Chapter 9

A week had passed since Terri had faced down her roommate, had demanded in on the shady modeling; venture. And growing more desperate by the day, Terri had yet to receive her first call. Until one evening, terribly upset, she openly accused Pam of a double cross.

At which Pam became belligerent. "What's with you, Terri? You got ants? Those Great Western paychecks spend, don't they? Why the rush? I had to wait a month for my first call. Those regular gals got things sewed up tight." She'd regarded Terri more intently. "What is the big rush, kid?"

Terri had immediately backtracked. "Nothing, Pam. No real rush. Only I'd like to get started, that's all."

"There's something you're not telling me, Terri."

"No, Pam. Honest, there's nothing...."

"The lady doth protest too much. It seems to me you're sure's hell all hepped up over getting extra money."

The subject had been dropped as of that moment.

And this Friday evening, an empty, directionless weekend yawning before her, Terri felt very low indeed. She was glad for the privacy. Pam was gone shopping, with an 8:30 hair appointment after that. And Terri had time to think to evaluate the going nowhere happenings of this past week.

The nausea was stronger in the mornings now, she knew that before long she'd suffer full-fl-edged morning sickness. Then how would she keep things from Pam? From Matt? For certainly, upon discovering the truth, Pam would run to him, blab all.

Thought of Matt made her wince. She actually felt sorry for the poor boob now. The bitterness against him had faded, and merely remembering his bewildered, hangdog expression these days as she refused date after date, made her feel sad. He was sure she'd found another man, that he'd lost her once and for all.

Terri, sat in the bedroom, buffing her nails, stopping to assess herself in the vanity mirror from time to time. Just the sight of her lusterless complexion, of the dark patches beneath her eyes, drove her into deeper panic. God, where will I get the money?

Another dark thought hit her then, made her feel even worse. As she recalled the newspaper item she'd read which had detailed the imminent downfall of those directionless girls who came to Hollywood, got into trouble. Her misery intensified. That police chief had certainly called the shots, she concluded. Here's the prize example, the prize sap. And if this wasn't bad enough, she'd been crowded into a corner, was on the verge of complicating things even further. That is, if she ever got a call from a photog, if she ever got around to stripping down, letting him take pictures of her.

Couldn't it happen just like the newspaper article predicted? Couldn't she queer herself up even more? Couldn't this posing bit lead to progressively worse and worse self vilifications? Couldn't she, in her jammed up mess, lend herself to more depraved things in time? Until she, like those kids she'd seen outside the Pastiche that night, would be forced to sell herself to the highest bidder, night after night?

All the nights of my life, she thought frantically. Until I'm too old, too ravaged. Until a man won't give me a second look.

And what then? What depravities would she commit then?

A convulsive shudder racked her at that moment and she realized that she was being overly morbid, she was only feeling sorry for herself. Seeking diversion, anything to shut out the despondent thoughts, she went to turn on the TV set. It was at that moment that the phone rang.

A man's voice, breathy and shaky, said, "Is Pam around? Pam Lyom? Kaye told me I could get her at this number."

"No," Terri said, her heart racing, realizing what it was the stranger wanted, "she's not here right now." Instantly she conceived a wild, rash plan. If Pam wasn't here to mind the store, what was the harm in her taking over? "Maybe I could help you," she said, fighting to control her voice.

"Well, not really," he said. "I'm a photographer.

"I was looking for someone to pose tonight. I called the agency and they gave me Pam's number."

Terri took a deep breath. "I'm a model," she gulped.

"You are? You know what kind of modeling I mean, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. I do that kind of modeling."

"This is my lucky day," the man laughed softly. "I'm willing to pay fifty an hour. If you can come tonight."

Terri's heart leaped. "Yes, that's fine. I'll come right over. Where's your studio?"

"Ah, there's no studio. I work in my own home. I'm an amateur."

"Oh. Well, I don't know. I should bring someone with me. I could check around here. One of my girl friends might come along with me."

