“Or maybe sometimes the director is just a son of a bitch.”
Seth leaned back and grinned at her. “Still, it was a pretty good movie, wasn’t it?”
Hannah nodded. “Actually, I’m a big fan of Otto Preminger’s movies.” She pushed her food tray aside and glanced at her wristwatch. “Anyway, do you think there’s time before class to give me that address?”
“Yeah, come on,” he said, getting to his feet. He grabbed his tray. “Just don’t tell Paul that I gave you Marlboro Man’s address, or he’ll have my ass in a sling.”
Hannah bused her tray after him. “So Paul really has it out for Ben Sturges, huh?”
“Oh, he’d hate any man who got close to you. Hell, he’d put a contract out on me if he knew I was sitting with you just now. Why do you think I picked that corner table? So do me a favor and don’t let on to the Prof that we broke bread together.”
Hannah frowned at him. “Paul really isn’t that bad, is he?”
As they strolled out of the cafeteria together, Seth seemed to ponder her question. He tapped his rolled-up magazine against his leg, and smiled cryptically. “Hmmm, just don’t tell Paul about us talking together today, okay? I don’t want to get into trouble with him.” He pointed to a stairwell entrance. “Why don’t you wait for me over there? I’ll be back in a couple of shakes with that address.”
Hannah retreated toward the stairwell. She watched Seth amble down the crowded hallway, and she realized he truly didn’t want to be seen with her. He was dead serious about Paul.
The Prof has a thing for you, Seth had said. In fact, he’s really kind of obsessed.
Hannah stepped back, ducking into the stairwell. She suddenly had a feeling someone was watching.
She got off the bus on Yakima Way, then glanced again at the address Seth had scribbled down for her. He’d said it was a dicey neighborhood, and he wasn’t kidding. She’d ridden the El through worse areas of Chicago. Still, it was hardly the place to be alone on foot at nine o’clock at night.
She’d gotten Joyce to stay later with Guy, and taken the bus from work. On the bus, she’d tried to ignore the foulmouthed ranting of a crazy man in the back. She wondered if this attempt to investigate Ben Sturges wasn’t a little misguided. Paul Gulletti, with his movie knowledge and his obsession for her, seemed a far more likely suspect. Hannah had to wonder if she’d get mugged tonight, investigating the wrong man.
As the bus pulled away, she felt as if her last chance for safety had just driven off. The lone corner store at the end of the block provided no refuge. Four teenagers, who looked like gang members, loitered by the entrance of the run-down establishment. One of them was tormenting a derelict who had passed out against the side of the store. A pawnshop was located across the street from the grocery, but it looked closed.
Hannah started down the block of dilapidated houses and boarded-up buildings until she found the address for Ben Sturges. The apartment building looked like a big, neglected house and had bad aluminum siding that might have been painted yellow at one time—but now Hannah couldn’t tell. The front door had a faded, handwritten “No Trespassing” sign. On the second floor, two windows had stained sheets hanging up in lieu of curtains. Hannah checked the mailbox for Apartment 1, and saw a new label on it: B. Podowski.
Frowning, Hannah checked the address and apartment number that Seth had written down. She opened the front door and stepped inside. The dark foyer smelled of cat urine, and there was a stairway with a tattered, thin carpet. On either side of Hannah were Apartments 1 and 2.
The front door opened, and Hannah backed away. A husky young black man ambled in. He wore a sleeveless sweatshirt. He scowled at her, but said nothing. He pulled out a set of keys and started to unlock the door to Apartment 2.
“Hi, excuse me,” Hannah said.
He turned to glare at her. “Yeah?”
“Does a tall, blond-haired man live here?” she asked, nodding to Apartment 1. “He’s about thirty years old.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Moved in about month ago.” The young man started to duck into the apartment.
“Excuse me again,” Hannah said. “Is his name Ben? Ben Sturges?”
The man frowned. “No, it’s Ben Something-else. Some Polock name. I don’t remember, okay? Any other questions?”
Hannah quickly shook her head. “No. Thank you very much.”
