Chapter Eight

 

Forty-five minutes after his mother hung up on him, Max stood in the foyer of her townhouse. “Maman?” He started to bound up the stairs, but saw his mother standing at the head of the staircase, holding a finger to her lips.

“Shh. Do not come up.”

“Why not? What’s happened?”

His mother descended the stairs. Always graceful, she seemed awkward in her movements and stumbled two steps from the bottom. He grabbed her arm and steadied her. “What is it? Please, you must tell me.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “The worst,” she told him wearily. “Let us go into the kitchen. I want to make sure she cannot overhear.”

His imagination soared into overdrive. Given Stark’s less than salutary reputation, ‘the worst’ could only mean one of two things, neither of which he wanted to contemplate. He took a deep steadying breath and led his mother to the kitchen, but not before giving a last glance up the stairs toward Nikki’s door.

He eased his mother into a comfortable chair, but growing impatient, he insisted, “Tell me.”

Maman hid her face in her hands and dropped into French. “Nikki went out with him. He became obnoxious, so she left him at the bar long enough to call a taxi. When she came back, he was apologetic and encouraged her to finish her drink before her cab arrived.” She took a ragged breath. “That’s all she remembers,” she paused, “until she awakened this morning—in his bed. She’s …” Unable to continue, she shook her head.

He listened. Rage and horror mounted with every word. Engulfed him. He clenched his fists, needing to lash out and break something—anything. “The son of a bitch. He drugged her.” Trying to stay in control, he closed his eyes. “How is she?”

“She is asleep, or at least, she is trying.”

“Should I go up?”

“No, absolutely not. She is terribly ashamed. Does not want you to know at all, understand?”

“But—”

“She blames herself.”

“It’s not her fault. I’m as responsible as that slime ball Brit. I should’ve picked her up and carried her out of there.”

“But you said she was determined to go with him.”

“She was.”

“Then you cannot blame yourself, mon fil.”

“I went to the shoot because I was concerned about Stark’s reputation. I didn’t do enough.”

Maman sighed. “I know. But we are faced with what must still be done.”

“It’s simple. We’re taking her to the hospital and calling the police. That photographer should be in jail.”

“No—no, she will not hear of the police becoming involved. She became hysterical when I merely mentioned it. I shall call my personal physician and ask her to come here.”

“Good.”

He walked over to the counter took a cup from an upper cabinet, then poured a cup of coffee. He watched his mother pick up the telephone. Anger alternated with disbelief. And what a nightmare for Nikki. And most of all, the responsibility was his. Indeed, he’d assumed that sweet, and at times heavy, burden the night he’d rescued her from the streets.

***

Nikki lay quietly, rolled up in a fetal position, pretending to sleep, wishing like hell she could wake up and it would all be a bad dream. She’d never feel clean again, not after a thousand showers. Max was downstairs. Thank God, he hadn’t come up. She didn’t know how she’d ever look him in the face, again.

A light tap sounded on her bedroom door.

“Nikki?” It was Maman.

Maybe she should just pretend to be asleep. No her mentor deserved better. “I’m awake.”

The door opened. “May I come in?”

“Sure.”

Maman entered, but Nikki stared at the wall, unable to face her mentor. The bed gave as she sat. “My physician, Charlotte Davenport, is outside. I want her to examine you. I have already told her what happened. She has seen cases like yours before, and she understands how traumatic this is for you.”

Nikki’s throat closed. She couldn’t get enough air. She clenched a corner of the sheet. Her lifeline.

“Nikki?”

Maybe if she didn’t answer, Renée and her doctor would just go away.

“Will you see her, please?”

She heard the misery in Renée’s voice and regretted she was the cause of it. Wordlessly, she nodded, then afraid of being left in the hands of a stranger, clutched the older woman’s hand. “Maman, stay.” Her voice was so hoarse she didn’t recognize it as her own.

“But of course, Chèrie.” Maman sighed. “I will bring in Charlotte. The examination will be over quickly. I promise.”

She held her breath until the doctor entered.

