Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakthrough (17 page)

  She stared at what she'd typed for ten agonizing seconds, knowing she needed to delete it now, before she started something she had no intention of finishing. Before she started something that could hurt innocent people she loved.

  The adrenaline buzzed higher, crazier, more seductive, and she gave a sudden wild laugh, like a woman crazy with grief and rage, and hit send with a vicious click of her mouse.

  She watched the program search -connect-send, too quickly for her even to register what she'd done, and she suddenly thought of Vivian at Harris's, leered at and jeered at by a bar full of Kettle men, baring her breasts and laughing at them all.

  And for one crazy second before she crumpled onto the bed to wonder exactly what she'd just set in motion and how she could both desire and dread the consequences, Sarah could understand exactly why Vivian had done it.

Fifteen

AD IN THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE

OCTOBER 1985

DANCERS

WANTED, NO HOUSE FEES.

We are currently hiring dancers at our lounge/club located on Kingsbury Street. With experience or without. Great money, accommodations available, flexible hours. Phone: 312–555–8763. Auditions held any day of the week.

  Vivian paced back and forth in her newly bare living room, occasionally circling her shoulders or stretching her neck. Last night Mike had helped her move the ugly furniture into the dining room so the space could be free for her fi rst class.

  
If
anyone showed.

  Amber said she'd come, maybe try to bring a friend. Vivian

had put notices up around town, but big whooping surprise if no one responded. After a few weeks people might accept her more, trust her more,
if
she managed not to do anything too outrageous.

  God, how depressing. Outrageous was what she did. But outrageous fit her in New York. Here, it ended up biting her in the ass and spitting out regret.

  Maybe Erin would come, though Vivian had a feeling the Beastman wouldn't let her. Bad situation. Vivian got the vibe about three seconds after seeing Erin in her own territory, and his appearance clinched it. El creepo in the extreme. At least Ed could be charming and sweet when he was sober and in the mood. They'd had plenty of really good times.

  She'd bet life was a lot of really bad times with Joe. Damn shame, but Erin had to wipe the boot marks off her backside and fight. No one was going to rescue her from her life. She needed to take the power into her own hands.

  A movement caught Vivian's eye out her front window, and she squinted at the street, surprised to be so nervous. She was certified, fair and square, as a fi tness instructor through the American Council on Exercise, but this was her first real gig. Ed had thought she was nuts. He teased her through the entire course and the long weeks of studying anatomy, exercise physiology, kinesiology, designing routines . . .

  In the end, okay, just as he predicted, nothing came of it. But she'd pulled out determination and discipline she hadn't used since she earned her GED in her early twenties in Chicago, studying days and dancing or working as a female escort nights. She'd been proud as hell passing that exam. No, it wasn't Abby's graduate degree in art history from Wesleyan. But it was hers.

  So who was lurking on her lawn? A shy customer? She started for the front door, when her brain registered a man. With a camera.

  Her nervous excitement turned sick; she ducked away from the window. Paparazzi. They found her.
Shit
.

  Served her right. For all its surreal Mayberry qualities and the closed -minded hostility of its residents, Kettle had been a haven, one she'd managed to fool herself into thinking was safe. Given how much of her private life had come out in the trial, it would take only minor digging to find out this house was still in the Harcourt name. If she'd had her head out of her ass, she'd be surprised they'd taken this long to track her down.

  Well, she was happy to give them a piece of her new life if not her mind. Perhaps she should open the door butt -naked? Perhaps when Amber and her friend arrived, Vivian could shout, "Oh goody, the members of my lesbian three -way have arrived." Perhaps she could tell them she was setting up Kettle's fi rst brothel and recruiting teenagers to hook for her.

  Except the more scraps she threw them, the longer they'd keep coming around and the longer she'd have to stay here. She needed to keep back the temper, smile graciously, and act like Sarah Gilchrist.

  Pause for intense nausea.

  Okay, so it wouldn't be fun, but it was probably her fi rst good idea in a very long time.

  She crept to the front window and peeked out again, hoping the sheer curtains would hide her long enough to see what was up.

