by Maren Foster
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You’re upset. I’m sorry for inviting them to eat with us. Sort of crashed our date, didn’t they? And you said you needed to talk tonight, didn’t you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I did. I finished reviewing the agreement you gave me and I have a few exceptions.” I reached into my purse and grabbed the copy with Vi’s edits.
“I still can’t believe you think you need this, but since you do, here are my edits.” I handed him the pages. “I assume you will want to talk through them with your lawyer.”
He took my hand and pulled me toward him. “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you with this. I love you.”
That’s three times! “Nate, I understand that when we get married we will be entering into a legal arrangement from different economic positions, and I understand that not all relationships last, but I can’t be held to a higher standard than you just because you’re rich.”
He looked perplexed, as if he had no idea what I was talking about.
“Just talk through my revisions with your lawyer and let me know what you think,” I said.
His tone shifted. “And then what? We’ll negotiate the terms of our future? Should I have my lawyer call yours?”
“I guess so. You’re the one who put legal terms around our future. You’re the one who commissioned a legal document to give yourself a get out of jail free card. Marriage is a risk for everyone who commits themselves to it. It isn’t easy, but it is God’s will. If you get an adultery clause then why bother at all? If you’re so sure you’ll fail, why even try?”
“It’s just that I’ve seen things fall apart. With my parents. It’s not that I don’t trust you…” he paused. “I don’t know. Maybe, I don’t trust myself. Maybe that is my problem.”
I shrugged. He has to want to marry me. I don’t win unless he does. “Nate, this is hard for me too. I’ve been let down before too, but marriage is about standing by your partner when things get tough. It’s about believing in them and supporting them no matter what. It’s about making sacrifices for the relationship and growing together. Becoming better through each other’s support and faith in God.”
“That’s why I love you,” he said, and kissed my lips.
As we walked the three blocks back to our condo, I had a hard time keeping my exhilaration in check. This is going to work! He does want to marry me!
We greeted the doorman and took the elevator up to the penthouse. Nate grabbed his laptop, clearly not in the mood to talk, so I grabbed mine too. I opened a browser and typed www.JuliaWeber.com into the address bar. Across the banner, in the same script that was on her business card, it read, “Julia Weber, fashion + style”. On the left side was a table of contents that listed the titles of her newest blog posts: “Best Boho Bargains”, “A Fortnight of Fashion”, and “Style for Sarcoma”. To the right was a professional photo obviously staged to look natural, unplanned, but her hair and make-up were perfect. She had on a black sequin dress, low-cut to show a bit of cleavage. A beautiful diamond necklace sparkled just above her cleavage. All the marks of a formal party were clear in the backdrop: a glass chandelier, an immaculate curving staircase, but they were far enough away from their subject to be unidentifiable. She certainly is beautiful.
I scrolled through the dates associated with the older posts until I found the earliest, and then skimmed through the posts one by one. She’d started blogging on a summer abroad program between her junior and senior years of college, while studying at the Fashion Institute in Milan. Her blog seemingly began as a chronicle of her time abroad, primarily as a wannabe fashion critic and designer where she wrote about new trends and posted her own amateur sketches. There were also photos of her in beautiful clothing, with immaculate, famous backdrops. A blood red vintage Armani gown rippling in a light wind on a sunny day on the Spanish Steps, surrounded by young underdressed American tourists. It looked as if, in the beginning the blog was simply a way for her family and friends to stay up-to-date on her adventures, but over the course of the summer, her followers had multiplied, evidenced by the number of likes and comments on her first handful of posts compared to later posts: 50, 200, to 500, and then more than 5,000. All reasonable for a college student who likely already had thousands of friends on Facebook and perhaps more followers on Instagram. I skimmed the more recent posts, some of which had garnered more than 100,000 likes, and thousands of comments, or shares. In the most recent, she posed with three members of the New York Yankees, decked out in uniform with glasses of champagne. The subtitle read, “Batting .500 with the Yankees to raise money for Making the Match”, a local charity for sick children. One of the more famous players had even ‘liked’ the photo and commented; “Always great to see you out for a good cause!”
