In the end she stopped resisting. Even when one body followed another. She let her mind detach itself from her body, which was aching and bruised and being used.
Webb didn't know why he had stayed to watch. He had intended to take off soon after he'd done his bit. With the weekend coming up and his head still not where it should be, he'd planned on going up to visit Dave. Make the phone calls he had to make, and get his priorities straightened out.
He'd headed for the transportation-but everyone was busy watching the filming. No drivers, no ignition keys. When he headed back, in a frustrated, ugly mood, he'd run into the ubiquitous Joe Palumbo in his black leather jacket, smoking a cigarette.
Palumbo's eyes, too, had been glued to the action.
"I need a ride back ..." And then he had seen what was going on and a sheerly primitive instinct had made him start forward, to be stopped by a hand on his arm.
"Better not. She ain't fighting, is she?"
She hadn't fought too hard against him either, but what he was seeing made him sick. If he'd had a gun that worked, he'd have sighted it on Karim's back and squeezed the trigger.
As if he'd read his mind, Palumbo handed him a smoke. "Sorry. I'm supposed to stay here until they're all finished. Gotta haul a lot of equipment back in the truck. But there's room in the front with me if you'll still be needing a ride then, Mr. Carnahan."
For Christ's sake, he'd better bring himself back under control. It might be all faked, or she might actually be enjoying it. In any case, he'd only make himself look like all kinds of a fool if he strode out there. And he'd been wanting to talk with Palumbo in private in any case.
Webb turned his back-wondering why he felt like Judas, wondering why a muscle he had no control over jumped in his temple. She'd turned him down last night for Karim, hadn't she? She damn well knew what was going on.
Even after Yves had called, "Cut!" she kept tying there, feeling herself broken in a million places.
"Anne, you were magnifique! What an actress you have turned out to be!" Yves himself handed her her robe, and helped her up off the ground.
Didn't he know? Didn't he realize? There were some things the camera couldn't record, and her thighs still felt wet and sticky. She hurt, all the way inside her, but everyone kept rushing around just as usual, as if nothing had really happened. Had it? She mustn't let herself become hysterical, Anne thought. She'd fall to pieces if she let herself go. Better to pretend, like everyone else, that it had all been a piece of pretense.
"Are you all right? You look pale, cherie. Perhaps you should go into the dressing room and rest-take a pill, eh? We will be ready to go in a short while."
Yves looked searchingly at her. She couldn't force a smile to her face but she managed to shake her head. The robe was soft and warm about her body, protecting it. More than anything she needed a bath. Hot water to soak away the bruises, the traces, the indignity.
Now, standing on her feet again, with Yves leading her solicitously to the van that served as her dressing room, it was hard to believe.
Heading toward the van, Webb passed two women, earnestly discussing the scene they had just witnessed. "Come to think of it, all of Pleydel's films contain a certain amount of sadism, which must appeal .. ."
"Don't you mean sado-masochism? He puts down women, and makes it seem as if they enjoy it!"
"Well, Bergman .. ."
He almost ran full tilt into Karim, headed the same way, and they faced each other like wary, antagonistic dogs, ready to fight each other over the same bitch. Until PIeydel's voice called Karim sharply back to heel.
Very interesting-but this was no time for a confrontation between these two. That could come later. He was wondering what Harris Phelps's reaction would be, even as he walked up easily, clapping his arm about Karim's tensed shoulders.
"You were very good, mon ami. But there are a few things I would like to discuss with you. If you'll excuse us?" This to Webb Carnahan, who didn't even have the courtesy to nod, or to knock at the door to the van before he opened it and walked in.
ANNE DIDN'T KNOW how Webb had found her-or why. She had taken another tranquilizer, but there had been no time for it to take effect yet. Still in her robe, she found herself bundled unceremoniously into the front of a pickup truck-the taciturn Palumbo, driving, pretending not to notice anything but the rough, rutted track ahead.
Sand flew up from the wheels. There was sand in her hair, between her skin and the robe, chafing her. Anne found her mind shying away from any further thought. Think only as far ahead as a bath, a change of clothes. Carmel seemed far away, and a part of her past. She wanted to go home, to hide. But where was home?