"Forget it," the man snapped. "I don't operate that way. I don't like to have a third wheel breathing down my neck. I thought maybe ... you ... alone...."

That admission should have been warning enough to Terri. But frantic as she was, she wasn't thinking straight. "I shouldn't," she said. "But I do need the money. I guess I can come alone. What's that name and address?" , She listened carefully, had him spell the name. There was one inscription already on the telephone pad. The kitchen faucet was leaking, and as reminder: call the plumber. It was beneath this that she wrote: Kerne Jarecki, 1225 Downey Road.

"Where you located?" the man asked.

"On Larrabee. Just off Sunset."

"Hollywood, huh? That's a long way. I'm in East L.A. What d'ya say I pick you up? Cab fare'll murder you."

"That would be very nice. If you're sure I'm not inconveniencing you...."

"It'll be okay. Give me an hour, huh? About eight."

"Fine, I'll be waiting."

Then, the final arrangements made, the phone put down, Terri was up, dashing around the apartment to get ready.

It was as she emerged from the shower, feverishly patted herself dry, that the phone rang again. Filled with dread, fearing that the man had thought better of the deal, was calling to cancel, she went to answer.

And was all but bowled over to hear Doug Jordan's voice after all these months. A strange perversity filling her, she was determined to use her brief time to the best possible advantage, string him along.

"Hi, Terri," Jordan said, squeezing arrogance into his voice. "Long time no see."

"You can say that again, Doug. I thought you'd sworn off me once and for all."

"I thought so too. But dolls like you bug me. You got under my skin, I guess. I wonder would you give a guy a second chance?"

"That all depends. What do you have in mind?"

"I'm having a little weekender at my beach place at Balboa. A little party. Thought you'd like to join us. Big kicks...."

"How little a party? Like maybe just you and me?"

"Honey, you're reading my mind."

Terri grinned devilishly to herself, said, "Sounds exciting, tell me all about it."

And as she listened to the wolf spin out routine number 214, she unconsciously wrote Balboa beneath Jarecki's name and address, doodled around the edges, drew myriad lines about it, sprinkled the pad with stars. All the while gushing over Jordan's description of the weekend. Until, finally, fearing she would not be ready when Jarecki arrived, she cut him short.

"Look, Doug, that thing sounds wonderful. But no. I'm booked up for the weekend. Maybe I can take a raincheck?"

Jordan's howl was a painful thing to hear, and Terri giggled, held the receiver away from her ear. "Please, Terri," he pleaded in wounded tones. "Cancel out whatever you've got. We'll have a ball. If you don't dig the solitary bit, I'll invite some other kids in. Honest, I...."

"Sorry, Doug, but I've got to run. Some other time."

Her voice dripped with deliberate sarcasm. "Don't wait so long." Then she hung up on him.

Immediately she was running for the bedroom, flinging the towel aside, going for fresh undies.

At 8:06 the downstairs buzzer rang, and Terri grabbed her purse, a silk scarf, charged for the door. At the last minute she decided to leave a message for Pam. In her extreme haste she picked up an envelope on the coffee table, scribbled a barely readable: Don't wait up, Pam. Date night!

Then she bolted out of her apartment, took the stairs two at a time.

The mousy little man was nervous, just as nervous as she was, and Terri, after a few words with him, felt her fears slowly fade. Mr. Jarecki was absolutely harmless. She'd taken her chance, reckless though it might be, and it had paid off. He looked like the kind of man who could be teased, worked. He might even want to keep her for two hours, splurge a whole hundred.

Her mind, spinning like an adding machine, was once more running ahead of itself.

They got on Santa Monica, took it to the Hollywood Freeway, followed it south until it ran into the Santa Ana. Then, minutes later, the smallish, big-eared man turned off, began picking his way through the somewhat rundown neighborhoods surrounding Downey Road. It was an area that Terri had never been in before, and she sensed slight apprehension.

