As the story went, Ben traveled to the United States on holiday. After being involved in a car accident, he ended up in the hospital where he fell for nurse Cherie Baker. Ben didn’t tell Cherie about his celebrity status back home for fear that she would dismiss him as a serious suitor, and that was the foundation for the story in Roxanne’s first book, The Secret.
Roxanne went to her job each day around three in the afternoon and returned home about eleven in the evening. She’d head straight for her study and sit there in front of the typewriter until four or five in the morning. She didn’t see her schedule as a problem. She ate Valiums while at work, and took Triavil right before going to bed. It seemed the only time she didn’t need drugs was when she was writing.
As the time passed, Candy thought Roxanne had adjusted well to being separated from Frank. She figured Roxanne must still have some money left to live on, or she wouldn’t have quit her job. Candy knew Roxanne went out every evening, but hadn’t given much thought as to where. She merely thought Roxanne was passing the time as best she knew how. Never in Candy’s wildest dreams did she ever stop to consider that Roxanne might be selling her body.
But then one day Candy went into Roxanne’s room to borrow a belt. She searched the dresser, looking for one belt in particular. She all but overlooked the wad of money in the second drawer. In the next drawer, she found another pile of cash and this time she paid close attention to those dead presidents. She quickly went back to the previous drawer and picked up the money. Fanning the bills, she realized there was quite a bit of cash there. After a thorough search, Candy found about five grand stashed in various hiding places all over Roxanne’s room.
Wow. Where had Roxanne gotten all this money, and why was she hiding it in her room? Candy had no idea why the money wasn’t in the bank, but she planned to find out when Roxanne got home.
It was later that night, nearly midnight, when Roxanne walked through the door carrying a sandwich from the local sub shop. Candy was in the kitchen, waiting for her. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“I know,” Roxanne said. “And I’m really sorry about that.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you’ve got all that cash upstairs?” Candy put it out there like it was no big deal.
“Because it’s mine?” Roxanne said as if she’d been thrown a trick question.
“Why haven’t you put it in the bank?” Candy poured herself a glass of orange juice and a second one for Roxanne.
“Because if I do that...” Roxanne pulled a chair out at the table and sat down. “They’ll know I have it.”
“Who?”
“The IRS.” Roxanne unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite.
“Oh.” Candy set a glass of juice in front of Roxanne. She nodded her thanks. “Roxanne,” Candy said, sitting across from her. “Where did you get that money?”
“I worked for it.”
“Doing what?” Robbing a bank?
Roxanne, looking entirely spaced out, blurted out, “I’m a prostitute.”
“Yeah, right.” Candy laughed.
“It’s true.”
“You don’t even know how to do stuff like that.” Candy shook her head, rejecting the idea.
“Oh, yes I do.” Roxanne said without the least bit of humiliation, “Get me a banana and I’ll show you.”
Candy stared at Roxanne, and it hit her. Roxanne was high as a kite. Could this be true? Is Rocky really a prostitute? She tried to reason it out in her mind. No. That was an absolutely ridiculous idea. “Why?”
“To help Frankie,” Roxanne said, as if that made perfect sense.
“Frank told you to do this?” Candy found that even harder to believe.
“No.” Roxanne said quickly, sharply. “He doesn’t know anything about it,” she added, as if it were a secret.
“Rocky…could you maybe start from the beginning?” Candy asked, hoping that she could somehow make sense out of Roxanne’s actions.
“Well—” Roxanne fell silent, as if speechless. When she did speak again, her tone was filled with importance. “This is a secret.” Another brief pause. “See, Glenna works in this modeling studio which is actually a cathouse.” Roxanne’s tone was way too casual for the words that were tumbling out of her mouth.
Candy was so shocked she was glad she was sitting; her legs would’ve failed her.
“Anyway...Glenna supports the band, and now I’m helping her.”
“Glenna asked you to do this?” Candy couldn’t believe Glenna would be behind this any more than Frank.
“No.” Roxanne gave her a piercing look. “She tried to talk me out of it...but I do have a mind of my own, you know.”
“You came to the conclusion all on your own...to help Frank by prostituting yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You know something,” realization fed Candy’s voice. “You’re out of your mind.”
At that moment, Candy couldn’t do anything other than wash her hands of Roxanne’s career decision. She couldn’t talk any sense into her because Roxanne wasn’t acting like a sensible person.
Candy assumed that, sooner or later, Roxanne would realize how ludicrous this whole thing was. When she did, Candy would be there to help her pick up the pieces—because that’s what Chuck would want.
The weeks turned into months and one day Roxanne found herself with a completed manuscript. She submitted her book to a few of the smaller publishing houses, figuring she’d have a better chance with them since she was unpublished, unrepresented, and unknown.
