Chapter 44

Val stood frozen over the crumpled body. Neal spoke in an awed voice, words she did not hear; but the sound impelled her to action. She fell to her knees, cradled Carolyn’s head. “Carrie,” she whispered through her terror.

She pressed her fingers to the side of Carolyn’s neck; the pulse was faint and rapid. Carolyn’s face shone with perspiration. Her eyes fluttered open. They were dull, unfocused.

“Ma,” Neal said, “should I call the paramedics?”

“No.” Carolyn’s voice was weak, but she reached out to him. “No honey, don’t do that. I’m okay, honest.”

She struggled to get up. Val supported her, then lifted her into her arms, feeling dampness in the clothing. She noticed that the pants and sweater were badly mismatched—pink with deep green.

“Bring some hand towels,” she instructed Neal as she carried Carolyn into the bedroom. “Wring one out in cold water.”

She lay Carolyn on the bed, sat beside her. “Carrie,” she said, her dread huge and shapeless, “what did he do?”

Carolyn looked at her in seeming incomprehension. There were rounded patches of redness on her cheekbones, as if from a fever. Val said, “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

Carolyn clutched at her. “No. No, Val.”

Neal came in with the towels. “You sure you’re okay, Carolyn?” Carolyn whispered, “Now that I’m here I’ll be fine.” She smiled weakly at him.

Feeling a small degree of relief, Val gently patted Carolyn’s face dry. “Honey,” she said to Neal, “would you leave me alone with Carolyn for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

Carolyn’s face had again beaded over with perspiration. Her breathing was shallow; Val could see the rapid pulse beat in her throat.

“Carrie, tell me what he did.”

Carolyn turned her face away. “Just let me stay here,” she whispered, taking Val’s hand in both of hers.

The hands were clammy. Val said, “You’re cold; you’re soaking wet. I’m putting you to bed.”

From the dresser she removed flannel pajamas she kept for camping trips. Supporting Carolyn with an arm, she pulled the sweater over her head, and with a lurching sensation saw that Carolyn’s bra was twisted up around her shoulders and the shoulders were darkly latticed with bruises.

Carefully, she unfastened and pulled off Carolyn’s pants, her panties. There were red welts merging with the dark hues of bruises in a patchwork over her hips and thighs.

Gingerly, Val dressed her in the pajamas. Dampness quickly permeated the flannel. Val pulled the blanket up, sat beside her. She took Carolyn’s head in her hands. The red marks on the cheeks, she saw, had a purplish tinge. “You told Paul,” she said quietly.

Carolyn closed her eyes.

Val said, “This is what he did.”

Tears leaked from the closed eyes.

“Carrie.” She succeeded in controlling her voice. “Something could be broken. You could be bleeding inside. I’m taking you to a hospital.”

Carolyn’s hands flew out from under the covers to clutch at her. “Please no. I know I’m okay. I can tell. Please, just let me stay here with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Val said in profound anguish, “you’ll be staying with me.” Afraid to touch Carolyn’s body, afraid she might hurt her, Val again cradled her head and murmured endearments to her, seeing the tension in her face subtly diminish; but when she tried to get up from the bed Carolyn pulled her back. Val whispered, “Let me see about Neal a moment.”

In the living room she said softly to Neal, “Go in and watch her. Tell her I’ve gone to the bathroom if she asks. I need to make a quick phone call.”

She dialed Alix’s number. She said without preamble, “It’s Val and I need help. I have someone here; she’s hurt. She won’t let me take her to a hospital—”

“What happened?” Alix asked in a quiet voice. “Is she badly hurt?”

“God, Alix, I think he—” Val’s voice broke. “Can you just come over?”

“I’ll try to do better than that. Be there as soon as I can.” Alix hung up.

Val shuddered, buried her face in her hands. She straightened, cleared her throat, rubbed her face vigorously. She dialed Marion Berman in the pink apartment building across the street, with whom she had arranged reciprocal child care. She spoke briefly, thanked her, hung up. “Neal, honey,” she called, “come here, will you?”

She took him into the kitchen. “I want you to take yourself and your homework over to Mrs. Berman’s and bunk with Marty tonight.”

Neal said softly, “Carolyn…he hurt her, didn’t he?”

She hesitated. “Yes,” she said, “he did.” She looked into his serious, intelligent eyes.

“Ma,” he said, “let’s not let her go back…to that Frankenstein.”

In spite of herself she grinned. “Okay. But I need to see about her, what needs to be done to have her stay with us. Now get out of here. Be back first thing in the morning, and I do mean first thing or your name will be Munchkin.”

He bowed. “Yes, oh great and powerful Oz.”

Carolyn’s face was pale, shiny with moisture; she appeared to be dozing. Val smoothed damp hair from her forehead, sat beside the bed, and waited for Alix to arrive from West Hollywood.

Forty-five minutes later, as she was directing silent but continuous curses at Alix, there was a knock at the door.

Alix introduced the woman accompanying her. Short and fat, with iron gray hair, Irene Donovan appeared to be in her early fifties. She wore shapeless gold corduroy trousers, a brown plaid shirt, and the formidably competent manner of an operating room nurse.

