No More Lonely Nights

by Nicole McGehee

  Dominique swallowed and looked back down at the floor. She had to think of a way to escape this nightmare! But how?

  And then she saw a hand enter her field of vision—the hand of the gold-toothed policeman. As though she were watching a cobra, Dominique stood immobile, her gaze fixed on the hand. Ever so slowly, the man extended his fingers and clawed a handful of her skirt. She saw him lift the flimsy cloth.

  She jerked back, but the policeman was quicker. He roughly grasped her wrist and yanked her arm toward the pair of open handcuffs.

  Blind panic surged through Dominique. Her limbs struck out uncontrollably, flailing in every direction. Her legs struck flesh, wood, plaster. Her fists rained down on the man. Then she was slammed against the wall. A rough hand reached up her skirt and grabbed hold of her leg. She heard her stockings tear and, without knowing what she did, she threw her knee straight up, hitting bone so hard that she thought she had shattered her kneecap. She screamed with pain and collapsed to the floor. She was vaguely aware of the room in chaos. Of khaki uniforms converging on her. Of Solange’s screams, and objects flying, scraping, slamming.

  Then she felt Gold-tooth’s weight grind her into the floor. In revulsion, her body heaved up against his, trying to dislodge him, but he was too strong. She frantically turned her head, searching for escape. She saw the feet of Solange and another policeman caught in a struggle. And she saw the handcuffs, there, just beyond her reach. She heard Gold-tooth take off his belt and unfasten his slacks. And then his hand grasped his member.

  Now was her chance! With every bit of strength she could muster, she arched her back, then released her limbs like a rubber band. They swung upward in unison, throwing the man off balance. She scrambled away from him and reached for the handcuffs. She was almost there, her hands touching, but not grasping the metal.

  Then arms circled her waist in a grip of iron. She lost her hold on the handcuffs, but kicked behind her like a mule.

  “Aaagh! You whore!” she heard him scream behind her.

  She wriggled across the dirty floor and grasped the handcuffs. But as soon as her hands closed on them, a foot crushed her wrist. She looked into Fox-face’s eyes as he smirked down at her. Like a cheetah, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into his ankle. He doubled over in anguish and Dominique’s wrist, hurt but not broken, came free. Without looking behind her, she swung the handcuffs wildly. Metal hit flesh. A cry. Blood splattered over her arm and onto the floor. She turned and looked behind her.

  Gold-tooth lay writhing on the floor, his hand clutched over his left eye, blood pouring between his fingers.

  “You put out his eye!” screamed Fox-face. The plump one ran to Gold-tooth and pulled his hand from his face to see the injury.

  Dominique crouched in the middle of the floor like a mad woman, swinging the handcuffs in a circle around her head.

  Solange, her face bloodless, was backed into a corner clutching her torn clothes about her.

  Gold-tooth, still on his back, whimpered. His flaccid penis lay inert on his thigh. Fox-face ran to his side and knelt beside him.

  Dominique rose on trembling legs. Her whole body shook uncontrollably. Afraid to take her eyes off the policemen, she blindly reached for the wall behind her. She didn’t have the strength to stand on her own. Her left hand made contact with the hard surface, while in her right she still clutched the handcuffs. Like a person trapped on a narrow ledge, she cautiously inched her way toward her mother, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on her attackers.

  Fox-face had pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and was holding it to Gold-tooth’s eye. Dominique was within a foot of Solange. She reached her bloody hand forward. Solange closed the gap between them with one step and grasped her daughter’s hand. Suddenly, Fox-face looked up at them. His face turned dark red with fury. He hoisted himself to his feet and faced the women. Dominique jerked the handcuffs upward at the same time as the rotund policeman cried, “No! Enough!”

  Dominique kept her hand raised threateningly as she led her mother toward the door. “We’re leaving now,” she rasped.

  Fox-face’s eyes bored into her. He gathered his breath and let forth a stream of spit that landed at her feet. “You haven’t heard the last of this!” he glowered.

  Solange slid the note across the breakfast table to Dominique.

