Clarissa followed Randy as far as the stairs. He disappeared into his room and she was left alone. There was a reluctance to go back upstairs to the coldness of her own lonely cell. The joy and elation she had experienced in front of Randy's camera still lingered and she did not want to lose that precious feeling. She sat on the bottom basement step and let the memories of years past flood her like a warm fountain. Modeling had been her very own dream and, despite the protests from her mother and Andrew, she had made that dream come true.
"I got into trouble, mama," she said softly to herself, "when I gave up my own dream to follow yours. I'm sorry, mama. I'm sorry I could never be what you and Andy wanted. I tried. I thought Morgan was your wishes come true. It was wrong. Don't be angry with me. Please. This time I have to run away again like I ran away from Andrew and Annika. I have to save my life. Not just from Morgan, but from you. Please, forgive me, mama."
Clarissa let the tears fall. She sat for a long while, her knees drawn up to her chest in the dark gray cellar shadows. Her sobs were cleansing ones and when she finally started up the stairs there was the stirrings of an unfamiliar inner strength she had not known in a long time.
When Clarissa entered the hotel lobby it was deserted. Even Dusty's cage was empty and his office door closed. A Latino woman, her back bent and her long dark hair tied at the nape of her neck, struggled with an upended wire cart full of rags that had spilled while she was trying to get it down the stairs.
"Can I help?" Clarissa offered.
The woman straightened and peered back at Clarissa with a brilliant grin that took her aback. Clarissa was surprised that the friendly woman was not as old as she first appeared. Her round face was tanned by the sun, and, the round dark eyes held a sparkling smile, the skin around them firm and supple.
"I'm Sally Dugan," Clarissa introduced herself as she bent to pick up some of the rags. The woman snatched them out of Clarissa's hands and stuffed them into the cart.
"Graciella," the woman sputtered nervously in a thick accent. "Graciella Santos."
"Nice to meet you," Clarissa smiled. The woman merely replied something in Spanish, nodding and smiling as she crammed the rest of the rags into the cart as fast as she could. Clarissa watched the woman as she pushed her way out of the hotel door, opened a faded blue umbrella, and waded out onto the puddled sidewalk.
Clarissa fished the quarter out of her jeans pocket and went to the pay phone. She inserted the coin and dialed Hugo's Pacific Palisades number.
"Please be home, Hugo," she prayed.
"Hello?" It was the smooth high voice of Hugo's roommate.
"Hi, this is Clarissa Hayden," she said. "Is Hugo there?"
"I told you the other night when you called, dearie," the sarcasm laced voice intoned, "that Hugo is in La Jolla. The grand opening of his shop is today. Really, if you were a personal friend of his you'd know that."
"Could you get a message to him?"
"He has a service for that at the Beverly Hills salon."
"Yes, I know," Clarissa stammered, trying to keep the man on the line while her mind raced. She did not have enough money for the long distance call to La Jolla. "But this is really personal. I didn't want to trust it to the salon. I used to work there. I thought maybe you could get this message to Hugo. Please. I really need your help."
"Fine," he said almost exasperated. "What is it?"
"Tell him I'm at the Hempstead Hotel near downtown. I need his help real bad."
"The Hempstead?" the voice sneered. "I thought Hugo had a better class of friends than that."
"Please, just give him the message. I need him to come and get me as soon as he can. I'm in some trouble. Please, just tell him."
"How does Hugo ever get himself mixed up in things like this? Alright. As soon as he calls me I'll tell him. Clarissa at Hempstead. Trouble. Got it, dearie."
Clarissa hung up the phone feeling much better than she had in three days. She was forced to trust Hugo's snotty roommate but at least one other person knew that she was at the Hempstead. She said a silent prayer that Hugo would eventually get the message. It was good to feel that slight hope again. Besides going to the soup kitchen at the church when Rowland returned, it was something to look forward to. She climbed the stairs to the third floor with a much lighter step.
