Angelique Rising

by Lorain O'Neil

  She was simply staring at him, like she didn't believe he was real.

  "Ma'am?" he tried again, gesturing for her to get out of the taxi and enter the resort lobby. She followed his hand movement and her eyes registered the great welcoming entranceway like she was realizing it was there for the first time. Slowly she got out of the taxi and he stepped back, away from her. Again, experience.

  "Let me show you inside," he said walking backward, leading her, and, thank God, she was following, though her eyes were darting about warily. He got her into the lobby. "Lexa, I know this is confusing for you, but I can explain everything, I'm here to help you. Please will you listen to what I have to say? You don't have to, you can walk away right now, but really, I promise you what I have to say is for your benefit. Just a few minutes? In the bar?"

  He knew every moment he distracted her, he was destroying any case she wanted to bring against Malcolm Cochran. He didn't know exactly what Cochran did to them (he always held up his hand to stop them from saying, telling himself he was sparing them the embarrassment) but he knew it was bad, he knew it was criminal. Women didn't look like that unless it was really bad. In which case any jury would expect her to be screaming her head off right now, demanding the police, calling for help. Not quietly following his direction, going with him into the bar for a drink.

  Larry knew better of course. She was doing exactly what the others had done. He got her settled at a table, he knew the martini was on its way, he spotted the nurses taking up their positions at the bar.

  "Lexa, I am Malcolm Cochran's attorney," he said, seeing her eyes now flash in fear, he hated that especially. It was so unnerving the way they didn't speak. "I know you have been staying with him for a while. This is for you." He handed her the envelope with the cash. She looked inside it. "I have a room booked for you upstairs. Your things are there, including your computer, cell phone, passport and purse. Your stay here at the resort --if you want to stay for a bit, it's up to you-- it's all paid for."

  The drinks arrived. She didn't touch hers. A bad sign. He saw the nurses shift uneasily.

  Oh just do it! he wanted to scream at her. Jump up and go bonkers! Shout whatever happened to the world! So what if you can't prove it, what about the next one? You can't rescue you but you can rescue her!

  "What do you want?" she finally spoke, her voice slight and shaking.

  "It is my job to make reparations to you for any misunderstandings you may have had with Mr. Cochran. As I understand it you had a romantic relationship with him that ended when he discovered you had become involved with his assistant." She opened her mouth to speak, that was the moment he always held up his hand signaling her not to. "But Mr. Cochran is going to be extremely generous to you. If you agree not to speak to anyone about your time with him you will be receiving substantial compensation every month for several years." Exactly the number of years that correlated with the statute of limitations for some very horrible crimes, Larry the Lawyer knew. "In addition, you will find up in your room some letters from some prominent establishments in both Los Angeles, New York City, and Las Vegas, offering you some wonderful job opportunities, it is your choice to choose one if you wish."

  Lexa stared at him.

  "He's not going to kill me?" she asked incoherently.

  Crap. Larry the Lawyer almost spilled his drink.

  "No, no, of course not. You're free to go... wherever you want to." Oh lady, my God, get a grip. "But Mr. Cochran values his privacy. He does not want you speaking about him. To anyone." Finally he saw some comprehension in her eyes. She was getting it. "If you respect his privacy, as I said, there will be great benefit in it for you. If however you speak of him to anyone, he would be quite upset and would respond accordingly," he dropped his voice gravely. Okay, there was the threat. He saw her hand around her drink now, trembling. God, he was such a shit.

  "He wants me... to keep my mouth shut," she said with a ghost of disdain, catching on. "And he'll pay me to do it. Is that what the others did?"

  Well of course it is, do you think you'd be sitting here if it wasn't?

  "I need... to make some calls," she added almost absently.

  "May I show you to your hotel room? As I said, your cell phone is there." He stood. She followed him to the suite wordlessly, her eyes spotting and locking on her luggage in the corner, like she couldn't believe she was actually seeing it. Her purse was on top. He expected her to look inside it, pull out her phone, make her calls. And he would stand there in his shame and listen though he doubted that was really necessary. He figured either the phone or the room was bugged. Probably both. She turned to him.

