Tell Me You're Sorry (19 page)

There was a long pause on the other end.

Stephanie held the phone against her ear and said nothing.

“Where do we start?” he finally asked.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

 

“S
ure, I guess,” said Jenny Ballatore. “This is awfully nice of you.”

She recited her phone number for the brunette at the nearby café table at Peet's Coffee in the Emeryville Public Market. The woman punched it into her iPhone.

The vast food court was noisy and crowded. Neon signs advertised all the little eateries, and so did the delicious aromas—everything from crepes cooking to Philadelphia cheesesteaks sizzling. Most everyone was eating dinner, which made Peet's a good meeting place for a blind date. It would be easy for them to find each other amid the empty tables. Right now there was only one other customer: the woman who had just offered to come to her rescue should Jenny's date be a total drip.

He wasn't here yet. Ten minutes late, not a good start.

When the other woman had first sat down near her, Jenny had worried her date would get confused, finding two thin brunettes in their early thirties at neighboring tables. The other brunette said her name was Lacee. She'd come to the mall to see a movie, which was sold out; so she'd stopped by Peet's to figure out a backup plan for the night.

Jenny wondered if “SanFran Man27” from Great Connections would prefer Lacee to her. After all, why would he want the brunette with the prominent scar that ran across her right cheek? The mark was two years old, just recent enough that Jenny was still self-conscious about it.

She must have had a tentative look to her, because Lacee had her pegged right away as someone waiting for a blind date. Then Lacee had suggested her escape plan, the old emergency phone call routine. Jenny figured it was as painless a way as any to bail on a bad date. So she decided to go along with the scheme.

“Just scratch the end of your nose and that'll be our signal,” Lacee said, leaning toward her. “And after you ditch him, we can meet up and go for a drink. The Hilton has a decent bar—or there's Trader Vic's. We can swap bad date stories over Cosmos.”

Jenny shrugged. “Maybe I can get a rain check. If this date doesn't pan out, I think I'll just grab some takeout here, then go home, curl up with my cat, and watch
House Hunters
.”

Her new friend frowned. “Well, you're no fun.”

“I know,” Jenny sighed. “That's what I hear from a lot of the guys I've met through this dating service. They don't seem to understand that some people just aren't into recreational, semi-anonymous sex.”

The woman laughed. “Hey, honey, all I wanted was a drink or two.”

Jenny worked up a smile. “Well, let's see how I feel about that drink in ten minutes. It's how much longer I'm giving this guy to show up.”

“Either way, I've got your back,” her new friend said. “We girls have to stick together.”

Jenny sipped the decaf she'd ordered fifteen minutes ago, back when she'd been operating under the delusion that her date would show up on time. The coffee was cold now.

She hadn't been very lucky in love—or in life. She'd spent the last three years caring for her Alzheimer's-afflicted mother in Walnut Creek. She was a Web site designer, and had managed to work out of her mother's home without it hurting her business. But what that arrangement had done to her social life was another story. Her married friend, Carroll, in San Francisco, was her lifeline to sanity. Jenny talked with her at least twice a week, and Carroll drove out to Walnut Creek to visit every month or so.

Of course, dating anyone was out of the question. No help was the accident. While pouring herself some orange juice, her mother had broken the glass. She went into a panic, and started screaming. Her hand was bleeding, and yet she clung to the glass with its sharp, jagged edge. When Jenny tried to take it away, her mother slashed her across the face with it.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Jenny had gone through two dish towels trying to stop the bleeding. But she'd gotten the glass away from her mother. Nineteen stitches. The doctor said she was lucky none of the muscles in her face were affected.

After that, Jenny wished she had a dollar for every time her mom asked what had happened to her face. It was just as well she didn't remember.

Her mother had died five months ago. With the sale of the house and what she'd inherited, Jenny had thought about buying a place in San Francisco. But the prices were outrageous, so she decided to rent an apartment in a new high-rise here in Emeryville. It had a beautiful view of the San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge. And all the advertisements for the place seemed geared toward thirtysomething singles like herself.

