Danielle Steel - Journey

“The guy from CNN?” Greg said in disbelief when she mentioned Brad's name. “You've got to be kidding. He's awful.”

“I think our ratings are going to go straight down the tubes without you.”

“No, they won't. They've got you. It'll be okay, kid. Just think about what I said. That's all I want you to do. Think about it.” Doing the news with Brad was the least of her problems.

“I will,” she said, but without much conviction. And for the rest of the morning, every time she thought about Greg she felt anxious. The things he had said to her had touched a nerve somewhere, and she was doing everything she could to deny them. When Jack said he “owned” her, all he meant was that he loved her with a passion. But now that she thought about it, even their lovemaking had an odd quality to it, especially lately. He had hurt her more than once, and in Paris pretty badly. It had taken a week for her nipple to heal, and when he made love to her on the marble floor at Claridge's, he had hurt her back and she could still feel it. But that hadn't been intentional, he was just insatiable and highly sexed, and he thought her desirable. And he didn't like making plans. How abusive was it to take her to Paris, to stay at the Ritz, even without much notice? And he had bought her a bracelet at Cartier and a ring at Graff's. Greg was crazy, and probably just upset that he'd been fired, which was understandable. And the craziest thing of all was comparing Jack to Bobby Joe. They had absolutely nothing in common, and Jack had saved her from him. But the one thing she couldn't figure out was why she felt sick every time she thought about the things Greg had said to her. He had made her incredibly nervous. But just thinking about abuse did that to her.

She was still haunted by Greg's words when she went to the First Lady's commission on Monday and sat next to Bill Alexander. He had a tan, and said he'd visited his son again in Vermont since they last met, and his daughter in Martha's Vineyard, over the weekend.

“How's the book coming?” she whispered, as the meeting began.

“Slowly, but well,” he smiled at her, admiring her, as everyone did. She was wearing a blue cotton man's shirt, and white linen slacks, and she looked summery and pretty.

The First Lady had invited a guest speaker to come and speak to them about abuse. Her name was Eugenia Flowers. She was a psychiatrist who specialized in victims of abuse, and a supporter of numerous women's causes. Maddy had heard of her, but never met her. Dr. Flowers went around the room, talking to each of them from where she sat. She was personable and warm and looked like a grandmother, but her eyes were sharp, and she seemed to know exactly what to say to everyone. She asked questions of each of them about what they thought abusive behavior was, and most of them said pretty much the same thing, that it meant hitting or beating or battering the victim.

“Well, that's true,” she agreed amiably, “those are the obvious ones.” And then she listed several others, some of them so perverted and obscure that it made each of them wince to think about them. “But what about other forms? What do you think those might be? Abusers wear many hats and many faces. What about controlling someone, their every act and every move, every thought? Destroying their confidence in themselves, isolating them, frightening them? Maybe just driving too fast in a dangerous situation until you terrify them? Or threatening them? Disrespecting them? Making someone believe that white is black and black is white, until you confuse them completely, or taking money from them, or telling them they'd be nothing without you, that you ‘own’ them? Taking their free will away from them, or forcing them to make reproductive choices they don't want, either having babies one after the other, or constant abortions, or maybe even not allowing them to have children at all? Do any of those sound like abuse to you? Well, they are, classic forms in fact, and they're just as painful, just as dangerous, just as lethal, as the kind that leave bruises.” Maddy felt as though she couldn't breathe as she listened. She went deathly pale, and Bill Alexander noticed, but said nothing to her.

“There are many kinds of violence against women,” the speaker went on, “some of them obvious, all of them dangerous, some of them more insidious than others. The most insidious are the subtle ones, because the victims not only believe them, but blame themselves for them. If the abuser is clever enough, he can use all of them, and convince his or her victim that it was all their fault. An abuse victim can be driven to suicide, drug abuse, crippling depression, or even murder. Abuse of any kind, at any time, is potentially fatal to the victim. But the subtler forms are the hardest to stop, because it's harder to see them. And worst of all, the victim is so convinced most of the time that it's her fault, that she goes back for more, and helps the abuser do it, because she feels she owes it to him, and she feels so guilty and so bad and so worthless that she knows he's right and she deserves it. She believes that she would be nothing without him.” Maddy felt faint as she listened, the woman was describing her marriage to Jack in every detail. He had never laid a hand on her, except the one time he had grabbed her arm, but he had done everything the woman had described, and Maddy wanted to run out of the room screaming. Instead she felt paralyzed in her chair.

The woman went on for half an hour, and then the First Lady opened up the meeting to questions. Most of them were about what could be done to protect these women not only from the abusers but from themselves, and how to stop it.

“Well, first, they have to recognize it. They have to be willing to. But like abused children, most of these women protect their abusers, by denying, and blaming themselves. It's too painful most of the time to admit what's happening to them, and to tell the world about it. What they feel is shame, because they believe everything they've been told by the abuser. So first, you have to help them to see it, then you have to help them remove themselves from the abusive situation, and that's not always easy. They have lives, they have kids, they have homes. You're asking them to pull up stakes and run away from a danger they can't see and aren't even sure is a real danger. The problem is that it's just as real and just as dangerous as a gun pointed at them, but most of them don't know it. Some do, but most of the time, they're just as scared as the others. And I'm talking about smart, educated, sometimes even professional women, who you may think should know better. But no one is exempt from being a victim of abuse. It can happen to anyone, and it does, in the best jobs, the best schools, with high incomes or low. Sometimes it happens to beautiful, smart women that you can't believe would fall for it. Sometimes they're the easiest targets. Women who are more streetwise are less apt to buy the bullshit. They're the ones who get the shit kicked out of them. The others are tortured more subtly. Abuse doesn't know color, it doesn't know race, it doesn't know neighborhoods, or socio-economic rules. It touches everyone. It can happen to any of us, particularly if we have a background that predisposes us to it.

“For instance, a woman who has seen domestic violence at home as a child, say with a physically abusive father, may think that a man who never beats her physically is a great guy, but he may be ten times more abusive than her father, much subtler and far more dangerous. He can control her, isolate her, threaten her, terrorize her, insult her, belittle her, demean her, disrespect her, withhold affection or money from her. Abandon her, or threaten to take away her children, but she won't have a mark on her, and he tells her she's one lucky woman and what is worse, she believes it. And you'll never be able to put him in jail, because when you nail the bastard for what he did to her, he'll tell you that she's crazy, stupid, dishonest, psychotic, and lying to you about him. And worse yet, she probably believes it. Those women have to be pulled slowly out of relationships, and gotten off the ledge to safety. But they'll fight you all the way defend him to the death, and their eyes open very slowly.” Maddy felt as though she were going to cry before the meeting ever ended, and it was all she could do to remain outwardly calm until it was time to leave, and her knees were shaking when she finally stood up. Bill Alexander looked down at her, and wondered if she was suffering from the heat. He had seen her go pale half an hour before, and she was nearly green by the time it was over.