Authors: Denise Kahn
CHAPTER 15
Jean awoke at noon from the sound of the rocket blast on the second day of the week-long fiesta. The sound, she knew, meant the bullfights were about to begin.
The room was spinning. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, wondering where she was. Then it all came back, the wine, the boiling water, which wasn’t water at all, and the squid, and Rodrigo. Her head was about to explode. She had only to move her body from the bed to the bathroom, she told herself. Otherwise, her bladder would burst. She sat up and saw Rodrigo sleeping in a chair next to the bed. My god, she thought, did we…? She couldn’t remember. She was almost naked under the sheets. She never slept in her underwear. How was this possible, especially with this handsome man next to her? Why was he in the chair?
Rodrigo woke with a start.
“Jean, how are you?” he asked.
She felt her face turning hot. Did we or didn’t we? The answer was not on Rodrigo’s face. She did not know what to say. She went with the obvious. “I have a splitting headache.”
“I know. Too much
aguardiente
. I should have known better. It’s too strong. But I will fix you.”
What did
that
mean?
Rodrigo dialed room service, speaking rapidly in Spanish.
“Rodrigo, where are my clothes?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, I presume they were thrown somewhere.”
“I need to go to…”
“Yes, I understand.” He opened the armoire and brought out a large bath towel.
“Thank you.”
There was a knock on the door. Rodrigo went to answer the door. That was her cue. She quickly got up, wrapped the towel around her and went into the bathroom. When she came out, Rodrigo was pouring coffee for her. “Cream and sugar?” he asked.
“Please.”
“Okay. Here drink this and then this,” he said handing her the coffee and a shot glass of
aguardiente
, the clear whisky that in Spanish and Portuguese was called, literally, boiling water.
“That will kill me,” she said.
“No,
guapa,
it will cure you from your hangover. You will see. Trust me.”
“What does
guapa
mean?”
“It means beautiful.”
“Have you been here all night?”
“Yes.”
“Did I - did I do anything…?”
“No, no. I’m afraid you passed out at San Sebastian’s, so I carried you to the hotel.”
“You carried me here?”
“Yes.”
“And then… What happened to Davina and Alejandro?”
“They went to their room. I stayed here.”
“You stayed here?”
“Yes, with you.”
”With me?”
“Yes.”
Jean couldn’t bear it any longer. “Would you please tell me what happened last night.”
“Very well. You passed at out at San Sebastian’s. Then I carried you here. I’m sorry, I already said that. I put you on the bed…”
“You already said that too.”
“Yes, you are right.” He held her hands in his. “I called Davina and asked her to come and take your clothes off.”
“Why?”
“It would not be proper for me to do this.”
“I see.” She didn’t. “Then what?”
“Then Davina and Alejandro left.”
“Alejandro was here too?”
“Yes. You were asleep and I brought the chair close to the bed. I was afraid you might get sick during the night so I stayed with you.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
Here it comes, she thought.
“You talked in your sleep, you said something but I could not understand. I asked you what you said but you did not answer me, so I took your hand and that seemed to calm you. You went back to sleep. I held your hand and watched you for about an hour.”
“And then?”
“And then I fell asleep myself in the chair still holding your hand.”
Jean looked down at their hands, at Rodrigo’s hands. She lifted her head and looked in his eyes. She saw warmth and kindness, something she was not used to seeing in a man. She put her lips to his. “Thank you, Rodrigo.”
“For what?”
“For caring and for being such a gentleman.”
“I was worried about you. Besides, you are very beautiful and what man would not want to stare at your lovely face all night? But I do care about you. You are special to me, Jean Conrad.”
“And you are special too.”
Rodrigo kissed her tenderly. She did not refuse. He kissed her again, more passionately this time.
“Rodrigo, I’m afraid. I-I was married once…“
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Davina told me. Do not be afraid.”
She had never made love. She knew only brutal sex. Rodrigo treated her like a delicate virgin, and for the first time in her life, Jean knew what it meant for a man and a woman to be passionate.
♫
MADRID
CHAPTER 16
Madrid's Bernabeu soccer stadium was filled to capacity, one hundred thousand people, Davina's largest live audience. She would give them a show that would keep them talking for a long time. She asked her friends to sit in the audience rather than stay backstage. They did not press her for her reasons. Jacques, Alejandro and Rodrigo, with Jean on his arm, kissed her and left her with her privacy for her usual pre-show ritual of pacing and cursing in Spanish.
The stage, a large wooden platform, was set up in the middle of the soccer field.