  Two of them now, and a third by the driveway, possibly more around the side of the house. The two in front—one short and round, one taller and thin, like Laurel and Hardy— had Amber and her friend in their greasy clutches. Amber would be okay. She'd focus on the aerobics classes and Vivian's dubious membership in the Kettle Social Club and leave out things like, oh, say, Vivian wanting to know if she was screwing her boyfriend.

  But she couldn't control what the rest of the town said. These guys were pros at getting what they wanted. Even those good citizens of Kettle who weren't out to persecute Lorelei Taylor would fall, like kids playing in a minefi eld.

  More headlines, more invasion of privacy. More humiliation. More nationwide opportunities for people who didn't know her from a pillbug to despise her, pontificate, lay more blame for the disintegration of modern society at her feet.

  Vivian slumped against the wall next to the window. She was tired. Just tired. Six months of fighting, of attitude, of making sure people knew they could kiss her ass for all she cared . . . she wanted to be done with that.

  She heard a motor and peeked again. Mike's truck, coming home from work. Already two men were heading for his driveway.

  She ran to the back door, feeling like a hostage in an FBI movie. Mike was getting out of the truck, shaking his head, looking so tall and handsome and save -the-day noble next to the evil reporters that she actually got hero -worship gooey.

  
Get a grip
.

  A third reporter, the in -between one, neither Laurel nor Hardy, shoved the mike forward, doubtless shouting some gross, intrusive question. What was it like living next to Lorelei Taylor? Did she sunbathe nude? Did she lure small boys into her house with drugged candy? Had she tried to seduce him?

  Mike wouldn't betray her. She knew that as certainly as she knew cheap shoes weren't worth the money you saved. And so help her, that certainty made hero worship run even gooier.

  Vivian moved away from the window and let her head bonk to the wall. She did not need to go soft on Big Wholesome Mike. For one, nothing she felt in this horrible rebound period could be trusted. For another, anything she started would end badly for one or both of them. She'd already made the mistake of getting involved with someone too different. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. The sooner she could get out of Kettle, the better.

  Her front doorbell rang and she moved cautiously back into the living room, peered through the fishbowl hole in the door and saw Amber, Amber's friend, and men with cameras in their hands and prying on their minds.

  Deep breath. Stay lovely. Be Sarah. She opened the door. "Hi, Amber, come on in."

  "Ms. Taylor, would you answer a few—"

  "It's Ms. Harcourt." She pulled Amber and her friend inside. "I have no comment at this time."

  Door closed. Fine. She'd done what she could. The townspeople would do the rest . . . or she could hope not. But any damage resulting from the fi rst round, she'd have to mitigate by being a model Kettle citizen from now on.

  Yippee. If she wasn't acting one way, she was having to act another.

  She turned and smiled broadly at Amber and her friend, who looked like a short -haired Avril Lavigne, the kind of pouty brat Vivian used to love to torture. "Hey, guys, ready to work out?"

  "Sure." Amber shrugged out of her red parka and gestured to her friend. "This is Tanya. I'll get more girls next week."

  "Sure. Hi, Tanya."

  "Hey." Tanya nodded, looking as if she wasn't sure she should be in the same room with Vivian, but whether because Vivian was exalted or villainous, who knew.

  Exalted or Villainous Vivian collected their three dollars, led the girls into the living room, and turned on the music while they shed their street clothes.

  "Ready?" She sounded too chirpy. Nothing she'd done for the past . . . ever had felt quite this naked. She felt practically more on trial here than in New York. Earning the certifi cate was one of the very few constructive things she'd done for herself, and she needed to prove she'd earned it fairly.

  But no pressure.

  "Let's do it." She led them through simple warm -up steps, then stretches. This part she could do without thinking.

  Then the hard part. Her routine. Keeping the fl ow logical, repeating to let them learn each segment, cueing in advance so they wouldn't be surprised by the next steps and stumble.

  She didn't start well. Got lost. Called steps by the wrong name. Cued after the switch happened. The girls did their best, but their smiles faded. They exchanged a glance.