She had been trying not to think about Webb. Practically dragging her away with him.
His arm holding her tightly against him now. Why?
He had hardly spoken to her, except to say tightly, "Okay, prima donna, you're going back now. With me." And she hadn't had the strength to argue against the dangerous look on his face. What could Webb do to her that he hadn't done before?
A sharp curve in the road threw them even closer together. She stiffened, feeling the tenseness of his muscles, and readied herself for the attack she sensed was coming.
"Christ, Anne! Have you begun to enjoy being raped? Or was it rape? Did you frequent the partouze circuit when you were spending time in France? Variety and watchers turn you on, baby?"
He was being deliberately cruel and she would have shrunk away from him if she could have. He didn't let her. She was lying half across his lap, his arm both a barrier and a trap.
She said faintly, "Oh, Webb, please! Why did you have to ... why won't you leave me be?"
Cruelly, he mimicked her. "Please-please! In your language, that's an invitation, isn't it? You said that to me, and I heard you say it to Karim. And you're damn right, I should leave you be, only I keep remembering the way you used to be. What happened to you, Annie? What are you doing here?"
Welcome rage flooded through her. Hypocrite! She didn't quite understand why he had kidnapped her this way, but she sure as hell wasn't going to lie back and take his calculatedly patronizing barbs. And if he didn't care about Palumbo's presence, then neither would she!
"What are you doing here? Money, publicity, lots of new women? Or just plain kicks?"
"And what do you mean by that?"
She had gone too far to turn back now. She had to twist her neck around to look into his dark, angry face, but she did, wanting to watch his expression. "Why do you keep pretending? Do you ever stop playing a role? You like watching yourself on film, don't you? Cameras, videotape-does Claudia know? Does your latest female friend, Anna-Maria? I've watched .. ." She could have bitten off her tongue the next moment, feeling his arm almost choke the breath out of her lungs.
"Videotape, huh? Who's the hypocrite now, baby? You enjoy being a voyeur? Guess that gives us one more thing in common, doesn't it? Except you have the advantage over me in this case. You're going to have to tell me more about it. Seems like you sure get to watch an awful lot."
"I don't-I didn't ..." She was digging herself in deeper with every gasped-out word.
And now his voice had become dangerously soft. "Why don't you tell me all about it, Annie? Why don't we stop playing roles around each other?"
Anne had no time to feel relieved, because the truck stopped just then. Palumbo, as imperturbable as ever, said stolidly, "I got to get this stuff unloaded and get back."
And Webb half-carried, half-dragged her out.
The pickup sprayed gravel and sand over them from a tight U-turn. Webb was still holding her, looking down at her with a smile that wasn't really a smile. He said mockingly, "My place or yours, baby? Mine's closer."
"No!" She tried to pull back from him, feeling all the aches in her body start up again.
"Stop it, Webb! I won't talk to you-you can't force me ..."
"Can't I? Hell, you seem to enjoy being forced. Or is it really that? Has your guru explained yourself to you?" His face was far too close to hers, and sheer instinct made her close her eyes against the look on it.
He had her by the shoulders now, holding her stiff, unyielding body against his while his words cut into her like knives.
"Maybe you just enjoy being fucked, Anne. Especially when it's like rape on the surface. You resist for a while, and then you give in-no guilt feelings, huh?"
She shook her head violently, hair flying against his face, stinging it.
"No ... no! It's not like that at all-you know it. You just want to hurt me." The tears came unbidden, making tiny channels down her dust-smeared cheeks.
And in spite of the rage inside him, Webb could not help gathering her close, holding her against him and feeling her ragged breathing. The need to comfort her overrode everything else as she sagged against him, no longer fighting. He didn't understand himself, didn't try to.
"Annie! Goddamn your crying eyes. Listen-I'm not trying to hurt you. Christ, I don't understand myself what I'm doing with you!"
She kept shaking her head, as if to negate every word he was saying, and there was only one thing left to do, and that was to kiss her. So he did, tasting the salt of her tears and the grittiness of the sand, and blood from her cut lip where Karim had put his hand too hard over her mouth. To stop her crying out ...
