“If we cut this one five ways, it's only two hundred apiece,” the twenty-two-year-old German model, Brigitte, said matter-of-factly. “Could you afford that, Graze?” Grace loved her accent.
“Yeah, if I stop eating.” It meant giving up half her salary, which wouldn't leave her much for food or fun, or any other needs she might have. And she hated to dip into her savings, but she knew she could if she had to. And maybe living in a nice place, in a good neighborhood, with decent people, would be worth it. “Let me think about it.”
One of the two American girls laughed and looked at her watch. “Great. You have till four o'clock to make up your mind. We have to go look at it again, and tell them by four-thirty. Want to come?”
“I'd love to, if I can leave by then. I have to ask Cheryl.” But when Grace asked, Cheryl was thrilled. She'd been horrified to hear that Grace was living in a fleabag hotel while looking for an apartment. She had even invited her to stay in her apartment, with her and Bob, on Lake Shore Drive, until she found something, but Grace hadn't accepted.
“Thank God!” Cheryl exclaimed, and practically shoved Grace out the door with the others. They were nice girls, and she also thought that maybe if Grace lived with them, she might decide to become a model. Cheryl hadn't given up on that yet, but on the other hand, she had discovered that Grace's unfailing sense of organization was a godsend.
The town house turned out to be spectacular. It had five good-sized bedrooms, and three baths, a decent-sized kitchen, a patio, and a sunken living room with a view of the lake. It had everything that each of them wanted, and they signed the lease that afternoon. For a long time, Grace stood there and stared at it, unable to believe that this was her home now. It was partially furnished with a couch and some chairs, and a dining room set, and the other girls all claimed that they had enough stuff to fill it. All Grace had to do was buy a bed, and some furniture for her own bedroom. It was incredible. She had a job, she had a home, she had friends. As she stood and looked at the lake, tears filled her eyes, and she turned away and pretended to check out the patio so they wouldn't see them.
Marjorie, one of her new roommates, had followed her outside. She had seen the emotional look on Grace's face, and she was worried. Marjorie was the mother hen of the group, and the others always teased her that she fussed over them too much. She was only twenty-one, but she was the oldest of seven children. “You okay?” she asked. Grace turned to look at her as Marjorie walked up to her with a look of concern, and Grace sighed and smiled through her tears. It was impossible to conceal them.
“I just … it's like a dream … this is everything I ever wanted. And a lot more.” She only wished she could have shown it to Molly. She would never have believed it. The poor, beaten, miserable creature she had been had flowered, even in the dismal barrenness of Dwight Correctional Center over the past two years. And now she had a new life, a new world, it was like a dream. David and Molly had been right. If she hung on long enough, the ugliness of the past would be behind her forever. And now, finally, she was past it.
She had sent Luana and Sally postcards only a few days before, telling them that she was okay and Chicago was great. But she knew them both well, and she suspected they'd never write her. But she still wanted to let them know that she was safe and well, and had reached a safe harbor. And that they weren't forgotten.
“You looked so upset a few minutes ago,” Marjorie pursued it, but Grace was smiling now.
“I'm just happy. This is like a dream come true for me.” Marjorie would never know how much so. The one thing she didn't want anyone to know here was that she had killed her father and served time in prison. She wanted to leave that behind her.
“It's like a dream for me, too,” Marjorie confessed. “My parents were so poor I had to share my only good pair of shoes with two of my sisters. And they had feet two sizes smaller, and Mom always bought them in their size. I never lived in a place like this, till I came here. And now I can afford it, thanks to the Swansons.” It was thanks to her own good looks, and she knew that. She was planning to move on to New York when her contract was up, and do some modeling there, or even Paris. “It's fun, isn't it?”
“It's terrific.”
The two girls chatted for a while, and eventually Grace went back to her hotel and packed. She didn't care if she had to sleep on the floor until her furniture arrived. But she was not going to spend one more night in that cheap hotel, killing cockroaches, and listening to old men spit and flush toilets. She moved out the next day, and dropped her bags off on her way to work. And at lunch time, she went to buy a bed and some furniture at John M. Smythe on Michigan Avenue. She even bought herself two little paintings. They promised to deliver it all on Saturday, and in the meantime, Grace had every intention of sleeping on the carpet.
She had never been happier in her life, and the job was going splendidly. But on Friday, when she reported to Marquez, she found she was in trouble, and he loved it.
“You moved,” he accused her, pointing a finger at her, almost as soon as she walked into his office. He'd been waiting for her for days. And the only reason he knew was that he dropped by at the hotel again, and they told him she'd checked out for good on Tuesday.
“Yeah? So? What's the problem?”
“You didn't notify me.”
“The probation papers say I don't have to notify you for five days. I moved three days ago, and I'm notifying you right now. Does this take care of it, Mr. Marquez?” He was out to get her, and she knew it. But there was nothing he could say to her, she was right. She had five days to notify him that she had moved, and she had only moved on Tuesday.
“So what's the address?” he snarled at her, prepared to write it down, but as she looked at him, she realized what was going to happen.
“Does this mean you'll be dropping by on me from time to time?” she asked, looking worried, and he loved it. He liked making her uncomfortable, catching her off guard, frightening her, if possible. She brought out all his basest sexual instincts.
“It might. I have a right to drop by, you know. Do you have something to hide?”
“Yes. You.” She looked right at him and he flushed all the way to his receding hairline.
“What's that supposed to mean?” He dropped his pen and stared at her in irritation.
“It means that I have four roommates who don't need to know where I've been for the past two years. That's what.”
“You mean incarcerated for murder?” He glowed. Now he had a wedge he could use on her. He could threaten to expose her to her roommates.
“I guess that's what I mean. You make it sound so charming.”
“It is pretty charming, I'm sure they'd be fascinated to know your history. And by the way, what do you mean four roommates. Sounds like a bunch of call girls.”
“You wish.” She wasn't afraid of him, but he worried her a little bit, and she disliked him intensely. “They're models.”
“That's what they all say.”
“They're registered at the agency where I work.”
“Too bad. I need the address anyway … unless you want me to violate you, of course.” He looked ever hopeful.
“Oh for chrissake, Marquez.” She told him the address then, and he raised one nasty little eyebrow.
“Lake Shore Drive? How are you going to pay for that?”
“Split five ways it's costing me exactly two hundred dollars.” She had no intention of telling him about the money she'd gotten in her settlement with Frank Wills. Louis Marquez had absolutely no reason to know that. And the truth was, with the salary she earned, if she was willing to economize a little bit, she could afford the new town house.