At 6, Neff picked up Savannah at her apartment in the limo.
"Wow, you look fabulous, my dear," he enthused, as he took both her hands and lifted them shoulder height, appraising her bosom, her small waist and her ample backside. "The dress really shows off your best assets." He kissed her lightly on the lips.
It made Savannah smile to be so appreciated. She had been wondering why, after dating Neff Rainer, the sexy, handsome, smart, and successful investment banker for almost a month, he had not been more aggressive about bedding her. She was certainly willing, because if his kisses and embraces foretold how steamy he would be as a lover, she had bet on the right horse. Savannah had high hopes for romance when she "won" Neff as the highest bidder at a charity event for "Bachelor of the Month." She wanted those blond curls and chiseled jaw, and her top bid was $10,000, but the rest of the bidders dropped out at $8,500. She felt it was money well spent.
Having had a few hot makeout sessions with him but not having gone any further, she was surprised by his seeming lack of ardor. His not wanting to have sex with her was puzzling, as they seemed to be compatible in many ways. He didn't seem gay, and there was definite chemistry, or so she thought.
What she could not know is that Neff believed that Savannah's father killed his mother twenty-four years ago, strangled during rough sex play. Neff's mother Wanda had become Chet Pembroke's mistress when she was struggling to make ends meet as a single mother after her alcoholic husband ran their family business into the ground.
Neff and Savannah enjoyed a wonderful evening at the ballet, and afterward, a light dinner at Oberwark, a trendy bistro near the performing arts center. Over cognac, he suggested that they attend a late night party with the dancers whom they had just enjoyed in the ballet.
Thrilled at the idea of mingling and conversing with the dancers, Savannah enthused, "Oh, yes, I'd love to go."
"Where are the dancers and your friends?" Savannah asked when they got to the hotel.
"They are already partying upstairs in the suite," Neff responded lightly. "We'll be going up there in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends I can see over there at the bar."
As he introduces Savannah to them all, she notes to herself that they are surely an odd assortment of people. Not that she was a judgmental person, but these people looked like characters from a Tim Burton movie—older, pudgy, balding men, butchy-looking women. The way they some of them looked her over, pausing their gaze on her breasts, made Savannah a little uneasy, but she chalked up her nervousness and unease to social anxiety and fear of not being accepted, and brushed it off.
"I'll get us a drink," Neff announced, in the straightforward manner he used when deciding for them both, and disappeared in the crowded bar to order, leaving Savannah standing next to a tall, gregarious woman who was laughing a bit too loudly at her husband doing a bad impersonation of Sean Connery as James Bond.
She was glad when Neff returned with the drinks so she didn't have to try to converse with this odd group, and perhaps drank her Cosmo a little too fast.
There must have been something added to the drink because suddenly Savannah was way more high than she should have been on one drink. She felt so relaxed, and all of her concerns melted away. Life was beautiful...
Everything after that began happening as if in a dream, and not such a good one. Savannah went from feeling warm and comfortable to queasily panicked. It was like being in a carnival funhouse. Laughter became loud, then faded away...faces loomed in... talking heads bobbed in front of her, saying indecipherable things, and then zoomed out of her visual range.
She started to feel as if she had no control over her body, first all floaty, then as if her arms and legs were operating on their own, independent of any conscious will or effort on her part.