She was apparently something of a B-List celebrity, in New York at least. She looks perfect. I reminded myself: no one is perfect.
Over time, Julia seemed to have realized the potential of the blog as a tool to market herself and appeared to enjoy the attention. Her posts revealed that by the time she graduated she had earned enough money in sponsorships and product placements to forgo a serious job search and instead spend the summer in Paris and Saint Tropez. The subjects of her posts expanded to feature the adorable Pomeranian she met while taking her morning coffee, and the attractive young man she spent an evening smoking with on the left bank of the Seine. From there, her following had grown and she began to diversify into makeup and fitness clothing. How is this a job?
I heard my phone pop. A Facebook icon appeared at the top of the screen. I clicked on it. “Friend Request: Julia Weber”. That was quick.
“Have you ever had a threesome?” Nate asked as we were getting ready for bed.
What?!? “No. Why? Have you?”
“Yeah, I have.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, it was unforgettable.”
“Hmmm.”
“I was just wondering whether you’d ever be open to something like that.” He watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction.
Jesus, how far is he going to go to make me prove my devotion to him? Two can play at that game!
“Maybe. Let me think about it,” I said.
He smiled.
“Oh, I booked a few showings for us next weekend to look at houses in Greenwich,” I lied. “Are you free?”
“Next weekend?”
“Yeah, Saturday, but I can change them to Sunday if that’s better.”
“No, Saturday should work.”
“Great.”
I went back to my apartment on Sunday to do laundry and get organized for the week. It seemed silly to keep my room in the apartment now that we were engaged and I spent most of my time at our condo, but I liked knowing that I still had my own space.
Back in my room I called a trendy real estate office and asked to be set up with an agent for some showings in the Greenwich area the next weekend. I specified that my husband and I were looking for a large house on the water for our soon to be growing family, and that price was no object. Then I grabbed all of the bridal magazines and laid them out across my bed. From a number of different dresses, I borrowed elements and sketched my dream wedding dress on the back of an envelope. I practiced a few more times on scratch paper and then pulled some scraps of velum out of a college notebook. Once I was satisfied I called and made an appointment at Matilda’s. Matilda was known for two things: the A-List stars who swore by her work, and her exorbitant prices, which was more than enough to convince me that she was the only dressmaker in the city I could trust with the job.
The Play
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Chelsea
It had been nearly a week since I’d given Nate the edits to the prenup. I kept telling myself that perhaps his lawyer was just really busy, but I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that maybe he was getting cold feet. I decided to keep my mouth shut, knowing how he would react to being pressured.
Best to be patient and wait for the right opportunity.
Nate and I met our real estate agent at her office in Midtown. She handed us a few print-outs and loaded us into her expensive sedan. We made awkward small talk on the drive out to Greenwich. The first house we visited had been fancy once, you could tell by the grand entrance and the oversized master bedroom, but it needed significant upgrades and what may have originally been a prime location had been encroached by sprawling additions to neighboring homes.
I could tell Nate was quickly losing interest as we drove up to a large, greyish-blue Cape Cod, surrounded by a well-appointed lawn and garden. Its many gabled roofs peaked haphazardly and its cottage-style windows were framed by traditional black shutters.
The foyer opened into a formal dining room. A long hallway on the left went back to the kitchen and den. Without furnishings or décor, our footsteps on the old hardwood reverberated throughout the house, revealing its grandeur.
At the end of a long hallway was a large room, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows spanning the entire back end of the house. Two sets of glass French doors opened onto a slate patio that wrapped around the back of the house. About a hundred feet beyond the patio Long Island Sound stretched into the distance. The view was awe-inspiring; a million small waves disappearing into the horizon.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“It’s nice,” Nate agreed.
“Just nice?” I teased.