She'd been duped. Most of the occupants of the Bay Vista Apartments were senior citizens. Yes, there were some young married couples—along with a very few thirtysomething singles who had also fallen for the complex's marketing strategy. On the plus side, it was a terrific one-bedroom with all the modern amenities, a gas fireplace in the living room, and that killer view. But neighbor-wise, she may as well have still been at her mother's bungalow house in Walnut Creek. Jenny often found herself picking up mail and watering plants for elderly neighbors during their hospital stays. For the last three weeks, she'd been buying groceries for Sono, the feisty 90-year-old Japanese American woman who lived in the unit above her. Sono was just recently showing signs of slowing down. Every morning, Jenny also helped Sono put on the therapeutic stockings the doctor had recently prescribed to keep her legs from swelling.

Jenny's cat—named Simon, after the kid who got killed in
Lord of the Flies
—was a swell companion, but Jenny told herself she deserved more. So for $99.00, she'd joined Great Connections. She'd debated whether or not to use a photo of herself that showed the scar. Why not just get it out there so the guy knew about it up front? Then again, there were some strange men out there who thought a scar like that was hot. But she wasn't interested in those kinds of men. The photo she ran—taken by an elderly neighbor—was a three-quarter profile that didn't show the scar.

So far, Jenny had suffered through about a dozen disastrous dates, courtesy of Great Connections. She wasn't completely sure if the scar was to blame, because several of those men had wanted to sleep with her. Unfortunately, none of them had seemed interested in her beyond that. Out of loneliness, she had sex with a couple of those guys, but didn't feel too good about it. She contemplated demanding a refund from Great Connections.

And right now she was ready to give up on SanFran-Man27
.
He was 25 minutes late. She turned to her new friend and worked up a smile. “Well, I think it's time to cut my losses and call it a day.”

“It's not too late to turn this into a fun night,” the woman said. “My offer still stands. And they know me at Trader Vic's. We probably won't even have to pay for our drinks.”

Jenny got to her feet and picked up her purse. “Some other time,” she said, “maybe this weekend. You've got my number. Give me a call, okay?”

The woman stood up, too. “You sure? C'mon, don't be a party pooper. I'll bet the guy who stood you up was a total loser. We'll have our pick of men at Trader Vic's. They'll be all over you, Jen. Let's go,
one drink
. What do you say?”

“Thanks anyway,” Jenny said. “I'm just going to head home.”

“I thought you were getting takeout.”

“Oh, I have some Lean Cuisine in the freezer that I can nuke,” Jenny replied. A part of her wanted to get away from this Lacee person. She seemed full of good intentions, but she was awfully pushy, too. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Lacee. Thanks for keeping me company.”

She turned to walk away. But her new friend came up beside her and put a hand on her arm. “Listen, Jen, could you do me a favor? Could you walk with me to my car? I've heard some scary stories about the parking lot here after it gets dark. There's safety in numbers. And once we get to my car, I can drive you to yours.”

Jenny figured Lacee had been ready to help out with her blind date situation. She couldn't very well refuse. She nodded. “Sure, of course.”

They started walking, and the woman linked her arm with Jenny's. “Thanks, you're a lifesaver. It's like I said, we girls have to stick together . . .”

 

 

When Jenny woke up, everything was black. She couldn't move.

Tape sealed her mouth shut. Her hands were tied behind her, and she could feel something tight around both ankles. It almost cut off the circulation to her feet.

She realized she was in a compartment of some moving vehicle. She could feel the bumps in the road. The motor hummed, and someone had country and western music on the radio. She heard other cars, too, whooshing past. She figured they must be on a highway somewhere.

The compartment felt like a coffin. It was hot and stuffy. A rancid, sick smell filled her nostrils every time she breathed. When she tried to shift around into another position, the back of her head throbbed horribly, making her nauseous. Had someone hit her?

