Being Audrey Hepburn

He screamed.

Someone would hear. Someone would be coming. I grabbed as many DVDs as I could, including Tabitha’s, and headed for the door.

“You can’t just leave me like this,” he said, his voice shaking in pain, his hand covering the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

The door was massive. I had to put the DVDs on the floor and open the door with both hands to get out.

“At least you have to send someone to help me.”

But I just grabbed the DVDs from the floor and ran.

61

Lying in bed I stared up at the ceiling of Tabitha’s guest room. I glanced at the few spattered drops of blood on the reworked Chanel hanging in the closet, at the DVDs on the vanity, and fell asleep waiting for the darkness outside to turn blue.

*   *   *

Bolting awake, impatient to talk to Tabitha, I threw on a blouse and jeans and tiptoed barefoot through the breezeway in the early morning air to her room, hoping I could wake her, and found the door open.

In the sitting room adjoining the bedroom, Tabitha gazed out the window at the ocean.

“Come in,” she said quietly. Cozy in her lush pink robe, Tabitha rested with her legs tucked under, enveloped from her neck to her ankles in pink. I sat as Zoya poured two cups of coffee and retreated.

“Last night, at Robert’s…” I started, but she held her hand up for me to stop.

“I know,” she said, putting a spoonful of sugar in her coffee. She slowly took a sip, holding the cup in both hands. “Robert has been in Southampton Hospital all night.”

“And your mother?”

“She left this morning, couldn’t deal with it, as usual.” Tabitha took another sip of coffee. On her face there was an expression of a

“I found these.” I placed a few of the DVDs with her name on the table. Tabitha glanced at them. Her eyes narrowed, and her face drained of color.

“What are those?” she muttered in a soft voice almost to herself.

“I know what you’ve been going through.”

“You mean Robert…”

I nodded.

Her breathing steadied and she reached for a tissue, but her eyes were dry.

“I should have known. I used to keep count of how many times. But then he stopped and I forgot about it for a while.” Composed, she lifted her cup and took a sip. “I was younger. But it would come up in my mind in flashes at the oddest times. I couldn’t control it. He played one of these once, of another girl. So I knew he had a camera. I didn’t think he had them of me. So obvious.”

“He’s your uncle. How long did he…”

“Don’t. Please.” She peered back out at the ocean. The waves rose and fell in a soothing rhythm. After a few moments she gathered herself.

“I was actually jealous at first, of the others,” she said and started to laugh, unable to help herself. “There was a girl who had a blog like yours, and Robert started a magazine with her name all over it. She was nothing before Robert. He’s invested in plenty of people, you know. It was better for them. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

My stomach felt uneasy.

“Are you saying that’s why you sent me to meet with him?” I asked.

“He has a ton of money. I didn’t know—maybe you would want his help. It was Robert’s idea. And he was willing; he said he was willing to release me from all of his control. I didn’t think it through. Really, he made it sound harmless, like a favor.” She had a sad, pained expression, like a little girl in trouble.

Could that be true? If I had succumbed to Robert, would I have gained entry into the world of money and privilege I had first encountered that night outside the Met so long ago? Other girls had done so. I could have buried Lizzy from New Jersey forever just by giving myself up to him.

“You should turn these over to someone,” I said. “We have to stop him from doing this ever again.”

“Stop him?” She stifled a derisive laugh. “From having sex with pretty young girls? It happens all the time, every night, everywhere. I only wanted to stop him from controlling me.” She dropped her stirring spoon to the plate, her eyes glassy with tears.

The wind was blowing across the ocean against the waves, making them higher and crash harder. The airstream above carried a soft white fog, floating in, layering the blue sky. How could it all look so beautiful when I felt so bad?

“What are you going to do?” I asked, wondering if I held her and hugged her, the way Nan hugged me, would it make her feel better. “We have to give these tapes to the police. You have to see someone. You have every right to be free of him.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” she asked, turning toward me. Her eyes pierced deeply into mine as if she could see everything inside of me, a sharpness to her voice I hadn’t heard before. “Why did you have to be the girl in the bathroom who found me? You don’t know. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

Fearful I might reveal something unconsciously, with my eyes or my face, I turned away.

“You should leave,” she said and tapped her cup with her stirring spoon. Zoya appeared instantly.

“More coffee.”

62

The taxi smelled of cigarettes and mildew as I watched the dunes and scrub pines whizz by. The Hamptons sky was clouding up. A light rain was falling, or was it just fog? I opened all the windows. It felt good on my face.

I checked the Jitney schedule and realized there were only two buses left that could take me back to the city in time for Jess’s show. Four days ago I thought the Jitney was special; now they were just buses, glorified Greyhounds.

Too much had happened that I couldn’t understand, that I couldn’t twist into part of my Being Audrey game. Everything had turned too serious for that.

I arrived at the Jitney stop, and there were dozens of people waiting to get on, part of the mass exodus that happened every weekend in the Hamptons. You could almost hear the sucking sound of people leaving the eastern end of the island. I didn’t have a chance. I’d have to wait for the next bus.

My phone buzzed, and I dreaded to check it.

“WHERE R U ?!” It was Jess of course. The little creature inside my stomach woke up, very unhappy.

“We go on at 7 PM!!”

I was trying to calculate how long it would take to get from the tip of Long Island to Chelsea on the west side of New York City and if it was even possible in the Hamptons’ summer traffic. I began writing a text, but before I could finish …

“R yur ppl coming?”

I deleted my text to begin writing an explanation, trying to find some way to justify myself and why I was late, when I received another text.

“R u comin ?!”

I had to stop and take a breath.

“Yes :)” I thumbed as quickly as I could.

☺ She texted in return.

I sighed, physically and emotionally exhausted, meditating on the smiley face.

On my phone I blogged a new Limelight entry as if I had no worries in the world. I figured it was my one last-minute shot at making Jess’s show a success, even if I couldn’t be there.

Tonight is the Night! The Designer X Pop Up show only happens if you are there! Style mavens, cynical fashion hipsters, fashion addicts, runway fanatics, designer devotees, loyal followers. See her runway show in person. Show your designer devotion. Satisfy your need for immediate gratification. Come take your pictures. Post them everywhere. Rock your Instagram with pix of Designer X’s new looks. Only you can make it happen. #xbelowtheline2nite.

As the fully packed Jitney pulled away onto route 27, my last hope for arriving in time, I madly blasted everyone on my list of followers.

I called Isak, but there was no answer, so I texted him again.

“Designer X … Below the Line Gallery 7pm !! Please say you’re going !! :)” If Isak made it, I would be okay. I left messages at Flo’s office for her and Gabby to come.