She was lying on a carpet that covered the wooden floor of a strange house. Fully clothed except for her jacket, she found an Indian blanket wrapped around her legs, telling her how restlessly she’d slept.
When she spied a fireplace, she realized she was in a living room. A further glance at the furnishings—antique paintings and mini wire reconstructions of things like the Eiffel Tower—brought it all back.
Dawn was sitting smack-dab in the middle of Jacqueline Ashley’s living room.
Her head started booming out information: Jac’s gingerbread house on Bedford Drive. A place that’d been built for a director from the ’30s. The producer from Jac’s new movie, renting it out for her during the shoot. He wanted a lovely old-time starlet PR image for Jac. He was interested in her long-term career.
Dawn tried to stand, but—damn. She felt…weird. Weak limbed.
After a second try, she wobbled to her feet, wondering why she felt so awful. It seemed like she should be remembering something…. But instead, there was only a void right in the middle of her.
She hadn’t sucked down any alcohol, right? Had someone slipped something into her water then? And why couldn’t she remember anything past her blowup with Jac about Eva?
Looking at the mantel clock, which read 3:22, Dawn tried to piece everything together. How had she gotten back here?
She headed toward the steps leading to a second story, her body also feeling the slightly bruised ache of a morning after. But she hadn’t had sex, right? Oh, shit. What’d happened?
With a perfunctory knock at every door, she checked inside, hoping to find Jac’s room. On the third try she succeeded, the faint hall light spotlighting her party buddy dressed in a lace nightie and covered by the sheet on her four-poster bed. The room smelled of historically rendered must, just like Limpet’s place: memories pressed into paint and rose-patterned carpet.
“Jac?” Still noodle-bodied, Dawn crept closer.
“Mmmm.” Jac smiled in her sleep.
“Hey.”
Dawn gingerly touched a bare shoulder. Nothing. She tried again, but harder this time.
The blonde flinched, squinted at Dawn, then glanced around. “What time is it?”
“After three. Jac, what happened at that party?”
The starlet took a moment. Then, “You drove your car and met me here, then we went to Paul’s together. We got into an…interesting conversation and when I left for a few minutes…I came back to find you passed out in that chair.” Jac settled an arm underneath her head, staring up at Dawn and looking innocent enough to chase away any thoughts of wrongdoing. “You’ve been working hard, so I let you snooze away. It was okay though. People were coming up to me and chatting, so babysitting you actually kept me out of trouble. Paul helped me drag you back to the car and you didn’t even wake up.” She yawned. “Couldn’t carry you by myself up the stairs to a guest room here though.”
Absently, Dawn touched her neck, where the skin was tender, but not broken.
“So did you at least have a little fun?” Jac mumbled hopefully.
“I’m not sure. Did you see anyone put anything into my water?”
Jac sat up, hair ruffled. “What’re you talking about?”
“Party tricks.” Dawn paused. “Listen, thanks for watching over me, because if some chucklehead did roofie me up, you probably kept them away.”
“Roofie?”
“Rohypnol, the Forget-Me Pill, R2-Do-U. It’s like a sedative with no smell, color, or taste, and dickheads crush it up and put it into their victim’s drinks.”
“Are you serious?”
“Wish I weren’t.” But a couple things didn’t make sense. First, when would someone have slipped her the drug? Second, she’d probably still be under the influence and experiencing more than just a hangover. Probably.
“I’m so sorry,” Jac said. “It’s all my fault.”
“Why? Did you drug me?”
At Jac’s awful expression, Dawn waved it away, hoping not to travel the rough roads of another “discussion” right now.
“Listen…” She started toward the door. “I need to get back.”
Really, because, passed out, God knows what could’ve happened. Jesus.
“Call you later?” Jac was sitting on the edge of the bed by now, long legs dangling. “Maybe on a better night, after you’ve gotten some sleep. Or at a place where people aren’t such…dickheads.” She cleared her throat at the uncharacteristic word, but still looked kind of proud for saying it.
“Jac, you and the word ‘dickhead’ don’t jive. Stick to ‘weenie’ or ‘dumb dumb’ in the future, ’kay?”
She laughed. “’Kay.”
In spite of the heaviness, they both managed their own uneasy grins. Damn, life was strange. Two months ago, Dawn couldn’t stand to hang with other women. Now she was grinning and fist-bumping with two of them.