Intimate Betrayal (7 page)

His friends—what few he had left—had advised him to let it go. Put it behind him. Don’t look back.

But his friends hadn’t lived for a year and a half in a sevenby-nine-foot cell with a narrow bunk and a stainless steel seatless
toilet, eating vile, fatty, unidentifiable food, and checked every fifteen minutes by a guard. They hadn’t tossed in sleeplessness
and despair, alive with the knowledge that twelve strangers could look into your eyes and judge your mind, body, and soul
on the basis of the theories and distortions they heard in the courtroom.

Francesca was dead. But he was still alive, and now, finally, he was free.

Somehow, dammit, he had to get his life back.

Matthew picked up the phone and called someone he knew he could absolutely count on—the Reverend Barbara Rae Acker.

She was a wise and compassionate woman who, despite her friendship with Francesca, had been there for him throughout the trial.
He was not a religious man, but that did not
matter. Barbara Rae’s goodness was not limited to believers alone.

Maybe she could help him figure out what the hell to do with the rest of his life.

“I love him,” the teenager whispered.

Annie took the girl’s trembling hands in both of hers. They were talking together in a private room at Barbara Rae Acker’s
Compassion of Angels youth center in the Mission district, where Annie volunteered two evenings a week. The youth center was
just a block away from the cathedral construction site, so it was easy for Annie to stop by after work.

The teenager who had come in for counseling had an old, familiar story to tell. Paolina was seventeen, poor, and beautiful.
Half Hispanic, she had unusual coloring—golden skin and natural blond hair that was so long it nearly brushed her hips. Her
face was a perfect oval with strong, molded features and flawless skin that glowed like the finest polished marble.

The eldest of three sisters and three brothers, she had an intact nuclear family—increasingly rare, it seemed to Annie. Paolina’s
parents were very strict. Her father disciplined all his children with a broad leather strap.

Paolina had always followed the rules, she said, weeping. She had obeyed her parents, studied hard, helped out her mother
with the little ones, cooked and cleaned and, for the past year, worked part-time as a seamstress to bring the family some
extra income.

“I am not a bad girl,” she whispered.

“Of course you’re not,” Annie assured her.

Paolina had never had a boyfriend, she said, until last
winter, when she met the young man she loved. She’d never met anybody like him. He followed no rules, respected no authority—although
he did believe in and fear God.

“He told me what we were doing was wrong in the eyes of the Lord. So we tried to stop.” Her dark eyes were glistening. “But
I love him so much and when he touched me it felt as if God Himself was smiling on us. Do you know what I mean?”

Annie nodded. It had felt like that with Charlie sometimes.

“But how could He be smiling if this happened?” the girl asked, looking down at her swelling belly. “I feel so much shame!”

Paolina was four months pregnant. Despite altering her clothes in an attempt to hide her weight gain, she was starting to
show. The preceding night her parents had found out, and her father had threatened to beat her with the strap. “Mama begged
him not to, and Father beat her instead,” the girl explained. “Then he told me to leave his house and never show my face again
under his roof.”

“Ah, Paolina, I’m so sorry. Perhaps when he is calmer, he will reconsider.”

“No, he won’t,” Paolina said. “It’s not just that I have shamed him, but who I have shamed him with. He hates Vico. He cannot
forgive him. You see, Vico did something against the law. Then the police were looking for him, and he lost his job and now
he has gone into hiding.”

The entire story suddenly shifted into much sharper focus. “Wait a moment. Your boyfriend’s name is Vico? Is that short for
Ludovico? Ludovico Brindesi?”

“Ludovico Genese,” the girl said. “But he is related to the Brindesi family, yes—Giuseppe Brindesi is his uncle.” She looked
at Annie apprehensively. “You have heard about him? From the police, maybe?”

Annie shook her head. “I know the people he used to work for, that’s all.”
And I approved his firing.…

“He’s not a bad man,” Paolina said. “He’s just a little wild, and he’s made some mistakes.”

“They’re after him for a drug rap, aren’t they? Does he use cocaine or other drugs?”

Paolina shook her head fiercely. “He thinks they’re foolish. They rot the brain, he says. He would never use drugs.”