  "If I sign the papers will he stay away from me?"

  "Oh yes," Larry assured her thinking thank God. He was going to pull this off.

  "I'll sign," she said. And she did.

  His fear of Malcolm Cochran holding him, Larry the Lawyer went through life telling himself in bitter affliction it doesn't matter while his soul shrieked at him in just as bitter foreboding it sure as hell does.

  And so it was Larry the Lawyer who finished the job of annihilating Lexa.

  *****

  After Larry's departure, Lexa made her way robotically downstairs. She didn't use her own phone, but in a desultory tone asked the concierge if she could use hers. The monster had had her phone, she didn't trust it, knew she would never use it again, nor would she ever go back to her apartment. She called the one person she had faith in to take care of her, save her, rescue her, to come for her.

  She sat on the stone wall planter holder at the entrance to the resort, waiting, her expression cheerless, baleful. She did not bother to check out but she did ask a bellboy to carry her luggage down. She tipped him with her own money still in her purse, not the money in the envelope she'd been given. She waited for almost an hour before her savior arrived taking one look at her and bursting into tears. And later that night, as she sat immovable on the sofa, under gentle careful encouragement Lexa's tears finally came, quietly, sadly, and she began to talk, violating the living daylights out of the agreement she'd signed. She didn't know it but she was the only victim who had ever done that.

  And Anthony Rodriguez, costume manager of Malcolm Cochran's Performance Center, listened to all of it without interrupting, controlling his urge to weep with inconsolable heartsick rage. He would take care of her. Somehow he would heal Lexa, get to her innermost being that he saw was bleeding to death, nurse it back to health, restore it. And part of that restoration would be the total destruction of Malcolm Cochran. After he got her tucked away in his guest room, Anthony sat down with his Oreos and milk to think. He was remembering. It was all becoming clear.

  He'd sensed something was wrong when they'd discussed Lexa at Robert's premiere. But Malcolm Cochran hadn't so much as flinched. Or had he? Anthony recalled how Malcolm had stared so relentlessly at him when he'd said someone should go to Paris to see if Lexa was still alive, Malcolm had been hanging on every word.

  And then, revelation.

  That's what got Lexa out!

  He'd become the untidy loose end that had caused Malcolm Cochran to blink.

  "It was me," he heard himself say aloud almost as an afterthought, "his undoing."

  And Anthony started thinking hard, about what Lexa had told him, about the girls she'd seen in the consent videos. Anthony realized he knew who each one of them was. He thought back and remembered other girls who had gotten fabulous job opportunities and disappeared though he couldn't recall their names.

  No matter. Anthony Rodriguez made his decision. He would hang out in the beauty salons, the bars, the clothing shops where Performance personnel congregated. He'd start conversations. Someone would recollect. And when he had all the names he would track down the ones he could. The ones he couldn't, well, he had an ex-lover cop detective who owed him big time, Anthony would be calling in that favor. He would find the victims and he would seek them out, get them to talk to him. He knew he wouldn't be successful with all of t
hem but if he could inveigle just a few... it would be enough.

  He needed to spot the pattern. What signaled Cochran was on the hunt? Who his intended victim would be? He knew Lexa's time at the Center had been odd in a few ways, her rise had been suddenly meteoric. Was that part of it? If even two of the other victims would talk to him, he was sure he could spot the pattern, enough to know who the next selected target was going to be. And he would befriend her, easy enough, he was gay Anthony, costume designer, clothing designer, all the women and girls at the Center loved him. He'd hear about it when the fabulous offer was made to her.

  Then, unfortunately, it would have to go down. She'd have to be taken. But if the pattern held, if Cochran gave the victim several hours locked in the room for her histrionics to recede a bit before he went at her, that would give Anthony time. Time to tell Lexa and the others she's there now. Only you can save her. One of them would come through, hell, maybe all of them if he was really lucky, if he did it right, really played on their heartstrings. Lexa for sure. Well, the old Lexa, he didn't really know what this Lexa would do. But if just one of them came forward with him to the cops that warrant would be sworn out. He'd verify that with his cop ex-boyfriend in the morning. Kidnapped victim, the SWAT team would descend. No way to explain an hysterical terrified girl locked in the peach bedroom, Cochran, nope.

