A Portrait of Emily (13 page)

When Anthony smiled, his whole face was transformed. When her father smiled, it was more like a sneer with no trace of humor. Still, for now, this had to be her secret.

“In my room, under some clothing.”

“That doesn’t sound too safe. Perhaps you should find somewhere else, in case either Mom or Dad were in the room tonight.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. Well, I guess I’d better get to bed.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob then turned to smile at her brother. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“A very good time. You’ve made some great friends, Emily. Peter is totally talented and his friend and his mother are cool people.”

“Very cool,” Emily agreed. “Don’t you wish
our
mother could fit in so well?”

“That would take a miracle.” Anthony’s laugh was without humor.

Emily kissed her brother on the cheek. “Goodnight, Anthony. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Emily. You too.”

When she returned to her room and locked the door, Emily went over to the nightstand on the far side of the bed. Pulling it away from the wall, she knelt and lifted the carpet. She pried up one of the floorboards beneath and pulled out a large metal box. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw it had not been unlocked. No one had discovered this hiding place. She’d been right to go to this trouble all those years ago. After her mother had ripped up one of her diaries and possibly stolen another; that was when she had thought of this hiding place.

Last year, when her mother had decided to have the whole house re-carpeted, she had panicked a little and had driven around with the box in the trunk of her car for three days until the workmen were done. Then she had returned the box to its secret place. Once, long ago, she had considered burning some of the older journals and recently, since Jerry had come into her life, she’d had the same thought. It seemed petty somehow, to harbor so much hatred for one person when there was now so much love surrounding her.

Perhaps it was time to let go of the past and dispose of these reminders of the horror of those years? Maybe then she would be able to shake off the fear that kept her from satisfying Jerry completely. She smiled as she remembered how emotional he’d been tonight after seeing her portrait. He really, truly loved her. Perhaps…yes, she decided. She’d take care of this as soon as she could. She replaced the box under floorboards, patted down the carpet, and pulled the nightstand back into its original position.

Another decision. It was time to tell Jerry. He had the right to know what had haunted her all her life. She was sure,
positive
that he would not be ashamed of her. He loved her too much to turn away from her. If she’d had any doubts about his love for her, they were dissolved this evening. She could rely on Jerry’s love. Of that she was certain.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As was his habit on every Wednesday evening after leaving his office, Charles Hastings pulled into the parking lot of the Seasons hotel in Newport Beach. He was meeting his old friend Dr. Tom Watt in the bar for a quick drink before heading home. He also wanted to check up on a “little favor” Tom had done for him two nights before.

Over the years, the man had done him several “favors”, but none as crucial as this one. Hastings knew he had put Tom in a dangerous position. Still, Tom should never complain about it after what he, Charles, had done for him in the beginning. As he entered the bar, he saw his old friend sitting at one of the tables. The years had not been kind to Tom, Hastings thought as he approached him. He looked tired, worn out almost, as if life had defeated him somehow. He looked up, but did not smile in greeting. Instead he merely waved at the drinks he’d ordered and Hastings, sensing the mood Tom was in, sat down with some reluctance.

“What’s the problem today, Doc?” he asked flippantly.

“You’re the fucking problem, Charles,” Tom almost snarled at him. “You and that kink of yours will get us both into hot water one of these days.”

“Keep your voice down, idiot,” Hastings hissed, then threw back the entire contents of his glass in one gulp.

Tom signaled impatiently at the waitress to bring them two more drinks. “That was the last time I clean up after you lose control of yourself. What the hell were you thinking?”

Hastings looked grimly down at his empty glass. He had gone a bit haywire the other night, he had to admit that to himself, but lately he’d needed that extra kick in order to justify the vast amount of money he put out each time. His contact had got greedier of late and the price for his pleasure had gone up. It seemed only fair that he should get a little more satisfaction for his money.

“That girl was in terrible condition.” Tom glared at him. “It’s a miracle you didn’t kill her. Why the hell did you have to beat her? Wasn’t
fucking
her enough?”

