happening at the spa, and the conversation during their card game provided a weekly update.
At a few minutes before 9:00
P.M.
, Hudson drove through the rear entrance to the Elysium property, a small unmarked driveway off the main road. One hundred yards in, he turned off the car’s headlights. He knew the paved single lane well, and the glow coming from the windows of Vernon Abernathy’s house, set back from the road, provided some illumination. Hudson silently seethed, as he always did, when he coasted by the gorgeous home.
Dr. Abernathy had done him wrong. There he was in a sprawling, luxurious mansion, with a second wife who was almost as attractive as his first one. Meanwhile Hudson was barely making his monthly bills, racking up debt, and working as a lowly desk clerk in a second-rate hotel for a boss he couldn’t stand. Where was the justice in that?
Hudson parked his car farther down the private road, in a small clearing behind some tall bamboo plants. He got out, watchful to avoid any guests or staffers who might be outside enjoying some night air. Hudson quickly walked the rest of the way to the guardhouse. Michael was waiting there for him.
They played a couple of hands. Hudson drank one of the beers he’d brought with him. Michael didn’t. He never did.
“I hope Vernon Abernathy and that daughter of his appreciate what they have in you, Michael. You are such a straight arrow.”
Michael smiled. “Not that straight. I don’t think Dr. Abernathy would appreciate the fact that I have you here to play cards every week.”
“True,” said Hudson. “You’ve been loyal, buddy, and I appreciate it. Whenever I bump into anybody else from Elysium, they can’t wait to get away from me.”
Michael shrugged as he shuffled the deck. “You hired me—of course I’m loyal to you. But try not to take it personally. It’s not that they don’t like you, Hudson. You were pretty popular when you worked here. They’re just uncomfortable, knowing how you were treated and all.”
“I get it,” said Hudson, nodding. “Their allegiance lies with the hands that feed them. Vernon’s and Jillian’s.”
“Cut,” Michael instructed, tapping his index finger on the deck.
Hudson did as he was told. He waited for the cards to be dealt.
“How
is
Jillian doing anyway?” Hudson asked. “I heard she’s finally going ahead with the wedding.”
“Yeah, it’s on for a week from Saturday,” said Michael as he picked up his cards and fanned them. “But who knows? I heard something today that might bring up all that nastiness from last year and could knock Jillian for a loop again.”
Hudson looked up from his cards. “What?”
“The woman who took the acid in her face?”
“Yeah?” Hudson leaned closer. “She’s been staying here at Elysium, right?”
“Right,” said Michael as he slapped down the queen of spades. “All this time she hasn’t been able to recall much about the attack or her attacker. I heard today that she’s finally remembered something.”
T
he word is out. Despite the extreme confidentiality that is supposed to characterize Elysium, people’s private information is discussed all the time. The staff thrives on being “in the know.” Workers eagerly and magnanimously contribute to the Elysium grapevine
whatever information they pick up.
Sometimes the whispers are about which actor or actress has checked in and what work he or she is having done. Sometimes the whispers are about the way a star has let herself deteriorate or the fact that she’s been caught with cocaine. Sometimes the whispers report the details of an intensely personal conversation overheard between a husband and a wife, a parent and a child, an actor and an agent.
Today the whispers were about Esperanza Flores and the news that she’s beginning to have memories of the acid attack. Memories that Esperanza has been unable to tell the police, because up till now her mind has mercifully blocked them out.
She hasn’t gone to the police. Yet. She isn’t going to either.
One of the maids overheard her on the phone. From Esperanza’s side of the conversation, the maid gleaned that the police were coming to Elysium to interview and take her statement tomorrow.
No way can that be allowed to happen.
It’s too bad that it had to come to this. Jillian was the target. Esperanza was an innocent victim. She doesn’t deserve all the pain she’s been through. She doesn’t deserve to die.
But in a way it would be doing the poor girl a favor. If she lives, Esperanza is going to have a very tough life.
Soon she’ll be at peace.
THURSDAY, JANUARY 6 . . . NINE DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
T
he minute the plane touched down on the tarmac at Los Angeles International Airport, Piper switched on her BlackBerry. She was stoked to see an e-mail message from Gabe about an audition he’d set up for next week in downtown L.A. Still nothing from Jack. Was it possible that he was so upset with her that now he actually didn’t want to have any kind of relationship with her at all?
Determined not to wallow in worry, Piper updated her Facebook page with information she’d been eager to share since she read it in the airline’s magazine.
I’M HERE IN THE GOLDEN STATE!
IT SEEMS CALIFORNIA GOT ITS NAME FROM LEGENDARY QUEEN CALIFIA, WHO RULED A TRIBE OF AMAZONS IN A LAND RIFE WITH GOLD. MEN WERE ALLOWED ONLY ONE DAY A YEAR TO PERPETUATE THE RACE.
HMMM . . .