Jacques was horrified at her makeshift dressing room, more or less four curtains in a rectangular spot on the grass. “The great Davina does not dress in the mud on a soccer field!” he protested. But there was nothing to be done about it, and Davina did not mind.
The spotlights dimmed and the orchestra began playing the overture. Davina stepped onto center stage and greeted her audience in Spanish: "
Que placer estar de nuevo en España entre amigos y queridos...
What joy to once again be in Spain between friends and loved ones, between the sun and the mountains, the warmth and hospitality of this wonderful country. Spain and its people will always be very special in my heart.”
Davina looked at Alejandro, letting him know that this song was for him. She sang.
Eres el alma de mi vida, el hombre que yo amo... You are the soul of my life, the man I love...
Throughout the concert, which went on for almost three hours, Davina incorporated songs with special meaning for her friends. To Jacques, she sang a French song.
..J’attendrais, ... I will wait, night and day, I will always wait, my love, for your return...
She sang to Jean and to Rodrigo.
To all the beautiful girls I shared wonderful moments with… I thank them and cherish their offerings, and I now confess to them that I found the woman my heart has dreamed of…
The audience couldn't get enough of her. The smoothness and the elegance of her subtle beauty combined with her velvet and crystal vocal chords made the performance magical. The men wanted to make love to her. The women wanted to be her friend. They wanted to be a part of her uniqueness. She had touched them all. Many eyes were wet, as Davina's were, when she sang the last song of the evening.
Un adios a media voz…a goodbye with half a voice…
True to her lyrics, her voice became almost a whisper and seemed to only have half of its potency as she sang the song’s emotional goodbye.
Jacques understood now what he had not been able to grasp the first time he heard Davina sing at his wedding. Davina did not simply sing the music. She became the music. It was an obsession of the heart that came through her singing.
Jean and the three men went to meet Davina. Jacques arrived first. "As always the best, and thank you for the dedication. You are pure finesse," he said kissing on the cheeks.
"Amor, thank you. I am positive tonight was the best performance of your life. I don’t think you will be able to surpass it. You were magnificent," Alejandro said.
Davina was beaming. She really did feel good about her performance, and Alejandro confirming it, was the best compliment she could have hoped for.
"Davina, really!" Rodrigo said. "You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Oh oh, what did I do?"
"Would you just look at Jean. She's been crying like a puppy, and all through the concert! She is so sensitive—but I like it," he said grinning, "you were
increible
, beautiful
creatura
. Never, ever, stop singing! Your audience would never forgive you, and I wouldn't either.
"Oh yes Davina," Jean said hugging her friend, "thank you so much, it was all so beautiful. I don't know what to say. The guys here have said it all already anyway, but I hope you know that we all love you very, very much."
Davina was ecstatic. She knew the concert had gone well, and the people she loved the most had made it magical.
"Thank you all so much., I love you too, more than anything else in this world, but I think it is high time to tear this city apart! Let’s party'!" She exclaimed.
The little group did not need much coaxing. They were out of the stadium and headed for fun in no time at all.
Later That night Jean didn’t sleep well. She was dreaming of her accomplishments on her own stage at the theater in the heart of Miami.
♫
MIAMI 1978
CHAPTER 17
The spectators were enjoying watching the most beautiful women in Florida parade down the runway. The happiest moment of Jean Conrad’s life began after the emcee announced the runners up, the third place and the second. She was first. “The new Miss Florida, Jean Conrad! Congratulations!"
At eighteen she was destined for almost guaranteed success. The crowd in the theater gave her a standing ovation, cheering for the All-American girl crying on the stage. She was queen for a day. Not only was she a knockout; she had just graduated from high school with honors and a choice of scholarships. She could go to the college of her preference or become a professional model. Instead she chose Simon Grady. It was the biggest mistake of her life, but she was young and in love, or thought she was.
Simon Grady was a good-looking young man. His hair was the color of wet straw. But his eyes were his most prominent feature. They were blue, but an icy blue, and piercing. He seemed shy and polite. He had grown up in the gutters of Miami, but he fought his way out. He attended the same high school as Jean, but dropped out before graduating. His father was usually drunk. He did not know his mother. She left them when he was three.
Simon got himself a job in a garage that specialized in race cars. After working there a few months, he was asked to deliver a car to one of the race tracks. As he drove down to the grass below the oval, he felt for the first time in his life that he belonged somewhere, as if something or someone was reaching out and calling him. He stood there, in the middle of the track, watching, smelling and listening to the sounds of the cars and their masters. The smell of the oil and the other lubricants were like a perfume to Simon, and the sounds of the engines revving made his body tingle. He developed a huge erection. This was as good as sex, he thought. This is what it's all about, he was meant for this, he was born to be a part of it. That Saturday he saw his first race and that gut feeling was stronger than ever. The races hypnotized him. He knew his destiny.