But when the man spoke to her, smiled that small, timid smile at her, she was reassured, she wondered what gets into types like this. That he'd have the courage to even contact a woman, ask her to pose in the nude was remarkable in itself.

"You're very pretty, Terri," he said, sending her a furtive, sidelong glance. "What about your roommate? Is she as pretty? Is she a blonde like you?"

"Some people say she's much prettier. She's got black hair, looks like an Indian princess."

"I'm sure you're just being modest. She couldn't be more attractive than you."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Jarecki. That's very nice."

"I'm not just saying that. I've photographed other women before. Like tonight, I mean. You're by far one of the loveliest. You're going to be one of my best models."

If Terri noticed the sudden, feverish glitter that flickered in his eyes at that last statement, she thought nothing of it. She was too busy thinking ahead, to the time when she'd have to disrobe before this stranger. Also, woman to the last, she was more than slightly flattered at the man's words.

A very subtle change came over Jarecki as they drew closer to their destination. His body grew more rigid, he clutched the steering wheel hard, made his knuckles white. This Terri didn't notice. But she did catch the man staring at her knees where her skirt had pulled up, she felt a small elation that even in her below-par condition, she could still tempt, still be that appealing to a man.

Shortly they reached Downey Road. Jarecki slowed the car, watched traffic more closely. It gave Terri a twinge as they cornered, passed a vast, rambling cemetery. Momentarily it seemed prophecy; her fears were back.

Then they were turning into a drive, the man drove the car into the garage. She wondered at the fact that he closed the garage door before he came around to let her out. But, her heart hammering as her moment of truth approached, she shrugged, thought no more of it.

Again she wondered, as they entered the snug, tiny house at the humid closeness within. Staring a-round she saw all the windows were closed, the blinds and drapes were carefully drawn.

Jarecki must have seen the look, for he said, "Some of my models, when they get in the ... altogether ... have complained about drafts." He touched Terri's arm lightly. "You can undress in the bathroom if you like. Or in the bedroom. It doesn't matter."

Terri hesitated.

"Yes?" he said.

Terri remembered the briefings Pam had given her. "I wonder, could I have the money now? You said fifty, didn't you?"

Jarecki smiled in flustered fashion. "Oh yes, I forgot." He fumbled in his wallet, brought out two twenties and a ten. "Maybe I'll want to keep you longer," he said, giving her the money. "We'll see how things work out."

"Thank you. Anything you say," Terri grinned, then went into the bedroom. And, as she tremblingly undressed, she lashed herself for not packing a robe. Damn, she quailed, it's going to be awful. Walking into that room, naked, just like that.

Then remembrance of her predicament slammed her, and her resolve firmed. There are worse things, she concluded.

For a long time she stood behind the closed door, completely naked, breathing deeply, trying to work up courage to go out. It was quiet in the house, and she could hear Jarecki humming softly under his breath, she could hear a metallic clatter as he arranged his tripods.

I can't go through with this, she wailed to herself. I just can't. I'll die, I know I will.

The words were immeasurably more portentous than Terri could ever begin to know at that moment.

And now, taking a deep breath, she finally mustered up the courage. She turned the knob, strode furtively down the short hallway and entered the living room. "Well," she said blurrily, "here I am."

Her stomach kicked as she saw the way the man froze in place, the sick light that flared in his eyes as his gaze swept over her, lingered at her breasts.

Terri forced herself to walk into the room's center, she choked up inane words. Anything to keep herself from swaying, from surrendering to panic, from bolting. "Here? Is this where you want me to pose?"

Momentarily the man was speechless; he only studied her, an enigmatic, eerie play of expressions on his face. His eyes burned holes in her body. "You're more beautiful," he sighed finally, "than I'd have dreamed. You should go without ... clothes ... all the time."

"Really, Mr. Jarecki...." In a gesture of modesty she let her hands slide, cover her body.