Arriving in the baggage-claim section, Piper scanned the area. She saw a man in a peach golf shirt holding up a paper sign with
DONOVAN
written across the front. She smiled as she approached him.
“Hi, I’m Piper Donovan.”
“How many bags do you have, miss?” the driver asked.
“Just this one that I was able to fit in the overhead,” said Piper, looking down at the wheeled duffel bag. “When I was a kid, I lost a bag and was totally traumatized.” She didn’t mention that the decision not to check her bag had resulted in the confiscation of the bottles of sterile water and the can of mace her father had insisted she bring.
The driver took the handle of the bag from her and led the way out to the parking lot and a black limousine. Piper got into the back of the car, appreciating the soft leather and eyeing the refreshments offered on the serving tray affixed to the rear of the driver’s seat. Perrier, juice, nuts, granola bars, and packets of dried fruit. It didn’t get much healthier than that. Too bad what she really wanted was a cheeseburger and fries. Or, better yet, a plate of Jack’s carbonara.
She missed him.
J
illian held up her arms as the frothy white wedding gown was slipped over her head. Irene then called in the tailor. While her stepmother watched, Nathaniel fastened the back of the dress.
Holding out the gorgeous ruffled skirt, Jillian looked at herself in the full-length mirror and frowned. “It’s just hanging on me,” she said.
“You’ve lost weight over these past months, dear,” said Irene, putting her arm around Jillian’s shoulders. “But it’s much better than gaining. Just think about all the fun you can have trying to put some back on.”
Jillian climbed up on the stool that Nathaniel had brought with him. Pulling straight pins from the little cushion strapped to his wrist, he fitted the dress to Jillian’s body. The waist, arms, and bodice were going to require some expert needlework.
“You were so wonderful to do this, Irene,” Jillian said. “To have Nathaniel come here to do the fitting saved me from having to go downtown. I appreciate that you’re trying to make life easier for me.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear,” said Irene, hugging her. “I know I can’t ever fill your mother’s shoes, Jillian, but I want to be there for you, in whatever ways I can.”
When the pinning was finished, Nathaniel went out into the hall while Jillian carefully took off the dress. Irene put it on the hanger and zipped up the long garment bag. The tailor returned to take the bag from her.
“I’ll take the dress down to the shop where we bought it, Nathaniel. They’ll do the actual alterations.”
After Irene paid the tailor and escorted him to the front door, she went back upstairs. Jillian was already dressed to leave for work.
“Do you have to go to Elysium right away?” asked Irene. “I was hoping you’d have time to look at the photo album I’ve put together.”
The two women sat on the edge of the bed. Jillian flipped quickly through the pages of the album, dutifully making comments on each photo. Irene had gathered pictures from Jillian’s babyhood and childhood through to her teenage years and young adulthood. The last picture showed Jillian and Ben at their engagement party, which had been held a month before the acid attack.
“I’ll treasure this, Irene,” said Jillian, “and I’ll definitely look at it again when I have the time to really appreciate it.” She closed the book. “But I have to run. Piper Donovan gets here today. I want to be at Elysium to welcome her.”
“I totally understand, darling.” Irene smiled. “I’ll put the album in your hope chest. It will be safe there.”
E
speranza was excited and nervous. Excited because the spa’s best colorist was coming to the cottage to tint her hair. Nervous because the police detective would be coming shortly afterward.
The colorist was Jillian’s gift. Esperanza could never have afforded him. She knew that because she had checked the little book in the desk drawer that listed all the services offered at Elysium, along with their prices. Esperanza figured that for the amount of money the Elysium colorist charged, she could dye her hair forty times over with the drugstore brand she usually bought.
Picking up the end of a section of hair, Esperanza looked down at the yellow tips. They were the last vestiges of the color she had used so that she would look more like Jillian. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t done that. Maybe she wouldn’t be scarred forever if she’d been satisfied to be herself.
There was a knock at the cottage door. A man carrying a case entered. He smiled as he held out his hand to Esperanza. But she caught the expression of dismay that flashed across his face as he looked at her.
“I’m Carlo,” he said. “Let’s play.”
They decided that bright blond wasn’t the right color for Esperanza. It didn’t work with the color of her skin. But she didn’t want to go back to the jet-black hair she’d inherited from her parents.
“Caramel,” said Carlo. “Not too light, not too dark. A warm, rich caramel color, with just the right highlights, will look wonderful on you.”
An hour and a half later, Carlo held up a mirror for Esperanza to inspect her newly colored, shampooed, and conditioned locks.
“What do you think?” he asked, smiling broadly. “Do you like it?”
Esperanza stared at the image in the mirror, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She’d been hoping that it wouldn’t be so bad, but her disfigurement was hideous. Her face was distorted, covered in bumps, scars, and mottled skin. She couldn’t bear to look at herself.
