Chapter 7 #2
“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Betty lifted her arms from the water. “I know she’ll be fine. You’ll be fine, too. It doesn’t really matter what you do as long as you stick to it. See you tomorrow night.”
“Yes,” Tania Marie said, and for that moment, she believed she could stick to a program, maybe this one and the nice, not perfect woman who hadn’t made her feel like a clumsy ass for not being able to coordinate left and right.
She slid into the water, up to her neck, sinking into its warmth.
She needed a plan, like Virginia had when she’d opened her first restaurant.
As the water momentarily liberated her from her girth, she let herself bob about like a cork and thought about what she should do next.
Maybe join a program like Weight Watchers.
The one meeting she’d sneaked into hadn’t been bad, but it could take forever. Besides, she’d have to be accountable.
Maybe she ought to look into one of those alternative measures she’d heard about. Epsom salts. Temporary, for sure, but it would clean her out, maybe knock off five pounds; that’s what Marshall said his wife did. If his wife, why not his mistress—okay, fucking ex-mistress. Why not?
All she needed was to demonstrate a considerable drop in weight in the next week or two, something to rivet the attention of the press. Then she could do something sensible, find a weight-loss program that worked. After she was the Killer Body spokesmodel.
She’d had it with the pool. Tania Marie pulled herself out of the water, grabbing on to the rail parallel to the slippery steps. Her weight hit her like a wet, heavy towel, and she almost retreated back to that warm, buoyant place. But, no.
In the sweaty sanctuary of the sauna, she climbed up on a bench too narrow for any normal human and let herself absorb the steam-filled air. Damn, it hurt good. As she lay there, wiping the sweat from her face, she could almost feel the fat evaporating.
It was too late, and she was too tired to think. Maybe she should just go back to her place and pig out. Damn, she’d worked off a German chocolate cake’s worth of calories in the pool. And if embarrassment and feeling like a dork made you sweat, she’d probably earned at least a wedge of cheesecake.
Sweat drenched her body. Heat filled her nostrils. At least she’d look skinnier until she did something stupid like drink a glass of water.
Should she find a grocery store on the way home and buy one of those shitty mixes in the box, or one of the frozen second-rate cakes she wouldn’t have time to thaw?
Or should she just suck it up, and walk into Trader Joe’s, bigger than hell?
Eat the whole damned cheesecake in the car if she felt like it? How late did Trader Joe’s stay open?
None of the options sounded all that good. She was still considering them when the lights went out.
Black. Pitch black. Only her own sounds and smells. Her own self in a small room sucked dry of light.
Her breathing accelerated. What the hell was going on? How much time had passed since Betty and the class filed out?
She started to rise from the skinny bench, then realized that she could barely breathe. The heat had flattened her, little by little. Now she felt too weak to move, losing strength and air by the moment.
She sat there only seconds, then knew no one was coming to her rescue.
No one would. She had to get herself out of this.
Think, damn it. Her bag, in the locker, had her cell phone in it.
She could make it through the darkness, feel her way along the hall, and get to it. Then, she could call for help.
Call whom?
That was a depressing thought, but shit, even with no one to care about her, she could phone 911.
She could phone Virginia or her best friend, Sheree, back in New York.
If she were really scared, she could call Marshall’s assistant, say it was an emergency.
No, she couldn’t lie to herself. Marshall hadn’t taken a call from her since the day the first story appeared.
He hadn’t even talked to her after she was fired.
Tania Marie hobbled to the door, pulled the slippery handle.
It didn’t budge. Her hands were too wet.
She moved back through the darkness and wiped them on the towel she’d brought in with her.
Scampered back to the door, the handle. Holy shit.
It wouldn’t open. It was locked or stuck or—She didn’t even want to think about it. She wanted to scream.
That wouldn’t work, either; it would only drain her energy. She needed to think. The darkness seemed to slither toward her, crawl up along her bare arms, her neck. The hot, moist air threatened to suffocate her.
Someone would come soon. This would be okay. It was probably just a power failure. The thought gave her no relief. She was alone in this dark room, fighting for every wet breath, alone the way she’d been, one way or another, her entire life.
Holy shit.
Dizziness set in. She felt like a wet, heavy rock sinking into an ocean of sweat. She banged on the door, tried to scream. She was going to die.
No, don’t think that.
Yes, do think that. It’s what’s going to happen.
She was going to die.
Just like Julie Larimore.
That was the last thought she registered before she slipped away, into the dark, wet, roaring place, the place so heavy on her chest that all thoughts and fears were pressed out of her.
Only one thought bubbled to the surface. Tania Marie Camp died today. She is survived by her parents and Marshall Cameron, the love of her very short life.
The noise came from outside, barely rousing her.
A scrunching, sliding sound. Tania Marie tried to fight the heavy stone on her chest, her tight, closed nostrils.
Could it be? The slide became a screech.
A burst of cool air blew in. She gagged on it, grabbing herself around the waist. Oh, yes, it was sweet, pure air, and she was drinking it.