  Dominique picked up the thick, cream-colored stationery, which bore the official seal of Egypt, as well as the seal of the deputy minister. He had responded quickly. The incident had occurred only two days before.

  It had all been a terrible mistake, Solange was assured by her friend. He was so sorry she had missed her boat. The customs officers would be severely punished, the women would receive an official apology.

  Dominique made a sound of disbelief and threw the note on the table. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “That was no mistake, Mother!” Dominique moved away from the table and began to pace back and forth across the Persian rug of Solange’s sitting room. Solange followed Dominique’s movements with her eyes. “Those policemen may not have recognized our name,” Dominique continued, “but I don’t think it would have made any difference if they had. They knew we were French. I’m sure they understood our background.” She stopped pacing and faced Solange, whose expression reflected her daughter’s fretfulness.

  The muscles in Dominique’s face were so tightly strained that the tendons of her neck protruded. “I don’t see how we can ever feel safe again! What will they do next? Steal our business? Throw us out of the house?”

  “The deputy minister says he’ll see to things,” Solange said. But her voice lacked her usual conviction.

  Dominique folded her arms across her chest. She said scornfully, “You saw how much his name meant to those men! Officials come and go in Egypt. Half of the ones who helped Nasser with the revolution are in jail now!”

  Solange didn’t argue. Both women were silent for a few moments.

  Solange suddenly stood up. “Leave, Dominique!” she blurted out. “Marry Anton Renard and go to America!” She turned her palms up. “He’s an attractive man from a good family. And I’ll give him twenty percent of Avallon Cotton.”

  Dominique let out a bark of mirthless laughter. “It would be foolish for him to consider that a good dowry. How will he get the money out of Egypt?”

  Solange lowered her lids. “There are ways. When the cotton is sold, we can have the money paid into a bank account in California instead of here. By November, he’ll have the first year’s income. And it will be very handsome,” she said with a nod of assurance.

  Dominique tilted her head to the side and studied her mother. “You’ve discussed this with him, haven’t you?”

  Solange turned away and went to the window. She pulled the curtain aside and looked out. With her back still turned, she answered, “Yes. And he’s agreeable.” She whirled to face Dominique, her features set in an expression of impatience. “I don’t understand why you won’t say yes. He wants to marry you.” She took a few steps toward Dominique. “You’re almost twenty-two. You should be married.”

  Dominique thought of Stephen. If only he were free! She envisioned herself as his wife. She imagined herself in England, far away from the turmoil of Egypt. With all her heart, she longed for what she could not have. It was like a physical hunger. For a moment, she had the wild impulse to call him, wire him, somehow contact him and tell him she had changed her mind.

  But she knew that he had returned to Serena. Dominique’s heart ached as she realized that, in pushing him away from her, she had irrevocably given up any claim to him. If she went to him now, she would cause nothing but disruption and heartbreak.

  Solange interrupted her thoughts with a sound of exasperation. “Ouf! What are you waiting for? To fall in love? It will come after marriage, as it did for me, as it did for my mother! You think all your friends married for love? No! They allowed their parents to arrange things, just as you should! Look at that friend of yours—Jean—the stupid B
ritish one. Or Paulette. They haven’t married yet. And why? Because they want to marry for love!” Her hands moved up and down with each word in typical Gallic fashion. “You all think it’s so modern. So much more noble. But soon there won’t be any Europeans left in Egypt for you to marry! Do you understand?”

  “Then why are you staying?” Dominique cried. Could the danger be so great if Solange was determined to stay? Wasn’t she afraid of another incident like the one two days before? What if the money in their brassieres had been discovered? Dominique blanched at the thought.

  “Dominique, stop worrying about me! I wouldn’t be happy if I left. Everything I’ve ever known is here. My business, my whole life!” She brought her hands together in the middle of her chest.

