For the first time, Melissa didn’t want to see Norm that night. She texted him and told him she was sick. She said she had a headache and the flu and would call him in the morning. She thought of her own foolishness too, and how disgusting it had been. She hadn’t let herself think of it in years, but Hattie’s story brought it all back. In her own way, in her youth and stupidity, she’d been a victim too, of the manipulations of someone older and more clever than she was. She would have gotten the contract anyway, because her books were good, but she didn’t know that then, so she had sold her soul to the devil. She remembered perfectly now how dirty she’d felt afterward, and swore she wouldn’t do anything like that ever again, and never had. He hadn’t contacted her again and had probably moved on to his next victim.
* * *
—
Norm showed up at her door the next morning, looking worried. He had a thermos of freshly squeezed orange juice, blueberry muffins he’d made himself, a jar of homemade soup, and the Sunday paper. He offered to make her scrambled eggs and she didn’t have the heart to turn him away. She looked rough enough to be convincing about her illness. She had been awake for most of the night, and cried every time she thought about what her sister had said. How could she ever make it up to her? She remembered too how furious she had been at Hattie wanting to become a nun, so she’d had to deal with Melissa’s anger and disapproval on top of everything else. All she wanted now was for Hattie to get even with Sam Steinberg and join his other accusers. The list was long in his case, and the charges would stick. No one was rising to his defense. He was a well-known slime bag among his peers in L.A.
“Did your sister come up yesterday?” Norm asked her. There was something about the look on Melissa’s face that seemed wrong to him. She looked sick, but she didn’t have the flu. Something else was troubling her, but he didn’t want to press her and upset her. Instead, he tucked her into bed, and made chicken soup for her to eat later. Then he climbed into bed with her, put an arm around her, and held her close. He didn’t try to make love to her. He could see she wasn’t in the mood. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked her after they’d lain there for a long time. Melissa thought about it before she answered.
“I don’t think so.” She didn’t want to violate Hattie’s confidence, but she trusted him. “Hattie was the victim of one of the men on the Hollywood list,” she confided to him. “It’s taken her eighteen years to tell me. It’s a terrible story. She was trying to be an actress then, and he was a big producer.” He could guess the rest. She didn’t have to tell him, and he didn’t ask. “I want her to go to the police, and add her story to the others. She doesn’t want to.”
“It has to be her decision,” he said wisely, and Melissa knew he was right. “The others will bring him to justice, if she doesn’t.”
They lay there quietly for a long time, and he brought her the soup at lunchtime. Afterward, she put on some clothes and they went for a walk, without talking. She felt better when they got home. He left a little while later. He knew she wanted to be alone. He was the right man at the right time, and they understood each other. She wouldn’t have appreciated him a few years earlier, but she did now.
* * *
—
Hattie called her that night after she’d talked to Mother Elizabeth. She had listened quietly and explained to Hattie that some people didn’t find their vocation until after they entered the convent, which had been the case for her. “You would never have stayed all this time if you didn’t have a vocation. What do you want to do about this man?”
“I don’t know,” Hattie said, feeling lost. “Melissa thinks I should go to the police. I don’t want to.”
“Do what feels best to you. No one can tell you what to do.” Hattie repeated that to Melissa when she spoke to her.
“She thinks I should go on a retreat to clear my head. Maybe I will, over Christmas.” Melissa didn’t argue with her. The mother superior was right. Hattie had to make her own decision. She had suffered enough and carried the guilt for eighteen years.
“I love you,” was all Melissa said to her, and she could hear Hattie crying at the other end.
“I love you too,” she said softly, and hung up.
Chapter 13
Day by day the list of victims as accusers and sex offenders in the newspapers continued to grow. Many of them were well known, some less so. The revelations were beginning to spread into the political arena, and politicians were listed now too. Everyone was waiting to see where it would spread to next, like blood on the floor, staining all it touched, and spreading faster than it could be stopped.
Melissa thought of Hattie all the time. She was haunted by Hattie’s description of the scene.
A week before Christmas, Hattie called. She said in a dead voice that she had decided it was cowardly not to speak up, since others had. It wasn’t fair, she said, to let them carry the full weight. Mother Elizabeth had contacted the police sex detail, and made an appointment for the next day. As was proper, according to convent rules, the mother superior would go with her, but Hattie wanted her sister there too, and the superior had agreed. She was calling to ask Melissa to come, and she said she’d be there.
She drove down to New York that night, in case it snowed and she couldn’t get there the next day. She stayed at the hotel where she’d stayed when she met Michaela. Norm offered to come with her, but she declined. Hattie wouldn’t want him there, and Melissa was going to leave the city as soon as the meeting with the police was over.
Melissa arrived at the convent at one o’clock, and they left together. The appointment was at two, and they drove one of the convent cars downtown. Hattie drove since Mother Elizabeth didn’t like to drive. Hattie was wearing her habit, and looked very serious. There was silence in the car, and Melissa suspected the two nuns were praying, so she didn’t speak.
The police station where the sex detail of the New York City Police Department was located was on Centre Street. They parked and walked inside. It was an ugly, brightly lit building, with people hurrying down the halls and disappearing into offices. They went to the right door, entered, and were told to sit down. They waited ten minutes, and a woman in a police uniform came to get them, and led them into a room where two female detectives were waiting at a long conference table. Hattie was relieved to see that they were both women. The younger of the two was a sergeant, African American, somewhere in her thirties. The senior officer was a lieutenant about Melissa’s age. The sergeant gave them a warm smile. Both were out of uniform, in street clothes, and they greeted both nuns respectfully. They offered Hattie water and she declined. She just wanted to get the ordeal over with and leave. She reached out and held Melissa’s hand. The mother superior remained quiet as they began their questions.