Journey (12 page)

“I'm not going,” she said firmly, determined this time to fight him.

“I didn't ask you. I told you. You're off the air for two weeks, I want you to cool off and remember what the ground rules are before you go back on the show again. Elizabeth Watts is covering for you. She can do it permanently, if you'd prefer it.” He wasn't pulling any punches. Elizabeth Watts was the anchorwoman whose place Maddy had taken when she got there. She still covered for Maddy during vacations. It was in her contract, although she was still bitter about having been unseated by Maddy.

“I don't really care at this point, Jack,” Maddy said coolly, “if you want to fire me, go ahead.” Her words were brave, although she felt a tremor of terror as she watched him. In some ways, although he had never been physically violent with her, he had always scared her. The power he exuded from every pore was not only directed at others, but at her as well.

“If I fire you, you'll be washing dishes somewhere. You'd better think of that before you shoot your mouth off. And yes, you are going with me. We're going to the South of France, Paris, and London. And if you don't pack your things, I will. I want you out of the country. You're not giving comments, interviews, or editorials of any kind. You are now officially on vacation.”

“Was that the President's idea, or yours?”

“Mine. I run the show here. You work for me. You're married to me. I own you,” he said with a force that took her breath away as she listened to him.

“You don't own me, Jack. I may work for you, and I'm married to you, but you don't own me.” She said it softly, and firmly, but she looked frightened. Ever since her childhood, she had hated confrontation and conflict.

“Am I packing or are you?” he asked, without further comment.

She hesitated for a long moment, and then walked through their bedroom to her dressing room, and took out a suitcase. There were tears in her eyes when she did it, and she was crying openly as she tossed bathing suits and shorts and T-shirts and shoes into the suitcase. All she could think as she did it was that things never changed much. Bobby Joe may have pushed her down the stairs, but Jack had done a good job of it today, without
ever touching her, or barely. What was it about men like them that made them think they owned you? Was it the men she chose, or did she ask for it? It hadn't quite come clear to her, as she folded four linen dresses and put three pairs of high heels into the suitcase. Twenty minutes later, she was finished and went to take a shower. Jack was in his bathroom packing.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked when she saw him again in their bedroom.

“We leave here at seven o'clock in the morning. We're flying to Paris.” It was all she knew about the trip, but she really didn't care now. He had made his point, and she had bought into it. For all her brave words, she had proved to both of them that he owned her.

“I guess there's one advantage to having your own plane,” she said as she climbed into bed with him.

“What's that?” he asked, thinking she was making idle conversation.

“At least we know there won't be a bomb on it. That's a definite plus,” she said, and turned her back to him as she got into bed beside him. He didn't answer her as he turned off the light, and for once, he didn't touch her.

Chapter 7

T
HEY ARRIVED IN
P
ARIS AT TEN P.M
. local time, and there was a car waiting for them. It was a beautiful warm night as they drove to the Ritz, and got there at eleven o'clock. The Place Vendôme was brightly lit, and the doorman recognized them immediately. But in spite of the beauty of the scene, it was anything but romantic to Maddy. For the first time in years, she felt like a prisoner. Jack had crossed over the line. And she looked blank and felt numb as she walked into the lobby behind him.

She usually loved going to Paris with him, but not this time. There was nothing but ice and pain between them, and for the first time in years she felt the sick feeling of being abused, and she knew that although he hadn't battered her, he might as well have. It was a side of him she had never before confronted, and she wondered now how often and in how many ways this had happened. She had never allowed herself to think of it before, but now the feelings were no different than they had been in Knoxville with Bobby Joe. The setting was
just fancier, but she realized now that she was still the same person. She was just as trapped as she had been then. Jack's words of the night before still echoed in her ears as they brought the bags in, “I own you.” And she had agreed by coming with him.

The suite at the Ritz was as beautiful as it always was. They had a view of the Place Vendôme, a living room and bedroom and two baths. The entire suite was done in pale yellow satin. And the hotel had filled three vases with long-stemmed yellow roses. She would have loved it if she hadn't felt so heartsick over Jack.

