Before Act II, Donato and a few of his men escorted me to the ladies’ room. I had a feeling that my waterproof mascara had started to stream down my face in black rivers. Before entering, they swept the interior to a few protests. Below Donato and Guido’s tan exterior, their cheeks went red.
Laughing as I ran a paper towel under water, to cool my flushed cheeks, I turned a bit to the side, admiring the dress. It was so purple that it was almost black. The beading caught the light and shimmered. The few feathers at the bottom trembled with the warm air blowing through the vents.
My clutch vibrated. Brando.
Your mascara is running.
Aren’t you supposed to be working?
If I were there, your lipstick would be gone, not your mascara. Give me an amount of time. I need to hear your voice.
I laughed quietly, sliding the phone back in the pouch. The last of the perturbed ladies had gone. Or so I thought. Another one came out of a stall a few minutes later. She stood next to me, washing her hands. Her face looked so familiar…
“Have we met?” I said, turning to face her.
She nodded, her stiff blonde hair bobbing unnaturally with the motion.
Holy—!The nose.I went to go for the door, but Olivier caught me by the waist, yanking me back.
“If you scream, I will slit your throat,” he hissed in my ear. “Even if it means I will die. If you are quiet, I will let you live to see another day.”
Our eyes connected. I nodded, not able to utter another word. My purse vibrated again. The phone. Brando.
“I am here to repay your husband the favor.”
His elbow drew back, and he slammed his fist into my stomach. I fell over his arm, limp, my breath knocked out of me. He held me up, his words coming at me in French, but I couldn’t pay any attention. I gasped like a fish out of water, unable to catch my breath, unable to cry out for help. His fist came back with another shattering blow. For the last few weeks, I’d been feeling tightening in my stomach, reminding me of coils wound so tight that they were to the point of bursting. After his fist connected with my stomach, it felt as if the main rope was close to its last fiber, about to tear with an explosive pop.
Holding my hands up, trying to plead for breath without having to use words, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcing my head back. His mouth came close to my ear, his breath hot. He stuck a hand in the pocket of his dress, about to remove something. The handle of a knife peeked out a second later. I closed my eyes, too dizzy to keep them open. The room seemed to undulate.
“Scarlett Gorgeous!” Maggie Beautiful’s voice reverberated around the space. “Act Two is about to start and you don’t want to…NO!”
The sound of her heels slapping against the floor came closer. I opened my eyes to see her running for Olivier. He released his hold, slipping the knife back in his dress pocket before she could see, attempting to get past her. He shoved her hard in the chest, throwing her against the mirror, but not before she raked him across the face with her nails.
“Maggie,” I reached out for her, holding on to the sink for support with my other hand. “Don’t. Leave. Me.” I could barely get the words out. She was about to go after him, but he had a knife, and he was swift. I didn’t want him to take the rest of his pent-up rage out on her.
She stayed with me, cradling my face in her hands. “Oh, my poor doll. Oh, my poor doll. Did you know that woman?”
I held up a hand, signaling for her to give me a minute. Without much warning, I leaned over and lurched into the sink. The contents of my stomach dispelled all in one heave, it seemed.
Maggie Beautiful, bless her, stood with me, continuing to stroke me with a cool napkin, whispering kind words. More footsteps sounded, the boisterous voice of Donato coming closer.
“Maggie,” I croaked. “Don’t say anything. I have to think about this.”
The comfort of the rag ceased. She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in deep suspicion.
“Please.” I squeezed her hand, hard. I bent over again. My neck prickled, my jaw tightened, and bile rose in the back of my throat.
“Scarlett?” Donato peeked his head in, eyes closed.
“I’m—” I had to clear my throat. The words caught. “In here.”
I narrowed my eyes at Maggie Beautiful in warning before Donato pushed the door open, coming to assess the situation. Maggie Beautiful gave me a sly nod, pressing the rag to the back of my neck even harder.
“Scarlett?” He came closer. “Are you ill?”
I nodded, running water to flush away the mess in the sink. “Look in my bag, will you? I have mouth wash.”
He dug through my purse, handing me the travel-sized bottle, an extension of my toothbrush obsession (flossing too).
