Save Johanna! (15 page)

“Hey, slow down, Joanne,” one of them calls from the car. “He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Yeah, right. Come on in, I got a present for you.”

Oh, God, help me please!

They’re laughing out loud in the empty streets, but no one seems to hear.

“Come on in, baby, or I’ll come out and get you.”

The street is long, and my breath is searing my lungs. I can’t keep this up. I hear a car door open and scrape along the sidewalk. I take a quick look. It’s Jimmy getting out. I put everything left into one last burst of strength and charge ahead. I hear him closing in behind me. He’s going to catch me.

“Hellllp!” I scream.

Nobody answers. “Please! Help me!” I can’t run . . . any . . . more. He’s almost . . . up . . . to . . . me. . . .

Suddenly a horn blasts. A cab has pulled up right alongside us, and he’s blasting his horn. He’s saving me. I hear Jimmy stop, but I keep going; then I stop and turn. Jimmy’s standing there, glaring at me. He spins around and, slow and mean, walks toward his car. I run over to the cab, jump in, lock the doors, and collapse in tears.

“You OK, lady? Want me to take you to the police?”

I shake my head, but I can’t stop crying. He starts the car.

“Where are you taking me!”

“That’s OK, lady, I was just going to pull up to Central Park West where those bastards can’t get at us.”

“Forgive me, please, I’m just so frightened. Thank you so much. You saved my life. This is stupid, but I can’t stop crying. It was so awful”—I lean forward to read his name—“Mr. Williams. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just take it easy. Everything’s OK now.”

The cabbie slides over from the driver’s seat and opens his partition. He’s a tan-colored black man with short-cropped gray hair. He must be at least sixty. “I saw the guy chasing you from way up the street and I knew it was bad, but there were no cops around and I didn’t know what to do. I figured I was no match for him. Besides, he could have had a gun or something. So I did the best thing I could think of. I leaned on the horn and figured it might scare him off, and it did.”

“You were fantastic. That was a brilliant idea.”

“I knew I couldn’t take him on. . . .” He shrugs apologetically.

“It would have been a terrible mistake if you tried. He was enormous. You did the best thing and . . . you saved me. I wish I could stop these silly tears.”

“Maybe I should take you home?”

“Would you, please? It’s not far.” I give him the address and it turns out we’re only a couple of blocks away. In those few minutes I try to pull myself together. There’s not too much I can do. I have no shoes, my blouse is ripped, I’m a mess, and there’s no way I can fix myself up. But nobody except the doorman is likely to be around at this hour. I’m lucky—at least I have my house keys. I hunt through my pockets for some money for the driver, but all I can come up with is three dimes. I explain my problem and say I’ll run upstairs and get some money, but he says no, he won’t hear of it. I insist. He says, OK, I can send him the money, and he writes down his address on a scrap of paper for me.

I thank him and tell him I’ll never forget him, and then more tears choke me and I can’t go on.

“It’s OK, lady, I’m so glad I could help you.”

I get out of the car and watch as he slides away and blends into the light southbound traffic—a fine and decent man.

Walter is on the door and gives me a curious look, but he hasn’t the courage to ask anything, and I don’t help him. I nod and walk past him to the elevator.

It’s only when I get into the elevator that I remember David is at my apartment; at least he was when I left. What am I going to say to him? Now everything starts flooding back, the fight with David, the call to Sephra, but I stop there. I can’t deal with it. I know I’m not going to tell anyone what happened, certainly not David. All I’ll say to him is that I was walking around, trying to calm down, when this man attacked me. From there on I’ll tell the truth.

I open the door quietly. Maybe he went to sleep. Maybe I can avoid all the explanations. It’s quiet in the house, but from the front entrance I can see that the light is on in my bedroom. He must be awake and waiting for me. I make some quick repairs in the hall mirror. The missing shoes don’t matter now. I always walk around barefoot in the house.

The bedroom is empty. David’s not there, and the clothes he was wearing are nowhere in sight. He must have gone home. Or out looking for me. I hope not. I don’t want him to come back tonight.

I undress quickly and get into bed, wrapping the covers tightly around me. But I’m wide awake. Did I double-lock the front door? I think so, but I have to get up and check.

It’s locked.

