Texas rich (49 page)

The room was like a thousand others: dark, dingy, and foul, but the bathroom was passably clean. Maybe someone had actually changed the sheets since last week. Maggie was feeling the effect of her four drinks and was beyond caring about the condition of the room anyway. All that mattered was that Fred was a nice man and he liked her.

Someone in the next room had a radio playing. Perry Como

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was singing "Prisoner of Lx)ve." The song was melancholy, one of Maggie's least favorites, but Fred seemed to know it, because he hummed along while he urinated into the toilet. "You gotta use the John, Ruthie?" he called, peeking out into the room. Seeing she was already undressed and in bed, he muttered, "Guess not. You're a real nice girl, Ruthie. Real nice. I haven't met a nice girl like you in a long, long time."

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, hoping he'd put out the light. She didn't want to see him naked, see his penis rigid and erect, ready to pierce her flesh. She didn't want to know if his stomach was flabby and his legs skinny. She wanted to pretend he was tall and handsome and wonderful.

Fred took her into his arms, feeling the delicacy of her bones, the youthful slimness of her hips. Again he found himself wondering just how old she was. Not old enough to have her backside spread a little or her hips widen. For a moment doubt crept into his mind, but her hands were playing over his chest and sliding down under the covers and there was no time to think.

His weight was pressing on her, making her legs spread wider than she thought possible. He was grinding himself into her, plunging deep inside her, hurting her, making her afraid. She hated this part. Hated being pressed into the smelly mattress. But she was afraid to protest, afraid to cry out as she'd done once before when she was with a man she'd thought was nice. That man had hit her, punched her, and then used her anyway, leaving her alone in the scary darkness where she'd cried and cried and cried. And the name that had always come to her lips was Pap.

Maggie bit into her lower lip to keep from crying out. From somewhere outside there were noises, men's voices. Fred didn't seem to hear until suddenly there was a sudden loud knocking at the door. She felt him stiffen, utter a low curse.

"Police! Open up!" came the command.

Fred padded to the door, a sheet wrapped around his midsection. "Hold your horses, I'm coming."

The door swung open and one of Austin's finest stood in the doorway looking beyond Fred's bulk into the dim room. "Identification, please, sir. Is this your wife?"

Fred was already turning back to dig through his pants pockets for his wallet. The pallor of his complexion spoke his embarrassment and fear. He wouldn't want anything like this to get back to his wife.

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"Is this your wife, sir?" the officer repeated. "Can you present identification, ma'am?"

Maggie was dumbfounded. She clutched the sheet to her chin and held on to it hke a lifehne.

"Mind if I turn on the light, sir?" the policeman said in mock affabihty. Maggie saw his eyes go to her again, studying her, taking in the smeared makeup, the black stains under her frightened eyes.

"What's this all about?" Fred demanded, fishing through his wallet for his driver's license.

"It's a crackdown, sir, on prostitution. It's a known fact that this place is frequented for illegal purposes. Is this your wife, sir?"

Fred's eyes swung to Maggie, his mouth agape. He'd never considered that she might have been a prostitute. There'd never been any question about an exchange of money. "No, no, she's just someone I met tonight," he stammered.

"Identification, miss?"

"I ... I don't have any."

"No driver's license? Social Security card? Identification from your place of employment? Just how old are you, miss? What's your name and address?" Now, with the light fully illuminating Maggie's face, the officer could see the tears swimming in her eyes. He was becoming more suspicious about her age.

"No, nothing," she whispered, "unless you'll take my student membership card."

"Student membership!" Fred choked. "Listen here, officer, I just met her tonight. I didn't know how old she was. Not with that dress she was wearing and all that crap on her face. I didn't know!"

"Did she solicit you?" the officer asked. "Think carefully, sir. You could be facing charges for corrupting the morals of a minor."

Fred took a second to think, his face going paler by the moment. The effect of the alcohol was wearing off, leaving him to face reality. He had himself and his family to consider. "Damn right she solicited. Twenty bucks and I was fool enough to go along with it. Hey, you're not going to hold me or anything, are you?"

