The Sleeping Doll

their abusive boyfriends, and, presto, they’re cured. Well, it doesn’t work like that. You can’t stumble around, you can’t wing it.”
    “Well, I appreciate—”
    “First, you identify the problem. An example: you’re not comfortable dating. Second, identify the facts that are the source of the problem. You were date-raped once. Three, structure a solution. You don’t dive into dating and ignore your fears. You don’t curl up in a ball and forget men. You make a plan: start out slowly, see men at lunchtime, meet them in public places, only go out with men who aren’t physically imposing and who don’t invade your personal space, who don’t drink, et cetera. You get the picture. Then, slowly, you expand who you see. After two, three months, or six, or a year, you’ve solved the problem. Structure a plan and stick to it. See what I’m saying?”
    “I do, yes.”
    Dance thought two things: First, the woman’s seminars probably drew sell-out crowds. Second, wouldn’t want to hang out with Rebecca Sheffield socially. She wondered if the woman was finished.
    She wasn’t.
    “Okay, now I have a seminar today I can’t cancel. But if you haven’tcaught him by tomorrow morning I want to come up there. Maybe there are some things I can remember from eight years ago that’ll help. Or is that against some policy or something?”
    “No, not at all. It’s a good idea.”
    “All right. Look, I have to go. What were you going to ask me?”
    “Nothing important. Let’s hope everything works out before then but if not, I’ll call and make arrangements to get you here.”
    “Sounds like a plan,” the woman said briskly and hung up.

Chapter 22
    In the Sea View Motel, Daniel Pell looked up from Jennie’s computer, where he’d been online, and saw the woman easing toward him seductively.
    Jennie offered a purr and whispered, “Come on back to bed, baby. Fuck me.”
    Pell switched screens so she wouldn’t see what he was searching for and slipped his arm around her narrow waist.
    Men and women exercise power over each other every day. Men have a harder time at first. They have to work their way inside a woman’s defenses, build subtle connections, find her likes and dislikes and fears, all of which she tries to keep hidden. It could take weeks or months to get the leash on. But once you had her, you were in charge for as long as you wanted.
    Oh, we’re like, you know, soul mates . . . .
    A woman, on the other hand, had tits and a pussy and all she had to do was get them close to a man—and sometimes not even—and she could get him to do virtually anything. The woman’s problem came later. When the sex was over, her control dropped off the radar screen.
    Jennie Marston had been in charge a few times since the escape, no question about it: in the front seat of the T-bird, in bed with her trussed up by the stockings, and—more leisurely and much better—on the floor with some accessories that greatly appealed to Daniel Pell. (Jennie, of course, didn’t care for that particular brand of sex but her reluctant acquiescence was a lot more exciting than if she’d really been turned on.)
    The spell she’d woven was now subdued, though. But a teacher never lets his student know he’s inattentive. Pell grinned and looked over her body as if he were sorely tempted. He sighed. “I wish I could, lovely. But you tired me out. Anyway, I need you to run an errand for me.”
    “Me?”
    “Yep. Now that they know I’m here, I need you to do it by yourself.” The news stories were reporting that he was probably still in the vicinity. He had to be much more careful.
    “Oh, all right. But I’d rather fuck you.” A little pout. She was probably one of those women who thought the expression worked with men. It didn’t, and he’d teach her so at some point. But there were more important lessons to be learned at the moment.
    He said, “Now, go cut your hair.”
    “My hair.”
    “Yeah. And dye it. The people at the restaurant saw you. I bought some brown dye for you. At the Mexican store.” He pulled a box out of the bag.
    “Oh. I thought that was for you.”
    She smiled awkwardly, gripping a dozen strands, fingers twining them.
    Daniel Pell had no agenda with the haircut other than making it more difficult to recognize her. He understood, though, that there was something more, another issue. Jennie’s hair was like the precious pink blouse, and he was instantly intrigued. He remembered her sitting