The Ties That Bind (20 page)

Fiona made some coffee while she recounted the history of
her house to Gail, how she had inherited it from her mother, how important it
was to her, how much care she lavished on it.

Gail had listened attentively. On her father's death, she
had explained, she would inherit their big house on the so-called Gold Coast.
Gail, Fiona could tell, knew all about the symbolism of houses.

Like Fiona's house, it, too, was a mansion. It, too, stood
for a kind of validation. Fiona's father was the grandson of an impoverished
Irish immigrant. Gail's father was the grandson of a slave. The commonality
seemed another bond between them.

Gail followed Fiona to the den and, without being directed,
took the leather wing chair that Farley Lipscomb had sat in so recently. Fiona
poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Gail. Ignoring the irony, she sat
on the couch, in the same spot she had occupied when confronted by Farley.

"The worst part of this, Gail," Fiona began,
after taking a deep sip of the coffee and putting the cup beside her on an end
table, "is worrying too much about managing your reaction."

"Why should that bother you?"

"I'm a bit of a fraud, Gail. I don't have any female
friends ... real friends. All-the-way-friends. I've never really confided in
people of my own gender. I mean the real confidences, down to the marrow. The
fact is that the only female I think I know is myself. Do you understand what
I'm saying?" Before Gail could reply, Fiona continued. "Oh, I've had
so-called women friends. We've confided, of course. Maybe I'm asking too much,
expecting too much. Can we ever truly know enough about each other to even
qualify as true friends? The fact is that I don't think I know very much about
women in general. For example, everything I know about real intimacy, even sex,
especially sex, I've learned from men. And men have dominated my life. Not me,
understand. But my life."

"Except for my father, I must say that I never learned
much from men," Gail said, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm not very
experienced in that regard." She forced a laugh. "It might comfort
you to know that I don't have any female friends either. Oh, I have
acquaintances, family, aunts, cousins. No female siblings, though." A
shadow descended over her face.

Fiona noted how Gail avoided any reference to the issue of
sex. Once again, it confirmed her suspicion that Gail was tremendously
inhibited on the subject, both in talk and action. But Fiona felt it was
important to broach the subject, especially if she was going to tell Gail about
her experience with Farley.

"Are you a virgin, Gail?"

She bucked immediately.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Gail
shot back.

Was it possible? How old was she? Thirty? A virgin at
thirty? If so, it seemed incredible, especially for a cop in the homicide
division, where matters of sex were part of the landscape. Yet, when the
subject was depersonalized, as in police business, Gail seemed to have no
problem discussing the subject.

"You're right, Gail. It is none of my business."

"I didn't mean to sound harsh," Gail said.

"I know you didn't. It's my risk," Fiona sighed.

"Risk? I don't understand."

"You will."

Fiona felt her throat constrict.

"You don't have to, Fiona," Gail said.

"I do now," Fiona replied. She paused through a
long moment. "I ... I was almost convinced that I knew who was responsible
for the death of Phyla Herbert," Fiona began, watching Gail Prentiss's
face. She would have to endure that, Fiona decided. No hiding allowed. "My
theory ... I believed that the man who did that to her was Farley
Lipscomb."

Gail seemed stunned.

"The Supreme Court justice?"

Fiona nodded.

"Not all political scandals in Washington are based on
sex. Only most of them," she said.

"Are you serious?" Gail asked.

"Absolutely," she replied, clearing her throat.
"It was a replication of what he did to me seventeen years ago, down to
the tiniest detail."

"My God!"

"I mean
everything
, Gail. The same
injury."

"How terrible," Gail exclaimed.

"I told no one about this. Not ever."

"I'm so sorry, Fiona. I had no idea."

"I thought it was a dead issue. Long forgotten. Then
this. It brought it all back." Fiona could not contain a tremor in her
voice.

"That explains a great deal, Fiona."

"I wonder. I just can't get the idea out of my mind.
It was me I saw in Phyla's place. Me. I felt certain he was there. That he did
this thing..."

