the niceties of life at his mother’s knee. This good wine you are drinking you had to learn about, just like the rest of us poor folk did. Your own mother didn’t teach you, that’s for sure.”
His fist flew toward me, smacking back my head. I suddenly knew what was meant by seeing stars. They danced before my eyes like mini space rockets while the pain seared through my jaw and wine spilled from my dropped glass all over my pretty chiffon dress and the carpet.
“Mehitabel!” Ahmet’s voice roared through the room, sending more mini rockets through my head. “Mehitabel,” he roared again and, as if by magic, there she was standing next to me. I caught her looking at me, taking in the spilled wine, Ahmet’s furious red face, my own strange calmness.
“Take her away!” Ahmet roared. “Get her out of my sight. I will deal with her later.”
As Mehitabel took my arm and led me away I heard Ahmet’s beautiful wineglass crash against the limestone fireplace, and then I thought I heard what sounded like a sob, a deep, terrible sob that came from unknown depths. Of course I knew I must be wrong and it was only the sound of my own sobs I was hearing. Wasn’t it?
19
ANGIE
I did not know how much later it was when I woke. It was dark, I had no idea where I was. I cried out for help, knowing it was foolish, ridiculous, nobody would help me ever again. If I was ever to escape from this dark place I must be cleverer than them, smarter, more resourceful, I’d need to be friggin’ biophysicist material, a nuclear specialist. In that case I didn’t stand a chance! Brains and ingenuity were not in my makeup. I only got through high school by cramming for exams the night before. I had a good memory and did well enough to pass, but did I learn anything? If I had would I have been a greeter in a glorified steakhouse with other women’s husbands giving me the hopeful eye, simply because I was there and they could? I guess they thought I was worth a try, and who could blame them. And then the one time I succumbed—well, that’s not quite true, it wasn’t the only time, but my first time with a “really rich” man—look what happened to me.
I choked back the sob in my throat. I was definitely not going to cry. I was going to get out of here, that’s what I was gonna do.
I touched my jaw gingerly. It was sore as hell where Ahmet had punched me, probably black and blue and purple by now. Rage rose in my throat instead of sobs. The bastard. I would get him, I surely would. And that witch Mehitabel. One way or another.
I was lying back on a sofa; I had no recollection of how I had gotten there. Somebody had put my feet up, straightened out my dress. I knew it must have been her; that woman radiated evil even when she was smiling at you. It was there, in the back of her eyes, a subplot lying in wait for you.
In real life, which is what my own life used to be, I wondered whether Mehitabel would have been considered normal. Did she live in a regular apartment like a normal woman, maybe even in a grand apartment seeing how she was working for a billionaire? Did she have a family? It was hard even to believe some woman had given birth to her. Evil is born, it says so in the Bible. At least I think it does. And to me, Mehitabel personifies evil. I know that she will stop at nothing.
I swung my legs off the sofa, saw I was wearing shoes. Chanel, black with cream-color toes and kitten heels. I would never have bought those shoes, not in a million years; I wore stilettos for work and biker boots off duty, and my old pink fluffy slippers all the time at home. It was the memory of those slippers that finally reduced me to silent tears.
They had to be silent because I was afraid if Mehitabel heard me she would come swooping through that door, maybe this time with a knife in her hand or a gun, ready to finish me off. I told myself to stop the crying. I told myself to get up, go look out the window, find a way out. I was
His fist flew toward me, smacking back my head. I suddenly knew what was meant by seeing stars. They danced before my eyes like mini space rockets while the pain seared through my jaw and wine spilled from my dropped glass all over my pretty chiffon dress and the carpet.
“Mehitabel!” Ahmet’s voice roared through the room, sending more mini rockets through my head. “Mehitabel,” he roared again and, as if by magic, there she was standing next to me. I caught her looking at me, taking in the spilled wine, Ahmet’s furious red face, my own strange calmness.
“Take her away!” Ahmet roared. “Get her out of my sight. I will deal with her later.”
As Mehitabel took my arm and led me away I heard Ahmet’s beautiful wineglass crash against the limestone fireplace, and then I thought I heard what sounded like a sob, a deep, terrible sob that came from unknown depths. Of course I knew I must be wrong and it was only the sound of my own sobs I was hearing. Wasn’t it?
19
ANGIE
I did not know how much later it was when I woke. It was dark, I had no idea where I was. I cried out for help, knowing it was foolish, ridiculous, nobody would help me ever again. If I was ever to escape from this dark place I must be cleverer than them, smarter, more resourceful, I’d need to be friggin’ biophysicist material, a nuclear specialist. In that case I didn’t stand a chance! Brains and ingenuity were not in my makeup. I only got through high school by cramming for exams the night before. I had a good memory and did well enough to pass, but did I learn anything? If I had would I have been a greeter in a glorified steakhouse with other women’s husbands giving me the hopeful eye, simply because I was there and they could? I guess they thought I was worth a try, and who could blame them. And then the one time I succumbed—well, that’s not quite true, it wasn’t the only time, but my first time with a “really rich” man—look what happened to me.
I choked back the sob in my throat. I was definitely not going to cry. I was going to get out of here, that’s what I was gonna do.
I touched my jaw gingerly. It was sore as hell where Ahmet had punched me, probably black and blue and purple by now. Rage rose in my throat instead of sobs. The bastard. I would get him, I surely would. And that witch Mehitabel. One way or another.
I was lying back on a sofa; I had no recollection of how I had gotten there. Somebody had put my feet up, straightened out my dress. I knew it must have been her; that woman radiated evil even when she was smiling at you. It was there, in the back of her eyes, a subplot lying in wait for you.
In real life, which is what my own life used to be, I wondered whether Mehitabel would have been considered normal. Did she live in a regular apartment like a normal woman, maybe even in a grand apartment seeing how she was working for a billionaire? Did she have a family? It was hard even to believe some woman had given birth to her. Evil is born, it says so in the Bible. At least I think it does. And to me, Mehitabel personifies evil. I know that she will stop at nothing.
I swung my legs off the sofa, saw I was wearing shoes. Chanel, black with cream-color toes and kitten heels. I would never have bought those shoes, not in a million years; I wore stilettos for work and biker boots off duty, and my old pink fluffy slippers all the time at home. It was the memory of those slippers that finally reduced me to silent tears.
They had to be silent because I was afraid if Mehitabel heard me she would come swooping through that door, maybe this time with a knife in her hand or a gun, ready to finish me off. I told myself to stop the crying. I told myself to get up, go look out the window, find a way out. I was
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