  And all those consent documents and videos would be for nothing. The victims would have the corroboration of a girl who hadn't signed anything, she'd just been taken. Cochran would go down.

  Anthony hated bullies and their sense of inevitable entitlement. A gay kid in high school, he knew all about bullies. And he'd learned how to deal with them. And their minions. Not by force, no, but by brains and patience. He smiled with a curious sentiment of detachment and serenity. It was almost ironic that the person who would bring the great Malcolm Cochran down, along with his sleazebag accomplices Donald and Margret, was going to be a gay costume designer employed at Cochran's very own brilliantly crafted twisted little bugaboo, the Performance Center. Larry the Lawyer would take some more thinking but Anthony would find a way to make that scum pay pretty hard too.

  Their undoing.

  Anthony got up. He wanted to go check on Lexa again. Of course Anthony did not know that the next occupant of the peach bedroom, repainted lavender, would be Angelique, and none of the old capture patterns would hold.

  A few days later Lexa phoned Angelique to tell her she was back and Angelique asked her how things had gone.

  "Okay," Lexa said though Angelique got the feeling she'd been about to say something else.

  *****

  "So that's her up there?" Maureen asked the next week, squinting into the sky, shielding her eyes from the morning sun's glare bouncing off the ocean below.

  "Yes, the one with the white kite," Tinka answered tasting the billowing tang of the sea salt spray as each wave below them dashed against the cliff.

  "Well I think she could get herself killed, I don't understand why Wyatt allows it. One wrong gust of wind and poof, she could go down there." Maureen gestured down the cliffside and out toward the open ocean.

  "I think it looks like fun, I'm going to ask Angelique to teach me how to do it. I mean look at them all," Tinka waved upwards to the sky at the hang gliders about, "they look like butterflies."

  "Butterflies that could go splat," Maureen responded tartly.

  Tinka wrinkled her nose. "I know why I'm here, Angelique invited me, but why are you here?"

  Maureen sighed in exasperation.

  "Malcolm," she said huffily. "He wants me to bring you home. I don't think he's thrilled, you hanging out with Angelique here. Maybe it was that car chase, that really pissed him off."

  "Daddy does not control my life. And I don't get to hang out with Angelique much. Daddy just has some kind of thing against her lately, he gets bellicose whenever I mention her."

  Maureen knew that was true, something about Angelique after the movie premier was particularly bothering Malcolm, he was so tense now whenever the subject of Angelique and Wyatt came up.

  "He wants you back at the mansion and if you're not coming, I'm calling him right now and telling him. You deal with it."

  Maureen pulled out her cell phone.

  "What's that guy doing?" a nearby man asked another, both of them staring up into the sky at the hang gliders. "Isn't that May-May up there, with the white kite?"

  "Yeah," the man answered, his tone worried, "she's lining up for the stovepipe. Oh shoot, you know who that red kite behind her is? That's Idiot Ira, he's been harassing her, giving her shit for weeks."

  Tinka turned to the men.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "That girl with the white kite, she's about to make a run down the stovepipe. That's the flyway route down there," the man pointed below to the water, "she'll fly about a hundred feet over the waves the whole length of the beach, then turn it left," he gestured at the beach below them in the distance, "and land it over there. No other kite's supposed to be in the stovepipe when someone's in it, and that idiot Silverberg is lining up behind her for it. Whatta jerk."

  "Why?" Tinka asked, "what's wrong with that?"

  "Look at all those rocks down there," the other man said edging gingerly out closer to the cliff's brink pointing out at the ocean but keeping his eyes on Angelique flying far away down the beach heading towards them. "If one kite collides with another and they go in, they'd be ground up by those rocks. Only one kite at a time is supposed to be in the stovepipe run, so nobody bashes into anybody. Everyone knows that. That creepazoid Silverberg thinks he's so rich, such a hotshot, he doesn't have to wait his turn."