  Dominique took a step toward her, her expression agitated. “But you may not be safe!” She remembered the terrible riots of 1952, the demonstrations in front of the British embassy that were now a weekly occurrence. Most of all, she thought of the attack in the customs house. It seemed like a horrific nightmare, too implausible to have actually occurred. Yet no matter how hard Dominique scrubbed in the shower, she felt she couldn’t wash away the smell of the policemen, the feel of their hands. She knew she would never feel safe until she was far, far away; until she was positive they—or others like them—could never again harm her. Why didn’t Solange feel the same way? “Mother, how can you think of staying after what happened?”

  Suddenly, the energy seemed to drain out of Solange. Her arms dropped to her sides. She repeated, “You make leaving sound simple. And it could be, for you. You’d be leaving with a husband, who already has a business. You speak English, so you’d make friends. But I don’t. My life is here. My friends are here.” She averted her eyes. “The deputy minister is here.” She shook her head and sighed, then returned her gaze to Dominique. “I don’t want to start over. But you”—she waved her hand toward her daughter—“you’re young—you can make a new life for yourself in America. And you won’t ever have to worry again about things like those… those animals in the customs house.” She paused, then leaned forward, her expression urgent. “Please, Dominique, you’ve never been afraid to take chances. Don’t throw this one away!”

  CHAPTER 5

  DOMINIQUE started as Anton took her elbow. Lost in thought, she’d momentarily forgotten where she was. The ship had moved quickly, and Alexandria was nothing more than a distant cluster of sand-colored buildings against a background of pure, deep blue. Suffocating homesickness filled Dominique as she watched the skyline disappear.

  Anton exerted a gentle pressure on her arm, a signal for her to come away from the rail. Dominique turned and faced him, suddenly realizing that this stranger, her husband, would be the only familiar face in her new world.

  “Shall we go below and get settled?” Anton murmured. Without waiting for a response, he pulled her closer and steered her through the crowd toward their cabin.

  Not yet! Dominique wanted to cry. She wasn’t ready to be alone with him! She slipped away from his grasp. “I… I… need to pick up some Dramamine from the gift shop,” she stammered, backing away. She tried to gloss over her reaction with a conciliatory smile.

  Anton gave her a brief, impatient smile in return. Then it vanished. “Our cabin is extremely comfortable. And”—he gestured at the placid blue sea—“the water is calm. You won’t have trouble.” He took a step toward Dominique and once again reached for her elbow. “Come along,” he commanded. “The steward will have unpacked by now. We’ll have a drink and relax.”

  Dominique didn’t want to argue with her husband on their wedding day, but his persistence made her contrary. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said decisively.

  Anton looked annoyed. There was a moment of silence that threatened to erupt into an argument. Dominique unconsciously squared her shoulders and took another step away from him.

  “Fine,” Anton conceded, composing his features. “Don’t take too long,” he added in an imperious tone.

  Now that she’d won her point, Dominique felt more generous. She smiled at Anton and made an effort to sound affectionate. “Only a few minutes.” Avoiding his gaze, she turned and hurried away, conscious of his eyes following her.

  Free of Anton, Dominique breathed deeply of the warm, soothing breeze that ruffled her hair and made her pleated skirt dance. The salty ocean tang brought back memories of so many delightful trips—France, Italy, Greece. But this was her first passage on an American ship. She looked around curiously. So far, it appeared as fine as any she’d seen. She smiled approvingly as she entered the teak-paneled main foyer. A line of small boutiques glittered along the concourse, each offering luxury items for the amusement of the Golden Gate’s passengers. The display windows beckoned Dominique closer. There were evening gowns and perfumes and fine leather goods. Dominique lingered as she spotted a vivid yellow silk scarf with a geometric design of green and royal blue along the border.

  She checked her watch. Ten minutes had already passed! Remembering her promise to Anton, she decided to hurry in and buy the scarf, then return to the cabin. The Dramamine was completely forgotten.

  Dominique entered the shop and was greeted by a pretty young woman. “May I help you, ma’am?”

  “I’d like to see the scarf in the window, please,” Dominique said with a smile.

  The shop girl quickly brought it to her. “It’s perfect with your hair!” the young woman exclaimed.