“Is there any particular reason why we're here?” Maddy asked him lifelessly as he poured himself a glass of champagne, and offered her one. “Is it just to keep me off the air, or is there some better reason?”

“I thought we needed a vacation,” he said simply, and all the fury of the day before seemed to have vanished as she took the glass of Cristal from him. She didn't even want it, but she needed something to numb her. “I know how much you like Paris and I thought it would be fun for us.”

“After everything you've said to me in the past two days, how can you say that?” The prospect of anything being “fun” with him was absurd.

“Because that was business, and this isn't,” he said calmly. “You walked right into something that was a matter of national security and you had no business being there. Maddy, I was trying to protect you.”

“That's bullshit,” she said, sipping the champagne. She was not yet ready to forgive him for his threats, his words, or his saying that he owned her. But she didn't want to argue with him either. She was exhausted and depressed.

“Why don't we just put that behind us, and enjoy Paris? We both needed a vacation.” She felt as though she needed a lobotomy or maybe a new husband. She had never felt as betrayed by him in all the years they'd been married. And she couldn't help wondering how, or if, they would recover. “I love you, Mad,” he said, moving closer to her, as he ran his fingers sensually up the arm that he had used the day before to shake her. She still remembered the feeling, and knew she always would.

“I don't know what to say to you,” she said honestly, “I'm angry and hurt, and maybe even a little bit scared of you. I feel sick over everything that happened.” She was always scrupulously honest with him, far more so than he was with her.

“That's why we're here, Mad. So we can forget our jobs, our work, our problems, our differences of opinion. We came here,” he said, snuggling up to her, and putting his glass down on the Louis XV table, “to be lovers.” But she didn't feel like being lovers. She just wanted to hide and lick her wounds, and be alone for a while until she understood what she was feeling. But he wouldn't let her do that. He was kissing her, and he started unzipping her dress, and before she could stop him, he had her bra off.

“Jack, don't … I need some time … I can't …”

“Yes, you can,” he said, covering her lips with his own, and nearly swallowing her, and then his mouth moved to her breasts, and her dress seemed to disappear along with her underwear, and he laid her on the floor and was kissing her and caressing her, and his tongue was so powerful and so effective that she wanted to muster all her strength to resist him, but found she couldn't. And much to her chagrin, after a moment
more, she knew she didn't want to stop him. He took her there, on the floor, as they rose and fell in each others arms, and their climax was so swift and so powerful that she didn't expect it. She was his again, and she lay breathless for a time, clinging to him, and wondering how it had happened, and why.

“Well, that's one way to start a vacation,” she said, feeling foolish. Their lovemaking had been entirely sensual, and so powerful it was like a tidal wave of feeling that had run through her, but there had been nothing loving about it. If anything, it had only proven yet again that he owned her. But she felt powerless to fight it. “I don't know how that happened,” she said, looking at him, as he lay naked on the floor beside her.

“I could show you, if you like. Maybe some more champagne would help.” He propped himself up on his elbow as he lay there, and smiled at her. She wasn't sure if she hated him now or not, but one thing was certain about Jack, he was fatally handsome, and she had never been able to resist him. He gave her no choice.

She looked at him sadly, and propped herself up to look at him as he handed her another glass of champagne. She didn't really want it, but she took it, and sipped it. “I hated you yesterday. That was the first time I ever felt that way about you,” she confessed, and he looked nonplussed.

“I know you did. That's a dangerous game to play. I hope you learned a lesson.” It was a thinly veiled warning, which she heard.

“What lesson was I supposed to learn?”

“Not to put your nose where it doesn't belong. Just stick to what you know, Mad. All you have to do is read the news. It's not your job to pass judgment on it.”

“Is that how it works?” She was feeling a little drunk, and for once she didn't mind.