A pleasant surprise was waiting outside her door when she got to her room. Some kind soul had left a small, covered Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee and a white bakery bag with a cream filled donut inside. On top of the coffee cup was a note that simply read "For a pretty lady"
"Thank you, Randy," Clarissa smiled and took the coffee and donut inside.
She had not realized how famished she was until she peeled the plastic lid off the coffee and smelled its rich aroma. It awakened her hunger and she sipped greedily. Clarissa could not remember the last time that she indulged in a donut. They were forbidden fruit to any model. Keeping the figure was the number one priority and that meant the sacrifice of any fat saturated food. She stretched her memory clear back to high school when she could finally recall the last donut. Back then she could eat anything and everything and not gain a pound. Those were the days.
Clarissa bit into the luscious sweet pastry and licked the thick Bavarian cream off of her lips. It tasted like heaven. She wanted to make it last, to relish each morsel, but hunger drove her to finished it off in a couple quick bites. It did little to stem the ravenous hunger. All that was left was the smell of it on her fingertips.
She swigged down the last of the coffee and sat on the edge of the bed. There was a stillness about the building and Clarissa no longer heard the sound of the pounding rain. If the storm had passed, she could take to the streets. Her luck was finally beginning to change. Hugo would somehow find her. She could stay with him for a few days until she could wire Andy for a loan and a plane ticket to New York. The door would always be open to her in her old modeling agencies. She would work again, probably not as much, not the high paying assignments, but she would make do. Maybe some television, or runway work. Maybe even earn enough to hire some personal protection from Morgan. A bodyguard. Maybe two. It was a start. It was hope.
Clarissa drew back the faded green curtain. The red brick building next door, a twin to the Hempstead Hotel, was dark and streaked with rain. The alley below was one big puddle but the rain had indeed stopped for the moment. Dark clouds still hung overhead. There was no patches of blue, no hint that the storm was over.
She could just see some of the cars parked out on the street. A green sedan splashed its way through the flooded street and a black Cadillac eased into a narrow parking place. Clarissa watched as the Cadillac's window rolled down and a face peered out, looking at the entrance to the Hempstead.
Clarissa's heart stopped. The man in the Cadillac was Marco Camponello. She watched in horror as he got out of the car and crossed the street toward the hotel's entrance.
She dragged the drape back across the window and sat on the bed, her knees suddenly weak. They had found her. It was over. There was nowhere else to run. Her heart pounded as she tried to think. Where could she go? Where could she hide? Rowland would hide her but he had not yet come back from visiting his friend. Dusty was suspicious of her. He would probably tell Marco where she was. Except Marco did not know that she was Sally Dugan, but he had only to give Dusty a physical description. Would Dusty think that Marco was the pimp she was hiding from? Dear God, she hoped so. Then Dusty might call the police or something.
The sharp knock on the door made Clarissa almost scream out loud. She wedged herself back into the corner and waited. The rap came again and Clarissa whimpered.
"Miss Hayden? Are you there? Clarissa?" It was Dotty Warren's indulgent voice and Clarissa leaped off the bed and flung open the door.
"Dotty!" Clarissa grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her into the room, almost knocking the thermos bottle out of the missionary's hands. "Dotty! Come in, quickly! Thank God, you've come. I didn't think you'd come back."
"Are you alright, Clarissa? You look like you've had the daylights scared right out of you."
Clarissa tugged at Dotty's arm and pulled her over to the window. Clarissa parted the drapes slightly and pointed to the street.
"Do you see that black car parked across the street?"
Dotty peered for a long moment out of the grime smeared, rain spattered pane. "Can't say I see any black car. There's a dark maroon mini-van..."
Clarissa shoved the stocky woman aside and looked out the window. The Cadillac was gone. Clarissa sat down heavily on the bed, still shaking. "It was there," she managed to say. "I know I saw it."
"Well, I got to thinking," Dotty said as she twisted the lid off the thermos, "about you being up here all by yourself, afraid to go out. I knew with another storm due in tonight you might not be able to get over to God's Kitchen, so I thought I would bring you a little of my homemade chicken vegetable soup. Warm up your insides on a rainy day. I hope you like it. I used to make it for my family on days like this. They loved it."