“Hi, Nikki, I’m Charlotte Davenport.” Her voice sounded soft…and kind, but Nikki squeezed her eyes shut and kept her face averted.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do before I do it, and I’ll wait for your permission. Just nod your head or squeeze Renée’s hand before I proceed. All right?”

She nodded, but kept her face to the wall. Renée sat beside her on the bed.

“First, I’ll draw some blood from your arm. It’ll be tested for various diseases your partner might’ve had as well as for any drugs he used. You’ll need further blood tests at six and twelve month intervals.”

Nikki nodded again, extending her right arm in the direction of the doctor’s voice.

“Have you ever had blood drawn before?” the physician asked.

She nodded.

“All right then, you know what I’m going to do. I’ll wrap this rubber tourniquet around your arm. It’ll be tight. I’ll swab the inside of your elbow with alcohol. It’ll be cold. Then there’ll be a slight stick.”

Again, Nikki nodded her assent. All right already, just do it and get it over with. She winced as the needle slid home. No big deal, really.

“That’s it, for the blood-letting. Next, I’d like to examine you for any injuries or marks.”

Biting her lip, she nodded her assent once more, but when the physician touched the sheet covering her, an involuntary tremble shook Nikki from head to toe.

“These scratches?”

Renée explained, “A scrub brush...in the shower.”

“I see. Not terribly surprising.”

The doctor’s touch, gentle and soothing, encouraged Nikki to take a peek at the woman who was so kind and understanding. A middle-aged woman with short gray hair...and a kind face. Just as she imagined. She shut her eyes again.

“I’ll leave a prescription for an ointment. There’ll be minimal scarring. The scratches look angry, but they’re superficial.”

“Thank you so much, Charlotte,” she heard Renée say.

“The next part of the examination will be the most uncomfortable for you, but it’s necessary. I’ll be as gentle as possible, but I must be thorough—with your permission, of course. Have you ever had an examination of this type before?”

“Just get it over with,” Nikki croaked, hating the sound of her own voice. Talking, any response, made it seem more real. She just wanted to be left alone. Would they never leave?

She clenched her jaw and clung to Renée’s hand when she felt the sheet being adjusted. Her legs jittered at the physician’s first touch.

“Take some slow deep breaths, dear. It will help you relax.”

She tried. The deep breaths did help. Before she realized it, the exam was over. She heard the snapping sound of the doctor removing her gloves.

“I’ve done swabs for STD’s and DNA traces, though I doubt there’ll be any DNA evidence left.”

Renée rose slowly, but Nikki continued clinging to her hand. “We understand. Thank you, Charlotte. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“One more thing. Nikki, I understand you don't want the authorities involved, but you must have counseling. It’s essential.”

Furiously Nikki shook her head. No way would she spill her guts about this to anyone else. It was so over.

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Renée nodded. “You’ve been so kind.”

“I’ll leave you some numbers. I’m so sorry this happened.” The doctor paused, then stressed in a quiet, firm tone, “She really must talk to someone—a therapist, or at least a rape-victim support group.”

As comforting as Renée had been—truthfully, Nikki couldn’t have made it without her, but now she was ready for both women to clear out.

“All right then. Call me, if there are any problems. I’m leaving a prescription for some pills. They will function like the morning after pills you are familiar with in Europe. She should take a dose today and again tomorrow morning. They’ll prevent the chance of pregnancy.”

“We understand,” Renée said.

“Nikki, you do understand you aren’t to blame for this,” the doctor said. “You’re young and someone older took advantage of your innocence. He, and no one else, is at fault. More than likely, you aren’t the first and won’t be the last.”

Oh, patronize me, why don’t you? The longer she listened, the more her anger mounted, but she wouldn’t give way again. She wanted to scream her rage. Every cell in her body wanted to scream.

“Perhaps…” Renée began, “…we could continue instructions downstairs. I think Nikki would like some time to rest.”

“Of course. Good-bye for now. And again, I’m so sorry this happened.”

She’s sorry? That’s rich. Get out of here. Get out of here. Get out of here.

Then finally, sounds of their retreating footsteps, the door opening and closing.

Alone. She’d had enough of being poked and prodded. She’d be damned if she’d see a shrink who would try and unscramble her brain. As far as she was concerned, Ian Stark didn’t exist...and the night before never happened.