We looked at a few other houses, but the grey Cape Cod stuck in my mind. It’s perfect and it’s in Connecticut. How will I convince Nate that it’s necessary now?
“Let’s go out tonight,” Nate said as we rode the elevator up to the penthouse.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I have to go to the office for a bit this evening, but I’ll meet you at Detox.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know. Nine?”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and don’t bring any of those friends of yours. I want it to be just us tonight.”
“Okay.” What does he have in mind?
Detox was a swanky dance club that Nate liked in Midtown. It wasn’t my type, but I needed to keep him happy.
I got to Detox just after nine and headed straight to the bar. It was early, but there was already a decent crowd. I could feel a handful of people in the club watching me as I ordered a drink. I sipped my drink and scanned the club discreetly. Nate was at the other end of the long bar talking to a woman. A tall, thin, blonde. She was leaning back against the bar with her elbows resting on the edge, facing him. Given the size of her breasts and her waist I decided there was no way they weren’t fake. Nate was smiling, basking in her attention. I directed the bartender to charge my drink to Nate’s tab, and headed toward him. I was intercepted mid-way by a guy who made eye contact and he smiled.
“I was going to ask if I could buy you a drink but I see you’ve taken care of that.” His intonation was the type used among good friends or lovers. He was good looking, maybe late thirties.
“Buy the next one,” I said and took a long swig of my drink which was mostly ice anyhow.
“Are you here with anyone?”
I looked toward Nate and motioned. “Yep.”
“Oh.” He surveyed the other end of the bar, but all of the men nearby were flanked by beautiful women. He turned back to me confidently. “So, what’s your name?”
“Jeannie,” I lied.
“Hi, Jeannie. I’m Todd. Nice to meet you.”
We touched glasses. I watched Nate and the woman with the big boobs. Nate is clearly interested in her. He said he wanted to have a threesome with me. Maybe I can use this to get him to commit to making the changes I want to the prenup.
Todd continued to make small talk and I waited patiently until Nate’s new friend finally disappeared toward the bathroom.
“Excuse me, sorry,” I said and followed her.
I fixed my hair in the mirror above the sinks until she came out and began washing her hands. She looked up, and I smiled at her in the mirror.
“I love your dress. Where did you get it?” I said.
“Oh, this thing? I don’t know.”
“Well, it looks great on you.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled lipstick out of her small purse.
“I think he really likes you,” I said.
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, Nate. The guy at the bar.”
“Oh, sorry. You know him?”
“I do.” I watched her adjust her boobs to maximize her cleavage. “He’s pretty hot,” I said. “Phenomenal in bed too.”
She looked up at me in the mirror. “You’re his girlfriend?”
“Well, sort of, but we actually have a different kind of relationship.”
“What?”
“Open. We’re open.”
She smiled, a small, subtle smile.
“You should join us,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. He gets really turned on by girl on girl, and I can tell he really likes you.” I can’t believe I’m doing this, but whatever it takes.
She smiled politely, turned, and walked out of the bathroom.
I applied a little more lipstick and followed her back out to the bar. There were more people dancing now, and the club was nearly full.
Nate was standing close to her, whispering something in her ear.
I walked over and squeezed in between them.
“Who’s your new friend?” I asked.
“Hey,” Nate said. “This is Naomi.”
She held out her hand.
“Wyn.”
She began dancing in place to the thumping bass.
“Let’s dance,” she said and grabbed my hand. She pulled me toward the dance floor knowing Nate would follow. It worked. The lights had been turned down and the D.J. started spinning more aggressive tracks.
After a few songs I returned to the bar for another drink. I leaned back against the bar, sipping slowly and watching them grind against each other. This is insane. I have no idea who she is or where she’s been. What am I thinking?
Todd slid in next to me, closer than I’d have liked.
“What’s your deal?” he said, looking in Nate’s direction.
“It’s complicated.”
“Clearly.”
We both watched as she rubbed herself against Nate.
“Sorry, is that your boyfriend?” he yelled in my ear.
“Practically my fiancé.”