At this point, she was also in pretty deep with the prescription drugs. During the day, she’d eat eight to ten Valiums and over the course of the night she’d take just as many Triavil.
Then one day Frank called. “Baby, I’m coming home.”
“Really?” The news excited Roxanne. “When?”
“Next week.”
“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see you.”
Filled with anticipation and exhilaration, Roxanne eagerly prepared for his return. She also planned to tell him the truth because she didn’t want any secrets between them. She deluded herself into thinking he’d be grateful when he found out what she’d done, all for the sake of helping him.
A couple of days later, Candy was home alone in the evening watching TV. Just past eleven the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock and figured it was Roxanne.
Candy opened the door, but wasn’t prepared to see Frank. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.” She tried to block the door.
“I got home early. Where’s Roxie?” He glanced past her.
“She’s not here,” Candy said, and still didn’t move.
“Candy…I live here too.”
“Oh, yeah.” Realizing that she had to let him in, she moved aside.
Roxanne had gotten lazy where her makeup was concerned. Instead of taking it off at work, many nights she’d wait until she got home. Maybe it didn’t have so much to do with laziness as it did the inherent need to get out of that place.
She inserted the key in the front door’s lock while humming a tune. She opened the door, feeling no pain. When she saw Frank standing in front of her she stopped singing abruptly and froze.
Frank pulled her to him. He was about to kiss her when he noticed all the makeup. Too much makeup for a normal girl to wear.
“Got a little carried away with the makeup, didn’t you, Roxie?” he said, studying her face.
“I…ah…I had it done at the mall. Guess they didn’t do such a great job, huh?”
Great job? She looked like a hooker. But Frank was satisfied with her story and let it go.
Hours later, just past three in the morning, Frank slept soundly while Roxanne lay in his arms, wide-awake. She didn’t want to hide the truth from him any longer, and she didn’t want to wait until the morning to tell him either. Besides, he’d be thankful that she loved him enough to help him.
“Frankie...” She shook him, eager to earn his praise.
Not
hing.
“Frankie.” She shook him harder. “Come on, Frankie…wake up.”
“What?” He moaned.
“Wake up. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No it can’t. Wake up.”
“Okay. Okay.” He grumbled and sat up.
“I’ve been helping you,” she said, fully expecting him to be grateful.
“What?” Frank looked at her.
“Financially,” she said. “I’ve been helping Glenna support the band.”
“I thought your money was all gone.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“It is.” Fear crept up from the back of her mind. “I’ve been working with Glenna.”
“What?” Frank hissed. Fire shot from his eyes. He was wide-awake now.
His reaction confused Roxanne. He was supposed to be appreciative, not angry. “Frankie...I did it to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.” He threw the covers back and barreled out of bed.
“But I wanted to help you,” she said. “Just like Glenna helps Glen.” Why didn’t he get that?
In the dark, Frank searched for his blue jeans. “If Glen wants to let his wife be a whore—” He found a pair of pants. “—that’s on him.”
“What...?” Panic scratched her voice.
“I never wanted you to be a whore.” Frank’s anger became a scalding fury that almost choked him. “How could you do that?” He realized the blue jeans he’d been trying to put on were Roxanne’s, and hurled them across the room. Finding his own pants, he dove into them. “How could you do that to us?” He snatched his tee shirt off the nearby chair, pulled it down over his head and then stopped long enough to toss her a glare that he hoped would project all his anger and humiliation onto her. “How could you, of all people, turn into a whore?” Frank snatched up his shoes and walked out.
Roxanne chased him down the stairs. “Frankie...” She reached out to him. He jerked away. “Please...let me explain.” Tears blurred her eyes, but it didn’t stop her from seeing that his accusing glare was glued to her.
“I’ve gotta get outta here,” he ripped out the words. “You’re a whore!” He gave her a brutal scowl just before he turned and stormed away.
The sound of the slamming front door echo through Roxanne. She jumped. Slowly, she sat down on the stairs and let the tears fall.
Well, now she knew where she stood. Nowhere. Frank had made it clear exactly how he felt about her. She saw no use in pretending differently. Not anymore. In his eyes, she was nothing but a whore.
You’re a whore…you’re a whore…you’re a whore…kept running through her mind like a scratched record. Her worst fears had come to life. It was over.
The next morning, it took every bit of energy Roxanne had to push aside the mentally-draining anguish and drag herself downstairs. Downstairs, she would have to face Candy. And when that happened, she’d have to face the fact that Frank had walked out on her.