“It’s very nice,” she said quietly, averting her eyes.
“Very nice?” Carlo asked incredulously. “It looks terrific! That color is great on you.”
“
Muchas gracias,
” Esperanza whispered.
She couldn’t wait for him to leave. As soon as Carlo packed up his gear and exited the cottage, Esperanza threw herself on the bed, sobbing.
She was absolutely hideous. Not even the best hair color made would change that. How was she going to be able to face the outside world?
T
ears dripped from her eyes. Esperanza tried to catch and wipe them away before they seeped beneath her mask, but some were making it through anyway. She had to stop crying and get ahold of herself.
She rose from the bed and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, she cupped cool water in her hands and slowly rinsed her eyes. She was careful to avoid looking in the mirror over the sink.
She reached for a soft white towel from the rack. As she patted gently at her eyes, she heard a sound from the front of the cottage. The detective must have arrived early. It was time to tell him she remembered the peach-colored gloves.
“I’ll be right there,” she called. She was folding the towel when the knob on the bathroom door jiggled.
“I said I’ll be right there,” said Esperanza. “Just take a seat in the living room.”
She hung the towel on the rack, smoothed her hair, straightened up, and took a deep breath before opening the door.
P
iper stared out the window as the limousine entered the grounds of Elysium. The long driveway was edged with dense trees bearing glossy green leaves and lacy sprays of small white flowers.
“What are those?” she asked.
“Avocado trees,” answered the driver. “In a few months, they’ll be laden with fruit. We use them in so many things here, from beauty treatments to milk shakes.”
The car pulled up in front of a white stucco mansion with a sienna-colored tile roof. A young man dressed in a peach cotton shirt and khaki slacks immediately came to the limousine and opened the rear door.
“Welcome to Elysium,
señorita,
” he said as Piper got out of the car.
She inhaled the sweet, fresh air and looked around. Clusters of palm trees, fronds swaying in the breeze, flanked the mansion. Hibiscus and bougainvillea grew from gigantic clay pots carefully placed around the perimeter of the stone-paved courtyard, while water cascaded over the sides of a three-tiered fountain in the middle. Everything was bathed in Southern California sunlight and exuded a feeling of carefully cultivated well-being.
“Miss Abernathy is expecting you,” said the man.
Piper followed as he carried her duffel through the expansive lobby to the massive walnut reception desk at the end of the room. Upholstered chairs were strategically placed near the glass walls that offered breathtaking views of the landscape. The area was quiet, calm, and soothing.
As Piper waited for the desk clerk to complete making notations in the computer, she heard a woman’s voice behind her.
“Piper?”
Turning around, she recognized Jillian Abernathy, who was even prettier in person. Piper noticed that the length and color of the woman’s hair were almost exactly the same as her own.
The two women shook hands and exchanged greetings.
“That’s a long flight,” said Jillian. “You’re probably beat. There’s a masseuse on standby for you. Would you like her to come to your room now?”
“That would be fantastic,” said Piper. “Unless you think I should check out the kitchen and tour the rest of the place first.”
“It’s up to you,” said Jillian. “But I usually find that I can pay more attention when I’m rested.”
“And I’m in love already,” said Piper.
“Good.” Jillian turned to the desk clerk. “What room is Miss Donovan in?”
The clerk checked the computer screen as Jillian’s phone sounded.
“Excuse me,” said Jillian, putting the phone to her ear. She listened, the pleasant expression falling from her face. “Call 911, and I’ll be right there,” she snapped. Without another word, she took off.
Instinctively, Piper followed.
I
t was chaos in the bungalow.
Piper stood to the side of the room and tried to stay out of the way as a man administered CPR to a woman on the floor. A plastic mask hung away from the woman’s face, revealing grotesquely ravaged, red skin. In stark contrast was the beautiful caramel-colored hair that fanned out around her head.
“Oh, my God! Dear God, no!” Jillian Abernathy cried, rocking herself. “This can’t be happening. It can’t be. Please, Esperanza. Live. You’ve got to live!”
As Piper stared, she began to make connections. The woman who lay crumpled on the floor with wide-open, bloodshot eyes and a dark red trickle oozing from her nose was the same woman who had suffered the acid attack meant for Jillian Abernathy.
Ambulance technicians arrived, and the man who’d been administering CPR moved back and put his arm around Jillian. Piper suddenly recognized him. He was the guy in Jillian’s Facebook picture. Her fiancé.
The EMTs applied paddles to Esperanza’s chest, but neither the shocks nor the injection of something into the woman’s chest produced the desired result.
After Esperanza’s body was taken away, Piper was grateful that Elysium was a private facility and that the media were not allowed on the grounds. She wouldn’t want her parents, or anyone else for that matter, to see what she had just seen. The only pictures of Esperanza Flores had been taken by the police photographer.
It was a sight that Piper doubted she would ever forget.
