The Venus Fix (32 page)

Blythe smiled and extended her hand. The older woman’s skin was very cold. But then this whole place was cold. Freezing. Why were they meeting here? It was a strange place for an interview.

Stella Dobson pointed to a chair. There was a single light shining down on it, creating a halo effect around it and painting long shadows on the wall.

Blythe took the proffered seat.

She’d been looking forward to meeting Stella for weeks. Even if it did mean talking about what she’d done and why she’d done it and what it had meant to her. Morgan was helping her with that and one day, she knew, she’d be able to put it completely behind her. Maybe today would even help her purge it.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes. But…it’s so cold here. Aren’t you cold?”

“I know. I’m sorry. The heat hasn’t kicked in yet. But it should any second.”

Stella walked to the wings of the stage and pulled out a table on wheels that squeaked just a little as she rolled it over.

Blythe was not surprised to see a laptop on it. After all, this was an interview. She’d thought Stella would tape record it, but if she wanted to type notes, that was fine.

The notebook was titanium and looked much more expensive than the used one that Blythe had. But just like her laptop at home, there was a small video camera clipped to the top of this computer. Exactly the same make and model as the one she had worked with.

“That’s a coincidence,” Blythe said.

“What is?”

“The camera. It’s the same one I have.”

Stella smiled. “I’m going to film you,” she said as she turned on the computer and adjusted the minicamera. “I want to put portions of some of the interviews up on the Web when the book comes out, is that all right with you?”

“Cool.”

“Good. I didn’t think you’d mind being filmed. You did so much performing online.” She smiled. “I hope you don’t mind this, either.”

Stella reached into a shopping bag. Blythe saw a flash of color and knew what it was instantly. The cobalt-blue feathers had deep purple undertones and were tinged with lavender.

“That’s my mask,” she said with a combination of wonder and confusion.

Stella smiled. “Well, not your exact mask, but one just like it. So you won’t object to wearing it?”

P
erez and Jordain were talking to Mrs. Johanson, the fifty-something head of the NYU library. It had been a frustrating half hour. There were more than fifty computer terminals in the library, which any student or faculty member could come and use. Plus, there were reciprocal privileges for faculty and grad students from other colleges and universities, as long as the visitor had the right credentials. In addition, there were dozens of carrels where students or faculty could plug in and use their own computers. And while you had to show an ID card to get into the library, you didn’t have to sign in.

“So, basically, what you are saying is anyone in the library on these dates could have used either their own or your computers and there won’t necessarily be a record of it?”

Mrs. Johanson nodded and her brown curls bobbed. She was wearing a cream-colored turtleneck and a pair of chocolate brown corduroy pants, with heavy snow boots on her feet that gave her otherwise small frame a solid base. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuinely distressed.

Jordain smiled at her. “Not your problem, ma’am.”

“We appreciate your help,” Perez added.

The two detectives went downstairs, and on their way out walked through the high, open space. Jordain thought the library was poorly designed. You needed smaller areas—nooks and friendly alcoves—in a library. Places where you could hole up and study for the afternoon, where you’d be comfortable, have some sense of privacy and at least some semblance of silence.

“Look around,” he said to Perez.

“Okay, I’m looking.”

“You think you’d come here to indulge your predilection for porn? Nice cozy place to jerk off, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Right. The person who sent that e-mail wasn’t here to go online and fool around and watch a few Web-cam girls while he had a free half hour. He was here working. Or doing research. Sending the e-mail from here was just convenient.”

A few minutes later they were back in Mrs. Johanson’s office.

“I’m sorry to bother you again,” Jordain said.

“It’s no bother.” She smiled. “Did you forget something?”

“No, but we do have a new question,” Perez said. “Do you think we could look through the call slips from three specific days in the past few weeks?”

“It’s a long shot,” Jordain said, “but we think that whoever sent the e-mail was here because he was actually using the library.”

“Unless you threw out the court order you showed me twenty minutes ago, of course you can. Come with me.”

B
lythe couldn’t take her eyes off Stella. The woman was a legend. A fearless fighter for women’s rights. She’d almost starved to death for her principles. It had given Stella the aura of someone who would stop at nothing. And then she’d taken on Global Communications, hacking into their computer systems so she could contact the women who did Web-cam work and offer to help them get jobs outside of the porn industry. Blythe had gotten one of those letters, as had some of her friends. And Stella had helped some of them. Before she got sued. But even that had made her into more of a cult hero.

So, if Stella wanted Blythe to do the interview in her old costume, she would. But it was still strange. Blythe felt the feathers tickle her behind the ear. The smooth, silky sensation made her blood run hotter. She felt a thrill deep in her stomach. The instant reaction scared her. It was like stepping backward. The way she felt just holding a cigarette, knowing she wanted one but wouldn’t have one because she never wanted to go through the pain of quitting again.

“I was hoping you’d indulge me. That you’d return to your character, become the woman you were online. A Venus hiding
behind a mask, willing to spread her legs and show her audience anything they asked for.”

Blythe didn’t know Stella well enough to be sure, but it sounded as if her tone was tinged with contempt. And yet, why would Stella be angry with her? She watched her carefully. Stella’s mouth was dry. There were deep circles under her eyes, rings of sweat on her red blouse. Something was wrong. Or was she overreacting?

Morgan had told her more than once that she had strong instincts and that she should trust them and rely on them. That it would help her with patients.

Stella pulled a thermos out of a shopping bag, along with two paper cups. “It’s hot chocolate. The theater gets so cold. I thought it would help warm us up.”

She handed a cup to Blythe.

Nothing was wrong. It
was
her imagination. It was this spooky old theater. The hot chocolate was delicious.

Stella turned on the Web cam, sat down opposite her and began the interview.