"Are you sure that the ... the situations are
identical? They might have seemed identical."

"Believe me, as near as I can remember the details my
encounter with him, they are identical." Fiona paused. "Certainly
close enough."

"The memory plays tricks, Fiona," Gail said.

"I know. I also know that any basis of comparison is
in my mind. But the trauma came back."

"Trauma?" Gail's brows knitted with curiosity.

"Something clicked inside of me," Fiona said. She
told her about what had happened after the episode, the bout with sexual
revulsion, the long road back. And how it was replicating itself now and
wreaking havoc in her relationship with Harrison Greenwald and what it was
doing to him as well.

"Is it possible that you're over-reacting on this,
Fiona?"

"Possible? Worse. I am ... absolutely."

"And you firmly believe it was him, Justice
Lipscomb?" Gail asked. "Even in the face of what we know about
Barker? About him being in the room? About his lies? About his past?"

Fiona felt the strain of wrestling with this dilemma.

"To be brutally honest. Not beyond a shadow of
doubt."

"You see, your experience has colored your judgment.
I'd say it was only natural."

"But not professional," Fiona said with
resignation.

"It does confuse one's ability to reason," Gail
said gently. "In Barker's case, there was a clue. Clues. In the case of
your Justice Lipscomb, there is nothing, not a sign, not a trace."

"He is very clever," Fiona said. "He would
have probably worn a disguise of some sort to prevent people remembering him.
He was always extremely cautious. And he knows a lot about evidence and police
procedures. He was a prosecutor once and knows what we had to look for. Knowing
his methods, I'd say he could pull it off."

"And Barker?"

"On the face of it, very compelling."

"But you're still not one hundred percent
convinced?"

"It' driving me bonkers."

"A Supreme Court justice?"

"A man," Fiona sighed.

"And Phyla would have just opened the door and let him
in, then allowed him to do with her as he wanted?"

"I'm afraid so. I did."

Gail's disbelief was tangible. Nor could she hide her
confusion.

"You let him?"

"The truth is that I consented gladly."

"To be abused like that? It's not normal, Fiona."

Gail's eyes widened as if she were a child confronted by a
movie monster.

"I thought I loved him. When it comes to love, normal
sex has little meaning," Fiona explained. Gail seemed totally perplexed.

"To allow yourself to be tied like that, like an
animal? And beaten? Gagged? A dildo inserted in your anus?" She made a
face of disgust and shook her head rapidly from side to side to emphasize the
horror of it.

"It was meant to be a game," Fiona said.
"And it got out of hand."

"Some game. It can kill."

"Killing is not part of the scenario," Fiona
sighed. "I gave myself to him because I trusted him. I thought I loved
him. I was willing to do anything for him. Earlier we had reversed roles and he
was the one to be disciplined."

"You did that to him?"

"Not the dildo business, but I tied him up, whipped
and paddled him. He was tremendously stimulated. He loved it."

"And you?"

"I ... I think I loved it, too. I mean ... when it was
a game."

"I can't understand that," Gail said. "Sex
is supposed to be beautiful. This practice is perverted."

As expected, Gail was repelled by the idea of it and no
amount of explanation to a person that repressed would convince her otherwise.
Nevertheless, Fiona owed it to herself to try to offer some rationale based on
her own research.

"I know it's difficult for you to understand, Gail. I
really had to delve into this, to find out why I might have enjoyed it at the
beginning. There are various scientific explanations. Like people who have been
painfully ill or repressed as children finding a way to process this pain into
pleasure. Or people who are control freaks needing the punishment game to keep
them sane. It's supposed to be comforting. When it comes to sex, to the things
that excite people to pleasure and relief, we're all somewhat confused. Just as
I was. I thought I was proving my love, showing my trust, laying myself bare.
The experience left me jolted, filled me with self-disgust. At times, I felt it
was all my fault. The man deliberately ripped me apart. What he did to me was
definitely not part of the scenario and I could never ever give my
unconditional trust to anyone again. I gave myself to him. I gave him my will
and my body and he betrayed me. It has haunted me to this day and telling it to
you now is the hardest thing I can remember doing in my whole life."