“Shut up, Tom,” Hastings said through clenched teeth. “Do I have to remind you of your little perversions? I wouldn’t go further with this, if you know what’s…” He fell silent as he saw the waitress approach with their drinks. Sensing the tension at the table, she set their drinks down quickly and left without her usual cheery comments.

“…if you know what’s good for you,” Hastings finished when the waitress was out of earshot.

“I never use violence Charles. What you’re doing is beginning to scare me.”

“Well, it won’t happen again. My contact won’t be calling me again. He got cold feet.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“There’s plenty more out there. It just takes time to establish the necessary link.”

“God, be careful Charles.” Tom’s eyes darted about nervously. “This last time could have turned very ugly if she’d died.”

Hastings seemed not to hear him. He was already trying to devise a way to find another source. Perhaps one of his old contacts was still in ‘business’.

“Are you listening?” Tom rasped.

“Yes, yes I’m listening. Don’t worry Tom, I’ll be more careful in the future.”

He left the hotel about a half hour and a total of three bourbons later. It was only a short car ride home and so far he had never encountered any problems driving with two or three drinks under his belt. Tom was really becoming an old woman of late, he mused. Too bad he had to rely on him for so much, but without a doubt he was the only doctor he could go to in a crisis. Ever since Emily had tried to commit suicide all those year ago, Tom had covered for him. Of course he’d really had no choice.

After what I did for him
, he thought smugly,
he couldn’t very well refuse. I
could have ruined him with one word.

He recalled a night several years before when he and Tom had gone on a fishing trip taking young Anthony with them. The kid hadn’t wanted to go…always the sissy, but he’d insisted and Patricia had reluctantly agreed. She always did in the end. He had already decided he needed Tom in his power, ready to drop everything to come to his aid should he ever need it and he had found the perfect lure—Anthony.

He knew Tom lusted after the kid. He’d seen it in his eyes many times when he’d been at the house. One day, Anthony had come in from the pool wearing a skimpy bathing suit; his slim, tanned body still damp and glistening from his swim. Hastings had noted with some delight that Tom seemed mesmerized by the sight. No doubt he had sired a handsome kid—and one that could be infinitely useful to him.

And so he had sacrificed his son’s innocence on that fishing trip. Sitting in his tent, stoked up on bourbon, he had listened to his son’s screams as Tom forced himself upon him. He had grunted with satisfaction when the screams became a pathetic whimper, and then finally when he could hear nothing at all. He had fallen into a drunken stupor and when he awoke, Anthony was sitting in the tent, staring at him with such concentrated hatred, that for a moment his blood had run cold.

It did not end there of course. There were many other ‘trips’ and Hastings soon convinced himself that his son did not mind Tom’s attentions.
Always
knew he had the makings of a
little faggot
, Hastings had thought coldly. Nothing was ever said between father and son on the matter. Anthony avoided his father as much as he could from that time on, and his silence and obvious dislike for his father were what prompted Hastings to send his son to military school. Oh how Patricia had wailed and begged him not to do this terrible thing. What was so terrible? The boy would benefit from the discipline…give him some direction in life and, best of all, would get him out of his father’s sight.

Not that he felt any remorse for what he had done. Remorse was not an emotion that Charles Hastings had ever felt. He had no time for what he considered womanly feelings; that could bring a man down. Remorse was when you regretted something and he regretted nothing. What had happened between him, Emily, and Paula, was for him, the natural way of things. A father’s love for his daughters manifested in its highest form.

No matter that they had struggled against him in the beginning. They’d had to be weaned into loving him back, and eventually, they had. They had lain submissively as he’d cooed in their ears and told them how beautiful they were and how much he loved them—and he
had
loved them, until they’d grown too old for him to love anymore. Then he was forced to seek his pleasure elsewhere. Damned inconvenient at times. He’d got used to having it all under his own roof. Now it could get downright dangerous.

