“Consequences?” I asked, urging her to elaborate. I knew part of the story already, but I wanted to hear her tell it in her own words.
Sabrina’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “The repercussions were severe. Just three days after we were married, I discovered that my husband not only believed he had a right to beat his wife, but that it was his favorite form of entertainment. I spent half my honeymoon-and eight hideous months after that-holed up in the Carlyle Hotel bridal suite, then our Park Avenue apartment, waiting for various cuts and bruises to heal. As soon as one black eye got better, he’d give me another one. I was ashamed to show my face in public.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?”
“I was too stupid and confused-and too proud to let my family know that they’d been right about Ramón all along. I kept hoping that things would get better, that he’d wake up and realize what a good life we could have together.”
“But that didn’t happen.”
“Not by a long shot.” She put down the hairbrush and began cleansing her face with cold cream. “Things got worse, not better. Ramón started drinking too much and gambling too much and staying out all night. He’d come home in the morning, slap me around for a while, and then force me to have sex with him. After that, he’d pass out and sleep for the rest of the day. He didn’t even try to get a job.”
“So you were paying all the bills,” I said, gazing into the mirror, watching her wipe the cold cream off with a tissue.
“Yes, and Ramón racked up a lot of them.” She looked more embarrassed than angry, and she wasn’t acting snooty anymore. “So when I finally came to my senses and left him-which was the day Charlotte and I were released from the hospital-there wasn’t much money left. I had enough to rent a suite at the Gramercy Park Hotel for a few weeks and to put a deposit on this apartment, but I knew my life of leisure was over for good. I had to go to work, or start a business, or find some way to make a living, and I had to do it fast.”
“So that’s when you started the escort service?”
“Right,” she said, wadding the gooey tissue up in a ball and tossing it in the wastebasket.
“And it was successful right away?”
“Beyond my highest expectations.”
“But what gave you the idea, and how did you know what to do? How did you get the operation up and running so quickly?”
Sabrina powdered her face and applied a little rouge to her cheeks. “I got the idea from Charlotte. Her hair-raising tales about the way prostitutes are treated by their pimps and johns led me to imagine a different kind of sex service-where the girls would be managed by a considerate, fair-minded woman and dealt with as professionals; an agency that would screen all potential clients and accept only the best. It was a can’t-fail concept, I thought, which would be as beneficial to others as it would be to me.
“And it required virtually no capital outlay,” Sabrina went on. “I put a HELP WANTED ad in the paper, offering ‘after-hours employment for attractive young ladies in the city’s most elite escort agency,’ then sat back and waited for the phone to ring. Which it did-off the hook. Within a week I had signed up sixteen beautiful, polite, and articulate young women who-for reasons too numerous and diverse to discuss-were willing to perform sexual favors for discreet, well-mannered gentlemen in exchange for money.
“Then, after Charlotte filled me in on the rules, regulations, and going rates in the trade, I got on the phone and called all my male acquaintances from my debutante and socialite days- men I knew to be respectable, successful, rich, and horny. I told them about my new venture, described all my high-class and high-priced call girls, then began arranging the supply to meet the demand. By the end of my first month in business, my clients were as happy as clams, my girls had earned more income than they ever thought possible, and Charlotte and I were comfortably settled on Gramercy Park East.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I said, marveling at Sabrina’s vision, ingenuity, and fortitude. Prostitution was a filthy business, but her enterprise seemed almost clean.
“It was a simple two-step,” she said, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “ Charlotte showed me the ropes, and I pulled the strings.”
Chapter 21
SABRINA’S REVELATIONS WERE INTRIGUING, TO say the least, and they gave me a deeper understanding of her character as well as the overall situation. But I had to admit that her confessions probably wouldn’t-as Sabrina had so fiercely contended-help me identify the killer of Virginia Pratt. If I was ever going to reach that goal, I realized, I’d have to get tough and press for the hard answers.
“I’ve asked you about this before, Sabrina,” I said, “and so far you’ve refused to respond. But now I’m demanding a full disclosure. Why did Virgi-I mean, Melody-become a call girl?”
Sabrina stood up from her dressing table, crossed her arms over her chest, and turned to face me head-on. “You won’t give up, will you? It’s not enough that you’ve dredged up the most painful secrets of my past, and also Charlotte ’s, but now you won’t rest until Melody’s saddest and most closely guarded secret is exposed! I’ve told you repeatedly it has nothing to do with her murder! Why can’t you leave this one alone? Why can’t you just accept the fact that I’ve told you the truth?”
“Because secrets have a way of hiding the truth-maybe even from you.”
My words must have touched a nerve or exhumed another distressing memory, because the next thing I knew, Sabrina lunged across the room, threw herself facedown on her big, unmade bed, and started crying.
I was shocked to the core. This was a side of Sabrina I had never seen-and had never expected to see. “What’s wrong?” I yelped, jumping to my feet and darting to the side of the bed. “What’s the matter? Why are you so upset? Was it something I said?” I felt confused, concerned, and responsible. Had I pushed the poor woman to the breaking point?
Sabrina didn’t say anything. She just buried her face deep in her pillow, smudging rouge on the lavender pillowcase and muffling her heartrending sobs in the mound of feathers.
I didn’t know what to do, but I felt I had to do something. “Please don’t cry,” I said, sitting down on the side of her bed. I leaned forward and gave her an awkward pat on the back. “I’m so sorry, Sabrina. I didn’t mean to-”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said, suddenly raising herself on her forearms, turning her crying jag off like a light. Her eyes were still red and wet, but her shoulders had stopped shaking. “You don’t have to apologize, Paige. It’s not your fault. You’re just doing your job, and I’m acting like a crazy woman. I’ve got to pull myself together.” Putting her weight on one elbow, she drew her knees up to her chest, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position.
We sat in silence for a few seconds, not looking at each other, slumped side by side on the edge of the bed like two strangers on a park bench. I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so I finally asked, “What happened just now, Sabrina? What got you so upset?”
“It wasn’t any one thing,” she said, sighing heavily. “It’s the whole goddamn bloody mess. I’m devastated about what happened to Melody, and it’s all my fault. I fixed her up with a homicidal maniac! Can you imagine how that makes me feel? She was like a daughter to me. She trusted me. I was supposed to protect her, and I failed. Miserably.” A final tear slithered down her cheek, and Sabrina swiped it off with the sleeve of her robe. “And now you want me to betray her trust again,” she went on. “You want me to tell you why she joined my escort service, when I swore to her I would never reveal that secret to another living soul.”