The man leaped to his camera. "Don't move!" he spat. "I want you just like that."

The camera clicked. The modeling session had begun.

Terri was amazed at how quickly her embarrassment faded, how, not more than fifteen minutes later, she thought nothing at all of parading naked before the stranger. Even the pose in which he asked her to cup her breasts with her hands, paste ecstasy on her face-nothing fazed her now.

This isn't so bad, she conceded. Not at all. Maybe I'll get to like it, I'll want to model all the time. Even after I've earned enough to-

Suddenly she looked up from where she knelt on a cushion, long silk scarves trailing across her body. Her heart froze, her blood turned to ice-water. As she saw the aberrated smile, as she heard the snuffling, filthy laugh that breached his lips. Now, he unbuttoned his shirt, opened his clothes, heeled off his shoes at the same time.

Her face blanched, her hand involuntarily came to her mouth, muffled a loud gasp. "No! Oh, no!"

The madman's eyes impaled her, pinned her in place. Now, as he pulled off the trousers, kicked them away: "Don't move, Terri. If you do I'll break your neck." His eyes were hypnotic, terrifying. "Not a peep, understand? Not a sound!"

As if turned to stone, her mouth agape, her eyes bulging, Terri obeyed, didn't-couldn't-move. She watched him as he stripped to his skin, proudly, unashamedly displayed himself.

A soft cry burst from her as he lunged, flung her back onto the soft, pile rug. But the man struck her, whipped her head to one side. Terri swallowed the rest of her screams.

"I'll kill you" he chanted in a viscous, slobbery voice. "Just try that once more!"

Without another word he jammed his knee at hers. His utter indifference to the pain he was inflicting further petrified Terri. Her heart felt like it would explode, it seemed she'd choke on her stifled screams.

Then his weight crushed, the monster fought to kiss her, his hands attacked her breasts, twisting, pinching, pulling. There was no remnant of tenderness or mercy left in that depraved mentality now. His every touch cried pure sadism! He wanted only to humiliate, to defile.

Terri tried to avoid his slippery kiss. Instantly her breasts were on fire as he clenched them. She screamed. Still the pressure remained, the pain grew more eviscerating. Dumbly she capitulated, gave him her lips.

He kissed her like a famished animal. While his hands abused her nonstop. One now deserted her breasts, plunged to her legs, gripped her. Terri thought she'd lose her mind from the pain and outrage.

He rearranged himself at last.

Terri came to from her hysterical coma, realized he was taking her hands, forcing them to his body. He slathered. "You play. Do something nice for me...."

She rebelled momentarily. Until she could stand this punishment no more. She let her hands gather, worked almost avidly. Anything to forestall pain. The maniac hissed, began to tremble. His hands defiled her further, his lips tortured, made her feel like burning coals.

Finally, adrift in an idiot trance, the man arranged her. Forgetting other sadist tricks, disregarding the 'usual agenda entirely, he thrust her shielding, clawing hands away, took her in a brutal fashion.

Terri babbled incoherently, blinded by tears, her soul ravaged. It was as if a membranous cloud had been drawn across her brain. There was light, there was sound, there was the eternal agony. But there was no recognition of its source, there was no clear picture embossed on the walls of her conscience.

He hurt her bad, thinking not of her pleasure, only of his. Then moments later, as his finish was close, a gibberish flow of words spilled from his lips. Not satisfied with this, he drove his thumbs to her shoulders, pinched hard, forced her to say the filthy words after him. While the cruel body kept working hurriedly.

Afterward she lay sobbing hysterically, her face buried in her hands. While Jarecki mocked her, moved about the room fussing with his camera equipment. Then, when he was ready: "Look, baby. Look what Kerne's got!"

She moaned, forced her head up, fought to focus her eyes on the black shape atop the three spindly legs. The floodlights seared her eyes. "What...?"

"A movie camera, stupid. Isn't that wonderful? You're going to be a motion picture star. Fun, huh?"