And the sex was no longer enough. Now he felt the need to
punish
the little sluts for being what they were. He’d like to punish Emily too. She’d got far too uppity recently, ever since that fool Jerry had come into her life. He didn’t like Jerry, and if he had anything to do about it, he’d make sure Jerry never married his daughter. That would be just too much happiness for her. She did not deserve it. Not after the way she’d turned against him and took obvious pleasure in hating him so much.

No, he would definitely have to squash any hopes she had of marrying that idiot. Paula had got away—but Emily would not.

He drove his car in to the garage and, entering the house, went straight up to his room. Years ago he and Patricia had opted for separate bedrooms and bathrooms, or rather, he had insisted on it. She wouldn’t have to put up with his comings and goings in the middle of the night and he did not have to be discreet. He had enlarged his room, turning it into a suite by taking over the bedroom next door and converting it into a den and office so he could spend hours there by himself, coming down only for the occasional meal.

He threw off his clothes, selected a silk robe to wear, and walked over to his computer. He could spend some time investigating that new website he’d heard about. If his contact had to let him down, he’d just have to find some other way of procuring likely young girls.

“Yes?” he snapped irritably as the intercom buzzed nearby.

“Are you coming down for dinner, Charles?”

“No. Have what’s-her-name bring me something up on a tray. I have some business to attend to.” He could never remember their maids’ names. They came and went too quickly these days. He didn’t care why. Probably couldn’t stand his wife. Well, he hadn’t been able to stand her for years. Only good thing about her was she didn’t get in his way. Knew when to shut up, too. Best for her that she did.

“It’s the maid’s night off, Charles.” His wife’s carping voice irritated him even more. “I’ll bring something up if you insist on staying there.”

“I’ll come down.” Damned nuisance of a woman. Now she’d waste his time complaining and whining. Well, he’d have her make him a drink or two. That would help. Sighing heavily, he plodded downstairs to the dining room.

“Where’re the kids?” he asked his wife, seeing her sitting at the table alone.

“Both out.”

“I suppose Emily’s with that Jerry again?”

“Of course. Anthony went somewhere...” Patricia hesitated for a moment. “I’m worried about him, Charles.”

“Don’t be, he’s a big boy. Doesn’t need his mother at his heels anymore.”

“What would you know? You pay no attention to him.”

“He doesn’t pay any attention to me, you mean.” Hastings glared at his wife angrily. “I tried to talk some sense into him about coming into the business with me. Wouldn’t hear of it, damned rude kid. Get me a drink, would you?”

Patricia rose from the table and crossed over to the bar. She looked at her husband’s reflection in the mirrored wall as she said, “He’s troubled by something. Do you know what it is?”

“No, how would I? He never tells me anything.”

She brought Hastings his drink and set it down in front of him, then stood looking at him.

“What?”

“I think you do know, Charles. He intimated as much to me the other night.”

“What the hell are you blabbering about?” For a moment, Hastings felt a tremor of misgiving. He had never seen this look of determination on his wife’s face before. What had that kid told her?

“If you’ve done something to hurt Anthony again I will never forgive you, Charles.”

Hastings flung down his napkin and rose from the table in a fury. Gulping back his drink, he strode to the bar and poured himself another. “
Look
…I don’t come home here after a long hard day of keeping you and those two ingrates in luxury to have you cross examine me about something that has no relevance. Now shut up! I’m going back to my room where I can enjoy peace and quiet.”

Patricia cringed under his anger, but as she watched him leave, she knew she had been right. Something had happened between Anthony and him. Something that had scarred her son in some way. She was determined now, more than ever, to find out what it was.

§ § § §

Jerry smiled at Emily across the table of the little Italian restaurant that had become their special place to have dinner and be by themselves.

“Good news today. Les, the realtor guy I know, has two places for us to look at tomorrow. One with an ocean view.”

“Sounds wonderful. You know I can’t wait for us to move in together.”

“Me too. Once you’re out of that house, things will be a lot better for you…and for us.”