But as frightening as she eventually found Alistair Drummond, even more frightening was his personal assistant, a pleasant-faced, fair-haired, well-dressed man whom she knew only as Raymond. His face never changed expression. It always bore the same cheery countenance, regardless of whether he helped Drummond inject himself with hormones, looked at her in a low-cut evening gown, watched a weather report on television, or was sent on an assignment. Drummond was careful never to discuss the specifics of his business transactions while she was present, but she took for granted that anyone who had accumulated so much wealth and power, not to mention worldwide notoriety, by definition had to be ruthless, and she always imagined that the assignments Drummond gave to Raymond would have repugnant consequences. Not that Raymond gave any indication. Raymond always looked as cheery when he left as when he returned.
What had made her uneasiness turn into dread was the day she realized that she wasn’t merely pretending to be in seclusion-she was a prisoner. It was unprofessional of her, she admitted, to have wanted to break character and take an unescorted afternoon walk in Central Park, perhaps go over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The moment the thought occurred to her, she repressed it. Nonetheless, briefly she’d felt liberated, and subsequently she’d felt frustrated. I can’t, she thought. I made an agreement. I accepted a fee-a large fee-in exchange for taking on a role. I can’t break the bargain. But what if. .?
That tantalizing question had made her impatient with her narrow world. Except for a few sanctioned outings and an occasional performance on the telephone, she spent most of each day exercising, reading, watching videotapes, listening to music, eating, and. . It had sounded like a vacation until she was forced to do it. Her days had become longer and longer. As much as Alistair Drummond and his assistant made her uneasy, she almost welcomed their visits. Although the two men were frightening, at least they were a change. So she had asked herself, What if I did break character? What if I did go out for an afternoon walk in Central Park? She had no intention of actually doing so, but she wondered what would happen if. . A bodyguard had suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor outside her unit and had prevented her from getting on the elevator.
She was an experienced observer of audiences. She’d known from the start-the first time she was allowed from the condominium, escorted into Drummond’s limousine-that the building was being watched: a flower seller across the street, a hot dog vendor on the corner, no doubt the building’s doorman, and no doubt someone like an indigent at the rear exit from the building. But she had assumed that these sentries were there to prevent her character’s former acquaintances from arriving unexpectedly and catching her unprepared. At once, now, she had realized that the building was under watch to keep her in as much as to keep others out, and that had made her world even smaller, and that had made her even more tense; Drummond had made her more tense; Raymond had made her more tense.
When will I be able to get out of here? she’d wondered. When will the performance end? Or will it end?
One evening as she put on her diamond necklace-which Drummond had told her would be her bonus when the assignment was completed-she’d impulsively scraped the necklace’s largest stone across a glass of water. The stone had not made a scratch. Which meant that the stone was not a diamond. Which meant that the necklace, her bonus, was worthless.
So what else was. .? She examined the bank statement she was sent each month. A gesture of good faith from Drummond, each statement showed that Drummond had, as he had promised, deposited her monthly fee. Since all her necessities were provided, she had no need to use that money, Drummond had explained. Thus, when her assignment was over, she’d be able to withdraw the entire enormous sum.
The bank statement had an account number. She knew that she didn’t dare use the telephone in her condominium (it presumably was tapped), so she had waited for the rare opportunity when she was allowed to leave the condominium during the day, and when the bank would be open. It had given her enormous pleasure that during a pause in the political luncheon’s program of speakers, she had whispered to Alistair Drummond, who had brought her, that she needed to go to the ladies’ room. Taut-faced, Drummond had nodded his permission, gesturing with a wrinkled hand for a bodyguard to accompany her.
She had leaned close, pressing a breast against him. “No, I don’t want your permission,” she had whispered. “What I want is fifty cents. That’s what it costs to get into the toilets here.”
“Don’t say ‘toilets.’ ” Drummond had pursed his lips in disapproval of her vulgarity.
“I’ll call them rose bowls if you want. I still need fifty cents. Plus two dollars for the attendant with the towels. I wouldn’t have to ask you if you’d give me some actual money once in a while.”
“All your needs are taken care of.”
“Sure. Except when I have to go to the ladies’ room- excuse me, the rose bowl.” She pressed her breast harder against his bony arm.
Drummond turned toward Raymond, who was beside him. “Escort her. Give her what she asks.”
So she and Raymond had proceeded through the crowd, ignoring the stares of celebrity worshipers. Raymond had discreetly given her the small sum of money she had requested, and the moment she had entered the powder room part of the ladies’ room, she had veered toward a pay phone, inserted coins, pressed the numbers for the bank into which Drummond deposited her fee, and asked for Accounting. Several society women who sat on velvet chairs before mirrors and freshened their makeup turned in recognition of someone so famous. She nodded with an imperious “Do you mind? Can I have some privacy?” look. Conditioned to pretend not to be impressed, the society matrons shrugged and resumed applying lipstick to their drooping lips.
“Accounting,” a nasally male voice said.
“Please check this number.” She dictated it.
“One moment. . Yes, I have that account on my computer screen.”
“What is the balance?”
The nasally voice told her. The sum was correct.
“Are there any restrictions?”
“One. For withdrawals, a second signature is required.”
“Whose?”
Raymond’s, she learned, and that was when she knew that Drummond didn’t intend for her to get out of this role alive.
It took several weeks of preparations, of calculations, of watching and biding her time. No one suspected. She was sure of that. She made herself seem so contented that it was one of the best performances of her career. Last night, after going to her bedroom at midnight, after keeping her eyes shut when the maid looked in on her at two, she had waited until four to make sure that the maid was asleep. She had quickly dressed, putting on her sneakers and gray hooded exercise suit. She had stuffed her purse with the necklace, bracelets, and earrings that Drummond had promised her, the jewelry that she now knew was fake. She had to take them because she wanted Drummond to think that she still believed the diamonds and other gems to be real and that she would try to sell them. His men would waste time questioning the dealers she was most likely to approach. She had a small amount of money-what she’d been given for the attendant in the ladies’ room, a few dollars that she’d stolen in isolated dimes and quarters from her maid’s purse while her maid was distracted by a task in another room, twenty-five dollars that she’d brought with her the first day she’d started this assignment. It wouldn’t take her far. She needed more. A great deal more.
Her first task had been to leave the condominium. As soon as she’d realized that she was a prisoner, she’d automatically assumed that the door would be rigged to sound an alarm and warn her guards if she tried to escape in the night. The alarm was one of the reasons she had waited several weeks before leaving. It had taken her that long, whenever the maid wasn’t watching, to check the walls behind furniture and paintings and find the alarm’s hidden switch. Last night, she had turned it off behind the liquor cabinet, silently unlocked the door and opened it, then peered left down the corridor. The guard who watched the elevator could not be seen. He usually sat in a chair just around the corner. At four in the morning, there was a strong possibility he’d be drowsing, relying on the sound of the elevator to make him become alert.