Of course, with thirty-four million dollars to play with, you could give away ten million and still have twenty-four million. Hell you could give away twenty-four million and still have ten million. Point being, Ryan was now rich. Gold-plated rich. If she could win Ryan back, they could afford to buy a house on the beach. Her new offices would be in Beverly Hills, not Culver City, and she could continue to live the life of luxury she always dreamed about.
With a man she actually loves.
That’s right, because something happened to Anne while she was having that drink with Ryan. She realized she still loved him.
They didn’t get divorced because they fought or he was cruel, or inattentive or boring. They got divorced because Ryan was poor and she met someone who was rich. But that didn’t mean Ryan and his adorable dimples weren’t handsome, smart and charming.
But he had something else, something she rarely encountered in her law practice, integrity. Oh sure, there were honest lawyers out there, but a lawyer, by definition, was somebody who was always looking for a way to parse the truth. Ryan didn’t parse. He stood on a razor blade with two sides, right and wrong. He was going to give up a Lotto ticket worth tens of millions because technically it wasn’t his. Who would do that?!
Ryan.
And sitting with him tonight she realized how much she admired him. Here was a guy who loved his job, believed in right and wrong, and was honorable. There was absolutely no bullshit in Ryan Magee.
Now admittedly, she tricked Ryan into taking the Lotto money with the foundation idea, but Anne had no pretense about who or what she was.
So, part one of her plan was to get her hands on Ryan’s Lotto money. But part two of her plan was even more important; getting her hands on Ryan.
TWENTY-FIVE
Edna Kaye paced anxiously in front of room 1224. She could hear her dear sweet Maggie whining inside. It had been almost fifteen minutes since that pretty blonde woman had gone down to the desk and still no one had come to let Maggie out of the room. She was about to get on the elevator herself when it dinged and a room service waiter stepped into the corridor.
Edna recognized him; he’d been the same waiter who delivered her Oolong tea and sherry a couple of hours ago. “Oh, thank God you’ve come,” she said. “Maggie is trapped in that room there, 1224. The woman who’s staying there went to get security but it’s taking forever and Maggie is simply miserable.”
The room service waiter, Jorge, was actually there to pick up the room service cart for 1224, which he saw in the hallway across from the room. He also saw the Do Not Disturb sign on 1224’s door. A good way to get fired from the Bel Air Regent was to knock on the door, or walk into a room that had a Do Not Disturb sign.
“Please, won’t you please open the door so I can get my Maggie?”
Jorge remembered Edna and remembered her dog. Edna had tipped him ten dollars cash, which he liked. The dog had nipped his ankle, which he didn’t. But he could hear the dog clawing at the door.
“How long ago did she leave?” Jorge asked. Though born in Mexico, he was raised in Fresno and spoke with no accent. He was a senior at UCLA, on scholarship, and desperately needed this job to make ends meet.
“At least fifteen minutes. Does it usually take that long for security to respond? What if someone was in real trouble? Please, can’t you help me?”
Actually, security usually responded very quickly but they must have their hands full tonight, he thought. He had an electronic pass card, of course; he was always going into guest rooms to retrieve trays and carts. And who could he possibly disturb by opening the door now? That dog was making so much noise, that if there was a guest inside, he’d have to be awake.
Still, you never knew. He looked at Edna, saw the desperation on her face and made a decision. He took out his pass card, slid it in the door and slowly pushed.
The door was only open six or seven inches when Maggie shot out of there like a cannon ball and leapt into Edna’s outstretched arms. “Oh, my poor baby, it’s okay, momma’s here.”
The door to 1224 was barely open and Jorge couldn’t see inside. He thought about walking in and checking it out, but the Do Not Disturb sign haunted him and since the dog was freed, he saw no reason. Jorge let go of the door and it hissed shut.
Alice’s bloody secret was safe, for now.
Alice didn’t know that, of course. She was back in her apartment about five miles from the Bel Air Regent. She liked to think in the shower. And that’s what she was doing now; Alice was thinking about the rape. Or more precisely, what happened after the rape.
As she lay in bed that night eleven years ago, hurting inside and out, she tried to figure out exactly what had happened. She must have been drugged, she hadn’t drunk that much. And it hit her so fast. It had to be a Roofie. She’d heard about the date rape drug on TV and in Human Sexuality class. Mrs. Brillstein warned about never taking a drink at a party unless you made it yourself. But who expects your own classmates to drug you?
She knew she should go to the police. Make those bastards pay for what they’d done to her. She just wished she’d known what exactly they had done to her. She had no semen in her vagina, but she had been raped, she knew that. So they must’ve worn condoms. And though she’d never had anal sex before, she could tell that she had now.
Mrs. Brillstein had been very clear what a woman should do if she was ever raped. Get to a hospital emergency room. Don’t bathe or change your clothes. Once there, call the police. Then they’d check you for injuries, put together a rape kit and collect evidence they could use in court.
But Alice had already showered. It’s the first thing she did when she got home. Stood under the shower and wept. She felt so guilty about what had happened. She actually thought it was her fault.
The truth is, if Adam had said he wanted to have sex with her, she would have said yes. And if Adam said he also wanted her to have sex with his friends, the answer, pathetically, would probably have been yes. She’d have done whatever Adam asked her.
And she’d actually had sex with more than one boy at a time once before, with Tommy Chapman and his friend David. She’d slept with Tommy a few times and did the twosome on a dare. It was kind of fun at the time in a porn-star-wannabe, slightly perverted, sort of way. But she’d felt cheap and used the next day and hadn’t done it again.
Lying in bed that night eleven years ago, Alice was ashamed of herself. She knew deep down that she’d been using sex to be more popular. And she hated that about herself. She wished she could just be satisfied at being a brainiac and not care what others thought about her. But she couldn’t.
And deep down, in that moral, guilt-ridden consciousness that we’re either born with or our parents poison us with, she felt that being drugged and raped was God’s way of punishing her for being a slut.
So as she lay in bed, she decided not to go to the hospital. Not to go to the cops. Just to go to school and act as if nothing had happened. And in that twisted, adolescent way of thinking, she actually decided that if she said nothing, showed up at school as if nothing had happened, Adam might be so impressed he would begin to respect her. Maybe even like her.
She had a class with Adam first period, English. Alice got to school earlier, took her seat and waited. A few seconds after the bell Adam hurried in, he looked ragged, hung over. Good, Alice thought, I’m not the only one in pain.