“I'm sorry I wasted so much of your time,” she said coldly.
“So am I,” he said nonchalantly. “I'll send the contact sheets to the agency. You can pick the shots you like.”
“I don't want to see them. You can burn them when you get them.”
“Believe me, I will,” he said acidly. “And you're right, by the way. You'd make a lousy model.”
“Thanks,” she said unhappily, as she put on her sweater. In a single instant, he had become a stranger. And then, she picked up her bag and walked to the door, and looked back over her shoulder at him. He was standing at a table taking film out of his camera, and she wondered how she could have been so wrong. But then, standing there, looking at him, the room spun around again and she almost fainted. She wondered if she was coming down with the flu, or just upset over everything that had happened. “I'm sorry, Marcus,” she said sadly. He just shrugged, and turned away from her, acting as though he were the injured party. He had had fun with her for a while, but it was time to move on. Pretty girls, in his life, were a dime a dozen.
He never said a word to her as she left, and she practically crawled downstairs from his loft, hailed a cab, and gave the driver the address of the town house. And when they got there, the driver had to shake her to wake her up and tell her what the fare was.
“I'm sorry,” she said thickly, feeling sick again. She was feeling really awful.
“You okay, miss?” He looked concerned as she handed him the fare and a good tip, and he watched her go inside. She was weaving.
And as she closed the door behind her, once she got in, Marjorie looked up from the couch. She'd been doing her nails, and she was horrified when she saw Grace. She was so pale she was green, and she looked as though she was going to pass out before she got to her bedroom.
“Hey! … are you okay?” Marjorie asked, jumping up and going to her, as Grace started to collapse in her arms. Marjorie helped her to her bed, and Grace lay there, feeling like she was dying.
“I think I have the flu,” she said, slurring her words again. “Maybe I've been poisoned.”
“I thought you were with Marcus,” she said with a frown. “Weren't you going to shoot with him today?” Marjorie vaguely remembered.
Grace only nodded. She felt too sick to tell her the details, and she wasn't sure she wanted to anyway. But as she lay on her bed, she started to drift off again, just the way she had in the white chair, and then when she'd woken up and found him naked beside her. Maybe when she opened her eyes again, Marjorie would be naked, too. She laughed out loud, with her eyes closed, and Marjorie stared at her and went to get a flashlight and a damp cloth. She was back two minutes later, and put the cold cloth on Grace's forehead. Grace opened an eye but only briefly.
“What happened?” Marjorie asked firmly.
“I'm not sure,” Grace said honestly with closed eyes, and then she started to cry softly. “It was awful.”
“I'll bet it was,” Marjorie said angrily. She could figure it out for herself, even if Grace couldn't. She turned the flashlight on, and told Grace to open her eyes.
“I can't,” she said miserably. “My head hurts too much. I'm dying.”
“Open them anyway. I want to see something.”
“Nothing's wrong with my eyes … 's my stomach … head …”
“Come on, open them … just for a second.”
Grace fought to open her eyes, and Marjorie shone the flashlight in them, which felt like daggers in her head to Grace, but Marjorie had seen what she wanted.
“Where were you today?”
“I told you … with Marcus …” Her eyes were closed again, and the room was spinning.
“Did you eat or drink anything?” There was silence. “Grace, tell me the truth, did you do any drugs?”
“Of course not!” She opened her eyes long enough to look insulted, and then fought to prop herself up on her elbows. “I've never done drugs in my life.”
“You have now,” Marjorie said angrily. “You're loaded to the gills.”
“With what?” Grace looked frightened.
“I don't know … coke … Spanish fly … downers … LSD … some weird mixture. God only knows … what did he give you?”
“All I had was two glasses of wine … I didn't even finish the second one.” She laid her head back on the pillow again. It made her feel too sick to sit up. She felt even worse than she had at the loft. It was as though the effect of whatever he had given her had heightened.
“He must have spiked it. Did you feel weird while you were there?”
“Oh did I …” Grace moaned. “It was so strange.” She looked up at her friend and started to cry. “I couldn't tell what was a dream … and what was real … he was kissing me and doing things … and then I was asleep, and when I woke up he was naked … but he said nothing happened.”
“Sonofabitch, he raped you!” Marjorie wanted to kill him, on behalf of Grace, and their entire sex. She had never liked him. She hated bastards like that, particularly the ones who took advantage of kids or greenhorns. It was such easy sport, and so damn vicious. But Grace just looked confused as she went on.
“I don't even know if he did … I don't think so … I don't remember.”
“Why did he have his clothes off then?” Marjorie said suspiciously. “Did you have sex with him before you passed out?”
“No. I just kissed him … I didn't want to … I was scared … I did want to … but then I tried to stop him. And he was really mad at me. He said I was psychotic, and a tease … he said he wouldn't make love to me because it would be like … like doing it to a dead body …”
“But he let you think he did, is that it? What a nice guy.” Marjorie was dripping venom for Marcus. “Did he take pictures of you with your clothes off?”
“I was wearing underpants and his shirt when I passed out,” or at least that was what she remembered and she'd been wearing the same when she woke up. She couldn't remember her clothes ever coming off, even when he'd touched her.
“You'd better ask him to give you the negatives. Tell him you'll call the cops if he doesn't. If you want, I'll call and tell him.”
“No, I'll call.” She was too mortified to have anyone else involved. It was bad enough telling Marjorie what had happened. But it was comforting too to have her there. She brought Grace another damp cloth and a cup of hot tea, and half an hour later, she felt a little better, as Marjorie sat on the floor next to her bed and watched her.
“I had a guy do that to me once, when I first started working. He slipped me a Mickey in a drink, and the next thing I knew, he wanted me to do porno shots with some other girl who was as drugged out as I was.”
“What did you do?”
“My father called the cops on him, and threatened to beat the crap out of him. We never posed for the shots anyway, but plenty of girls do. Some of them don't even have to be drugged. They're too scared not to. The guys tell them they'll never work again, or God knows what, and they do it.”
Listening to her made Grace's blood run cold. She'd been falling in love with him. She'd trusted him. And what if he had taken photographs of her with her clothes off while she was passed out?