Rochelle called the desk and asked George to ring her at six, which was only a couple of hours away. Then she lay down after hanging up her new clothes. Exhausted from a sleepless night and the shopping activity, she fell fast asleep within minutes.
The dreams came pouring through her sub-conscious as they always did, and she came awake to the muffled screams that struggled from her throat. It was five by then, but she closed her eyes, trying to force the memory of the dream from her mind. It was always the same, a bronze casket setting against the wall across from the foot of her bed. She suspected someone was inside the casket, and tried to call out to someone, anyone, to come investigate.
However, no sound came from her mouth. She lay frozen in a catatonic state, paralyzed with fear, unable to breathe. She was suffocating, close to death. Dying…dying…
Awakening from the dream, gasping for air, she sat up in bed, struggling to suck air into her lungs.
Her body underwent sheer trauma for long minutes afterwards when she would open her eyes expecting to see the casket there. It might just as well have been a brush with death as her lungs floundered from lack of oxygen.
Discouraged with trying to finish her nap, she climbed from the bed, turned on the television, and went to the shower. She loved soap the way some people liked perfume, and she took the wrapper from a fresh bar and smelled it. It had a marvelous scent of sweet almond. Soaping lavishly, the soft fragrance scented her skin with a pleasing perfumed aroma. The strong spray of water refreshed and vitalized her. She thought of Michael, feeling eager to see him, despite having been with him a short while ago.
George called from the desk at six, and Rochelle thanked him.
She touched her face very lightly with foundation, traced her pale eyebrows with an auburn mascara pencil, lavished brown mascara on her long lashes, and rouged her cheeks ever so slightly against the milky paleness of her skin. She put on a soft pink lipstick and followed that with just a touch of the new perfume behind her ears, in the bend of her elbows, and behind her knees. The only jewelry she wore was her watch and a delicate silver chain which she was wearing when she left Miami.
Having bought some hairpins and a little silver comb for her hair, she decided to wear it up as she often did when she dressed up.
With plenty of time to spare, she parted the front severely and brushed it tightly against her scalp. Then she swept the long strands up in a tight chignon, pulling little short sprigs out around her ears and forehead to frame her face. The effect was as perfect as it was when done by the hairdresser. It literally transformed her from the clean, scrubbed look of a young girl into a glamorous woman.
Putting on a matching set of underwear, a lace-trimmed white half-slip and panty hose with high-heeled slippers, she chose the dress she wanted to wear. Trimmed with tiny straps that tied in bows on the shoulders, it was pale beige and came with a long brown stole. When she put it on, she stood back to inspect herself, pleased with her appearance.
At six-thirty, she finished dressing and sat watching the television. At six forty-five, a soft tap sounded on the door.
Rochelle rushed over in front of the mirror and glanced quickly at herself. She touched a couple of curls on her forehead, and then taking a deep breath, went to the door. As she turned the doorknob, the thought flickered through her mind that it might be Tobias. She opened it a crack and peeked outside before undoing the chain.
Pulling the door open wide, she stepped aside to let Michael in.
Michael gawked in astonishment.
Instead of coming in, he took a step backward. “My God!” he exclaimed, awed by her glamour. There was no resemblance to the Rochelle of earlier, even though absolutely nothing was wrong with that youthful impression of her then.
“Are you coming in, Michael?” Rochelle prompted, pulling the door open wider, a lovely smile dimpling her cheeks.
“I don't think I'd better come in,” he said with a catch in his breath, Fire smoldered in his blue eyes. “You look absolutely beautiful and delicious.”
“Thank you,” she replied, pleased by his compliment. Looking beautiful was not exactly something new to Rochelle. Being beautiful for Tobias had served as an occupation for her. His expectations were for her to look like a model out of a glamour magazine from the time she awoke in the morning until she went to bed at night, and except for shopping, glamorizing herself had comprised her daily activity.
“If you're ready, we'll go,” he said, sucking in a breath of air and letting it out. She grabbed her lovely new purse, transferred her things from her old purse, and then draped the stole over her shoulders.
When she moved toward the door, ready to go, Michael reached out and stopped her. Taking her into his arms, he crushed her against him, his hands spreading over her buttocks to draw her close to him.
He looked at her shiny, lush lips, wanting to kiss her. With a shuddering shake of his head, he withdrew, willing himself not to muss her makeup.
The gentle little girl that Michael had escorted earlier wore many faces. She was witty, funny, sensual, gentle, and could be spirited, as demonstrated when they shopped for her clothing, both of them laughing and enjoying themselves like a couple of kids. He had also seen touches of defiance, as well as sensitivity, and the traces of deep pain. She was a storm of conflicts, a mixture of contrasts, and more than anything else, she was breathtaking. Her auburn-gold hair, with every strand in place, was like a regal crown upon her head.
“Can we go back to the Steak House so we can dance?” she asked as he escorted her to the door. She noticed how elegant he looked in his casual blue sports coat, a polo shirt, and tanned trousers.
“That sounds good to me.” Michael's intention was to take her somewhere other than the Steak House, somewhere less patronized by people he knew. He realized Rochelle would cause a gigantic stir dressed as she was now and looking so gorgeous.