"Not if what you say is true. It's only the whores we haul in, not their customers."

Maggie wanted to die. She was ordered to get dressed. She

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was going for a ride downtown. They were going to take her

to jail!

"Just for the record, miss, your name, please."

"Maggie. Margaret Coleman. You can reach my father at

the Sunbridge ranch. His name is Moss Coleman."

The officer looked blankly at Maggie. There was going to

be hell to pay.

When the phone rang at 3:10 in the morning, Billie reached for it instantly. She'd been expecting the call. She felt calm and in control. It was about Maggie—she could feel it.

"Billie Coleman speaking."

"Mrs. Coleman, this is Sergeant Daley at police headquarters. We picked your daughter up a short while ago. I'd appreciate it if you would come down immediately."

"Is Maggie all right?"

"She's not hurt, Mrs. Coleman. We'll look after her until you get here."

"I'll be right there. Thank you. Sergeant."

Billie knocked quietly on Thad's door. She wasn't surprised to see that he, too was fully clothed. "I heard the phone ring. It's Maggie, isn't it?" Billie nodded. "I'm ready. Shouldn't we wake Moss and have him go with us?" Billie shrugged and shook her head.

The urge to throttle Moss was strong enough to make Thad clench his fists. The two went back a long way and God knows he'd been angry at his friend before, but this was different, because at the root of it was a thorough dislike of the man. Thad felt a flush of guilt and pain mix with his anger, but even more painful were the shadows of disappointment and futility he saw in Billie's eyes.

"Shouldn't you at least leave a note?" he asked.

"Why? I suppose this is how Maggie feels. The only family feeling you'll find at Sunbridge is family pride, and that's not quite the same thing." They were outside now, in the cool, fading darkness. Billie tossed Thad her car keys. "Take me to my daughter, please, Thad."

After a briefing by Sergeant Daley Billie and Thad were directed to a holding room. Before they even opened the door they could hear Maggie's sobs. Inside, at the far end of a long table, she sat, head in her arms, shoulders shaking.

"Maggie," Billie said, hands akeady reaching for her daugh-

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ter. She still could not believe what Sgt. Daley had told her... her little girl picked up for prostitution. The man she'd been with hadn't been held, once he'd answered a few questions. When Maggie had identified herself, it was decided that the incident would be treated as a family matter and no charges were being brought.

Slowly, Maggie lifted her head. Her face was ravaged with tears and smeared makeup. The dress she was wearing was one Billie had never seen before, cheap, slinky tight, revealing. Her dark hair hung in her eyes. Billie gasped when she saw the pain in those eyes.

"Maggie, darling ..." It was a cry from the heart. A sound torn from her throat. A mother's lament.

"Mother, I ... I didn't want you to see me this way. I asked

them to let me clean up, but they wouldn't " Maggie's voice

choked off. Her eyes went to Thad, standing behind Billie.

"What's he doing here? Where's Pap? Why didn't you bring my father?" It was both an accusation and a plea. "Is Pap outside?"

"No, he's not. Thad drove me down here "

"Oh, I get it—Pap's not home or else he couldn't be bothered," Maggie said bitterly. "Can I go home now?"

"Yes. Maggie ... is it true what the police officer said that you.. .you..."

"That I was in bed with a man old enough to be my father? It's true all right. But I never asked him for money. I never do!"

Billie swayed backward against Thad. Her hand itched to slap Maggie's rebellious face and at the same time her arms ached to hold her, to take away the pain. Where had her little girl gone? How had she come to this?

"Are you taking me home or aren't you?" Maggie demanded. "Or are you kicking me out?"

"Of course you're coming with us. Sunbridge is your home, Maggie. Poor Maggie." Billie almost wept. She took a step closer to her daughter, her arms extended, wanting to pull the child into her embrace, offer her safety, security.

"And I suppose you'll tell Pap all the tawdry details," Maggie said accusingly.

"No one is going to tell your father if you don't want them to," Billie whispered. She beheved that was what Maggie needed to hear, that she didn't want Moss to know.