Jenny tried to remember what had happened. How had she ended up here?

Her last memory was of walking with her new friend across the Public Market's parking lot. She'd thought it odd that Lacee was so concerned about someone attacking her there, and yet she'd parked her SUV at the edge of the lot in a poorly lit area by some railroad tracks. It was all by itself, too. The nearest car was several rows away. And the nearest person she could see was over by the mall, at least a block away.

“You're really out in the boondocks,” Jenny said, with a nervous laugh. “Why in the world did you—”

“Don't worry, I'll give you a lift to your car,” Lacee interrupted. She pressed the device on her key ring, and the SUV's headlights flickered. “Get in . . .”

Jenny stopped a few feet short of the vehicle. Something wasn't right.

“Oh, my God!” Lacee gasped. She was staring at something over Jenny's shoulder, and she seemed terrified. “Jesus, get in! Get in the car!
Now!
”

Glancing back, Jenny didn't see anything. But Lacee's command had been so urgent that she automatically hurried to the passenger side of the SUV and opened the door. All the while, she was digging into her purse for her pepper spray. Just as she jumped into the front seat, she found the little canister. She quickly closed the car door with her other hand.

In an instant, Lacee was behind the steering wheel. She shut her door, and then reached for something on the armrest. The car door locks clicked. Jenny frantically looked outside for their would-be attacker. She didn't see a soul nearby. The closest person was still about a block away.

Lacee was catching her breath and glaring at her. “You conniving bitch,” she growled. “Your photo on Great Connections doesn't show that ugly scar. How am I supposed to duplicate that?”

“What?” Jenny asked.

All at once, someone grabbed her from behind. A rubber-gloved hand went around her throat, almost choking her. She saw part of a man's face in the rearview mirror. His grip was so powerful. He yanked her back against the seat's headrest. Another gloved hand came around on her right side. He started to put a washcloth over her mouth. She could smell some chemical on it.

Jenny blindly waved the small canister over her shoulder and pressed the nozzle.

“Fuck!” the man wailed—over the pepper spray's hiss. He dropped the washcloth and let go of her.

With her eyes squeezed shut, Jenny tried not to breathe in any of the noxious fumes as she fumbled for the door handle.

The man was still cursing and howling in the backseat.

“Goddamn it to hell!” she heard the woman snap. “Stupid! Where's the washcloth? Shut up, and crack a window before you pass out!”

At last, Jenny found the door handle. She yanked at it, but the door wouldn't open.

Suddenly, something hard hit her on the back of the head. Stunned, she slumped against the car window. She couldn't move or open her eyes. She heard a humming noise. It must have been the other windows descending, because she felt the cool night air. But it didn't revive her any.

She could hear the man in back still groaning in agony. Every other word out of his mouth was an expletive. The woman who called herself Lacee shifted around in the driver's seat and kept barking instructions at him. Jenny only caught snippets of their conversation. Their voices seemed to fade in and out.

“Get the washcloth, for God's sakes . . . She's still not completely out . . . Hurry . . .”

“. . . fucking blind . . . can't find anything . . . how am I supposed to see to drive?”

“Take my Evian . . . splash it on your eyes . . . the washcloth . . . it's by her seat belt . . .”

“I say we kill the bitch right now . . .”

“C'mon, quit dawdling . . . Soak it in the chloroform again. I don't want her waking up . . .”

“. . . like to cram this rag down her throat and choke her . . .”

“That's no way to talk about your plaything for the next three or four months.”

Helpless, Jenny felt something covering her mouth and nose. She was too weak to struggle. She couldn't even lift a hand to defend herself. With the cloth over half her face, she thought they were trying to suffocate her. Every time she tried to take a breath, she slipped away a little further.

“. . . won't have to worry about any marks on her,” she heard the woman say. “I think we might burn them this time.”