Her mother looks well. She is steadily gaining weight, there is color again in her cheeks, and seems in good spirits.
The pouch with her supply of antineoplastons is strapped around her waist.
‘My, don’t you look nice,’ she says, bustling Lana into the kitchen. She puts a skillet on the stove. ‘You can’t drink on an empty stomach. We are having grilled chicken and salad.’ She sprinkles nuts on a bowl of salad.#p#分页标题#e#
They sit to eat and it is like old times. Afterwards, she refuses all offers of help with the dishes and shoos Lana away. ‘Go. Go and have a good time, you. Call me in the morning.’
‘OK, OK,’ Lana says laughing as she is bodily pushed out of her mother’s door.
At Billie’s, Lana is ordered to lose the lace top and slip into one of Billie’s skinny tops. She has to admit the red top looks hip and a whole lot sexier.
The taxi drops them outside the entrance of Fellini’s.
They open the wooden door and enter the dimly-lit interior. It is all green walls, chrome fittings and framed black and white photos of movie stars from the forties and fifties. The clientele is quite a mixed bag, but seems to be mostly office folk.
They find a table and Lana buys the first round. When it is Billie’s turn, she goes up to the bar. A guy sidles up to the half-circle seat that Lana is sitting on. He is wearing a suit and must be in his mid or late twenties. He smiles at her. Friendly face. She will also remember later that he looked clean and trustworthy. There is nothing about him to suggest otherwise
‘Hello, doll,’ he says. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Thanks, but my friend’s gone to get me one.’
‘Mind if I join you girls?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ interrupts Billie rudely. She is standing behind Lana and actually glowering at the man.
She looks quite tough and fierce.
‘No problem,’ he says immediately, and with a wink to Lana, gets up and goes back to join his friends, who are gathered at the bar. He says something to them and they slap him on the back and laugh uproariously. For some reason, their laughter disturbs Lana and makes her think it is somehow connected to her. But Billie is saying something and she turns her head to listen.
Blake feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and instantly perceives that it is from Lana. Why, he cannot say, for she has never called him before. He takes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen. It is her! He excuses himself, walks away from the table, and puts his mobile to his ear.
‘Hi,’ says a voice he does not recognize.
‘Yes,’ he says, his voice, strangely abrupt. Some part of his brain registers surprise at the state of his voice.
‘This is Billie, Lana’s friend. Don’t panic, but some wanker has slipped a roach into her drink, and she’s gone down.’
Her accent is hard for Blake to understand, and he has never heard the term roach, but he guesses instantly that Billie must be referring to a date rape drug. ‘Gone down?’
he repeats.
‘Look, I’ve had to leave her at the table with one of the bar staff to come outside and call you, so could you hurry here, please?’
‘Where are you?’
She gives him the address.
Without going back to the table to make his apologies, Blake rushes out of the restaurant. He double parks outside the entrance of Loren, and bounds into the bar.
His eyes scan the room. A young girl with extremely white hair is waving at him. Lana is slumped against her and her head is lolling on the girl’s left shoulder.
Billie stands up and tries to keep Lana up with her hand, but Lana flops over it and moans. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Billie says. ‘Almost all my friends have had it slipped into their drink before, and we’ve all survived.’ She jerks her eyes towards a group of men. ‘I think it’s them over there, but over my dead body will they be taking this girl home with them.’
Blake glances over at the men. Six lads. Youngish.
Their idea of fun. As soon as they sense his eyes on them, they quickly turn away. Blake experiences a fury that he has never know. The urge to go over and punch their smirking faces burns his guts. He turns towards them, raging uncontrollably. A hand on his arm stops him. He looks at it. The nails are painted to look like slices of watermelon. The sight has a strange effect on him. He loses the edge of his anger. He drags his eyes to hers.
‘If you prop her up on one side, we can walk her out,’
she urges. Her voice is surprisingly strong and purposeful.
He had dismissed her, the spiders and the boiled-egg white hair. She was more. No wonder Lana held her in such high regard.