But Maggie's head sank down again on her arms and she

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heaved great, shuddering sounds. Thad touched Billie's shoulder, prompting her to go to Maggie, and then he stood silently, his heart breaking for both, as he watched them embrace. Moss should be here, seeing this, hearing this. But he wasn't. The job had been left to a friend of the family. A friend who needed to be so much more.

{{{{{{{{{ CHAPTER }}})}}}}}

''^'^''''twenty-three

Billie watched the raging storm outside her sitting room win-dow. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but the sky was midnight black. It was what Seth referred to as a real Texas storm, coming down from the Panhandle. Billie shivered and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn't going to be able to go to the studio today. Rain and wind slammed against the window pane. Billie edged back a little, fearful that the glass would shatter. She could do a little reading, work on some needlepoint. Or she could go back to bed and try to sleep through the day. None of the ideas appealed to her. She could write to Thad, but what about? She wasn't in a chatty mood and there was no news.

Maybe she should make the bed. No, because then the timid little maid would think she'd done wrong and run to Agnes to plead her case. The rumpled bed would stay as it was.

She could reread some of Thad's letters. They arrived weekly and were just the right length, two and a half pages. He always asked about everyone and shared news he'd received of his hometown from his subscription to its weekly newspaper. She always went to the last paragraph first because it was about her. Sometimes it was whimsical, and at other times she could feel his heartache. Lately, he had been encouraging her to try her hand at textile design. He hadn't laughed like the rest of her family when she'd confided that for as long as she could remember that was what she'd wanted to do. Thad was special.

Tears burned at her eyes. She squeezed them shut to allay the stinging pain. When she opened them again her mother was

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standing in the room, looking as if she'd just stepped off a magazine cover. Billie hardly knew her anymore and that was just as well. Their views on things were so far apart they might have been living in different states.

"I brought us some coffee. With that wicked storm raging out there we're all housebound. I thought it would be nice if we had a little talk, the way we used to. We've all been so busy lately that we hardly see one another. We can't let that happen, Billie. We're a family."

Billie grimaced. Her mother was talking as if it were Billie's fault. She remembered one of Thad's letters about a visit to his hometown and family. He had made it sound so wonderful—the closeness of the family, the shared laughter. She had felt so envious. No wonder his face always wore a puzzled look when he saw the way things were at Sunbridge. "Thank you for the coffee. Mother. I can certainly use it," Billie said in a neutral tone. "I thought that last storm was bad, but this is horrendous. What are your plans for the day?"

"About the same as yours, I imagine. Seth says this storm will last well into midaftemoon. By then all the roads will be flooded, so there's no point in thinking about anything but staying home. I have plenty to occupy me."

"Is there anything in particular you want to discuss, Mother? The children, Moss, Seth? My going to the studio every day?"

Agnes ignored Billie's tart tone. "As a matter of fact, now that you bring up the children, I couldn't help noticing how quiet Maggie was this past weekend when she came home from school."

A frown puckl^ed Billie's brow. She didn't need anyone to tell her about Maggie's withdrawal. Maggie had been a different girl since she and Thad had had to pick her up from the police station: quiet, withdrawn, her usual sullenness turned to something deeper, more obscure. Billie didn't like to think about that night at the police station; it was something she wanted to bury. It was all part of the past now, she kept telling herself. Once she had taken Maggie to Dr. Ward for an examination and blood tests for venereal disease, from which Maggie had been found free, her sense of relief had been so overwhelming it was as if that night were part of an awful nightmare.

All through the summer and since school had started again, Maggie had spent inordinate amounts of time alone in her room, claiming to be working on a school project. But it didn't feel

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right to Billie and she had her doubts. She'd written to Thad about it; his advice had been simply to love her, to be there for her, and Billie had tried. But Maggie had not been receptive.

"I think it's high time you took that child in hand, Billie," Agnes was saying now. Heaven only knows when the tongues will cease to wag. Seth says we have to ignore the gossip, but I, for one, fmd it very difficult to do. You are her mother, Billie. You should do something]"

"Maggie also has a father and a grandfather, who ignore her."