Listlessly, she headed into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. She plucked the o.j. from the fridge and focused on pouring herself a glass. Wrapped up in her sadness, she barely noticed Candy coming into the room.
“Good morning,” Candy said.
Roxanne nodded, but didn’t speak.
Her lack of chatter surprised and puzzled Candy. She’d expected Roxanne to be in a great mood now that Frank was home. “Frank still sleeping?”
“He’s gone,” Roxanne said vaguely. Her red and swollen eyes never left the carton of juice as she put it back in the fridge.
“Where’d he go?” The thought that he could be gone, for good, made a fleeting appearance in Candy’s mind—just not long enough to get stuck there.
“I don’t know,” Roxanne said easily, as if it didn’t matter. “My guess would be Rich’s place.”
“Rich’s place...?” Candy was confused. “When’d he go over there?”
“Last night.”
“Last night?” Candy repeated Roxanne’s words in a quick, bewildered tone. “What happened?”
“It’s over.”
“He found out.”
“I thought he would appreciate my help,” Roxanne said as if he should. “But instead…he hates me now.”
“He’ll calm down,” Candy said. “He’ll be back.” She wasn’t even sure that she believed what she was saying.
“It’s too late for that.” Roxanne shook her head. “He made it quite clear what he thinks of me now. He thinks I’m a whore.” She needed more time to ease the pain. “I don’t see any reason to continue this farce of a relationship.”
Clearly, Roxanne had made up her mind. In her eyes, Frank should be thanking her for what she’d done. Instead, he’d condemned her and walked out. As far as she was concerned, he ended their relationship when he did that.
The telephone rang, startling Roxanne. She knew it was Frank. He probably just wants to tell you you’re a whore, again. She looked at Candy. “Get that would you?”
Without argument, Candy answered the phone. She listened to Frank’s repartee as she looked at Roxanne. “It’s for you,” Candy said to her.
Roxanne shook her head. “Tell him I’m not home.”
“She’s not here,” Candy said into the phone.
“Tell her she can call me at Rich’s,” he said.
“I’ll let her know,” Candy hung up the phone. “That went well.” She rolled her eyes.
“Why is he doing this?” Roxanne asked, as if she didn’t get his motive.
“Because he wants to talk to you,” Candy said, a bit annoyed. She paused for a moment to push her subjective feelings aside, but couldn’t resist offering her two cents. “And you really should talk this thing out with him.”
“Why?” Clearly, Roxanne didn’t see the sense in prolonging this mess any longer. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she said. “It’s over.”
During the next few days, Frank burned up the phone lines calling eight or ten times a day. Yet, he could never get Roxanne on the phone. She refused to talk to him, and he was just about fed up. Did she really think he would to let it go so easily? It wasn’t over until he said it was over. And it definitely wasn’t over, not by a long shot. She might as well get ready to face him because he intended to see her whether she wanted to or not.
Frank laid on the condo’s doorbell. Come on. Somebody open the door. He knew she was in there, and he intended to sit on the bell until somebody let him in.
The door opened, and an uneasy look washed over Candy’s face when saw him. “Frank…I don’t think she wants to talk to you right now.”
Frank shoved past Candy. “I don’t give a damn if she wants to talk to me or not. But I’ve got a few things to say to her, and she’s going to listen.”
“Frank...” Candy grabbed at him, missing, as he headed up the stairs.
He stopped long enough to glare at her. The fire in his eyes issued an unmistakable warning, and he said, “Stay out of it, Candy.”
Roxanne, still in her robe, was methodically applying makeup to her emotionally-drawn face. If she heard Frank storming into the dressing room, she didn’t let it show.
“We have to talk,” he said in an almost peaceful voice.
Roxanne dusted her face with loose powder. “I can’t see that there’s anything left to talk about.” Her eyes never left her reflection in the mirror.
“Put your makeup down and look at me,” he said in that same cool tone. “You’re not going back there.” He waited for her to comply. When she didn’t, he snatched the makeup from her and threw it against the wall. “I told you to look at me,” he said in a choked voice. “Look at me, damn it.”
His actions didn’t affect Roxanne one way or another. She merely reached for her flauntingly sexy dress, dropped her robe and eyed him with a vacant stare before slipping the garment over her head and down her body. “Look...” She tried, but failed to reach the zipper on the back of h
er dress. “I really don’t have time to argue with you. I’ve gotta go, or I’ll be late.” Her cold glare left him as she turned away.
She wasn’t listening. Frank had to do something to get her attention. He couldn’t let her go back there. The thought of other men touching her drove him crazy. Rage made him grab her wrists harder than he meant to. “Take that dress off!”
“Let me go.” She stood her ground with a festering detachment.
“I’ve already told you—you’re not going back there!”
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