Without waiting for her to let him in, he simply pushes past her into the house.
“I take it Michelle is in bed by now,” he says, looking around. “Like a good girl.”
“What do you want, Frank?” Laura asks. She can’t take the suspense anymore. She just wants to be out with it already.
“All right, all right, I was lying,” he says. “I didn’t drop by to see how the babysitting was going. I couldn’t care less about that kid. I just wanted to see my girlfriend. A guy has every right to, don’t you think?”
With that, he grabs her by the shoulders, pulls her close, and kisses her hard on the mouth. It takes her by such surprise that her front teeth clack painfully against his. He’s insistent and forceful, and she can feel the impatience humming within him like it always does.
Could it be possible that he doesn’t know about Tony yet? She’s afraid to believe it, yet with every passing second, she becomes convinced that’s the case. The relief that floods her is hard to describe.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” he murmurs into her mouth. His hands are already roaming her body, finding their way under her shirt. “We’ve got this whole party pad to ourselves for the whole night.”
“Quiet,” she murmurs, trying to escape his insistent, unending kiss. “We’ll wake Michelle.”
“Don’t you worry about Michelle,” he says. He’s now trying to undo her belt buckle as she squirms and dodges his hands. “I told you, I know this place like my own house. We’ll go somewhere she’ll never hear us.”
Laura has no choice but to follow him down a flight of stairs and past another door that opens to reveal a den with a pool table, another TV, and a large sofa. In the corner of the den, she spies a bar—just like the one in the tavern, with glasses hanging upside down and rows of liquor bottles with dully glinting gilt labels.
“Told you,” Frank says smugly. “Come on. Let’s have a shot or two.”
“I really shouldn’t—”
“No one will know. The Fortiers have so much money they’ll never notice anything’s missing. Have you ever even had twenty-year-old scotch?”
Laura is just glad he seems to have left her belt buckle alone for now. She watches numbly as he manipulates the tumblers and bottle at the bar. He’s really acting like he owns the place. He hands her a glass, and they drink.
The scotch tastes awful. She can’t stop herself from grimacing, which seems to amuse him. “You’re such a child, Laura,” he says with a touch of smug condescension. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow on you.”
To her dismay, he refills her glass. She’s not sure she can stomach any more. Already her gut is churning.
Frank, on the other hand, drains his second glass without flinching. The police uniform suits him. He has that broad-shouldered, fit build of a high school athlete. No wonder all the girls would like to date him. But he’s not interested in any of them. He’s interested in Laura. At first, she could hardly believe her luck.
At first.
He puts the glass down and comes back to where she’s sitting awkwardly perched on the edge of the sofa.
“I don’t think we should be doing this,” she murmurs in his ear when he leans close and starts to fiddle with her clothes again.
“Aww, baby, don’t be such a prude.”
She has nothing to say to that. She never had anything to say to that. Their first “date,” he took her for a drive in that huge car of his. The drive conveniently took them far out of town, and there, in the parking lot of a deserted camping ground, they first had sex. It just kind of happened. She didn’t stop him—you didn’t really say no to Frank Bergmann—and why the hell would any girl want to? That’s what she decided afterward, when he gave her a beer and a cigarette and drove her back to town. He dropped her off a little before they got back into the town proper. It was better that way, she understood. If people saw them together, Pierre Bergmann’s son with Laura O’Malley, it wouldn’t be good for either of them.
He was nice to her, mostly. He had good cigarettes. And he made Laura feel good about herself. If Frank paid her any attention at all, it meant she had to be worth something. And perhaps down the line, that something could be leveraged into something else. Not that she thought he’d marry her. But if she could get Frank Bergmann interested, maybe there was some kind of future out there for her after all.
Tonight, though, that future looks more and more uncertain. At the same time, it makes her brazen. It makes her feel like she has nothing to lose.
He’s pulled her shirt off over her head and is now undoing her bra.
“Why can’t we just be together out in the open?” she asks. “We could go steady.”
The bra comes off.
“You’re too young,” he mutters as he tries to nibble on her neck.
“No, I’m not. I’m old enough to get married, if my parents consent.”
He lets her go, falls against the back of the couch, and laughs. The laughter is loud and brimming with mockery.
“Married? And who are you planning on marrying, baby? Care to introduce me to him?”
Laura sits still. She crosses her arms to hide her chest, feeling miserable. The room is freezing cold, she notices. The fine down on her arms and on the back of her neck stands on end.
Frank undoes his belt. By the look of him, the discussion is over. He pulls Laura into his lap, and she goes along limply. There doesn’t seem to be any point in trying to refuse.
Her face is on fire, tears of humiliation stinging her eyes. It’s so unfair, she thinks.
“Don’t be like that,” Frank says, sounding contrite.
Laura isn’t dumb enough to fall for it. He’s just saying what she wants to hear so he can get what he wants from her.
“I don’t mean anything bad by it. It’s just like that, you’ve gotta understand. You know who my dad is. I can’t ever marry someone like you. I’ll marry someone suitable who Pierre approves of. It doesn’t mean we can’t have any fun here and now.”
“I just thought—”
“Less thinking, baby, and more doing. Come here. Come on.”
Laura obeys. There aren’t really any other options anyway. Tomorrow, she tells herself, she’ll have the money, and she’ll be out of this shithole of a town forever. She’ll never ever have to see him again.