He stepped inside his apartment and shut the door. Hannah heard two locks click.
She glanced at the door to Apartment 1. She wondered why Ben Sturges, who always came very nicely dressed to film class, was living in a tenement. And why did he live there under another name? He’d moved in a month ago, the neighbor had said.
A month ago. Give or take a few days, that was when the Goodbar video had been dropped off at the store. That was when all this began.
Hannah wandered outside again, then turned to stare at the large picture window on the first floor. It was where he lived. There were bars over the window, and within the apartment, only darkness.
“So what kind of cookies do you think Joyce would like?” Hannah asked Guy. She had him in the shopping cart seat.
“Those! Joyce likes those!” he said, pointing to the Oreos.
“What an amazing coincidence,” Hannah said, grabbing a package of the cookies. “You happen to like Oreos, too, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I sure do.” Guy nodded, very matter-of-fact.
“Well, here, guard these,” Hannah said, setting the Oreos in the cart. “And don’t touch.” She paused to glance at her shopping list.
It was Saturday, her day off. She’d spent it with Guy, buying him a haircut and new shoes, Burger King for lunch, a trip to the park, and now the supermarket.
All the while she was outside with her son, Hannah knew she was vulnerable. She didn’t let Guy out of her sight for a minute. She always felt someone watching. It was bad enough walking to and from work by herself, constantly glancing around for someone lurking in the shadows or behind every corner. But the idea that he might be studying her—with Guy—terrified her.
Even in the supermarket, Hannah didn’t feel entirely safe. Still, she tried not to think about the Goodbar and Rosemary’s Baby videos and Cindy Finkelston’s death. She tried not to think about Ben Sturges or Ben Podowski—or whatever he was calling himself. And she tried not to think about Paul Gulletti. Either one of them could have been her stalker, playing this deadly game with her. Either one—or neither—could have been the intruder who had broken into her apartment twice. Perhaps it was a customer at the store or a total stranger.
She felt so helpless and frustrated. All she could do for now was make sure Guy was safe, keep Joyce on alert, and hope whoever had been behind all this was finished with her.
She’d rented Aladdin for Guy tonight, and they were going to eat in—with the door and windows locked.
“Mom, push me again, okay?” Guy said, kicking his feet back and forth.
“All right, hold your horses, kiddo,” she replied, checking her coupons. “I’m trying to score us some bargains here.”
“Well, hello.”
Hannah looked up to see Craig Tollman, carrying a shopping basket. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans, but still managed to look like a GQ model.
Hannah smiled nervously. “Oh, hi. How are you?”
“Great.” He nodded at Guy, then smiled at her. “Looks like you picked up a hitchhiker.”
She laughed. “Guy, say hello to Craig.”
“Hello, Craig,” he said politely. “How are you?” Then he turned to look at the Oreos in the cart.
“Well, I’m fine, thanks, Guy. And what have you been up to today?”
Guy didn’t seem to hear him. He touched the package of cookies.
“I think the ‘hello’ is all you’ll get out of him for now,” Hannah said. “He’s kind of shy around new people.”
Craig grinned at her. “Like mother, like son,” he said. “He has to be yours, he’s a great-looking kid.”<
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“Well, thanks,” Hannah said. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to thank you for handling that rude customer the other night. After saving my life, you just disappeared.”
“I wanted to make sure he didn’t try to go back in the store.”
“Well, anyway, thanks. I owe you big time.”
“Really? Then maybe you’ll let me take you out to dinner—or lunch?”
Hannah gave him a wry smile. “That was very sneaky.”
“Yeah, do you like how I just slipped it in there?”
She nodded. “Very smooth.”
“Mom, can I get out of here?” Guy asked.
“Here, let me,” Craig said. He quickly set down his shopping basket, then hoisted Guy out of the cart seat.
Hannah automatically reached out to take her son from him. She thought Guy might protest, but he seemed comfortable in Craig’s arms.