While I’m up I check the kitchen window that leads to the fire escape to make sure the gate is locked. It’s all secure. I pour a glass of water and, glass in hand, go back to the bedroom and get into bed. When I reach for the Valium I have a flash of annoyance at David. I certainly don’t have to feel guilty taking two tranquilizers after a night like tonight.

Once the light is out, that horrible bar scene comes back. Strangely enough, that’s what bothers me most of all, more than the fight with David or the phone call, more even than what happened later on the street. Those things were all out of my control. The bar wasn’t.

Why didn’t I stop them? I could have at any time, simply by declaring myself—being me. Instead I stood there and allowed them to perform the most terrible indignities. And, most frightening of all, responded—hungrily. What possessed me? That’s the only word. Something seemed to take possession of me, come craving beyond my control. It surfaced in me tonight, and I was not able to control it. Oh, dear God, or David, or someone. Help me.

It’s nearly 5 a.m., and I can’t sleep. The Valium hasn’t worked. Neither has the weed I tried. The horror of the night still haunts me. At least if I go to the computer I’ll have some discipline over my thoughts, but I have to take something to get my mind functioning. Oxycontin can do that for me. Only one and nothing to drink.

Damn it, David’s really gotten to me. Here I am, making excuses for the way I run my life. I’d better stop that.

This next chapter is very manageable for me, well outlined with a good, strong, clean direction to work in. Avrum is in a fury. Pinky has been stolen away from him. He knows the kidnappers must have come from her parents and will try to deprogram her, and the challenge angers and excites him. Will he be able to hold onto her? No one could be more completely his. He owned her soul. This becomes the ultimate test of his power. He makes his plans for revenge. First he will wait until the deprogrammers finish with Pinky and return her to her home. Then he will send one of his people with a message for her. Pinky has become the linchpin in his secret scheme.

I work at the computer for more than three hours and come out with four workable pages. They’re pretty good pages, and the satisfaction and exhaustion allow a drowsiness to roll over me, and when I shut down the computer and crawl into bed I know I’ll be asleep in minutes.

Avrum has invaded my dreams again. This time with Pinky. They’re together in a dark place reminiscent of that dinky bar from last night. Pinky is naked, her skin almost a luminescent white, and her silky yellow hair has been braided. Avrum stands close to her, wearing a thick black sweater which he holds open and wraps around her. She almost disappears inside. All that shows are her bare feet, and they look so small, almost like a child’s. I’m the only other person there, and I ask him very nicely to please open his sweater because she won’t be able to breathe, but he pays no attention. I want to pull the sweater away because I know she’s suffocating, but I’m too frightened.

That’s when I wake up. I try to hide in more sleep, but it’s impossible. My mind is alive and aching with too many tortuous thoughts. I bury myself deeper into the guilt, but it doesn’t help. And then the doorbell rings. It’s Saturday; who’s ringing my bell at, my God, it’s three in the afternoon! Please don’t let it be David. I can’t face that.

It’s a struggle to get out of bed. My entire body is stiff and sore. A long, red-purple blotch runs down the entire side of one leg from the thigh to the calf. That must have come when I fell against the curb. I didn’t even know I’d hurt myself until now. The soreness slows me down, and whoever it is ringing the doorbell becomes more insistent. I can’t find my robe so I wrap myself in a blanket, Indian-style, and slowly make my way down the hallway to the front door. Maybe it’s the superintendent looking for the eternal leak. That’s about all I can deal with today.

I look through the peephole. It’s Louis. I’m tempted to pretend I’m not home, but he looks so concerned, I can’t ignore him. There may be something wrong. Again he leans on the bell, this time with such urgency I’m alarmed and pull the door open immediately. He looks stunned.

“Johanna! My God, are you all right?” He steps in and quickly closes the door behind him.

I look down at myself. The blanket is funny-looking but certainly not enough to cause that kind of alarm. And there’s no way he can see my legs.

“I’m OK, Louis. Why are you so upset?”

“Let’s go sit down. I have to talk to you.”

“Of course.” And we both go into the living room and sit down on the couch. I can see he’s having trouble starting, so I ask him, “Did something happen with Mickey?”

“No, he’s fine. Johanna, I had to go out for a church meeting this morning, and I just got back a few minutes ago. . . .”

“Yes?”

“Charlie’s on the door now, and he said that Walter was on last night . . . Johanna, what happened?”

“This is such a goddamn small building. Sometimes I hate it.”

