by Nolon King
The other annoyance was Ryan: He wouldn’t stop texting. Every message was another apology steeped in the lie that our marriage had become.
He’s sorry for leaving things the way he did?
He’s not saying that it isn’t his fault, but work has really been stressing him out?
He misses me and loves me and can’t wait to be back home?
Lying motherfucker.
He could wait until the weekend for an answer. Let him wonder if I’m mad.
And Lynette could go to hell.
I turned back around and looked at my children. They’d been subdued all morning, almost as if they knew that their beautiful little lives were about to crash. I’d done my best to keep them from seeing my anger, but we’re all animals, and children instinctively know when Mommy isn’t herself.
“I hope you two have a wonderful day,” I said, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. “I can’t wait to hear all about it when I pick you back up!”
As soon as they were out of the car, I threw it into reverse, ignoring Lynette, who’d gotten out of her own car and started to walk toward me.
I was tempted to wallow. I couldn’t afford to indulge in retail therapy anymore, and if I started on a bottle of Chardonnay this early in the morning, I’d be useless all day. I needed a plan, and I couldn’t make one until I got some answers.
So I hopped on the highway and headed toward the only place I could think of where I might be able to get them.
The Conquest offices weren’t far, located in a section of one of the larger buildings in one of the nicer office parks in that part of LA. A twenty-minute drive without any traffic, and probably just over an hour now.
Ryan had been working at Conquest since college when the founder, Dr. Ambrose, found and hired him. Ryan became his protégé, helping the good doctor to develop the Ambrose Method of Psychological Assessment.
I’d never cared for Ambrose. The guy could be perfectly charming, especially if he was about to be quoted, but he was also an attention whore, and unwilling to let the people around him take their fair share of credit. No matter how much my husband had contributed to developing the doctor’s methodology, Ambrose never gave him an ounce of acknowledgement. At least not publicly.
Ryan always shrugged it off. To hear him tell it, Ambrose was all compliments and back slaps behind closed doors. And, of course, the money was excellent. Ryan said it was enough, but it never felt right to me. People should get credit for their work. Would it really hurt Ambrose to say a few thank yous every time he won an award?
As I took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. I tried to remember the last time I had been there. Had it really been three years?
But some things hadn’t changed: The same receptionist sat behind the same desk I remembered. I felt an odd and unsettling déjà vu, because although Nora looked happy to see me, she also looked awfully surprised in the most disquieting way.
“Mrs. Monroe! Can I help you with something?”
Her smile looked genuine, but slightly askew, as though it was hard for her to hold. Maybe she knew Ryan’s secret and it hurt her to keep it. Or maybe she was just afraid of getting fired if she allowed me to figure it out.
“Ryan’s away on his business trip and he forgot something in his office,” I lied, “so I told him I’d swing by and grab it.”
A shot of Nora’s face in that moment would have made the perfect emoji for whatintheactualfuck?
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Monroe … Ryan hasn’t worked here since December of last year. He left just before Christmas.”
The moment that followed was long and tense. Utterly silent. Almost theatrical. I imagined an audience leaning forward in their seats, like magnets to the ore of our performance. That flipped a switch inside me.
I started laughing. Inappropriately. Almost hysterically.
Ryan had quit his job ten months ago without telling me. But that lie paled in comparison to the rest. It was almost anticlimactic, really.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Monroe?
Nora wasn’t asking for me; she was asking if she was okay -- probably wondering if I was less than a minute from totally losing my shit and somehow taking her with me.
I tried to stop laughing. It was harder than you’d think. All the rage and frustration and hopelessness that I’d been bottling up were trying to use the door that the laughter had opened in my heart. Any minute I was going to be screaming. Or bawling. Or worse.
I slammed that door shut on my seething emotions and forced myself to take a deep breath.
“I must be completely brain dead today. You’ll have to forgive me,” I managed to say. “I meant to go to his new office and came here out of habit instead. I’m such a ditz!”
She smiled at me with relief and said she hoped I had a good day.
Fat fucking chance.
I’d gotten the answer I needed, and I had my plan.
I called Olivia.
Chapter Five
Tuesday Afternoon …
I should have gone with the landing strip.
Danni, the bubbly esthetician at Pretty Pretty Pussycat had done everything in her power to dissuade me, but I refused to listen.
“You don’t need to do this. There are other perfectly acceptable alternatives that won’t hurt as much,” Danni had said. “Since this is your first time, I would suggest a landing strip.”
But no. I had to go with the Brazilian. I had to overcommit. I had to prove to Danni and her perfectly waxed collegiate vaj that my MILF bits were up to the challenge.
If I couldn’t handle this, how was I going to handle having sex with a man who wasn’t my husband?
By the time Danni ordered me into downward dog, thus stripping me of all remaining dignity, I had half a mind to scream that this biscuit wasn’t going to bring home the bacon.