But apparently he had no qualms about selling them to people who did use them. According to Barbara Rae, who had had several
run-ins with him, Vico had been a troublemaker for years. He’d run with gangs since childhood.

And now he was on the run from the law. If Paolina was sheltering him, she could become an accessory after the fact. “Paolina,
do you know where Vico is?”

She shook her head vigorously.

Annie sensed that she was lying. But when the girl broke down in sobs, Annie did the only thing that seemed appropriate—she
pulled Paolina close and hugged her.

“Come, we’ll talk to Barbara Rae. She’ll know just what to do. Barbara Rae is very persuasive—she might be able to persuade
your father to relent.”

Although Annie spoke with confidence, she was filled with trepidation. She knew Barbara Rae to be an excellent mediator, and
it was remarkable how often people changed their minds after she exercised her gentle art of moral persuasion. But
she was not always successful. There was something strong, yet tragic, about Paolina, and Annie felt afraid for her.

They were getting up to go find Barbara Rae when, behind them, Annie heard a door slam.

“Where is she?” boomed a male voice, and Paolina’s eyes went wild. She jumped to her feet, whispering,
“Madre de Dios,”
under her breath, then, “Vico!”

A dark-haired young man came striding into the room, and for an instant all Annie could think was:
Here he is, the young Hades, dark and wild, determined to snatch away the pale Persephone and bear her away to his private
Underworld.

He was as startlingly beautiful as Paolina. But he was dark, with shiny black hair falling too long over his neck and ears,
in defiance of the latest teenage style. His face was classically Roman—a long arrogant oval with an aquiline nose and a determined
chin. His eyes were black, with pinpricks of fire in their depths. He was of medium height, stocky and muscular, and he looked
the way the still-handsome Giuseppe must have looked twenty years earlier.

Annie had seen him working on the construction site with his uncle, had overheard several of their flash-fire arguments. She
had seen him stalk off, defiant, not caring what anybody thought of him.

He was seventeen years old.

Smarter than anybody.

Braver.

He knew what he wanted.

He wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

Certainly not his pale, submissive girlfriend or the woman who had, along with Jack Fletcher, discharged him from the
construction job that might have given him his one chance to make something of his life.

He walked straight up to Annie, the expression on his face coldly furious. Then he reached out for Paolina’s hand, which seemed
to be drawn to him, like iron to a powerful magnet.

“They said she was talking to a youth counselor,” he spat. “Is that what you call yourself here?”

“I work as a volunteer, yes,” Annie said.

“I’ll bet you didn’t tell her that you’re the bitch who fired me from my job.”

Paolina’s eyes flew to Annie’s face. Annie hardened herself. She knew his type, all too well. She knew intimately the extent
of the betrayal he felt.

“And did you tell Paolina why you were fired?” she countered. “Or did you lie to her about selling drugs to children?”

Something flashed in those dark, mesmerizing eyes. “I do not lie, and I wasn’t selling drugs,” he said, and jerked Paolina’s
hand. “Come. We are leaving.”

“She needs help, Vico,” Annie said. “You’re a fugitive from the police. They’re looking for you, and eventually they’ll find
you. And when they do and you’re in jail awaiting trial, what’s going to happen to the mother of your unborn child?”

Ignoring her, he turned abruptly, and Paolina turned with him. She was bound to him as if by invisible cords.

“You want to be a man, Vico. You want the respect of a man. But until you learn to accept responsibility for your actions,
you are still a boy, and a selfish one at that.”

“Fuck you, Mistress Project Manager,” Vico retorted. “You see nothing, you know nothing, and the people you work for are slime.”

The door slammed behind them as he swept Paolina out of the youth center.

Annie sighed.

It was difficult to be judgmental. Vico reminded her too vividly of her younger self.

“Trouble?” a velvety voice inquired.

Annie turned. Barbara Rae Acker had entered the room. “Did you hear that?”

“The tail end of it,” Barbara Rae said. “A very passionate young man.”

“We fired him from his construction job at the cathedral.”

“Annie, you had no choice. He’s on the run from the police.”

“He claims he wasn’t selling drugs, Barbara Rae.”