“He only mentioned it to me because he was concerned, and he knows we’re good friends.”

“Don’t kid yourself. This is bonanza Saturday. By now they’re dancing to it in the lobby.”

“He’s not that kind of person. But that’s not important anyway. Johanna, we’ve been good, good friends for a long time now. When I need someone I can pour my soul out to I come to you. I thought the relationship was mutual. But lately I’ve seen you suffering, and, though I’ve been aching to help, I sensed you don’t want me to. So I’ve stayed back. But now I think it’s gotten so far out of control that you could be in danger, and I’m not going to sit around waiting to be called. I can help you, and I insist you let me.”

“You can’t help me.”

“Let me try. Start by telling me what happened last night.”

“It’s simple. I was stupid and allowed myself to fall into a bad situation and . . .” I have to pause for a moment because it’s hard to say the words without choking up. “. . . I was almost raped.”

“Jesus! Were you hurt?”

“I got pushed down and my leg is a mess, but other than a very terrible fright, I’m OK.”

“Thank God.”

“God didn’t help me at all. A very brave, wonderful cabdriver saved me.” And I tell Louis the story, the superficial story, and as I’m telling it I realize there’s no way to make any sense out of it unless I tell some of the truth. For some reason I feel Louis might be able to understand it better than David, possibly because of the nature of our relationship. It’s clean of the complications of a sexual relationship. Undercurrents of possessiveness and jealousy simply aren’t there. Things are taken at face value and dealt with that way.

For these reasons and because I so desperately need someone to trust, I tell Louis almost everything. When I try to describe the jumble of fears that terrorized me last night and has made so many nights of my life sleepless and painful, I lose control of my emotions and weep. But I come no closer to understanding. Louis is sympathetic and comforting, but he asks me questions I can’t possibly answer. He wants to know why I won’t hear Sephra out and at least try to learn what’s making me so frightened.

I feel his questions close in on me, and I find myself moving away, twisting and turning to hide I don’t know what. I’m beginning to regret my impetuous candor.

“I didn’t say Sephra knew anything,” I tell him. “She just thinks I’m having problems and wants to mother me. But I’m not in the habit of being mothered. It’s been much too long.”

“In all the years I’ve known you, Johanna, you’ve only spoken of your background once, and that was in the briefest of terms. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to know that there’s something unresolved way back there, and it’s still causing you pain. What is it? And why does it trouble you now? Those are the things that you have to find out.”

“You’re on the wrong track, Louis. I don’t talk about my childhood because I have so few memories. For me it ended when my parents died. After that there were just a lot of lonely years. Don’t misunderstand me, they weren’t cruel or terrifying. There were good people to take care of us, and then Sephra was wonderful to me. Certainly life was difficult, but not miserable. Possibly you would come closer if you related it to the present. What’s happening to me now to exacerbate my problems? Oh, Louis, it’s so hard to say, but it has to be David. David and my wedding.”

“Only partially true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s something else equally important happening to you now.”

“If you’re referring to my book, you’re wrong, and I’m offended that you think a writing project could compare in importance to David.”

“Please, Johanna, I’m aware how much you love David. And it’s a good, healthy, important love. I know that.”

“Then how could you compare the two?”

“Because I’ve been watching you these last couple of months, especially the past weeks, and I know that your love for David hasn’t diminished. But the hold this book has on you has grown far out of proportion.”

“That’s not true. It’s just a very demanding project and therefore taking up a great deal of my time.”

“You’re not being honest with yourself. It’s much deeper than that. It’s seeped into your very marrow. I can feel the weight of it when I’m with you.”

“I don’t like a conversation where you tell me how I feel.”

“OK, then I’ll tell you how
I
feel. I’m concerned.”

“You’ve said that.”

“All right. Let me say something else, then. I believe in God and religion. And I believe in the power of the devil.”

“Louis . . .”

“Not the one with horns, Johanna, but something even more potent. The true perversion of Christianity—a worship based on life from death. It seduces the disillusioned, the misfits, the outcasts by tunneling their anger and frustrations into antiestablishment defiance and at the same time encouraging a high degree of paranoia. The price is total obedience and belief. Jones did it in Guyana, the Moonies did it, and in some less successful way Maheely is doing it.

“You see, Johanna, I agree with you. Maheely is not a simple murderer. He’s far more dangerous than that.”