Okay, I never would have said that.
But there was no doubt that I would never be the same woman again.
I closed my eyes, counting the seconds until Danni finished dashing powder on my snatch, punctuated with despondently aggressive comments.
Well, I guess we can get the rest next time.
It usually takes a few rounds.
I don’t want to irritate the skin by going over it again now.
My pain was a nine out of ten, and I’d given birth twice. I thanked my daily yoga practice throughout the ordeal; I probably would have died without it. Not really, but seriously, fuck.
And this was something I was supposed to get better at.
I would have to come back for a second round that would supposedly be easier to suffer through than the first, to finish what I couldn’t tolerate this time. Danni promised that it would get easier after that, and that my hair would grow back thinner and lighter as well.
I thanked Danni, thinking that was bullshit while I was doing it, then got myself out of there.
It got worse after that. I had to walk, okay limp, through the waiting room packed with women and one lone man, who sat dead center like a bullseye among them.
This was peak humiliation.
I told myself that I’d better get used to it.
I had to call Ryan — I mean on the phone, not just motherfucker in my mind like I’d been doing for two days.
I hobbled out to my car, dialing him on the way.
“Hi honey!” the asshole practically chirped, laying it on even thicker than honey. “What are you up to?”
“Oh nothing. Just having lunch with the girls. How’s New York?”
… You lying pile of shit.
“It’s good. I miss you … and I wanted to call and apologize for the way we left things yesterday morning.”
“I understand, the way work is riding you … Ambrose is a taskmaster.”
Then I shut up, giving him a chance to correct me, tell me the truth.
But Ryan refused to take it. “I’m looking forward to being back home. Just another couple of days.”
“Is that it?”
I
wasn’t trying to be short with him. Honestly, I didn’t even want him to know I was pissed off, since that would make what I had to do that much harder to execute. But I couldn’t help thinking that he had Kong-sized balls, and I wanted to cut them off and drop them into the blender for my morning shake.
Of course he kept right on lying.
He told me some bullshit about having dinner with the CEO and I had to pretend I was impressed and that I wished I could be there with him.
Fuck him for putting me in this position.
I had never been so humiliated, never felt this much pain and impotent anger.
I wanted to fall apart, painful as that was to admit. But I couldn’t afford to do that. I had my children to worry about, and the rest of my life to rebuild.
Places to be and strangers to fuck.
“Thank you for calling,” I practically cooed, trying to extricate myself from the call without making him suspicious that I was onto him. “Your sorry means a lot to me.”
Ryan was silent on the other end, likely my sudden enthusiasm had thrown him. I guess I’d laid it on a little thick too.
“I’m always disappointed with myself when I let you down.”
I sighed, like I was really feeling sorry for that bleeding hemorrhoid of a man. “I should be doing a better job of taking care of you at home.”
He could have told me that I was enough, or said anything other than, “I know you try your best.”
He did not just say that.
“What do you mean?” I kept my tone curious, almost playful, like I didn’t want to scratch his eyes out.
“Nothing?”
More silence.
With perfect timing I got a text on my burner. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this call. Love you, bye!”
I checked my secret phone — Victor, giving me my last chance, a client in LA on Thursday night. Show up or fork over twenty thousand dollars to break my contract.
He also made it clear that if I decided to ignore him or bring lawyers into our relationship, I would regret it in ways that I could not imagine.
Victor also wanted me to know that Olivia had convinced him to give me one last chance. So if I fucked him, I would also be fucking my friend.
There weren’t any details about the client, only that I was supposed to meet him at the Alliance Hotel, at nine p.m., sharp.
Two grand for an hour. Victor and Olivia would split twenty percent off the top, but the rest would be mine.
I texted back: I’ll be there.
And suddenly it was real.
In a little over two days I would have sex with a man who wasn’t my husband.
He’d be a stranger. But it would be an honest exchange, his money for my body. No lies, no cheating, no broken promises.
You can do this, Natalie.
I kept swallowing my nerves and telling myself that everything would be fine.
This was a one-time thing. A means to an end. I was doing this to get the money I needed to leave Ryan and protect the kids.
I was in.
But first, I needed some goddamned aloe.
Chapter Six
Thursday Night …
I was in the elevator, trying not to be sick.
It wasn’t like the motion of the elevator was getting to me, even though I was going all the way to the penthouse. The nausea was coming from the motion of my life that had brought me here. I could no longer pretend I wasn’t about to hit a very personal point of no return.
I’d spent the day before throwing up every little thing that I ate. I was hoping that this client — I still had zero information about him from Victor — didn’t want to drink. The way I was feeling as the elevator doors dinged open to the top floor, a couple of drops might be enough to get me drunk.
My phone buzzed.
I took it out of my purse to check, stalling.
It was Olivia:
Don’t make me look bad.
Thanks for the encouragement, Olivia.