It was hard to think of Dotty as having any family. Clarissa imagined her living alone in a cluttered apartment.
"You have a family?" Clarissa asked.
"Just Angus and me now," Dotty said. "Kids come back some times to do laundry or when they're broke."
Dotty poured some of the soup into the lid then set the thermos down on the nightstand. She dug into her black purse and came up with a white plastic spoon wrapped in a paper towel. She unfolded the towel and spread it on Clarissa's lap and handed her the soup and the spoon. Clarissa tasted a spoonful and grinned. The soup was hot and heavenly, lightly spiced, with chunks of chicken and vegetables.
"Thank you," she said. "This is great. I just had my dessert. Somebody left me a donut. This is great soup. I’m feasting like a queen today."
"I figured you'd be starving," Dotty smiled satisfied as she watched Clarissa eat. "I had to bring some baby formula to a family in the building next door. This was on my way. Oh, I called that number you gave me. Rudest man answered. Said he never heard of you. Told me to call some hair place in Beverly Hills."
"Thanks," said Clarissa between mouthfuls. "I already called. I left a message for my friend to come and pick me up."
"I hope he comes before this storm," said Dotty. "It's going to be a bad one with heavy rain."
"He can't come until tomorrow," Clarissa replied as she handed the empty thermos lid back to Dotty. "But I need to get out of here now."
"More?"
"Yes, please”. Dotty filled the lid again and Clarissa complimented her after each spoonful.
"Dotty, I've got to ask you a big favor," Clarissa said, scrapping the bottom of the lid. "Would you help me?"
"I said I'd help you all I can."
"My brother was supposed to wire some money to a friend of mine, a Virginia Essex over on the west side. It should be at her condo. I'm going to go live with my brother and the money is for a plane ticket. I need a ride. It's over near Westwood."
"Well, there's just a drop of this soup left," Dotty said. "Finish it up. My car's parked right outside. Maybe we can beat the rain."
"No, I can't be seen leaving," Clarissa said as she accepted the last of the soup. "Can you pull your car around to the back alley?"
"Clarissa, is something wrong? Can you tell me?"
Clarissa handed her the empty soup lid and fought with the indecision to tell this woman, who she hardly knew, who she really was. Finally, Clarissa had no choice. Escape was now the priority. Get out. Get as far away as possible.
"Someone is trying to kill me."
Dotty Warren's face was as blank and expressionless at that news as the kid in the cellar.
"Who?" she asked.
"My fiancé. A man who works for him was parked in a black Cadillac across the street just before you came."
"He's not there now."
"No, but I think he knows I'm here. Dusty might have gotten rid of him for now. I'm terrified that he'll be back. You don't believe me, do you? You think I'm just a crazy person, making all this up."
"I believe you, Clarissa. Is that your real name? Before you told me it was Sally Dugan."
"It's Clarissa Hayden. My fiancé’s secretary got me in here, gave me these clothes to wear so I'd blend in, and Morgan wouldn't find me. My purse and jewels, and probably the money my brother wired from Dubai is at her condo."
"Dubai?" Dotty asked skeptically.
"Andy works there for an oil company," Clarissa explained and the more she said, the more unbelievable her story sounded to her own ears. She began to panic when she felt that she was losing Dotty but she went on, unable to stop. Someone had to know her story.
"I have to get the money so that I can leave the country."
"That sounds like a rather fantastic story, Sally, ah Clarissa."
"I'm telling you the truth. I saw Morgan order a man, a business associate, killed and now Morgan is trying to kill me."
"Have you told this to the police?" asked Dotty, still expressionless and cold.
"No," Clarissa admitted. "I don't know what to do. I just want to get away from Morgan." It felt good to unburden herself. So much so that she suddenly felt emotionally and physically spent. Her eyelids felt heavy and she wanted to lay down. She forced them open. She had to escape and tonight. Sleep could wait.
"You're safe here, Sally, Clarissa, I'm sorry," Dotty cooed in her missionary voice. "Why don't you try to get a little rest? I still have to deliver that baby formula next door. I'll bring my car around back and come up and get you. We'll go to your friend’s condo and then I want you to meet a friend of mine at the county hospital. His name is Doctor Marenco."