How long? A minute? An hour? Who cared? She breathed now. She’d almost passed out, and now she could breathe. Perhaps the door had just been jammed. The creepy feeling along her arms told her otherwise. Someone had locked her in; someone had let her out. Like a rat in a cage. A rat being observed.
It was too dark here. But she could find her way to the door, she must. Already, her eyes were adjusting to the dim light. Better than pitch-black hopelessness.
Once out, she felt her bare skin prickle in the cool air. The fucking heater must be off, all except the hot air forced into the sauna. Everyone must have gone home. The towels hung from hooks on the wall closest to the door. Find her towel, and she’d find her way out.
She dragged her finger along the cold wall.
There it was. She could have kissed the soft Egyptian cotton.
Instead, she wrapped it around her like a fur coat.
Make that faux fur. She’d never wear the real thing, never again.
She’d never sleep with another married man, never.
Oh, God, just let her get out of here, and she’d do her best to turn her life around.
Just please let her get out of here. Please.
The door must just be steps away. Yes, she felt the raised molding around it. Scrambled for the knob. Turned it.
Nothing.
She turned and twisted.
Nothing.
All she needed was to get out of this cold, frigging tomb, get to her locker, to her clothes, to her cell phone.
She jerked the door, screamed, twisted the knob again.
Nothing.
“Why me?” She sank to the floor, still pounding the door. “Why fucking me?”
She would die here, in this place. Whoever had taken Julie Larimore—and, admit it, someone had taken, kidnapped or, damn it, killed her—that person had her now. No way could she escape. She began to sob. A big, fucking baby. A loser, crying for her mama. That’s all she’d ever been.
“God,” she said. “Why?”
Then she felt the harsh pillow of the door shift and soften. She looked up. Yes, it was opening. Pure light flooded the room. Wonderful light, blinking, flashing light. Human voices.
“Tania Marie. Look over here, baby. Give me a smile. Yes, that’s right. Good girl. Another one, okay?”
“Tania Marie. How long have you been coming here?”
“Hey, Tania Marie. Where’d you get that swimsuit? What size is it, anyway?”
Reporters. Every shape, every breed, every medium, closed in on her as the darkness had just moments before.
She had thought someone was going to kill her in the sauna.
Now she realized what was really going on.
Here she was, barely able to speak, and looking like the Battle of Pork Chop Hill.
And every frigging reporter in town was here to witness it.
She put up her hand between them and her, not much of a shield. She was not going to die. She would only wish she were dead, and that was far worse than what she had imagined when the lights went out.
“I can’t talk right now,” she said.
“Just tell us how you got locked in here, Tania Marie,” demanded an aggressive male reporter.
“Men aren’t allowed in this club,” she said. “I suggest you and your photographer get the hell out of here.”
“Aw, Tania Marie.” The reporter tried to get flirty on her, but she’d had lessons in flirty from the champ.
She motioned toward the hall, where her locker, her clothes, waited.
“Out,” she said.
The reporter hesitated at the doorway. “Just a few questions.”
“Out,” Tania Marie repeated. Then, looking beyond him, she saw the arrogant reporter who’d gotten pushy with her at Bobby’s party. Rikki, whatever her name was.
Braver now, breathing easier, Tania Marie got in her face. “You did this to me, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t do anything.” Color tinged Rikki Whatever’s cheeks.
The others turned to look at her. Good. Now the bitch knew how it felt.
“Sure, you did.” Tania Marie raised her voice as she thought about the indignity of it, the naked fear.
Turn it around. That’s what Virginia always said she did when she was battling her way to success in the restaurant business.
Probably the only parental advice she’d ever received came to Tania Marie the moment she needed it: When someone comes after you, baby, turn it around on them.
“You locked me in here, damned near snuffed me in the sauna. Then you come waltzing in, pretending it’s just a coincidence. Did you call these other assholes, too?”
Murmured voices mulled over her questions. The reporter’s pale cheeks blazed.
“I didn’t call anyone,” she said.
“Well, then, it’s pretty amazing that you just happened to be at Bobby Warren’s party last night when Julie Larimore’s hacked-up dress got delivered. Even more amazing, you broke down when you saw that dress.”
“Everyone in town’s following you.” Rikki slipped so close to her that Tania Marie could see the variegated blues of her eyes. “Anyone could have followed you in here and called the rest of us.”
“Somebody called you?” The information derailed her for a moment, and she pulled the towel closer. She’d been so sure it was this one.
“Left a message for me at my hotel,” the reporter said. “Believe me, I’m not interested in embarrassing you, though. I just want to talk about Julie Larimore.”
Her eyes almost looked honest, but Tania Marie had been tricked by honest eyes before. She’d been tricked by cameras, flashing as these did, by friendly voices saying, as these did, “Tania Marie, look over here.”
Oh, shit. What was she going to do, standing here, freezing, with her thighs hanging out of her suit and only a towel to protect her from the frenzied reporters?
“If you mean that,” she said, “help me get out of here. Help me get to my cell phone, so I can call my bodyguard.”
Yes, Virginia was right, as usual. She really did need a bodyguard.