  Dominique stood before a full length mirror and artfully draped the scarf around her neck. It was perfect. “I can never resist yellow,” she confessed. She opened her handbag. “How much?” It hadn’t occurred to her to ask before—she had never had to.

  “Forty dollars, ma’am.”

  Dominique reached into her handbag. Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement as she peered inside. Then the color drained from her face and her mouth opened in surprise. Where was the brown envelope she had put there yesterday?

  “My money!” she gasped. Two thousand American dollars had disappeared! It was the same money that Solange had hidden away for their aborted trip to France. But this time, by virtue of Anton’s American citizenship, it had been easily exchanged for dollars and legally taken from Egypt under the assumption that it was money he had brought with him from the United States.

  “Oh no!” exclaimed the saleswoman. She shook her head. “The port has so many pickpockets.”

  Dominique wheeled away from the mirror. “It can’t be that! We went right from the car to our stateroom.”

  “Did you have your bag with you all the time?”

  “Did I?” Dominique closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. She, her mother, and Anton had boarded the Golden Gate, then Dominique had accompanied Solange back to the dock for their final good-bye. But she was certain she had left her purse in the stateroom, thinking it would be safer there. She couldn’t imagine that any of the crew had tampered with it. Not on a ship like the Golden Gate.

  “It has to be here!” Dominique cried. She hurried over to a glass display case and emptied the contents of her purse onto the countertop. Out tumbled a gold compact and lipstick set, a handkerchief, a brush, Dominique’s passport, her marriage certificate, and her birth certificate. Everything was there but the money. She impatiently swept the items back into her purse and closed it. “I have to go to the stateroom,” she said, her voice urgent. “Maybe my husband found it.” She turned to go.

  “Would you still like the scarf?” the young woman asked hesitantly.

  Dominique put her hand to her neck, where the scarf lay draped over her collar. “Oh, I forgot.” She looked over her shoulder at the young woman. “Yes, yes. Just charge it to Mademoiselle Dominique Ava—I mean Madame Anton Renard.”

  Dominique hurried to her room and burst through the door. Anton was sitting on a green velvet sofa, reading a newspaper. “Anton!” she cried, her hand still grasping the doorknob, “my money’s gone!”

  Anton folded the newspaper slowly
and neatly. He remained seated. His face was stony, unreadable. He looked pointedly at his watch. “You’ve been almost half an hour.” His tone was accusatory.

  “Anton! Did you hear me?” Dominique scurried into the room, flinging the door shut behind her. “I’m missing two thousand dollars! We have to call the purser!” She looked around the well-appointed suite for the phone. It rested on the mahogany end table at Anton’s side, but he made no move to pick it up.

  Instead, he slowly rose to his feet, all the while brushing nonexistent wrinkles from his suit. “I have the money,” he announced in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Dominique closed her eyes with relief. “Oh, thank God! Where did you find it?” She held out her hand for the money.

  Anton looked coolly at his wife. He allowed a few seconds to elapse. Finally, he spoke. “You didn’t misplace it. I took it for safekeeping. I’m head of the family. I handle the money.”

  Dominique gaped at him, caught between astonishment and indignation. Her outstretched hand dropped to her side and, in the next second, contracted into a fist. “How dare you!” she cried, moving closer to Anton. “How dare you open my purse and take something without my permission!”

  Anton took a step forward, too, so that they were face to face. “Don’t be ridiculous.” His voice was harsh. “Your money is my money.”

  “No it’s not!” Dominique shot back. “You were given a dowry, but this money is mine! Now give it back!” she demanded, holding out her hand.

  Anton’s face flooded crimson. He pointedly ignored Dominique’s outstretched hand. “You’re my wife!” he said between clenched teeth. “I decide how we spend our money. And whether you like it or not, that’s the way it is. In America, in France, and in Egypt!” he finished victoriously.

  Dominique’s reflex was to hurl back a denial. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. The horrible fact was that Anton was right and Dominique knew it. And knowing it, she had no retort for him. Furious, she glared into his self-righteous face, but it was like being confronted with a solid rock wall. There was nothing she could say to persuade or convince, no way to win her point.