Now he wound the small camera, he trained it on Terri's crouched form, he focused it carefully. Then he went to Terri, twisted his fingers in her hair, brought her moaning to her knees. "I want you a-gain, baby," he seethed. "Only I ain't ready. I think you know how to fix that, tramp. All you pigs do." He almost tore her scalp off. "Like this, animal!"

Terri gagged, fought a last time. But when the pain became intolerable, when her brain was swimming in a sea of snarling, crackling fire-

She let him guide her, she let her hands come up hold him. She did exactly as he bid her.

The lunatic's chuckles were faster, he moaned hoarsely, began his litany of filth anew.

Terri's mind broke from its moorings, floated an aimless course, ceased to function entirely. "Kill me," she wailed in hysterical plea. "I'm dead already. I'll never be alive again."

Terri's luck, as usual, was holding good. Her first time out of the box, and she'd drawn this ghastly consequence. She'd struck out, but good. Wasn't this the story of her life?

"That's good, right?" Jarecki mocked, his voice phlegmy. "You pigs dig that, don't you? All of you?"

He twisted her hair harder. "You like that, don't you? Say so, tramp."

Completely dazed, her mind dead, she couldn't begin to rebel. She paused in her ugly work. "I like this," she clicked.

"Good, witch. Because you're gonna get lots before I'm through with you."

Then Terri's mind truly let go. It was heeling and yawing wildly inside her brain. She moved on sheer reflex alone. A heavy black curtain settled over her senses. And though she remembered that she'd done something, was doing something, she couldn't, for the life of her, remember what it was. , The fire flared in her brain anew. She raised her head, strained up. Her hands tightened and gathered She continued the horrible humiliation.

A sharp pain, like a spear, attacked her spine.

She wanted to scream. But she was too tired, too bestialized.

She only wished that terrible, shrill laughing would stop.

Upon returning to the Larrabee Street apartment at ten that Friday night, Pam was surprised to find Terri gone. And yet, when she found the hasty note on the coffee table, she was reassured and took the news with equanimity. Though the note gave no details, she assumed that Terri was with Matt Schaffner.

When she went to-bed, she was still wondering at the fact that Terri had given no advance warning. But then the kid was a gold-plated kook, there was no telling what stunt she'd pull next. Also Pam pondered the fact that Terri hadn't gone out for two weeks, decided there'd been a lover's quarrel. A quarrel that would undoubtedly be patched up before the night was over.

And with that she'd pulled up the sheets, checked the clock once more. One A.M., the glowing dial read. Have fun, baby, she'd thought. And had, shortly thereafter, fallen into a deep sleep.

She was slightly worried upon awakening at ten the next morning to find that Terri's 'bed hadn't been slept in, that Terri was nowhere in the apartment. Kiss and makeup, baby, she'd mused sarcastically, but this? How deep a rift was that anyway?

Her worry intensified as eleven o'clock came and went and there was still no sign of Terri. Had the kid forgotten that she had a 12:30 hair appointment of her own?

Still she held off, expecting that Terri would come ankling in at any moment, a dreamy, half-baked smile on her lips. That nut!

Pam knew that Terri and Matt were sleeping together. And though Terri had never admitted as much in so many words, she was willing to bet a bundle that the twosome were together this A.M.

But when noon came and there was still no trace of Terri, Pam knew she had to take action. She was beginning to get worried. And snoopy or not, she'd have to give Matt a jingle.

She tried to be as casual and roundabout as possible. After all, if Terri hadn't spent the night with Matt, she didn't want to go queering things with him, did she? "Hi, Matt," she said. "Pam. I'm calling to check if just by chance Terri might be there? We had a little argument a while ago, and she stomped out of here sore's hell. I thought she might just have dropped by."

And while Pam talked she acidily concluded that she was being about as subtle as a ten-ton steam roller.

"No," Matt said puzzledly. "She's not here. Did she say anything about stopping by?"

