EVE WALKED INTO THE BOOM very slowly, her feet dragging, and from his place near the window, where he still stood looking out, David swung around to face her.
"For God's sake, do you know it's jive in the morning? Who was the guy who brought you home? You were supposed to find Francie—that's why I've been sitting up here the whole goddam night while you partied. Eve—" As she moved slowly forward into the light, he really saw her at last, and she heard his indrawn breath. "God, you look terrible! Will you tell me what the hell happened?'
She was suddenly too tired to stand, almost too tired to talk. Why didn't he just take her in his arms and exorcise all the evil spirits, instead of acting as if she were on the witness stand? Why didn't he?
She went to him, stumbling, half-running, and pressed her body against his.
"David—oh, David, please! Just hold me. Just hold me, please!"
She waited for his arms to go around her, but instead, something in the rigidity of his body communicated itself to her, and very slowly she raised her head to meet his eyes.
"David?"
He could feel her body trembling against his, and tried to keep his voice level. What was the matter with her? What had she done this time?
"Eve, I have to know what happened. What are you trying to hide? Let's start with Francie, my sister. Was she there? And who in hell was the guy in the Mercedes?"
She moved away from him. He hadn't put his arms about her. She felt better, stronger, standing alone. She turned her face away from him so she couldn't see his cold, accusing eyes, and clung with both hands to the back of a chair for support.
"Eve!" He said again, more impatiently this time.
"All right, David. I'm trying to—to put things together so I don't sound too incoherent. Francie was there, but she wouldn't listen to me, although I tried to— She went away in the end, with a man they called Derek. They—he told me he's a psychiatrist. I tried to stop them, but he—wouldn't let me. He—"
"You're not making sense, Eve! He—who's he? The man in the car?"
"Yes! Oh, God, I told you he was dangerous, I told you! And then I forgot to remember— Brant Newcomb. Your client. He sent Francie to New Mexico with Derek. I don't think she wanted to go in the end, but he gave them money and sent her away. You know what? He auctioned her off. He really did. That's the kind of man he is; only he's worse!"
"This is—your story sounds impossible, Eve! Are you sure you were sober?"
"Sober? Yes, I was sober! Until he put something in the drink he gave me that was supposed to make me stoned out of my head like everyone else, only it didn't. No—don't interrupt me now, David. I have to go on talking, or I could never tell you—" Her voice drop
ped to a kind of breath-torn whisper, but she turned her head and looked at him now, and he saw the pupils of her eyes. Yes, she had taken something. David opened
his mouth to say something to her and closed it again.
"Well, you want to know, huh? You're sure you want to know what he did to me, David? He took me into his game room—that's what he calls it—it has mirrors and lights everywhere and an enormous bed—and he— he was like an animal. He was high on something, too, I guess. He tore my clothes off, and he hurt me when I fought him, and then—then everyone else joined in. I was the party, David. There was nothing I could do to stop them, although I struggled and fought They did everything they wanted to do with me, and they took pictures, and he said if I tried to do anything about it, he'd—no! I don't really want to talk about it; I don't want to think about that girl in the mirrors being me, me!"
She was gulping in deep breaths of air as if talking had exhausted her. David's voice shook, too, but she couldn't tell whether it was from shock or anger.
"My God, everything you've told me sounds like part of some crazy trip—some coke nightmare. How can you expect me to believe any of it? I've heard some stories about Newcomb, but dammit, the man isn't a maniac. Why should he want to rape you when there are a thousand other women he can buy with all his fucking money? And Francie—what about Francie? What really happened, Eve?"
"I don't know—I told you that, didn't I? And I'm not trying to explain his motives, I'm just telling you what did happen, damn you! It happened—I just wish I had dreamed it!"
She shrieked the words at him, and he stepped backward. Had the drug she had obviously taken maddened her? He'd never seen her like this before.
"I'm sorry Eve." He tried to keep his voice controlled and reasonable. He was hardly in the mood for an hysterical scene after an all-night vigil, and she seemed determined to make one. "I just find it difficult to believe that a man like Brant Newcomb, as filthy rich as he is, and a good-looking bastard into the bargain— why he'd want to rape you. Why you in particular? And you, why would you—" He stopped, wondering if he was going too far, especially in the state she was in.
Eve had begun to giggle hysterically, one hand up to her mouth.
"Why didn't you finish saying it, David? Why would I resist? Oh, but that's funny! But I did try to fight them, you know, and mostly because of you, because I thought I was your girl, I thought you—but you really believe deep down that I'm some kind of a tramp, don't you? You think I'm easy, that I'd do it with just anyone— as you would. And you know what? I should have given in—maybe they wouldn't have kept on hurting me, then. Don't you see how funny it is? He offered me money the first time we met; he said I could name my price. And just a little while ago, he said he was going to send me a check. Does that make me a whore, David? You'd like to think of me that way, wouldn't you? It'd salve your conscience, I guess. Wait—you still don't believe, do you? I'll show you what they did to me. Take a good look, David darling. It might even turn you on. Look here—look at me, damn you!"
She began tearing at the buttons of her coat, clawing them loose so that they popped free and rolled all over the room. Then she tore the coat off herself and he saw the bruises that covered her body—that once-beautiful body he knew too damned well. He stared, horrified— and fascinated in spite of himself.
"Dear God, what—but Eve—it couldn't have happened. It doesn't make sense, dammit, that Newcomb should have raped you and then invited everyone else at the party to join in. No, it's crazy!"
"But it happened. It did! It did!" She laughed again, foolishly. "Look at your face; you should see yourself watching me. Do you like what you see? Would you like to fuck me, too? One more wouldn't make much difference, would it, and right now I'm too beat to fight."
Her laughter turned suddenly into sobs, and she slid to the floor unexpectedly, crouching, hiding away from his eyes behind the hanging curtain of her hair—kneeling there in a caricatured attitude of grief and penitance.