  Vivian started to panic, which pissed her off. She was
not
going to fail at this. Her fault for assuming her Vivian pluck would see her through, the way it saw her through everything.

Well, this time it wasn't fucking working.

  "Okay, change -up here." She got them doing a simple step-touch. What the hell now? They'd been at it for twenty minutes, she'd promised them twice that, plus toning. What routine could she pull out of her ass in the next ten seconds?

  Inspiration hit. "Try this."

  She started doing a PG -17 aerobicized version of her "exotic dancer" routine, which she could still, unfortunately, do in her sleep. She taught the steps by sections, adding bounce, jumps, arms overhead to increase the cardio benefi t.

  The smiles came back. Giggles. Laughter. Vivian started to have fun. Let the bump and grind back into the routine. Amber and Tanya went nuts.

  "And one and two, work those hips, baby, give it to them."

  The girls whooped and worked their young bodies in a pretty convincing imitation of sexual nirvana—all in the name of good health of course.

  The shadow of a paparazzi flitted across her window, and Vivian groaned. If this got out . . .

  She looked at the two young faces, flushed and glistening with perspiration, shining eyes watching her every move. Screw the risk. Next time she'd have a proper routine worked out and rehearsed, a performance worthy of Sarah and her committee.

  She led them in a gyrating cool -down, then twenty minutes of leg work, push -ups, abdominal crunches, then the final stretches, impressed with their stamina. At their age she got most of her physical activity flat on her back.

"Deep breath in." She lifted both arms over her head, in

haling. There. She'd done it. Earned six whole dollars fair and square doing something healthy and satisfying that didn't involve men. "And exhale. Good job."

  The girls joined her applause and gathered up their things.

  "You hot babes wanna stay for a
pop
?" She winked at Amber.

  "Um. I gotta go." Tanya threw Amber a significant look and headed for the front door. "Thanks, though."

  "Tanya?" Vivian took a few steps after her. Amber she trusted. This girl was an unknown. "Those guys would give teeth to hear about the routines I just taught. And what they'd—"

  "
Those
routines?" Tanya blinked, her voice artifi cially high. "Like our gym teacher does? March, march, grapevine to the right, jumping jacks, stuff like that?"

  "Yeah." Vivian grinned. "Like that. Thanks."

  "Sure." Tanya threw Amber another meaningful look and left.

  "So, girlfriend." Vivian put her arm around Amber's shoulders and walked her to the kitchen. "What's this about?"

  "Um . . . what do you mean?"

  
Um . . . you know darn well
. Vivian opened the refrigerator and grabbed two Diet Sierra Mists. "Why was Tanya giving you the eye when she left?"

  "Oh.
That.
" Amber popped the top off her soda. "I wanted to ask you something."

  "Ye -e-e-es?" Vivian grabbed a bag of Cheetos Twists and offered them, watching a blush creep up the girl's already rosy cheeks.

Uh-oh.

"Well, Kettle's a really small town, right?"

"I noticed that, yeah."

  "So if I wanted to buy . . . something at the drugstore, the Stottlers might see me and tell my mom."

  
Uh-oh, uh -oh.
"I see."

  "And I don't have a car, so I can't go to Ladysmith to get anything."

  "Hmm." Vivian downed half her soda and suppressed a belch. "What type of 'anything' and 'something' are we talking about?"

  "Um . . ." Amber swallowed a mouthful of Cheetos. "Condoms?"

  "Condoms." Oh crap.

  The teenage face went from red to fi ery. "Yes."

  "Come upstairs with me."

  "Yeah?" Her face turned hopeful.

  Vivian came around the counter and put a hand on Amber's shoulder. "Not for that. I want to show you something."

  "Oh." She didn't try to mask her disappointment. "Okay."

  Vivian led her upstairs into the horrifi cally wallpapered bedroom, winked at Jesus, imprisoned, doe -eyed, on His clock, and gestured to the dollhouse. "Check this out."

  "Oh my gosh, look at that." Amber rushed forward and eagerly peered into each of the six elegantly furnished rooms.

  "I thought you'd like it."

  "This was your grandmother's?"