“More or less,” she said coyly. And they loved it.

And the girls gave her a birthday party after that. It was a big surprise, and they invited everyone from the agency, and Paul of course. It was Grace's twenty-first birthday. And afterwards, they and Paul sat in the patio, and she couldn't help thinking how far her life had come in the past year. He didn't know it, of course, but she had spent her last two birthdays in prison. And now she was here, with him, living with a bunch of beautiful girls, and working for a modeling agency. It was staggering when she thought about it sometimes. It made her think of Luana and Sally, and Molly and David. And it made her sad when she realized that she was doing just what Luana had said she should. She was taking them out, like memories, touching them widi her heart from time to time, but only for a fleeting moment. And then she'd go back to her own life, and remember them briefly. But they were gone, all of them. Forever. She hadn't heard from David since his son was born in March, and she had finally stopped writing to Luana and Sally. They'd never answered her letters.

She looked up and saw a falling star, and without waiting, she closed her eyes, and thought about them, and then she made a wish that one day, it really all would be behind her. For the moment, Lou Marquez was still there, threatening to reveal her secrets to her friends. There was still someone with a leash on her. And she just hoped that one day she'd be free at last, for the first time in her life, with no one to be afraid of.

“What did you wish for just then?” Paul asked, watching her. He had never forced her to move ahead to a relationship she didn't want. But he still hoped that one day she'd be ready for him. He knew what he would have wished on a falling star. He would have wished for her to want him.

“I was just thinking about some old friends,” she smiled sadly at him, “and hoping that one day all the bad times will be a distant memory.” His heart went out to her as she said it.

“Aren't they by now?” He didn't know how far behind her the bad times were, or how close. She had never told him, and he hadn't pressed her. “Aren't they gone?” he asked gently.

“Almost,” she smiled at him, glad that he was her friend,“… almost … Maybe next year.”





Chapter 8

The Swansons continued to try to talk Grace into modeling for them, but instead she got a fat raise and became Cheryl's secretary, and both Swan-sons claimed that it was really Grace who ran the agency for them. She was efficient, she was fast, she was organized, and bright and quiet. She knew all of the girls who worked for them, and most of the men, and everyone liked her. Things were lively at the apartment too. Brigitte was back from Tokyo by then, but she had moved in with a photographer, instead of the girls at the town house. Allyson had gone to L.A. for a part in a movie. And Divina was modeling in Paris. Only Marjorie and Grace were left, and Mireille, who was threatening to move in with her latest boyfriend. Two new girls moved in as fast as the first two left. And at Christmas, Marjorie announced her engagement. But it was never a problem for Grace to find new roommates. Girls arrived in Chicago constantly, to find modeling work, and they always needed an apartment.

Louis Marquez, her probation officer, came to check her out regularly. And at least once a month, he forced Grace to take a drug test. But she was always clean, which was a disappointment to him. Out of sheer meanness, he would have liked to bust her.

“What a little shit he is,” Marjorie said, when he showed up again after Christmas, to check out their new roommates. “Your father sure had some sleazy friends,” she said, annoyed that he had put a hand on her behind again, while pretending to reach for an ashtray. He reeked of cigarettes and sweat, and every single piece of clothing he had was polyester. “Why don't you just tell him to get lost?” she said, shuddering, after he left. He made you want to take a bath every time you saw him. Grace would have liked nothing better than to tell him not to come to the house anymore. But she had no choice. She had another nine months of probation, and then the nightmare would be over.

In March, the Swansons invited her to go to New York with them, and she had to tell them that she couldn't. She asked her probation officer for permission to go with them, and he absolutely refused to let her do it. And she had to tell them that she had another commitment. She was disappointed not to go, but she managed to keep busy anyway. She still spent two nights a week and Sundays at St. Mary's. She saw Paul Weinberg whenever she went, and she was very fond of him, but she also knew that he had given up waiting for her and was seriously involved with one of the nurses.

Cheryl Swanson tried to fix her up with dates from time to time, but Grace continued to have no interest in that direction. She was too afraid, and too deeply scarred by everything that had happened. Going out with anyone always reminded her of the horrors she had experienced with her father.

Until June. When Marcus Anders walked into the agency to see Cheryl. He was one of the best-looking men Grace had ever seen, with thick blond hair and a boyish smile, and freckles. He looked half man, half boy, and at first Grace thought he was one of their models.

He had just arrived from Detroit, and his portfolio was very impressive. He had done a lot of commercial work, and he was heading for the big time. He had thought about going to L.A. or New York, but he wanted to make it to the top in stages, which was smart of him. He was very cool, and very sure of himself, and he had a great sense of humor. He teased Grace a little bit, after his interview, and chatted with her about where to look for an apartment. She recommended some rental agencies, and introduced him to some of the models as they came in. But he didn't seem particularly interested in them. He saw models constantly. It was Grace who really caught his eye, and before he left, he asked about photographing her, just for fun, but she laughed and shook her head. She had had similar offers before, and she had no interest in them.

“No, thanks. I keep well away from cameras.”

“What's that all about? Wanted by the cops? Hiding something?”

“Absolutely. I'm wanted by the FBI,” she grinned easily. He was fun to talk to, but she didn't want to be snowed by him, or anyone. A lot of the photographers used their cameras to lure women. “I'm just not hung up on having my picture taken.”