I’m not looking back. It’s over. A done deal.

***

Downstairs in the kitchen, Max paced, stopping only long enough to pour his fourth cup of coffee. Hearing the sound of his mother’s voice quietly conversing with her physician, he looked up. Dr. Davenport was a slightly-plump, middle-aged woman with fine skin and kind blue eyes.

“Well? How is she?” he asked in a level tone. Unfortunately his stomach had tied itself into a knot. Whether from worry about Nikki or the caffeine—not that it made a damned difference.

The doctor lifted a finely arched eyebrow and looked at his mother.

“Sorry. Charlotte, this is my son Maxim Devereaux. Maxim, this is—”

The physician extended her hand and interjected, “Charlotte Davenport, Mr. Devereaux. Physically, Nikki will be fine. She has no serious physical injuries.”

“That’s a relief,” he murmured, feeling powerless, not allowed to see Nikki—but he could well understand why she didn’t want to see anyone. And at the moment, he was definitely the wrong gender.

“However, I’m not so sure about her emotional state. She is very fragile, which is to be expected. She’ll need counseling. It doesn’t matter that she’s refused, right now. She’ll need it sooner or later—but the sooner the better.” Charlotte pulled a day planner from the black leather satchel she carried. “I have some numbers you might need, once she agrees to counseling.”

He handed his mother pen and paper from the nearby counter.

Charlotte rattled off the numbers while Renée scribbled them down. “Merci, Charlotte. I cannot say it enough.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“Is there anything else we may do in the meantime?” Renée asked.

Charlotte frowned, looked back and forth between them, then smiled. “She will need a great deal of love and patience. This is a life-altering event for her. She will never be or feel the same again.”

“She will recover?” he asked.

“If she has counseling. Whether she does or not, she’ll go through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. She might be emotionally labile—you know—angry one minute, depressed, the next. She may withdraw from those who care most about her. She might even continue as if nothing has ever happened. Denial is a powerful weapon in the arsenal of coping mechanisms. It’s difficult to predict how Nikki will respond. And…” she paused, “… I must warn you, she is at greater risk for being raped, again.”

“What?” He shook his head. “I would think just the opposite.”

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t unusual for a victim of rape to engage in further risky behaviors.”

“Mon Dieu.” His mother sighed, then sank down into the nearest chair. “I don’t know if I’m up to this.”

“Well, actually, it’s not your problem. She has a mother, true?”

“No—I mean yes, Nikki does have a mother, but they don’t get along,” he rushed to explain. “I am certain she won’t want her mother involved in this. The woman is cold, calculating.”

“That’s too bad. However, she’s still a minor, you could turn her over to the juvenile authorities,” the doctor suggested.

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not an option. Besides, my mother has legal custody of Nikki.”

His mother nodded vigorously. “Nikki has been with us for nearly a year. She’s very dear to me. I suppose I am a little overwhelmed at the moment.” She continued in a firmer voice, “Her place is here with me. I will do everything I can for her.”

The doctor nodded and smiled. “Good. As I said, she’ll need all the love and support you can give her. I warn you, it won’t be an easy. The most important thing you can try to get across to her is it wasn’t her fault. Her innocence and trust were callously betrayed, but she can, must in fact, learn to trust again, but more wisely.”

“Of course.”

He extended his hand to the doctor. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Charlotte returned a rueful smile. “I’m so sorry it was required. I don’t envy you the next few months. Please call me if there’s anything else I can do.”

“We will, Charlotte,” his mother murmured, “Thank you for everything.”

“Sorry, I can’t do more. I will call you with the test results.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small envelope. “Here’s the prescription. Call me if there are any problems.”

“Pills? Pourquoi?” He demanded.

The physician ignored his question and kept walking toward the front door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Renée.”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

His mother ignored him too. What kind of conspiracy was this? Puzzled he waited, anxiety mounting, until his mother returned. “What are the pills for? If she’s in pain, I should get them filled now.”

“Maxim, the prescription is to prevent pregnancy.”

“Oh.” What else could he say? Pregnancy had been the last thing on his mind.

First things first.