She started with the easy things: how much Blythe made, what hours she worked, when she’d begun.

Blythe answered all three questions and then yawned. “I’m sorry.”

Stella smiled. “Did you ever think about what kind of effect your work was having on younger men? On boys who weren’t even sexually active yet?”

“Effect? Sure. I was turning them on. It was safe and harmless.”

“You were setting up an impossible goal, weren’t you?”

That edge was back in Stella’s voice. “I’m not sure I understand,” Blythe said. She was slumping in her chair, she really was tired.

“You made it so easy for the boys. Just lie back and let me
make you hard. Let me act out your fantasy. You don’t have to even think about me. I’m not real. I have no feelings. Do you understand how that affects young men?”

Blythe didn’t know what to say. She had talked about these issues with Morgan, but Morgan was her supervisor. She didn’t know if she wanted to talk about those things with Stella. Especially if it was going to be in a book. “This isn’t what I expected you were going to talk to me about…I thought this had something to do with working my way through school….” Her voice sounded thick in her own ears.

Stella got up and walked around Blythe’s chair and stood behind her. Blythe tried to turn, but her body was moving too slowly. Before she knew what was happening, she felt Stella’s arms reach around her waist, grab her by the wrists and pull her arms backward.

“I
told Stella that I needed her help with something and she said of course she’d do whatever I needed, but she didn’t sound like herself on the phone. Maybe you should wait for me in the lobby and let me go in first and explain who you are and why you’re here with me. I’m worried. You know, now that I’m thinking about it, she did look stressed at the funeral last week. I should have called then.”

We were stuck in traffic on Forty-ninth Street going west. Somewhere ahead of us, a driver leaned on his horn, adding to the noise pollution. I felt my teeth clench and focused on relaxing. My cold was getting worse and my throat was still sore. I popped a cough drop. “You can’t watch out over everyone.” I smiled at her. If my issue is saving souls, Nina’s is being there for everyone.

“She’s had a hard time. First losing the lawsuit, then Simone’s death. It’s bound to have affected her.”

“The lawsuit, right. Did you know Alan Leightman’s wife was the lawyer who won that case for the pornography company?”

Nina frowned. “Yes. What a mess that was. Stella was devastated
when she lost. I had dinner with her about a week later. She told me it was as if everything she had worked to achieve had been wiped out in one afternoon. It was a huge blow. And then only a month later, Simone died.”

“How did she survive it?” I forced myself not to think about Dulcie.

“I don’t know if she did.”

The traffic opened up and our driver sped ahead; five minutes later we pulled up in front of a building that I recognized well.

“What are we doing here?”

This was the abandoned Playpen Theater, near the theater where Dulcie performed. I hadn’t paid much attention to it before Alan had mentioned it, but since then I’d found myself staring at it every time I passed by, wondering why it was still standing, abandoned and forlorn: a memorial to a part of New York that no one wanted to memorialize.

Nina had paid the driver and was waiting for change. “Stella owns this place, along with a group of other feminists she roped into contributing. It was supposed to be turned into a women’s center to aid sex workers. There was a zoning problem, but when she told me to meet her here today, I assumed it had been resolved and she’d had the building renovated. I guess not.”

I stepped out of the cab, navigating the piles of soot-covered snow. That’s when I realized that it hadn’t snowed in more than twelve hours. The sky was still overcast but maybe the siege was over.

Nina joined me on the sidewalk and stood with me, staring up at the marquee and the salacious neon figure of a busty woman, sitting with her legs crossed, forming the
P
in Playpen. Some of the neon tubes were broken but you could tell she had blond hair, red lips, pink arms and legs and large pink
breasts. I could imagine how it once looked, all lit up, its glaring colors shining down at the men walking by, beckoning.

Nina pulled open the front door.

The lobby was dark, and once the door closed behind us it was almost pitch black inside. The air smelled stale and there was a top note of something that I couldn’t quite identify with my stuffed nose.

From somewhere above us, I heard the soft cooing of a pigeon. How many birds had found their way inside over the years? How many rats?

Once my eyes adjusted, I noticed a thin strip of light coming from under double doors, next to what must have originally been the candy and soda concession. That was where Alan had said the X-rated videos and magazines were sold when he’d been here as a teenager. I sensed the ghosts of those men, careful as they walked into the theater, afraid that they might be seen, gulping nervously, feeling the sweat on their palms, wishing they could stay away, already knowing they would be back the next day, or the one after that.

“It will only take a second for me to tell her I brought someone with me. I’ll be right back, okay?”

I nodded.

Nina opened the door. The light that came through was weak and flickering. And then she disappeared inside.

I
t took Perez and Jordain an hour to look through the lists of people who had requested items from the library or checked out books during the three days in question.

They weren’t just looking for Alan’s name. They were looking for Kira Rushkoff’s, too. And they were also looking for any name that appeared on all three days.

“Here’s one,” Perez said, pointing. “Familiar, too, but I don’t know why.”

Perez watched his partner’s face running the name through his computer-like brain, searching for the connection. Jordain never let him down. He wasn’t as good as some detectives were with hunches, but he more than made up for it with his uncanny ability to absorb everything connected to everyone involved with a case. He only had to see a name once and he never forgot it.

“Something to do with Alan Leightman’s wife, Kira Rushkoff. Wait, let me think.” Jordain frowned.

Perez waited.

Thirty seconds later, Jordain remembered. “Got it. A civil court case. Last year. In all the papers. Big-time computer
hacking of an online porn company. Damn it, Perez. It was Global. All the women who worked for the company got e-mail telling them their boss was exploiting them and that they needed to revolt. Rushkoff defended the slime who owned—” He stopped talking.

The expression on his face was at once elated and chagrined. “Fuck,” he growled.

“What?”