“Smart girl.” He admired her, and he sat across her desk from her, looking breathtakingly young and healthy and handsome. “But you'd photograph incredibly. You have fabulous bones, and wonderful eyes,” and as he looked at her, he could see there was more there than he had first suspected. There was sorrow in her eyes, an old deep pain that she hid from the world, but not from him. Marcus could see it plainly, and she turned away with a laugh and a shrug, sensing that he was coming too close to her, and she didn't want that. “Why don't we just play sometime, and see what we come up with? You might put the rest of these girls out of business.” It was the only thing he understood, the only thing he truly loved. He had had a lifelong love affair with his camera.

“I wouldn't want to frighten them,” Grace teased, turning to look at him again. She was wearing a tight black skirt and a black sweater. She had learned to dress with a certain amount of big city sophistication, after nearly two years of being with the Swansons.

“Give it a thought.” Marcus smiled at her, and unreeled his long legs from the black leather chair in her office. “I'll be back on Monday.”

But he called her again the next day, just to chat and tell her about the studios he'd looked at. According to him, they were all terrible, and he was really lonely. Grace laughed at him, and pretended to be sympathetic, and then he asked her out to dinner.

“Sorry. Can't,” she said curtly, she was used to fending off men. It was never a problem. “I'm busy tonight.” She always made it sound as though there were men in her life, but of course all there were were battered women and children.

“Tomorrow then.”

“I've got to work late. We're shooting a big commercial with nine girls, and Cheryl wants me to be there.”

“No prob. I'll come too. Come on.” He sounded like a kid again, and it touched her a little bit, in spite of her resolve not to let it. “I'm a new boy in town, I don't know anyone. I'm lonely”

“Oh come on … Marcus … don't be a spoiled brat.”

“But I am,” he said proudly, and they both laughed. In the end, in spite of herself, she let him go to the commercial with them, and he was very helpful. There were so many people there that no one even noticed an extra body on the set. All the models seemed to like him a lot. He was bright, he was fun. and he wasn't as arrogant as a lot of the photographers were. He seemed like a terrific guy, and after he had shown up at the agency every day for a week, Grace finally relented and let him take her out to dinner. It was the first date she had had since Paul Weinberg.

Marcus couldn't believe she was only twenty-one when she told him, she was so mature for her age, and she had a sophisticated look to her that made her seem older. She still wore her thick auburn hair pulled straight back, but she often wore it in a chignon now, and she wore the kind of clothes she saw the models wear, whenever she could afford them. But Marcus was used to young girls who looked older than they were. Once or twice, he'd even been foolish enough to go out with fifteen-year-old models, thinking they were older.

“So what do you do yourself when you're not working?” he asked with interest over dinner at Gordon. He had just found a studio, it was a sensational loft, he'd explained, with living quarters and everything he needed.

“I keep busy enough.” She had started bicycling, and one of her new roommates was teaching her to play tennis. They were pastimes she'd never had time for before. The only sports she'd ever done were a little weight lifting and some jogging in prison, but she wasn't about to tell him about her two years at Dwight. She never intended to tell anyone that, for the rest of her life. She had taken Luana's advice to heart, and left it firmly behind her.

“Do you have a lot of friends?” he asked, intrigued by her, she was very closed and very private, and yet he sensed that there was a wealth of woman within her.

“Enough,” she smiled, but the truth was, she didn't, and he had already heard that. He had asked a lot of people about her. He already knew that she never went out with men, that she kept to herself, that she was very shy, and she did some kind of volunteer work. He asked her about it over coffee, and she told him a little about St. Mary's.

“Why that? What's so intriguing to you about battered women?”

“They need help desperately,” she said in a serious tone, “women in that situation think they have no way out, no options. They stand on the edge of a burning building and you have to pull them out of it, they won't just jump to freedom.” She knew better than anyone. She had never thought there was any way to get free of her own situation. She had had to kill to save herself, and then at what cost. She wanted others to have to go to less extreme measures than she did.

“What makes you care about them so much, Grace?” He was so curious about her, and she gave away so little. He had been conscious all through dinner how cautious she was, how outwardly friendly, but inwardly guarded.

“It's just something I want to do. It means a lot to me, especially working with the kids. They're so helpless, and so damaged by everything they've been through,” just as she was, and she knew it. She knew fully how scarred she was, and she didn't want them to be too. It was her gift to them, and it made her life worth living, knowing that her pain would serve someone else, and keep them from traveling the same agonizing road she had. “I don't know, I guess I have a knack for it. I think about going back to school, and getting a psych degree sometimes, but I never seem to have time, with work and everything … maybe someday.”

“You don't need a psych degree,” he grinned, and she felt something for him she'd never felt before, and it frightened her more than a little. He was very appealing. “You need a man,” he concluded.

“What makes you so sure?” She smiled at him. He was like a big beautiful kid, as he reached out and took her hand in his own.

“Because you're lonely as hell, in spite of everything you say, and all the bravado about how great your life is. My guess is you've never had a real man at all, in fact,” he narrowed his eyes and looked at her appraisingly, as she laughed, “I'd bet my last ten cents you're a virgin.” She made no comment and took her hand away gently. “I'm right, aren't I, Grace?” There was so much he didn't know, and she shrugged noncommit-tally. “I am,” he said, with confidence, sure of exactly what she needed. Tutored by the right man, he sensed that she could be an extraordinary woman.