She couldn't cry out now, either. Here they were, in full view of anybody who might be watching, and neither of them cared.
He kissed all of the pain out of her body and the hate out of her heart. Her arms went up of their own accord, holding him. She didn't care-she didn't care! So she was weak, but he was wiping out everything and everyone else-Karim, the others who had come after him, all she didn't want to think about or remember.
"Annie," he spoke against her ear, still holding her closely. "Annie love, will you come with me now? Let's get the hell out of here-we'll drive into town and find a place to stay for the weekend. We'll walk on the wharf and on the beach like tourists. And make love and drink wine and talk to each other."
Talk! God, how insidious his words, whispered against her ear. His lips against hers.
He knew she had no defenses left. Her angry, hastily spoken words had intrigued him, and like before, the lovemaking would only be a preliminary or an aftermath to the talking.
"I'm not stupid!" she wanted to scream at him, and yet all that came out of her tightening throat was: "But I don't have any clothes ... I can't go anywhere like this!"
"So who gives a fuck?" His voice was husky, his arms wouldn't let her go-back to sanity. "I'll buy you clothes, love. Whatever you think you need."
She had to try and fight back. "You're crazy! We'd never get a place to stay in Carmel-it's the tourist season ..."
"Who cares? There's always Dave's place in Pebble Beach. Stop making excuses."
Her legs ached, her thighs ached. She had just been raped by five men, and he was making her forget it. All her excuses and her rationalizing wouldn't wash, and didn't seem to matter any longer.
They had been standing in the driveway, and just like Jason would have done to Glory, Webb picked her up off her feet, carrying her in his arms, down to the garage.
She made one last try, saying feebly, "But-we can't just- I ought to tell somebody .. “
His voice turned harsh. "Who? Harris Phelps? Karim? Let's just leave it to the guards at the goddamned drawbridge, shall we? And stop crying, Annie."
It was only then that she realized the tears were still streaming down her face.
"So he puts her in his Ferrari and takes off with her-just like Sir Lancelot, eh? You should find this paradox just as interesting as I do, my friend." Espinoza sounded amused; he knew that Harris Phelps, sitting across from him, was furious -barely able to hide his fury, which was unusual for Phelps. "However," he continued, "I do not think that there is any reason for us to panic-it's the weekend, is it not? And we're expecting company. They'll be back before Monday:'
"Reardon's capable of having her snatched before then!" Phelps's voice was too tightly controlled.
"But how would he know? And what difference would it make now? In any case"-Espinoza stretched lazily-"Anna-Maria has gone after them. Randall has given her press credentials-she called up the woman who wrote the book, and had herself invited down for an interview. So, we can surmise that they have probably gone to the house of this David Black, who is a friend. Roberta Savage has entree there. And an enormous crush on Webb Carnahan. She goes there, with Anna-Maria. And we have agreed, have we not, that it is time for Anne to be enlightened? The groundwork has already been
laid. When she finds out that her lover is married ... what do you think she will do?"
Randall had been silent so far, but now he laughed harshly.
"And we show him that tape of the time Karim got into bed with her, without her fighting him off. What the hell-Sal's right, you know."
"And I am looking forward to-how would you say it?-doing my thing on Monday,"
Espinoza said softly. "It should prove most interesting. I hope Pleydel will not be too critical of my acting abilities."
She had to be absolutely crazy, Anne told herself. What had happened to her backbone? Why did Webb have to be the one to turn all her bones to water? She didn't understand what he wanted from her, or why he had brought her here with him.
"Here" was David Black's house. Another house by the ocean. One of the showplaces that tourists pointed out to each other when they took the famous Seventeen-Mile-Drive.
Webb had called from Carmel, while she sat huddled in his car, trying to look inconspicuous under the curious gaze of passers-by. She'd thought hysterically, They probably think I'm some hitchhiker he picked up along the way. Her face had still been dirty, in spite of the wad of tissues he'd handed her grimly once they were on their way. She supposed now that she had been in a kind of stupor all the while she'd sat beside him after he'd practically dumped her into the car.