Grace Doll (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~Grace~

The raspy buzz of Brenden’s VW van relaxes me, even with the past hour flashing through my head. Like a scene gone awry, and yet it happened. Someone other than Oscar and Brenden knows that I’m alive. A sense of urgency roars through my blood, but I’m not afraid. Only anxious and ready to do what needs to be done.

Music scratches from a radio in the dashboard. I’ve never been fond of current music trends—except for the 60s when I listened to the Beetles, and a foray into the 80s when music became addictive with palatable pop. Whatever this is playing now sounds like devils being burned alive. Brenden, noticing that I’m looking at the radio, reaches over and turns it off.

“Sorry, no satellite. This was Dad’s car. He gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.”

“Did he?” I smile. “He bought me a Bug back in ‘67. A red one. I loved that car.” Brenden’s quiet for a moment and I realize what he must be thinking. “Brenden, Rufus controlled everything. All of the money I made—it was impossible for me to get any of it. Jonathan helped me out, God bless him.”

“So, he helped you from day one?”

“Yes. Rufus had a safe at the Dollhouse. He’d never told me the combination—but I knew it could only be one of a few options, and, the night of the treatment, he excused the house staff so no one would witness what was going to happen. When Dr. Lemarchal arrived, Rufus was downstairs talking to him, so I took the chance. I tried different combinations, and Grace Doll opened it. Rufus stored my jewelry there, so, I knew even if he didn’t have a lot of cash in it I’d be able to sell the gems.

“I opened the safe and, low and behold, not only did I find my jewels, but Solomon had stacks of gold bars, bonds, a reel of film of me, and some photos—“ Up until that night I’d never seen the photos Poppi had taken the day Rufus had raped me on set in front of Jonathan. “I’m sure he had stowed the pictures to use against me someday. I put everything into my travel bags and threw them out the second story window to an area where I’d told Oscar and Jonathan to find them.”

“Another reason Solomon figured you were alive? I’m guessing the fire didn’t destroy the safe.”

“I don’t know, Jonathan never said a word about details of the police and fire reports and I had no interest in reading about it. Jonathan spent the best years of his life protecting me.”

Brenden looks doubtful that his father was a hero.“You did what you had to do. How did Rufus hear about this doctor, anyway?”

“I don’t know. He never told me anything. He just did what he wanted—to anyone, with anyone.”

“What if the treatment had killed you? He was willing to take that chance without any research to substantiate?”

“Dr. Lemarchal had kept the cells of a chicken alive for over thirty-four years. And he was a Nobel Prize winner. That was enough for Rufus to roll the dice.”

Brenden shakes his head, studying me from across the car. A look of admiration fills his eyes. “There’s so much I want to know,” he murmurs. “This seems like the wrong place to talk about all that’s happened to you.”

“We’re talking about it, that’s what matters.”

“But we’re in my car, on Wilshire Boulevard.“ He downshifts, and we slow to stop at a red light. “I feel like we should be somewhere else. Like a park. Or the beach. Or in the private corner of a restaurant.”

I like that he’s thoughtful. I’ve only dreamed of moments like this, to be alone with someone I want, sharing my life. “This is spontaneous. I like that.”

He looks at me and his expression is too guarded for my liking. “It’s going to take me some time to…wrap my head around all of this—who you are and everything. I’m not going to lie, I came to you because Dad sent me. And I was angry.”

“I know you were.”

“I was angry at you—who you were to him. What you meant. And here we are now, you know? It’s…crazy.”

“Because I’ve been alive for eighty-plus years?”

“Stop.”

“No, Brenden. I can’t change that I’ve lived decades longer than you have. But I’m still seventeen, just like you.”

“How can you be? How is it possible?”

“Research has changed since I got my degree in Biological Sciences, but—”

“Wait. You have a degree in Biological Sciences?”

“And botany. Interior design. And literature. And history.”

His expression shifts to amusement. “Wow.”

“Did you think I sat around knitting and watching television?”

He shakes his head, smirks. “I don’t know what to think about any of this.”

“When I was in school, I was able to do some tests on myself. I wanted to try and figure out what the doctor had given me. I discovered my telomeres weren’t where they were supposed to be.”

“Telomeres?”

“The end of the DNA strand that allows for DNA to reproduce. My telomeres have an abundance of telomerase. Telomeres help protect genetic data and make it possible for cells to divide. But every time they divide, the telomeres shrink. When the telomeres get too short, the cell can no longer divide and you have aging, sickness, and ultimately death.”

“Interesting. And your telomeres?”

“Are like a teenager’s.”

“So you really are a teenager.”

I nod. “I found out that, what Dr. Lemarchal had given me was a form of a unique yeast infection via a fermented extract from the root of the astragalus plant. This unique infection continually rejuvenates my body’s cells.”

Brenden cocks his head back. “Trippy.”

I laugh. I hope I’m not imagining that he appears more at ease, that he appears to be accepting what I’m sharing with him. We drive in silence for a few moments, with Brenden deep in thought.

“Over the years, nobody recognized you?”he asks.

“Jonathan had put together a trunk full of disguises for both Oscar and me along with passports and new identifications. We used them for years. As time passed, the threat of discovery faded, like all things in show business ultimately do.”

“Did you ever miss being an actress?”

“Acting had been my reprieve. I’d wake up and count the hours until I was at the studio, on set, pretending. I hated what Rufus made of me. But if I could have chosen my own roles—I would have picked much grittier work. Rufus wanted me to be an ornamental actress. I only regret that Oscar could never fulfill his dream of being a director. I can never repay either of them for what they’ve done for me.”