“So—you didn’t answer my question,” Craig said, rocking Guy a little. “How about dinner? If you need Guy to chaperon, the three of us could go to a family place, my treat.”
She laughed, then took Guy from him. “How about lunch? Wednesday?” Guy wiggled in her arms, and she tried to keep him still. “Um, I get a forty-five minute break at one o’clock, but I can stretch it to an hour. Meet me at the store, and we’ll go from there, okay? And it’s my treat.”
Craig nodded. “We’ve got a date.”
Lunch with Craig Tollman; it would be her first date in over five years.
Hannah didn’t linger in the supermarket. She kept thinking she’d run into Craig again in one of the aisles, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to make small talk again, and she couldn’t stand the silences—even when they were fueled by an unspoken attraction. If she’d ever had any talent for flirting, she’d lost it long ago. Craig made her nervous. Now they had a date. Well, she’d deal with it on Wednesday, when the time came.
Walking home, Hannah carried two well-laden bags by the paper handles—certain to break at any minute. Guy struggled with his little plastic bag containing two rolls of paper towels. He was huffing and puffing as if he were lugging a bowling ball. “You sure that’s not too much for you, honey?” Hannah asked.
“I got it,” he said, his blond head tilted down.
“Let me know if you get tired,” she said.
Finally, he slung the bag over his shoulder, which seemed less awkward for him. After a moment, he asked, “Did Craig know my dad?”
Hannah hesitated. “Um, no, sweetie. Craig’s a friend of mine from the video store.”
“How did my dad die?”
“I’ve told you before, honey,” Hannah said. “He died in a car accident a couple of months before you were born.”
Guy nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He was quiet for a while.
Hannah walked a step behind, studying him.
She’d decided while in the hospital, recuperating from the beating Kenneth had given her, that in her new life she’d tell everyone that Guy’s father had died in a car accident. After all, a car crash was the excuse Kenneth had given for how she’d landed in Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Hospital.
The worst part of her hospital stay was the separation from her little boy. Guy was eighteen months old at the time, starting to talk and trying to get around on two feet. Every day was a new adventure for him, and she missed out on that. Hannah whiled away the days in that hospital bed making decisions about a whole new life for Guy and herself.
She had to run away with her son and start fresh someplace else. Seattle came to mind. The TV show Frasier was set there, and she watched the reruns every night she was in the hospital. It seemed a good choice, and she didn’t know a soul in Seattle. Total anonymity.
She would need money, of course. Her plan was to make gradual, intermittent withdrawals from their joint account and tuck the cash away. She figured it would take about eight months to save five thousand dollars.
She’d have to change her name, erase her past, and sever all connections. Kenneth and his family weren’t going to let her steal Guy away—not without an extensive search.
The more she planned her escape, the more obstacles she saw. Sometimes it seemed utterly pointless. And there was no one she could confide in. She had people visiting her in the hospital every day: Kenneth (on his best behavior), her in-laws, and Mrs. Woodley’s country-club friends. Nearly everyone on the hospital’s staff seemed to like Hannah, and they were always dropping by her room. People kept sending flowers and cards. She’d never felt so popular—or so alone.
No one wanted to hear what had really happened to land her in that hospital, bruised and broken.
During her last week there, she was starting to eat solid foods again. One afternoon, the Woodleys came with Guy and his nanny, and some of their country-club friends. They made a big deal of wheeling her to the second-floor lounge, where an outside terrace overlooked the park and the lake. Several hospital staff members joined in what turned out to be an unveiling.
From the terrace, they all watched Kenneth, looking very dapper in his blue suit. He waved to them from the street. Then, in a showy gesture, he pulled the parachute-like draping off a new-model red Jetta. Tied around the car was one of those ridiculous large gold bows—the type rich people put around gift cars in TV commercials.
Everyone applauded. Hannah tried to smile. But she was embarrassed. A couple of the nurses with them on the terrace were struggling to support families. Here she was, getting wheeled back and forth from her private room. And her in-laws were giving her an expensive new car to replace the one she was supposed to have smashed up.