By tomorrow, not a man, woman, or child would have escaped the rumors from the grapevine. People would have the two of them paired as inseparable. Actually, he did not mind that so much, would have been honored by it, except her situation was precarious, to say the least. Circumstances could force Rochelle to take flight at any time. That was ever in Michael's thoughts, and he realized it had become a threat to his peace of mind.
The scent she wore was heady and intoxicating, leaving his senses reeling as he tucked his arm about her to escort her inside the Steak House. They were inside the door no more than a couple of minutes before a hush fell across the restaurant, and heads began turning for a better look, people scraping their chairs on the floor to twist about to gain a good viewing position. If Rochelle noticed, she pretended not to as she smiled up at Michael's face.
“This lovely creature can't be the same young lady who was here last night?” Ken questioned, not bothering to hide his lazy eye-sweeping appreciation.
Rochelle smiled.
“Is our same table from last night vacant, Ken?” Michael asked, looking across the room.
“It will be in a minute if you'll give me a few seconds,” he said, and spoke to a waiter.
The waiter went across the room with an empty tray, explained to the two young people who sat there that they had been mistakenly seated at a reserved table, and then he moved their food and drinks to another table. When the table was emptied, wiped, and a clean tablecloth put on it, Michael escorted Rochelle across the room, a buzz of whispering following in their wake.
The whole town had joked and made bets in the past on how soon it might be before the love bug caught Michael and changed his bachelorhood status. People were certain now that it had finally happened. No one recalled seeing Michael with anyone quite as charming as the young woman he presently escorted. If they were impressed last evening when she was in her jeans, they were doubly impressed tonight. She floated on Michael's arm as if she belonged there, and Michael's obvious pride reflected boldly in the way he looked at her.
Soon after they sat down, the waiter brought menus, and shortly thereafter, a bottle of champagne Michael ordered. The waiter poured it in flutes and Rochelle lifted hers to her pink lips, sipping daintily. Michael, on the other hand, became introspective, his attention thoughtful.
“You're very quiet, Michael.”
“I was thinking about you,” he said, gazing into her eyes.
“Chelle, I want to know you better.”
“Isn't that why we're having dinner together?”
He reached over and covered her hand with his. “I want to know why you were so afraid when I tried to make love to you this morning.”
She pulled her hand away, a sudden rush of memories flooding through her brain. She did not want to think about the kind of things Michael wanted to hear. Even thinking about the horrible things Tobias had done to her made her feel somehow tainted. Her sexual life with Tobias was a subject she chose to avoid. “I had a long sleepless night and was tired this morning,” she said evasively, looking away to avoid eye contact.
“Okay, I get the picture. You choose not to talk about it, but I know tiredness was not the problem. You were completely responsive one minute, and then shaking like a jack hammer the next.”
She pursed her lips and took a deep breath through her nostrils.
“Michael, if this discussion continues, then I think I'd rather leave now.”
“Chelle, you've got too many secrets.”
“That may be, but they are my secrets, and they'll stay that way until I decide otherwise.”
Michael backed off, knowing he would ruin their evening if he continued in that vein. He poured more champagne in their flutes, and watched her down her glassful in one drink. He poured it full again. The bottle was empty when the waiter brought their dinner.
The waiter served the green salad along with everything else, setting down plates of thinly sliced roast beef served in its own gravy, mounds of mashed potatoes, steaming green beans, and hot buttered rolls. Michael ordered a bottle of wine.
Rochelle drank the wine as thirstily as she had the champagne, seeming introspective now after Michael mentioned her nervousness of the past morning.
By the time they finished eating the band had arrived. The musicians circulated a few minutes, greeting customers before setting up their instruments. A couple of the musicians stopped by Michael and Rochelle's table, spoke briefly to Michael and was introduced to Rochelle.
“What songs do you like, Chelle?” asked one of the guys.
“I especially liked the one you played for us last night, but we enjoyed all your music.” She gave them an appreciative smile.
“You're new around here, aren't you?” asked Oliver
“You might say that. I was here once before, a long time ago.”
“Where do you come from?”
“The east,” she lied, and felt Michael's eyes staring at her.
Glancing behind him, John, the drummer, could see the room filling as the later crowd started coming in. “Well, I suppose it's time to go to work,” he said, and reached out his hand to Rochelle. “It's nice to meet you.”
“If you have a request, just give a holler,” Oliver said as they walked away.
Michael stood up, pulled the table away from the wall, and put their chairs side by side. “Any objections?” he asked after they sat back down and he put his arm about Rochelle.
“Only one,” she said glancing up at the air vent just above them.
“I'm cold.”
Michael smiled. “I think I can take care of that.” He wrapped his arm more snuggly around her.
They danced frequently after the music began in earnest. The evening passed all too quickly. When it came time to leave, the warm embraces on the dance floor contributed to a mounting anticipation growing between Michael and Rochelle.
While Michael's warm, hard body contact started breaking down Rochelle's resistance long before they got back to her motel, she found herself gearing up expectantly to the culmination of the evening. She wanted to know what her body's response would be, how it would react to gentleness instead of the torturous pain and repulsive acts Tobias forced upon her. She wanted to know if something was wrong with her that kept her from reaching sexual gratification; or was her problem caused merely by Tobias's sexual abuse?
For the time being, with Michael's arms constantly around her, she knew desire like a sweet warm ache. She also knew she wanted Michael to make love to her.