He shook his head and walked away to begin trawling again.
By eleven I was more than tipsy and the three of us were taking turns dancing together, moving to the beat in unison. Just as I was finishing another drink Nate yelled into my ear, “Meet me by the bar. Need a word.”
I followed him to the corner of the bar, as far from the speakers as possible, but he still had to yell. “Talked to my lawyer today. You’re asking a lot.”
I turned my head, wanting to see his expression, to see if he was mad, but he looked calm, even confident.
“Am I?” I yelled back.
“Yes,” he said.
I turned toward the dance floor and watched Naomi dancing alone as men in the crowd began to notice and move in.
“What now? What do you want to do?” I asked.
“There is one thing I’ve always wanted to do with you, at least once.”
I waited and stared straight ahead, watching her dance confidently, adeptly avoiding the other advances.
“I wanna have a threesome with you.” He paused and then yelled a little louder, “I have to have a threesome with you.”
I knew it!
I turned toward him and yelled into his ear. “How do you know she’ll even want to do it with us?”
“She’ll want to. No one says no to me.” There it is. His Achilles heel. A big smile crossed his face.
“Okay,” I yelled back, “I’ll do it, but only if you sign the prenup with all my changes.”<
br />
He watched her jealously as she danced with other men.
“And we buy the grey Cape Cod in Old Greenwich.”
He made me wait, painfully aware of the passing seconds meted out by the thumping of the bass. Eventually he turned to look at me. “Deal,” he yelled.
I nodded. So predictable.
He headed back to the dance floor. Todd tried to move back in but I shook my head, no.
I watched Nate and Naomi from the bar, sipping my drink.
I knew other women, respectable women in college who had experimented. I knew some gorgeous women, and could definitely recognize a beautiful woman when I saw one, but I’d never been curious. There was only one question now: how badly do I want to be married to Nate, on my terms?
He bought her another drink and I took a shot for good measure. This wasn’t the kind of thing I was going to make it through if my buzz wore off.
Eventually Nate ordered an Uber Black and the three of us hopped in. He sat in the middle seat between us and put one hand on my upper thigh and the other hand on hers. As the driver weaved through traffic, Nate began to feel us both up and down. Then he began to rub my clit over my lacy thong with his fingers. I put my head back and tried to relax. What am I doing? How has it come to this? He massaged both of us in the same way as we pulled up to his condo.
Once inside our condo, I was struck by the awkward self-consciousness that consumes you when you have agreed to something completely out of your comfort zone. I was relieved when Nate popped opened a bottle of champagne and poured three glasses. We each took a glass, raised them in the air, and clumsily tapped them together. I tipped my head back and enjoyed the sweetness of the bubbly wine. This is it. I’m doing this. I have to seal this deal. Without those edits and the house in Connecticut, it’s all been for nothing. I have no choice now. I can’t walk away after everything. Besides, normal people do this kind of thing. Whatever it takes. I have to be married to Nate on my terms.
I followed them to the bedroom, our bedroom. It was odd being with another woman in a place where Nate and I had been intimate. Just as I expected to be left out, a spectator in this bizarre experience, she turned toward me and leaned in. I intuitively knew what was coming, but the sight of her face coming at mine was unnerving. I stepped back. She wasn’t deterred and continued toward me, her lips met mine. At first her mouth was closed, but once she was sure I would stay put she leaned in and opened her mouth. Her tongue was small, smoother than Nate’s and she was more patient. Nate conquered my mouth when we kissed. He wasn’t a bad kisser but his motions were rushed, impatient, dominant. Hers were slower, gentle, she explored a little and waited for my reaction. If I responded in kind, she became more confident. If I hesitated or withdrew at all, she changed course. The result was a mutual exploration. Her motions were tender and soft and pleasurable. I closed my eyes, tried to relax, and began to reciprocate, employing the same technique: first exploring what she liked, then responding to her reaction with small modifications, advances even. As I did, I realized that it was actually turning me on.