Not sure what I would do without a friend like her.
Besides being safe at home with the lie, and not about to sell myself for money.
I shoved the phone into my purse and walked faster down the hall, toward the large white double doors at the end.
What if this guy is like Victor?
It doesn’t matter if he’s just like Victor or not. You don’t have to like the guy; you just have to fuck him until he’s satisfied, or until his time is up.
I knocked on the door, heart pounding, waiting for it to swing open from the other side.
Nothing happened, so I knocked again, not sure how much more my poor heart could take.
Third time’s a charm.
But before I could knock, the door swung open and I couldn’t believe what I was looking at.
I tried to say hello, but nothing came out. I’d realized that my client could be well-known — Victor was catering to Hollywood in the aftermath of the Rosebud scandal, after all — but I still couldn’t have imagined that it would be one of my favorite actors.
Bennett Cole had been voted the Sexiest Man Alive twice in the past decade. One of my favorite pictures was of a two-year-old Alec holding a People magazine with Bennett’s sexy self on the cover, pretending to be reading.
Bennett Cole was about to pay me to fuck him.
I was suddenly worried that I wouldn’t be able to do it, but for an entirely different set of reasons.
Bennett appeared amused. He opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Would you like to come in?”
“Of course,” I finally managed, then entered. Bennett closed the door and I offered him my hand.
“Elle,” I said as he kissed it.
His smile turned into a laugh. “Is this your first time, Elle?”
Well, that was humiliating. I was so apparently terrible at this that the truth was tattooed on my expression, or maybe my body language. It might have been my total lack of voice.
“I guess it’s not yours,” I responded after a beat, then wondered if that would be rude.
But Bennett just laughed harder. And still, it sounded kind.
“That doesn’t bother me,” he said, gently taking me by the arm and leading me over to the couch. “Would you believe me if I told you that the thought of my being your first is thrilling?”
That sent a warm flush through my center. “You’re very direct.”
Bennett gave me another smile, his best one so far. “Do you know why you’re here?”
There were many reasons, but I wasn’t sure which he was looking for.
“So that we can have sex?” I said, like I was auditioning for the lead in Unsexy Escort. “So you can fuck me.”
Another smile, this one soft, followed by a tiny chuckle. “I meant you specifically.”
“I have no idea.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the security leak at Rosebud, and I’m sure you can understand that discretion is my number-one priority. I asked Victor for the girl he thinks would be best at keeping a secret. Did he make the right decision, Elle?”
I nodded.
Bennett eyed me up and down. “You do seem like someone with something to lose.” He kissed me softly on the back of my neck and removed my coat like a gentleman. More like we were coming home from an anniversary date than being mere minutes from me debasing myself for money.
“And, you look stunning,” he finished.
“Thank you.”
He gestured toward the sofa. “Would you like to sit?”
I nodded and sat, figuring that was what I was supposed to do.
“Would you care for something to drink?”
I felt the emptiness in my stomach again, but then heard Olivia in my head.
You do whatever it takes to keep the client happy. You got it?
I wanted Bennett to be happy with me. “Yes, please.”
It’s not just about the sex, Natalie. It’s about the companionship and the conversation.
“What
would you like?”
“Whatever you’re having,” I said.
But I had no idea what he was having, and just about shit when I saw that it was a bottle of Château des Rêves Bordeaux. I’m no connoisseur, but I’ve seen that same bottle selling for hundreds of dollars.
I wondered what Lynette would think if she saw Bennett Cole pouring me this glass of overpriced wine.
She’d probably shit her pants.
He handed the glass to me. “2009 was a great year for Medoc Bordeaux.”
I took the glass and inhaled, then nodded, looking up at Bennett with appreciative doe eyes. “Thank you.”
“Do you prefer Cab-dominant versus Merlot-dominant wines as well?”
“I do,” I lied, not because it was untrue, but because I had no idea what I was actually saying.
Not that it mattered. I was here to be Bennett’s dream girl. So yes, I definitely preferred Cab-dominant wines.
We clinked glasses and I took a sip.
The wine was velvety on my tongue, almost syrupy with the taste of dark cherry, tobacco leaves, and spices I couldn’t quite identify. I smiled.
So far, so good.
Half an hour later, we were both deep into our second glass, and I was getting anxious for the main event. It took me a while to realize that Bennett was not. For him, this was the main event, and I needed to slow down enough that I could start enjoying it along with him.
I was feeling looser by the sip, willing to open up that much more. Bennett seemed to enjoy peeling away the layers, and always like a gentleman. It made me a little uncomfortable at first, realizing that he was genuinely enjoying watching me enjoying myself.
But then I heard Olivia yelling at me again, reminding me that it’s not just about the sex, but the conversation, and that I needed to do whatever I could to keep the client happy.
So I answered all of Bennett’s questions as honestly as I could.