The minister shrugged. “I’ve heard that too, from some of the other kids on the street. They’re saying the police have him
confused with a pusher who looks a lot like Vico. It could be true. On the other hand, Vico has been in various kinds of trouble
for years, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“I was getting through to Paolina, I think,” Annie said. “But when she found out who I was, she felt betrayed. We’ve lost
her now.”

Barbara Rae came up behind her and gently squeezed her shoulders. “We can’t save all of them, Annie. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that,” she agreed, but still she shook her head, wishing she could.

“Listen to me, honey. What you need is a nice big piece of girdlebuster pie.”

“Please! I’ve been trying to lose five pounds for months!”

“Nonsense. You need to
gain
at least that much. Now, you come home with me tonight for a proper home-cooked supper. Gotta get some meat on your bones,
girl!”

Annie smiled. “What exactly
is
girdlebuster pie?”

“Well, I’ll tell you the ingredients, but don’t ask me how many grams of fat it has, honey, or we’ll both be too frightened
to eat a bite!”

“I’d love to come, Barbara Rae,” Annie said. “But I’ve really got to get back to the office tonight.”

Barbara Rae sighed. “They sure keep you busy over at Brody Associates.”

“No, it’s me. I’ve turned into a workaholic.”

Again, Barbara Rae squeezed her shoulders. Her back massages were heavenly. “You’ve had a lot of losses, honey. That’ll do
it to anyone. You need your security, and no one can blame you for that. I just worry about you, that’s all. You’re still
young, and you’re missing out on life’s pleasures. A man, some leisure time, a piece of girdlebuster pie…”

Impulsively Annie stood and gave her a hug. Despite the ravages of age and a fondness for rich foods, Barbara Rae had a slim,
sturdy body. At fifty-five, the indefatigable minister and shining light of the United Path Church congregation
was vigorous and energetic, and she was rapidly becoming something of a legend in San Francisco.

Barbara Rae had a gift for reaching out to people and touching their hearts and minds. Her work among the poor, the sick,
and the disadvantaged citizens of San Francisco had earned her the reputation of an American Mother Teresa, but she could
be pragmatic and hardheaded when dealing with the wealthy and the sophisticated folks whom she approached for funds. Barbara
Rae was one of those rare people who are charismatic in every stratum of society, projecting herself in a manner that made
people blind to her sex, her religion, her race, and her class.

Annie had met her in the aftermath of Charlie’s death and the loss of Fabrications. Early one morning, unable to sleep and
feeling as if she was losing her mind, she had gotten up from her lonely bed and wandered the hilly streets of downtown San
Francisco. She’d climbed Nob Hill and, panting from exertion, seen the gray stone of Grace Cathedral, an Episcopal church.
She’d entered the huge old building, finding it nearly empty and very dark, the morning sunlight just beginning to brighten
the magnificent stained glass. She’d sat in one of the pews at the back and tried to pray. But Charlie’s death remained a
bitter taste in the back of her throat, and she felt abandoned by God.

Barbara Rae Acker had sat down behind her, and later, when Annie rose, weeping, to stagger out of the beautiful Gothic church
that, for her, was empty of the presence of God, Barbara Rae touched her shoulder gently and stopped her. “Before you leave,”
she said, “there’s something I want you to try.”

Annie looked into her face and thought that if God
did
exist, He was looking out at the world through the wise, kind eyes of this tall, plain woman with kinky gray hair and thick,
work-calloused hands. All the compassion in the world was contained in those chocolate-brown eyes; it shone through her like
a beacon.

“Try what?” Annie asked.

Barbara Rae pointed to the floor on which they were standing. On it was a pattern, a massive circular design consisting of
a large number of broken concentric circles. “The labyrinth,” she said. “It’s a reproduction of a similar ancient design in
the floor of the cathedral at Chartres. It’s a walking meditation. You simply enter the maze there, at the beginning, and
follow the circular paths back and forth, around and around, until eventually you arrive at the center. It’s not really a
maze, since there are no false trails. Once you start, you will always find your way.”

“Why?” Annie asked halfheartedly, wanting only to leave and lacking the faith for any serious attempt at meditation.