“That's how it's supposed to. Your job is to look beautiful and read your stuff off the TelePrompTer. Let someone else worry about how it gets there, and what it says.”

“That sounds pretty simple,” she giggled as she said it, but a sob caught in her throat. She felt somehow as though she had not only been demoted, but diminished as a person, and she had been.

“It is simple, Maddy. And it's simple between us. I love you. You're my wife. It's not good for us to fight, or for you to challenge me like that. I want you to promise me you won't do that anymore.”

“I can't do that, Jack,” she said honestly. She didn't want to lie to him, no matter how much she hated conflict. “Yesterday was a matter of professional ethics and morality. I have a responsibility to the people who watch me.”

“You have a responsibility to me,” he said in silken tones, and for an instant, she felt frightened again, but she wasn't sure why. There was nothing threatening about him now, in fact he was caressing her again, in ways that were infinitely distracting. “I told you what I want … I want you to promise me you're going to be a good girl.” His tongue was traveling across the most sensual places of her body, in between saying things to her that confused her.

“I am a good girl, aren't I?” She giggled uncontrollably as she said it.

“No, you're not, Mad … you were a bad girl yesterday, a very bad girl, and if you do it again, I'll have to punish you for it … maybe I'll have to punish you now,”
he said, teasing her, but he didn't sound ominous, just seductive, “I don't want to punish you, Mad … I want to please you,” and he was, almost too much so. But she didn't have the energy to stop him, she was too tired and too confused, and the champagne was making her feel fuzzy. For once, she didn't mind being drunk. It helped.

“You do please me,” she said in a husky voice, momentarily forgetting how angry she had been at him. But that was then, and this was now, and this was Paris. It was hard to remember how furious she'd been at him, how betrayed she felt, and how frightened. And as she tried to remember it, she found she couldn't as he started making love to her again, and her whole body felt as though it were on fire.

“Are you going to be a good girl now?” he asked, taunting her, torturing her with pleasure. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” she said breathlessly.

“Promise again, Mad….” He was a master at what he was doing, it had taken long years of practice. “Promise me again….”

“I promise … I promise … I promise … I'll be good, I swear.” All she wanted now was to please him, and from the distance, she knew she hated herself for it. She had sold out to him again, given herself to him again, but he was too powerful a force to resist.

“Who owns you, Mad … who loves you? … I own you … I love you … Say it, Maddy …”

“I love you … you own me….” He was turning her inside out and outside in, and as she said the words, he began making love to her so hard that he hurt her. She gave a small squeak of pain, and tried to move away
from him, and he held her pinned down to the floor with all his might, and continued pounding into her as she murmured in pain, but he wouldn't stop, he only pounded harder. She tried to say something to him, and he crushed his mouth down on hers, as he pounded her into the floor as hard as he could, and then he came with a great shuddering, and as he did, he reached down and bit her nipple. It was bleeding when he finally stopped, and she was too dazed to even cry. She wasn't sure what had happened. Was he angry, or did he love her? Was he punishing her, or did he want her so badly that he didn't even know he hurt her? She was no longer sure if what she felt for him was love or desire or hatred.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking innocent and concerned. “Oh my God, Mad, you're bleeding, I'm so sorry….” There was a trickle of blood from her left breast where he had bitten her nipple, and she felt as though her insides had been pummeled, and they had been. Maybe he had meant what he said, and he had punished her, and yet his eyes were full of love as he took a wet cloth from around the champagne and put it on her nipple. “I'm sorry, baby. I wanted you so much, I went crazy.”

“It's okay,” she said, still feeling confused, and more than a little dizzy. He helped her up, and they left their clothes on the floor and walked into the bedroom. All she wanted to do was go to bed. She didn't even have the energy to take a shower. And she knew that if she had let herself, she might have fainted.

Jack put her to bed ever so gently, and she smiled up at him as the room went around them in gentle circles.

“I love you, Maddy” He was looking down at her,
and she tried to concentrate on seeing him, but the room was spinning too swiftly.