“Everything you say is right except the unspoken insinuation that Maheely has some hold on me. In no way is that true. I abhor him deeply and completely, and to think otherwise is an insult to every shred of ethics, morality, and intelligence within me.”

“But emotions don’t always respect those qualities.”

“How can you talk that way to me, Louis? You of all people. I feel betrayed.”

“I would never betray you, Johanna. Your friendship is precious to me. But I know the enormous power of faith and belief. I know them from the inside out, and I know them to be the true primordial hungers, the clay everything else is molded from.”

“I have very little faith and almost no religious beliefs. You’re very wrong about me, Louis; that is not my hunger.”

“I think it’s everyone’s, and the power of a Maheely is his natural ability when the circumstances are right to tap that need.”

I get up from the couch, wrapping my blanket tightly around me. I feel outraged and make little attempt to hide it. “I don’t know if these are your own thoughts or if David has contributed to them or for that matter if it’s general opinion, but all I do know is that I’ve been put in a class with murderers, borderline defectives, and otherwise evil people. And you’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to listen to any more. I want you to leave.”

Louis gets up and starts coming toward me apologetically, but I back away.

“Johanna, please, you misunderstand. First of all, David has nothing to do with any of this. No one else has. It’s all me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true. I thought because the nature was spiritual we could have an understanding together. Johanna, there’s nothing evil about you. Forgive me if I made you think that’s what I was saying.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I feel I know what’s troubling me and how to handle it. It’s between David and me and no one else.”

“I’ve upset you, and I feel terrible.”

“Forget it. I guess I overreacted. And as for my problems with Sephra, it’s obvious. She’s associated with the greatest loss in my life; it’s certain to make our relationship difficult. Louis, I have a terrible headache. I’m going to go lie down. Let yourself out, will you?”

“I could kick myself for being so clumsy. Call me later when you get up, will you?”

“I’ll see.”

“Please.”

“OK.” And I walk down the hall toward the bedroom. I feel him watching me, and then I hear the door quietly close. I stop where I am and wait, feeling the safety of my home and of being alone. I sit down on a delicate, satin pull-up chair outside the bedroom. I never sit in the hallway, though, of course, I know it well; I’ve hung every picture and passed them thousands of times in the last eight years, but I rarely stop to look at them. Now I do, and it calms me and gives me a comfort of the familiar but still engages my interest enough to relax my mind.

I have no proof, it’s only intuition, but I feel that David may have asked Louis to speak to me. That’s even more disturbing than the things he said. The thought that I may no longer be able to trust my dearest friends puts me off balance. Somehow I’ve let too many seams show. Even to David. Especially to David. I will be more careful.

Once that decision is made I feel relieved. My body still hurts, and I feel tired. I don’t want to go back to my bed, so I go into the living room and fall asleep on the couch.

The phone wakes me. It’s Claudia.

“Joey, it’s gorgeous outside. Would you like to take a walk over? We can just poop around here for a while and then go for an early dinner in Chinatown. How about it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on, lazy.”

“No.” I’m sure Louis must have called her. “I’m just not hungry,” I say. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Is David there?”

I knew it. Louis did call her.

“No,” I say, “why?”

“Why? Why not? He’s there all the time, isn’t he?” She manages to sound puzzled, but then she’s a good actress.

“Well, he’s not here now, and I don’t expect him today.”

“Is something wrong?”

Incredible, their interference. “Not a thing,” I say, doing some of my own acting. “Everything is terrific. But I worked late last night, and I’m going to get to bed early tonight.”

“You mean you worked after the game?”

“Right.”

“Joey, what’s up? Come on, I can tell something’s wrong.”

“Claudia, if it is, I’ll fix it myself, OK?”

“Wow, sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to be so short, but I think we all have to be responsible for ourselves. It’s really better that way.”

“Sometimes we need help.”

“I’ll call you if I do.”

“OK, Johanna, but don’t forget—call me if you do.”

We say good-bye, and I feel a tinge of guilt. I know she really cares about me, and I was very curt with her—but it’s all David’s fault. God knows what he’s been telling them.

I go into the kitchen to make myself some tea and take a couple of Valium when the phone rings again. This time it’s David. No surprise. Claudia surely got to him. He wants to come over. He says we should talk. I really don’t want to, but there’s no putting him off.