Despite Fiona's determination to maintain control, she felt
herself losing it. Her tongue felt heavy and her body began to tremble.

"I never told anyone about this, Gail. First there was
pain, then self-loathing, then shame. Finally came revulsion, although I tried
to find out as much as I could about it. As I told you, it took a long time
before I could get back my appetite for sex."

"It's very hard for me to relate to it, Fiona."

"I know. And seeing this happen to someone else with
such terrible consequences has had a terrible effect on me. It's all come back.
Just the thought of making love to Harrison induces nausea. I can't even fake
it..."

She stopped, abruptly burying her face in her hands. The
breakdown had come with no real warning. The process of peeling away the years
of containment and silence took its toll. A wave of hysteria rolled over her
and she could not stop the eruption that wracked her body.

Then Gail was beside her on the couch, enveloping her in
her warm, strong arms, and Fiona was sobbing uncontrollably into her ample
bosoms. It seemed to take forever to get herself under control again.

"There's a lot I don't understand about this, but that
kind of hurt I can understand, Fiona," Gail said.

After a while, Gail opened her arms and Fiona sat up. Gail
reached for her pocketbook and handed Fiona some tissues, waiting patiently
until she was composed again.

"I guess this reaction was inevitable. It has been
inside so long," Fiona said, forcing a smile. Their eyes met.

"I'm not a virgin," Gail said suddenly. She stood
up and began to pace the floor.

"You don't have to do this, Gail," Fiona cried.

"Yes, I do. Your confession gives me permission,"
Gail said. "It sticks in my gut, makes me feel like ice inside. I haven't
been a virgin since I was nine years old."

Fiona was stunned at the revelation, watching her as one
might watch a tennis match, as she strode across the room and back like a caged
animal.

"We were playing in the playground in Memphis, where
my father was in practice. My sister ... yes, I did have a sibling once ... and
we were simply little girls playing. He came up behind us, grabbed us, threw us
in his car. Then drove us to a wooded area."

"Please, Gail. It's not required."

Gail didn't seem to hear, going on with her story.

"First he raped me, then he raped my sister and, in
the process ... he ... strangled her to death. I saw it. Then, when she was
dead, he started to do it again to her. That was when I ran away. Nothing was
ever the same after that."

Fiona saw no tears, only cold fury. Beneath the surface,
she could detect tangible icy rage.

"No. Nothing can ever be the same," Fiona sighed.
For herself as well.

Fiona reached out and took Gail's hand. They were silent
for a long time until Gail spoke again.

"You might say I've been a virgin since then."

"No relationships?"

She shook her head.

"It's ... it's so hard to believe. You're so ...
beautiful ... a bigger-than-life female."

"Bigger than life," Gail squeezed Fiona's hand.
"Just nature's protective coat."

With her free arm, Fiona put it around Gail's shoulders and
felt the weight of Gail's body press against her. They were silent for a long
time.

"He was here last night, Gail," Fiona said.

There seemed no need to explain whom she meant.

"In this house?"

"In this room."

Gail shifted her body suddenly and sat upright, turning to
face Fiona.

"I did a stalking number." Fiona recounted her
visit to the State Department, her call to Letitia Lipscomb. "I know all
his buttons and I pressed them."

Fiona felt Gail studying her face, waiting for her to
continue.

"He denied it," Fiona said.

"Then why can't you accept Barker as the
perpetrator?"

"I can't believe Farley, Gail."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"I just don't understand..."

"He's still into it, Gail. The B and D. Heavy."

"How..."

Fiona explained.

"Unbelievable," Gail said, letting go of Fiona's
hand. She stood up and walked the length of the den and back. She stopped at
the couch and looked down at Fiona.

"Barker is guilty, Fiona. Your judgment is distorted
by your personal experience. Just as mine would be..."

At that moment, the sound of the phone's ring jangled into
the room. Fiona, with an odd sense of relief, picked up the phone. It was the
Eggplant.