Simon spent his days at the garage and his weekends at the track, attending every race he could get to. He hitchhiked as far as the Daytona Speedway. He worked on the cars and tested them on the track. He desperately wanted to race, and he wanted the money, the women and the trophies, in that order. But being a professional driver meant having a car, and he did not have the funds for one. So he waited and saved. Then the break he needed came through. Fats, a man at the garage where he worked, asked him if he would race one of his cars.
But Grady did not believe him. "Don't fuck with me, man," Grady said.
"I'm serious," said Fats, who was actually very thin. He said he was in a bind and Grady would be doing him a favor. "My driver got busted, the asshole."
"You're not shitting me, are you?" Grady said, coming out from under a car.
"Look, kid, I need a driver for the weekend. I'm one of the sponsors and my car has to be entered, whether it wins or not. If you want the job, you got it, and don’t give me any shit. “
"You bet your ass, man, I'll do it. Hey, what’s in it for me?"
Fats took out a fifty-dollar bill. "Here. If you win, you keep the pot. I think its five hundred bucks. If you lose, go buy yourself a beer with the fifty.”
"Yeah, man, yeah!"
That Saturday, to everyone's astonishment, the rookie on the track won his first race. That was the beginning of his career as a professional driver. Fats hired Grady for the remainder of the season. Grady won most of the races. He established himself as one of the state's fastest drivers in one short season. By then he had made enough money to buy himself the cars he wanted—one for racing and another for pleasure. He went back to his old high school to show off. That’s when he met Jean Conrad. He asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. Simon Grady had become a local celebrity of sorts. Jean did not hesitate to get into his car.
They were married in a civil ceremony three months later. They had one guest, their best man, a friend of Simon's, Johnny Thornton, who also worked at the tracks. They left City Hall and went to their house. It belonged to Jean. Her mother had willed it to her upon her death.
When Simon and Jean got home, Simon’s mood had changed. He knew that Jean and Johnny had something going on. He could tell from the way she looked at him, the son-of-a-bitch. He was furious. "You fucking bitch!" he shouted, slapping her face.
Jean was shocked. She held a hand to her red cheek. "What the hell was that for?"
"I saw you looking at Johnny."
"Simon, don't be ridiculous. He was our best man. You know I love you."
"You're a lying cunt," he said, hitting her in the face again.
Jean screamed. Blood trickled from her nose into her mouth. She touched the warm red liquid and gasped. He picked her up and threw her onto the bed. "I’ll teach you a lesson, you whore," he said, tearing at her clothes.
Jean felt more pain, on her face, her head and between her legs.
When he finished with her, Simon left the house. He wanted to go gamble. He wasn't sure where, the dogs or the horses.
Conchita, the Cuban woman next door, had heard Jean’s screams. She looked out from behind the curtain of her kitchen window and watched Grady drive off. He slammed the door so hard that it popped back open. Conchita found Jean inside.
Conchita went to the bathroom, found a towel and soaked it with cold water. "
Dios mio.
" She gently dabbed at the blood. The blood and the water trickled down Jean’s throat, making her gag. Jean tried to speak but moving her mouth was too painful.
"Do not speak now. You go hospital, yes?"
"No," Jean moaned.
"You not move.” Conchita brought ice from the kitchen and wrapped it in a towel. Jean tried to sit up.
"No, no. Stay." Conchita gently pushed her back down and put the ice pack on Jean’s swollen face. She took the other towel and soaked it again with cold water and covered Jean with it. "You really bad hurt. You go hospital."
"No, no… just help me to the bathroom.”
Jean was trembling. She ran a cold bath.
Slowly and painfully Jean sat in the bathtub. She let the cold water numb the pain. She started to cry. Why had he done this?
Why
? It was their wedding night.
Simon Grady got drunk and went to the greyhound track and on a whim, placed a two hundred dollar bet on a twenty-to-one shot. Incredibly, that dog came in first and he netted a quick four thousand dollars. He took his earnings to the Bahamas to gamble some more at the casinos. The money saw him through a week of gambling and sleeping with as many women as he could afford. When the money ran out, he went back to his wife in Miami. This was the woman he owned.
Jean had not heard from him since he left that horrific night. She was still in pain, and now she demanded to know what was going on. “Why did you do that to me, you bastard? Why? Do you know how much you hurt me?”
"While I was out working trying to get some money, you’ve been fucking around, haven’t you, you bitch.”