“Fortunately Irene was off duty,” Alix said. “Unfortunately she had three friends over for dinner. They’re now cooking their own dinner.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Val said, “but I’m grateful.”

Irene shrugged. “It’s happened before.” She spoke in a breathy baritone. “What’s the problem, as if I couldn’t guess.”

Val gestured to the bedroom door. “Her husband…she won’t talk about what he did to her.”

Irene shrugged again. “Typical. It’s a defense mechanism, Val. All I can do is look at her. See what the situation is.”

“That’s all I ask. I need to know if she belongs in a hospital.”

“Even if she does you can’t make her go,” Alix said. “You can’t make her do anything.”

“In our free country,” Irene said wryly, “you can be as crazy as you want to be.”

“I’ll make her go,” Val said quietly. “If she needs to be there I’ll make her go. Irene, give me a minute with her. To tell her you’re here.”

Heedless of the women watching from the doorway, Val leaned down and touched her cheek lightly to Carolyn’s. She felt Carolyn’s arms slide around her. “Irene is here. She’s a nurse, Carrie, a friend. I want you to let her look at you.”

“No.” Carolyn pushed Val away and shook her head, wincing with the effort. “I told you I’m okay.”

“Carrie, you have to do this, I have to know you’re all right—how to take care of you. Otherwise I have no choice, I’ll take you to a hospital. Trust me, Carrie dearest, do this for me.”

Carolyn’s arms fell away; she lay with her eyes closed. Val rose and nodded to Irene. Alix, standing with her hands on her slim bluejeaned hips, stared at Val with perceptive blue-green eyes.

Irene picked up Carolyn’s wrist, scowled at the watch on her own plump wrist. She removed the pillow from under Carolyn’s head, pulled the covers down, folded the pillow and slid it under Carolyn’s feet. She felt Carolyn’s forehead, then knelt on the bed; it creaked alarmingly under her bulk. She lifted the flannel top and curved large, blunt-fingered hands over Carolyn’s rib cage.

“Breathe, sweetie.” She pressed her ear to Carolyn’s chest. “Again, sweetie, deeper. Good. Once more now.” She addressed Val and Alix. “I’m taking the pajamas off now, why don’t you—”

“Val,” Carolyn pleaded, “don’t leave me.”

“So stay,” Irene said to Val, “since she wants you here.”

Alix slid an arm around Val, quickly released her. “I’ll go get a glass of water.” She sauntered off, the heels of her boots resounding on the wood floor.

Efficiently but gently, Irene removed the pajamas, inspected the bruises without comment. Again she pressed her hands up and down Carolyn’s rib cage, then she took Carolyn’s hands. “Push against me. Hard as you can. Again.” She took Carolyn’s feet in her hands and repeated the instruction. “Good,” she murmured, “very good.”

Slowly she kneaded Carolyn’s stomach, studying her face. “Good,” she said. “Will you turn over now, sweetie?”

Irene placed her hands on Carolyn’s hips; then she straightened abruptly and pulled the covers up over Carolyn’s body. “Stay just as you are,” she ordered her sternly. “I’ll be right back.” Beckoning to Val, she left the room and pulled the door shut behind them.

She strode into the bathroom and scrubbed her hands vigorously with soap and hot water. “I need antiseptic, alcohol, whatever you have.”

“What, what—” Val stammered, reaching for the medicine cabinet.

“Here, let me,” Irene said, shouldering her aside. “Fine, you’ve got everything I need…There’s rectal bleeding.” She poured alcohol over her hands. “Pretty well dried from what I see but I need to clean it up and take a look…Let’s hope it’s external, that he didn’t puncture her inside.”

“You mean—”

“Let’s hope he only used a penis. And do leave me alone with her now. I’ll ask some questions she may not answer with you in the room.”

Val sat on the edge of the sofa, a hand at her throat, feeling her chest rise and fall as she breathed. Alix sat in the armchair sipping orange juice, contemplating her, the sleeves of her gray sweater pushed up to her elbows, her legs crossed, a slim, booted foot swinging back and forth.

Alix said, “She was here last night. She’s the Carolyn that Neal talks about.”

Her eyes fixed on the bedroom door, Val nodded.

“This woman and you—is this what I think it is, Val?”

Val smiled thinly. “Probably.”

“I had a feeling about her last night,” Alix said. “We look alike.” Val’s eyes swung to her. “That’s what she says too. I don’t see it.” Alix half-smiled. “Well, you’re slow to see a lot of things, aren’t you, Val?”

“I suppose I am, Alix.”

Alix sighed. “Somewhere in this I think I’ve won a moral victory. For whatever that’s worth.” She lapsed into silence.

The minutes ticked by interminably. Indistinct voices came from within the bedroom. When Irene emerged Val followed her.