Brenden glances over, and I see a change in his eyes. Less anger when Jonathan is the subject of conversation. He struggles to believe that his father was a decent man. I hope that his mind will gradually open to embracing Jonathan. And forgiving him.

Brenden takes a left, and we’re traveling the 405 freeway onramp. “Did Oscar ever regret his decision to stay with you?”

“He’s never said, but…”Emotion fills my chest, my eyes. “But I’m certain he’s had his moments.”

Brenden scrubs his jaw. “All these years…I can’t believe no one discovered you.”

“An audience tends to believe whatever story they’re told.”

There’s compassion in his expression that reminds me of Jonathan. “I should be able to offer you something. A place to stay. Food. I’m as good as homeless right now. I’m sorry.” Dark shadows beneath his eyes make him look weary. I realize he hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.

“You need to rest.”

“Before or after we talk to Solomon?”

We
aren’t talking to Solomon. If Brenden is like Jonathan at all, he’d never simply drop me at Rufus’ door. “After.”

“Okay, so…how do you want to do this?”

The look in his eye sends thrill dancing over my skin. At the same time, I’m terrified of being completely taken by him because his touch is so powerful to me.
Time
to let go.
I hear Oscar’s voice and remind myself that if I’m going to move forward, willing to embrace what comes my way.

“Is the Roosevelt still standing?”

He laughs. “It’s
the
place to be and be seen.”

“Someplace else then. A nice motel perhaps?”

“I know a place.”

Before I know it we’re at a small motel that looks like a gathering of cottages on the beach. The dry sand is dusty, blown by a sea wind, melting the shore into a stormy gray ocean.

“I’ve always wanted to stay here,” Brenden says. “If only we’d been here a few minutes ago, we could have talked while watching the sun set behind the smog.” He grins.

Smiling feels wonderful. Real. I love that he stops what he’s doing and watches me laugh, that his interest and focus doesn’t scare me. His interest feels familiar, an extension of something already inside of me.

Inside the motel room, the smell of the ocean permeates wallpapered walls, lifting the scents of countless rendezvous into the air. My nerves start to bubble. Two queen beds have a nightstand between them. A chest of drawers with a plasma TV is on one wall. And a small bath and vanity area are toward the back of the room.

Brenden shuts the door.

“Are you okay?” He comes to my side. “I can sleep in the van if that’s what’s bugging you.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. Now that I’m here, all I can think of is Rufus. He’s out there. Fear and anticipation at seeing him tangle inside of me.

“It’s not that. Thank you.” Even though I know contact will make me woozy, I reach up and skim my fingertips along the line of his jaw. His eyes widen a little. He swallows. Want pounds against my skin, held prisoner by years of self-inflicted incarceration.

“You should sleep.” My fingers slide to his lips. I want to kiss him, but can’t. Won’t, until I’ve done what I came to do.

“Sleep is the farthest thing from my mind right now.” He grins, catching my fingers. On cue, my body withers beneath his touch, and I’m against him, steadying myself. My heart leaps in my chest, as if trying to burst free. “What about you?”

If I tell him that I don’t sleep, he’ll want to talk about it and he won’t get the rest he needs. “Don’t worry about me. Lie down.”

His teasing gaze lowers to my mouth. “I’ll sleep standing up.”

I realize my weak knees aren’t knocking as badly as they had been seconds ago. Instead of racing, my heart pounds out a sensual beat. Is it possible that my body can come under my control with enough time spent close to the fire?

I trace the dark circles beneath his eyes.”You must be exhausted.”

“You’re not helping,” he rasps.

“All right.” I retract my hand.

Brenden slowly backs to the foot of one of the beds and, once the edge hits the back of his knees he plunks down. “Just a short nap.” His voice has already dropped, and his eyelids are falling like a heavy shade.

Within seconds his eyes flicker closed.

Carefully, I crawl onto the bed and lay next to him, my gaze on his face. “I have to go see Rufus alone,” I whisper. Who knows what Rufus would do if Brenden was with me? “I’m sorry.”

I slide cautiously off the bed and reach for his backpack.

* * *

From the backseat of the cab, my view of Bel Air is reminiscent of countless rides in one of Rufus’ collected fleet. The area is mature, gorged with trees and year-round flowering shrubs fleshing out the affluent area like an aging actress clinging to beauty. Spotlights highlight swaying palms, ornate fountains, and architectural details.

The cab driver stops at the bottom of 21 Chalon Road. I stare at the brick wall blanketed in ivy that surrounds the Dollhouse property. The wrought iron gates before me are exactly the same: spiked, black. A spotlight bathes an engraved S ostentatiously at the top and center.

“Wait here for me. If I’m not back in an hour, call the police.”

He eyes me. “What is this?”

I realize what he sees: a teenage girl who could be anything from a runaway to a prostitute, being dropped off at a distinguished house in a very wealthy neighborhood.

I pull out a one hundred dollar bill, hand it to him. “I’ll double that when I get back.”

He eyes the bill before plucking it from my fingers. “One hour.”

“And then you call the police.” I hold his gaze beneath my lashes until he clears his throat and has to look away.

“One hour,” he croaks.

I get out on shaky legs. I wish Brenden was here, so I wasn’t alone. But this scene is mine to do, and I’m glad he’s safe. Rufus would probably kill him. Standing at the bottom of the brick paved driveway, I stare beyond the gates, my gaze following the winding drive, illuminated by miniature lights until it turns and vanishes from my view.

To my left is a brick tower housing a camera and phone. Five uneasy steps take me to the device. I stare at it. Sweat breaks out over my skin. I can do this. I can, I must. I almost laugh.
You wanted grittier roles, here’s your first one.

Sizzle, Grace. Sizzle.