“You’re crazy! “
He took out a joint from his pocket and lit it. Jean hated the sweet acrid smell of marijuana. It made her dizzy.
"Take a drag," he ordered.
"No, you know I don't like it."
"I said take a drag!" he yelled and forced the joint between her lips. She cried as she inhaled. Simon took another drag and again made her smoke the marijuana. When he was through with the joint, he ripped the buttons of her shirt off, exposing her bare breasts. He took one in each hand and squeezed the nipples between his fingers until she cried out in pain.
"From now on you're going to beg for it.”
“Get away from me!”
He held her down and with his free hand, pulled at his zipper. "Beg!" he yelled, pulling at his zipper.
"Simon, stop this! Please."
"Beg!"
"Stop it!"
"Is this what you do with your boyfriends?"
Not again, she thought, oh, please not again. Jean thought she was going to vomit.
She managed to push him away. "Simon, you're hurting me!” she shouted. “Stop it!" She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, the biggest one in the drawer.
Simon laughed.
"Stop!” She warned, the knife between them. “Don't come near me."
He lunged at her. The knife found his wrist but he pinned her down and the knife fell to the floor.
When Conchita heard the screams, she called the police right away. They arrived quickly and immediately handcuffed Simon, who was very calm. He told the police that Jean had started an argument, that she had thrown herself at him with a knife. He showed them the cut on his wrist. His wife could be difficult sometimes. Every month she got like this.
Jean could not defend herself. She was unconscious. The police held Simon in jail overnight but he was out the very next day on ROR, released on his own reconnaissance. Jean was put into custody as well, but not at the police station. She was taken to the hospital at the state penitentiary. When she opened her eyes, she had no idea where she was.
Jean blinked. "Where am I?"
The doctor put his hand on hers. "How are you feeling, Jean?"
"Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital in the state penitentiary."
Jean tried to sit up, but the pain in her side kept her down.
"As soon as you're feeling better you can go home,” the doctor said. “But there are some things I would like to discuss with you."
Jean was confused, terribly confused. Why was she here? How long had she been here? Where was Simon? Simon.
"Jean, you were brought here with a serious concussion. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for weeks. You must have hit your head or someone hit you on the head with something. You were also brought here with a broken nose and broken ribs."
She put her hands to her face.
"You're still beautiful,” the doctor said. “Your nose, too. Do you know you’re pregnant?”
She thought back to her wedding night. “He raped me,” she said quietly.
"The baby is fine. What you decide to do with it is your choice."
“Do with it,” she intoned.
"Jean, you have a blood problem. Your white blood cells are abnormal.”
She tried to get up. The doctor gently pushed her back down. “What blood problem?"
"I'm sorry. You have leukemia.”
"Leukemia?"
"Cancer of the blood."
Jean tried again to get up from the bed. “I’ve got to go.”
“You’ll be discharged tomorrow. You have to make some decisions.”
“What are you saying, that I’m going to die?”
"With the right treatment, usually three to five years…"
"Three to five years?"
"New treatments are always being discovered. There’s always hope.”
“My baby?”
"The sooner you start the treatments, the better, but there will be complications if you keep the baby."
"I'm keeping my baby.”
"Then you have to take your chances. The usual treatment is out of the question until the baby is born."
Jean went home knowing that she had made a terrible mistake. Simon Grady stayed away for more than three months. He spent that time playing the horses. He never slept with the same woman. His new cocaine habit, using it and selling it, got him in trouble. The racing federation suspended him from car racing. When he went home again to his wife, he was penniless.
Jean was sleeping when he arrived. He slammed the door. She woke with a start. "Where have you been?" she asked.
"Who gave you permission to talk to me like that?"
"Simon, I'm pregnant."
Something in Simon snapped. "Whose baby is it?"
"Simon, for God's sake, it's your baby.”
But Simon stopped hearing. When Jean again looked at him, he was holding a knife and a billy club.
When Jean opened her eyes, unfamiliar faces were looking at her.
“I’m a doctor,” one of the faces said.
I'm dreaming, she thought and sat up with a start.
“You’ve lost the baby.”
Jean started to cry.
"You were assaulted. Do you remember?”
Mercifully, she did not remember. But what she didn’t remember, and now discovered, was etched in her body in the ugly cuts around her breasts. Once a model's body, she thought. Once a mother’s body.
Jean divorced her husband without his even being aware of it. He was nowhere the courts could find to tell him and she did not try to find him. But Simon Grady came back eventually. This time he held the barrel of a gun to Jean’s head and pulled the trigger, but he was so high that he forgot to load it. He then passed out.