His mother would take care of Nikki. He would take care of Mr. Ian Stark.

***

Antonio’s Grill and Cigar Bar advertised itself as one of the few places where a man could still smoke and dine in New York City. While Max seldom indulged in the pleasant pastime of smoking a cigar, he’d chosen the Little Italy restaurant for its location. Besides, the sidewalk café section of the restaurant reminded him of Paris. Antonio’s was also known for its grand humidor and excellent selection of cigars. He savored one of them, rolling the aromatic cigar back and forth between the fingers of his right hand.

It was unlikely anyone would notice or disturb his meeting with a prominent attorney from the D.A.’s office. He glanced at his watch. Already ten minutes late. Patience, not being one of his virtues, he shifted in irritation. In order to have a clear view of everyone coming and going, he’d chosen a table in the sidewalk café. He flicked the slow-growing ash from his cigar into the brass receptacle.

From his table he observed a man walking toward him who fit the description Ned gave. He was tall, whippet-thin, dressed in a well-tailored, gray-silk suit. The newcomer stopped and looked from side to side, as if searching for someone. Max stood and gestured, catching his attention.

“Mr. Devereaux?”

He extended his hand in greeting. “Yes.”

“Roy Parsons,” the man responded, shaking Max’s hand. “Ned Landry told me you have a problem. Something to do with your agency, I believe.”

“Yes.” Max sat and motioned for the attorney to be seated. “One of the younger models.” He dropped his gaze and studied his drink. Discussing what had happened to Nikki with a stranger wasn’t something he relished. Thinking about it was difficult enough. “Ned suggested you because of your experience with cases—like this.”

“He didn’t go into any details.” Parsons raised his brows.

Max forced himself to say the words. “She was—uh, drugged, then raped by a photographer after a photo session.”

The DA frowned. “She’ll have to file a complaint.”

Max shook his head. “She refuses. Can anything else be done?”

Parsons leaned back and shook his head. “First of all, date rape is both difficult to prove and prosecute. I assume she was examined at an emergency room?”

“No, she wouldn’t hear of it. My mother’s physician came to the house. Examined her, took blood tests, but, uh—” Max stammered, not wishing to reveal her identity unless necessary. “She became hysterical at the mention of the police.”

“So what you’re saying is there’s no DNA or other evidence?”

Max shrugged, uncomfortable with the details. “She came home and showered before anyone knew what happened.”

“Unfortunate…” Parsons admitted, “…but not uncommon.”

“She’s deathly afraid of anyone finding out, but it’s more than that.”

“What?”

“She’s ashamed. Blames herself.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Only friends of his. She doesn’t remember what happened.”

“Not good. They’ll all swear she was with him willingly. Anyone do blood tests for the date rape drug—rohypnol or GBH?”

“Yes, she tested positive for something. He struggled to remember what the doctor had called it. “Yes, I believe it was the first one.”

“At least there’s evidence she wasn’t willing. How old is she?”

“She’s a minor—sixteen.”

Parsons’ eyes widened. “Good God. What about her parents?”

“There’s only her mother, and her mother doesn’t know.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t live with her mother. She lives with my mother, who has legal custody.”

“Well, I have to be honest. If the girl does pursue it, it will certainly become a matter of public record. Let me tell you one thing. What the defense lawyer will put her through will be as much a violation as the rape. He’ll drag her through the mud. He’ll put her on display; her entire life history will be fodder for his defense. This young woman doesn’t sound like someone who’s ready to go through the legal hassles or the character assassination.”

“No, she’s very fragile, right now. I don’t think she could stand it. But surely, this rapist can’t be allowed to get away with what he’s done?”

Parsons shrugged. “Be realistic. He already has.”

“But—” There had to be a way. The photographer couldn’t go unpunished.

Parsons cleared his throat. “The last thing I would ever do is suggest you take matters into your own hands.” Parsons gave Max a narrowed glance.

“You mean—”

“I mean,” Parson’s paused, “the last thing I would tell you to do is handle this yourself.” The attorney’s gaze never left Max’s.

He nodded. “I understand.”

“You understand that I am not telling you to commit a crime.”

“Yes. You have made it very clear. I understand.”