Irene washed her hands; Val could smell the acrid odor of alcohol. Irene said, “The bleeding appears external. Appears,” she emphasized. “But if there’s blood in her urine, if her stools are black…Her bowel movements will be painful for a few days. No broken bones so far as I can tell—that’s all the good news. The bruises are extensive and deep. Her breathing’s shallow, she’s perspiring, clammy to the touch. She’ll be in a lot of pain tomorrow.”

Drying her hands, Irene looked carefully at Val. “Her pulse rate’s high. Too high. But it’s slowing just a bit. If it hadn’t started going down I’d have had to say it’s too dangerous to keep her here. She’s sleeping now, which is good. You’ll need to watch her closely tonight.”

Val followed Irene into the living room, sat beside her on the sofa. Irene said, “Then there’s her mental state to consider. Alix can give you good advice on the aftermath of sexual assault and battery.”

Val remembered listening many times to accounts of Alix’s work on a rape hotline, and always with only cursory interest—indeed, with detachment, believing herself so far removed as a potential victim that the issue itself had seemed equally far removed.

Alix asked, “What about the husband?”

“He’s a dead man,” Val stated. “I’ll take care of him myself. Smash him to a bloody pulp.”

“That’ll be very helpful, Val,” Irene said in her deep bass voice. “The husband a bloody pulp, you in jail, her staring into the wall of a psychiatric ward.”

Val slammed a hand onto the arm of the sofa. “I have to do something.”

“No you don’t,” Irene said. “Only one person can do something.”

Alix gestured toward the bedroom. “This may be difficult to accept, Val, but it’s entirely up to her. It’s her assault. She’s the only one who can decide what she should do—if anything.”

“I did talk to her,” Irene said as Val began a belligerent protest. “Told her if she’d go to a hospital and report this I’d go with her, stay with her every minute, make sure she got special treatment. I told her she could file charges, that husbands aren’t any different from street thugs when it comes to this.” She shrugged. “But they are, of course. Anyway, she refused. Most women refuse.”

“I’ll call the police myself,” Val grated. “Report the—”

“You can do that,” Irene said. “They’ll take a report but they won’t be much interested. You’re not the victim. And when they hear it’s marital they’ll be too bored to yawn. Even if she reports it they won’t much care. Almost always the wife drops the charges. It’s a waste of time and effort, and nothing ever goes to court. And if it does, you have no idea how hard it is; it’s even more devastating for the victim-”

“I’ll get him,” Val said.

“For God’s sake, Val.” Alix expelled the words. “A man like this is real trouble. What do you know about him?”

“Not much. It’s hard to believe he’d do this. He’s your white-collar, Wall Street Journal type.”

“Any type’s the type,” Alix said grimly. “Maybe he’s done his deed; maybe right now he feels like total shit. But then again—”

“Then again,” Irene finished, “he may think this is just a good start. And he’s looking for her.”

“I hope he is. I’ll take care of him.”

Alix said disgustedly, “Val, stop this insanity and use your brain. A man who could do this—he could be more dangerous than a mad dog. Does he know where she is? How to find her?”

Val considered. “I’ll have to ask Carrie but I don’t think so. My phone’s not listed.”

“If he wants to find you he will,” Alix said. “You need to take her somewhere else and not just for that reason. Val, listen to me. Believe what I’m telling you. When the shock wears off she’ll be terrified. I mean petrified. She’ll be looking for him under the wallpaper. She needs to be somewhere she feels safe till she can put herself back together. She can stay with me or—”

“I’ll call Susan,” Val said. “Maybe I could use the beach house…Regardless, I’ll have her out of here tomorrow. I won’t have her afraid.” She turned to Irene. “What do I do to take care of her?”

“Keep her warm tonight. Get something into her if she’s willing—milk, broth, anything. Keep those feet elevated till her body warms. No matter how much she hurts don’t give her aspirin, any medication at all. All those bruises, there’s too much unclotted blood. Tomorrow you can use ice or cold towels, that’ll help with the pain and swelling, especially on bruises near bones—they’ll swell quite a bit overnight. Stay with her tonight, watch her pulse. If it rises, call me. If there’s any problem, call me. Stay with her. She needs that more than anything else.”

Alix got up and opened the shoulder bag she had tossed on a chair when she came in. “I’ll give you Jean Bowman’s number,” she said. “Call her tomorrow. She’s a lawyer who’s worked with a lot of battered women. Her fees are reasonable—usually whatever the woman can pay, whenever she can pay it. She’s terrific and she’ll take care of the husband. Believe me—he’ll think he’s come up against Attila the Hun. Stay away from the bastard, Val. Let Jean advise you. Let her handle this.”

Val looked at her silently. After tomorrow Paul Blake would not be able to find Carolyn. But she, Val, would know exactly where to find him…when the time was right.

Alix sat beside her. “Now you need to listen to me for a while. I’ll tell you what to expect when the shock starts wearing off for your Carolyn.”

Val sat between Alix and Irene. Feeling protected by these women in a way she had never before experienced, she extended a hand to each of them. Clasping their hands she said, “Thank you. Thank you both.”

Alix squeezed her hand, smiled at her. “Welcome to the lesbian community, Val.”

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 444