Standing beside Hannah—and wheeling her around that afternoon—was a husky, brooding, Latino orderly named Juan. He didn’t applaud with the others. Of all the hospital staff, he was the only one who didn’t seem to like her very much. He was terse and sullen around her. Juan became more talkative when someone speaking Spanish was in their vicinity. Then he’d go on and on in his native tongue, and Hannah figured he was deriding her half the time. She wondered what “rich bitch” sounded like in Spanish.
Kenneth joined them on the terrace. He gave Juan a bottle of champagne to open, then started passing out paper cups. One of the doctors pointed out that it was against hospital regulations to drink on hospital property, but he cited this as a special occasion. Everyone except Juan toasted to Hannah’s remarkable recovery.
The celebration didn’t last long. The doctors and nurses were on duty, and Kenneth and his father had to return to work. Kenneth took her new car. Guy’s nanny announced that it was time for his nap. For a few minutes, Hannah was stuck on the terrace with Juan, her mother-in-law, and a couple of the country-club ladies. They were still talking about the new Jetta.
“Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty vision,” Mrs. Woodley said. “But I wish we’d have given her a nice new car last year, instead of that horrible old hand-me-down.
“I feel partly responsible for Hannah ending up in here,” she went on. “That piece of junk used to be my car. Well, you girls remember. I always had the worst time driving it. Poor Hannah, it’s really not her fault.”
Kenneth’s mother was still going on about it after she and her friends pecked Hannah on the cheek and said good-bye. Hannah sat in her wheelchair and gazed out at the choppy gray water. The sky was turning dark. She listened to Mrs. Woodley talking to her colleagues as they headed inside for the elevator: “I never should have given the old car to Hannah. That automobile had terrible brakes….”
“That automobile also had a mean right hook,” Juan muttered.
Hannah glanced up at him. “Pardon me?”
“It wasn’t the car that put you in here,” Juan growled. “I know, Mrs. Woodley. I know. I don’t blind myself like everyone else around here. I know the truth. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Hannah started to cry. Maybe it was suddenly realizing she wasn’t so alone after all. Juan put his hand on her shoulder. After a minute, he handed her a Kleenex.
“A man who beats his wife doesn’t deserve to live,” he said.
Hannah wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“There was a girl he was seeing about five or six years ago, nice girl, very pretty. He put her in here, too; worked her over with a golf club. The family hushed it up. He’s a son of a bitch, Mrs. Woodley.”
Sniffling, Hannah shrugged. “I can’t leave, not without my son. And my husband and his family aren’t going let me take him.”
“Listen,” Juan whispered. He squatted a little, so he was face-to-face with her. “Working in this place, I’ve gotten to know a lot of people. We have all types coming through the emergency room. I have friends in high—and low—places. I know some guys who will handle it for you. They’ll work cheap, too. That son of a bitch will have a real hard time beating you when he’s in a wheelchair himself.”
“No, I don’t want that. But thanks anyway, Juan. God bless you.” Wiping her eyes one last time, she noticed a flash of lightning over the lake. “Maybe you should take me inside now, okay? I think it’s going to rain.”
Juan let out an audible sigh; then he patted her shoulder again. “Forget I said anything,” he whispered.
He wheeled Hannah back to her room. Neither of them uttered a word. He took her by the arm to help her into bed. Once Hannah settled back and pulled up the sheets, she broke the silence. “Maybe you could help me with something else,” she said. “Maybe you know—from the emergency room or wherever—someone who can make me a few pieces of fake ID?”
A brand-new driver’s license, a Social Security card, and Guy’s new birth certificate would cost twelve hundred dollars. Hannah managed to save the money from three separate savings withdrawals that month after her release from the hospital.
Kenneth didn’t notice. He was hardly around. He spent nearly every weekend sailing, and nearly every night with a young woman named Holly who worked at a florist in town. He wasn’t very discreet about it, either. Kenneth had set up a little love nest for Holly and himself. Hannah had found the canceled rent checks amid their bank statements. She didn’t really care. Holly was welcome to him.
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