  "I don't think so," the other spectator said, his face looking like a worried shih tzu, "look at the way he's lining up."

  "Oh crap no, even Idiot Ira wouldn't do that. Not in the stovepipe!"

  "What?" Tinka asked again. "He's just flying behind her. What's wrong?"

  "He's not just flying behind her. He's chasing her. Oh damn, he's gonna do it. I swear he's gonna do it. That asshole."

  "Do what?"

  "He's gonna buzz her. Come up over her from behind, scare the patootie out of her. What is the guy's problem. That jerkoff's got it in for her, he's always--"

  He didn't finish his sentence. Both men stared as the two kites shot closer.

  "No," one of the men whispered. "No, no, no!"

  "WHAT?" Tinka shouted.

  "He's not gonna buzz her he's gonna strafe her!"

  Both men started violently waving their arms up at Angelique and hollering. Suspended by the rushing wind she could not hear them but as she neared she could see them. Madly they threw their arms gesticulating toward the beach, clearly wanting her to cut left and land now, not further down the beach at the proper landing site. It didn't make sense. She looked about her. She saw nothing amiss. Her kite was flying fine, the wind was perfect, she was alone in the stovepipe, what was wrong?

  Behind her, above her, Ira Silverberg targeted her. He was going to scare the shit out of her, streak right over her, just a few feet above her, strafe her. It would be easy, his kite was bigger and faster, a racer, hers was an acrobatic, he'd catch her easily. She wanted to keep flying out here? Then she'd have to talk to him. Fuck Wyatt. He'd found her, he'd laid claim to her.

  Ira Silverberg had the biggest deal of his life coming up, a lifeline, he needed it, she could help him like before damn it. Wyatt would never even have to know if she didn't want him to, he didn't care. But first she had to talk to him, something she'd been pretty good at not doing either here or on the phone or by email or any of the other (admittedly increasingly desperate) messages he'd been sending at her. Well he was done fooling around, she'd played on his nerves long enough, now he was going to get her attention, that's what he was here for. He lowered his kite, he was going to make this close. After they landed and she came at him crying her head off, he'd tell her what he wanted and this time she'd damn well listen.

  Th
e men below on the cliff were insistent and agitated. And Angelique could tell now that Tinka was with them too, she'd obviously climbed the cliff to get a better view. Was that Maureen with her? What on earth? What would Maureen be doing out here? Something to do with Wyatt? Ohmygod, something's happened to Wyatt?

  Angelique dipped her left wing down sharply to cut off her run in the stovepipe and make an emergency landing on the beach near her. Unfortunately she did this just as Ira Silverberg flashed past overhead and when her left wing dipped down of course her right wing rose up.

  Directly into Ira Silverberg.

  Silverberg was jolted mightily, but he was going fast enough and his kite was big and powerful enough that he was able to recover in a maneuver that scared the patootie out of him. Angelique was not so lucky. Her kite was knocked down, out of control, plummeting down to the ocean as Angelique was whipped along cartwheel fashion, head over heals again and again and again at horrific speed. Finally one wing was snagged on a jutting rock and Angelique was wrenched down, sucked into the water head first upside down still harnessed to her kite that landed on top of her in the four foot swells.

  Damn, Ira Silverberg blustered as he soared away, it was an accident. Why'd she turn her kite like that, the stupid bitch knew the landing site wasn't here, it was down there. It was her fault he told himself as below, the waves and submerged rocks began to gobble the drowning Angelique and her still attached disintegrating kite.

  Up on the cliff the two men who had signaled Angelique to land cursed, storming down the cliff clambering toward a boat. Tinka stood rock-still, her mouth open in grisly horror, a scream stuck in her throat as she saw bit by bit, more of Angelique's kite disappear into the water with each passing wave, finally disappearing altogether. And as Tinka continued to watch immobilized, Maureen continued to film the whole thing on her phone. Finally Maureen spoke.