"You don't believe me!" Clarissa shouted at the woman.
"Of course I do," she said softly. "But you've been under a great deal of stress, especially if what you just told me is true. I'll only be about a fifteen minutes or so. Try to rest."
"Dotty, please help me."
"I'll be back in a little while."
"I have to get out tonight. They know I'm here. Please come back as soon as you can." Clarissa stifled a yawn. Dotty had been right. She had not realized the stress of the last few days and it was beginning to catch up with her. Clarissa yawned again. She did not remember ever being so tired. Her whole body felt like lead.
"I will.
"Come back, Dotty. I'll be ready to go." Clarissa closed her eyes and Dotty eased her head down on the pillow and lifted her legs onto the bed. The missionary pulled a blanket up over Clarissa legs, then screwed the lid back on the thermos. "The coffee....Dotty, I think the coffee....."
Dotty picked up the Styrofoam cup and threw it in the trash can under the metal desk.
"It's empty, Clarissa. I'm going now. Are you sure you can go tonight? You look awfully tired. Maybe I should come back in the morning. I could bring you some breakfast."
"No, wait," Clarissa feebly groped for Dotty's hand but her arm would not respond. It fell back to the bed with a thump. Dotty smiled down at her. "I have to get out tonight."
"Of course, dear. Rest now." Clarissa did not stir. "Clarissa? Sally?" Dotty tucked the thermos in the crook of her arm and hoisted her heavy purse onto her shoulder. "Quite an imagination you got there, young lady. Good night."
CHAPTER 11
Dusty ran his hand up under the green plastic visor and scratched his brow thoughtfully. He poured over the racing form and erased his first choices and marked new ones for each of the eight races. Then he erased those and stared at the form perplexed. When he looked up, Rowland was standing at the desk smiling.
"Granville's Epic in the fourth to win," Rowland said. "Best bet."
"What do you know about Merlin's Legacy in the third?" Dusty asked.
"To show maybe," Rowland said scratching his stubbly chin. "I'd go for Don't Flinch to win. Sire was Delicate Choice. Won at Churchill Downs awhile back. Jockey is Ed Cavanaugh. He's a kid but damn good."
"You're back early, Row.
"
"Stu fell asleep."
"You going to the track Wednesday?"
"I think I just might, this time," Rowland grinned. "You want to go with us? Senior citizens from the church is going on the bus."
"It's my day off," Dusty sighed. "Been a long time for you ain't it, Row? You don't out to the track much anymore."
"Too long away from the horses. I got to thinkin' about 'em last night. Thought I might like to seem again instead of on the TV."
"You had a way with them."
"Say, that blond girl, Sally Dugan. She gone out?"
"Can't say I saw her," Dusty replied.
"She ain't in her room," said Rowland. "She usually goes to the kitchen with me at supper time. I knocked on her door but there was no answer."
"She was asking about you this morning," Dusty told him. "Told her you went over to see Stewart. How is Stu?"
"Getting along. Granddaughter came to visit him for the first time in a year. All he can talk about. Probably give him enough to gab about for another year. If you see Miss Dugan, tell her I'm in my room. If she wants to go to the kitchen with me, give a knock on my door 'bout seven thirty. Tell her the dinner tonight is roast beef and macaroni and cheese."
"I'll tell her, Row," Dusty said as he went back to his selections. “Looks like the sky is cloudin’’ up again. Take your umbrella if you’re going to the Kitchen.”
"Took me one of them grocery carts from the back alley," Rowland grinned. "Used it to take my laundry down to the laundromat. Got it up in my room still."
"Put it back so someone else can use it."
"Always do, Dusty. Takes me awhile, but I always do."
Rowland tipped his fedora at Graciella Santos as she struggled to drag her cart of rags in through the front door. She pulled a purple shawl tighter around her with a black gloved hand.
"There's a new face," he said to Dusty.
"They come, they go," Dusty sighed.
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