"No, she didn't. But I just took a flyer. In the mood she was in, hard telling where she'll go."

"I haven't seen her in weeks. Except for the office. You don't happen to know what's with her, do you? I thought we had a little thing going. But lately it's been cold shoulders from morning to night."

"Same thing around here. The kid's been acting awful strange. She dummy's up every time I corner her, You haven't seen her? You wouldn't con me now, Matt?"

"No," he insisted. "I wouldn't kid about a thing like that."

"Okay, Matt. I'll call elsewhere. Maybe she's with,, one of her girl friends."

"Pam? Call me back if she doesn't turn up, will you?"

"Can do, Matt. 'Bye-bye."

Then Pam was truly mystified. As well as vastly disturbed. Where could that kid be? Of all the stunts! Terri, couldn't you have let me in on it?

Immediately she whirled, went to Terri's closet, began to inventory her clothing. No, she hadn't taken a powder, everything was there. She couldn't even begin to figure which outfit the kid had worn.

For long minutes she paced the apartment, her brow furrowed, worry mounting by the second. It was then, as she passed the phone stand for the fiftieth time, that she saw the heavily doodled-upon note pad resting there. She took it up, studied it carefully, tried to find some clue in the starred and curly-cued scribblings.

The plumber legend puzzled her. Then the Jarecki name and address. Had Terri called a plumber? Was Jarecki a plumber?

She concentrated on the filigreed Balboa inscription.

Then she remembered. There was only one Balboa that she knew about, only one person she knew who had a place there. She should remember. Hadn't she been lured there herself, hadn't she been seduced by a past master? Doug Jordan came instantly to mind.

Had Terri been suckered into one of his famous weekend orgies? Had she been persuaded to stay longer than she anticipated? Jordan was a good persuader.

There was only one way to find out. Immediately she was pulling the directory from the drawer, turning to the J's, jotting down both his L.A. and Balboa number.

After letting the phone ring an even dozen times at both numbers, she gave up.

What did this all mean? What kind of gig was Terri pulling anyway? She'd been acting so spooky lately. What was she mixed up in? What was her deep, dark secret?

Once more she ran to Terri's closet, rechecked. Her swim togs were still here. Certainly she wouldn't run off with Jordan for a beach weekend and leave them behind. Pam shook her head angrily, made a dour grimace.

There's no telling what that squirrely kid might pull.

Out of sheer desperation Pam went to the directory again, looked up the Jarecki number. Again, after letting the phone ring a dozen times, getting no answer, she hung up.

Just for something' to do, something to keep her mind busy, to shut out the dread that was moment by moment becoming more pronounced, Pam busied herself with lunch preparations.

But when the sandwiches and coffee were ready, she found she couldn't force the food down. She was simply too upset.

She realized there was absolutely nothing she could do about Terri's disappearance. She couldn't call Matt, she couldn't call the police. For if Terri was with Doug Jordan, it certainly wasn't a fact she'd want announced to Matt. What then?

The futility threatened to crush her.

There was nothing to be done.

Except to wait, to hope that Terri would show up any minute, come skipping through that door with some explanation as to where she'd been.

And beyond that, to call the three numbers every hour on the hour.

To wonder who this Jarecki might be. He was no plumber, that was certain. At least not according to the yellow page listings. The name was unfamiliar to her; she couldn't even begin to imagine what part he might have to play in Terri's life.

She was still putting her money on Jordan, once she got hold of him.

Pam called the three numbers all afternoon, all evening. Always it was the same, nobody answered.

Finally, at midnight, beside herself with worry, not knowing which way to turn, on the verge of calling the police a hundred times, and yet, at the last minute, holding off for very extenuating reasons, she finally gave up. When the last round of calls had raised nobody, she reluctantly admitted there was nothing more she could do.

Taking some sleeping tablets, she went to bed. Even then, the sedative didn't keep her from having a restless night, from dreaming the most terrifying sort of dreams.