A Girl Undone

by Catherine Linka

  “The political climate is changing, and the ‘No on 28’ protests are bringing pressure on the Paternalists. It’s a good time to introduce small reforms to the movement.”

  I needed to warn Hawkins about the reporters, but I wasn’t sure how to begin. “What would you do if Jouvert and Fletcher were gone?”

  “Gone? You mean if for some unfathomable reason they both left politics?”

  I tried to act casual. “I know it’s not going to happen, but I hear you complain about them, so I’m wondering what you’d do if you were president.”

  “The first thing I’d do to fix this country is to open up the borders. I’d ask Congress to eliminate import taxes on foreign brides that artificially raise Contract prices, creating a have/have not situation—”

  Hawkins continued, giving me an economics lecture that I only understood about a quarter of. He talked about rebuilding the work-force, wealth distribution, and the link between scarcity of available females and crime. Nothing about girls whose lives were being ruined.

  “When the time is right, I’ll be ready.” He reached for my hand. “We’ll be ready.”

  He squeezed my hand, and I tried to keep my breathing steady. We weren’t ready for what was coming.

  “So what did you want to tell me?” Hawkins asked.

  As I tried to answer, I realized I couldn’t tell him about Jouvert without Hawkins trying to guess who told me. And he’d probably decide it was Sig. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

  “No, come on, tell me.”

  I scrambled for something to say. “I designed a dress for tomorrow. Sig’s having it made for me tonight.”

  “A dress?” Hawkins studied my face, and even though he gave me a smile and said, “That’s great,” he didn’t believe me for a second.

  47

  Upstairs, I opened the Contract Hawkins had given me.

  My Signing was a formality. Or at least that was what I tried to tell myself. The Contract had gone live weeks ago when Dad took the fifty million from him for Biocure.

  But now, holding it in my hands, the Contract felt different, more real, because tomorrow I’d sign my own name to it. I was supposed to agree to terms I would never agree to if I had the choice, to sign a document neither Yates nor Luke would ever have asked me to sign.

  I leafed through the Contract. Most of it had to do with Hawkins buying shares in Dad’s company, but the last section was all about me. I flipped through the pages, surprised that paragraph after paragraph had been lined through and initialed. All the sections about “transferring ownership” were deleted. Hawkins couldn’t just decide he was unhappy with me and sell me off.

  Was that because I was too dangerous to transfer, I wondered, that I knew too much to hand me off to another buyer?

  That reason didn’t feel exactly right. Was it possible Hawkins had realized how degrading it was to be resold like a painting he was tired of, and he’d taken my feelings into consideration?

  A two-page addendum was stapled to the back. I’d learned too well that the worst news was at the end, and as I scanned the extra pages, my jaw dropped. I could divorce Hawkins without repaying my Contract once we’d been together ten years, less if I gave him two children. I’d leave with four million dollars if I fought for custody of our children, thirty if I agreed to joint.

  Hawkins had given me an out. A divorce. No one ever did that. No one. Clearly he’d continue trying to control me, but this was the first time he’d given me any choice at all.

  I could be free in ten years. Free to live a life I chose. Free to fall in love.

  I smiled, seeing Yates and me suiting up and walking our boards into the surf, but a second later, the image fell apart. Then I tried to imagine us on his motorcycle flying up Angeles Crest Highway, but that turned into Yates striding down the federal courthouse steps, and the heart-stopping boom of a fireball.

  The only way we had the slightest chance at a happily ever after was if we survived Jouvert.

  Signing Day

  48

  Anti-Contract protesters lined the road outside the compound by mid-morning, vying for space with the news crews. According to Deeps, a fight broke out, and a photographer from KABC just missed being hit by a UPS truck. Then the Malibu police forced the protesters to the other side of the four-lane highway, where they were squeezed between the road and the hillside. Still somehow they managed to put up a small stage and sound equipment.

  The protesters’ speakers were powerful enough we could hear them all the way in the kitchen. Adam Ho fumed over the cappuccino machine, and yelled into his phone, “Would someone please shut them up!” as the crowd chanted, “Real Men Don’t Need Contracts,” and, “Marriage Doesn’t Belong to the One Percent.”

  I was itchy to be outside, out of my skin.

  In a few hours, I’d put on the dress Sig was making, and do something I could never undo.

  I slipped into the subterranean garage, and stood just inside the raised door out of sight of the street, pretending to watch the K-9 unit inspect the coolers the caterers were unloading, but actually hoping I’d hear Yates address the protesters.

  I just wanted to hear his voice. Even if he was on the other side of the wall, even if he said something hideous about me, I’d feel he was with me.

  The news crews were poised on the roofs of their vans. Out by the gate, the Secret Service had lined up the forty reporters and photographers who would be admitted into the compound. I watched them frisk and wand each man, then swab each piece of their equipment and run it through a machine.

  Deeps caught me watching. “Are they checking for explosives?” I said.

  He frowned at me. “What’s the safe room code?”

  “You’ve already asked me that four times.”

  “Tell me again.”

  I repeated it back to him for the fifth time that day.

  “Anything strange happens, I want you in there,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be walking around right now.”

  “I’m too nervous to stay inside. I want to wait for Sig.”

  Deeps checked his watch. “He should have been here by now. The photo shoot is set for fifteen hundred hours.”

  “Care to translate?”

  “Three o’clock. You’ve got less than an hour.”

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  Deeps walked over to the catering truck, and I had turned to walk inside when I heard Yates.

  “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These are our unalienable rights. No one—no one!—can take them away from us!”

  The crowd’s cheers reverberated in my body.

  “The men who signed the Declaration of Independence said that the government can’t mess with these rights. It can never take them away, and if it does, we the people have the right to abolish the government.”

  The news cameras on top of the vans swiveled away from the compound toward Yates as the crowd whistled and clapped.

  “Today, let’s tell the Paternalists that they’re over!”

  “Yes!” the crowd yelled back.

  Yes, I thought.

  “That they cannot take away our rights.”

  “Yes!”

  Yes!

  “That we will fight with everything we have to create a new government! One that protects and honors these freedoms.”

  I smiled to myself. In a few minutes, I would put on Sig’s dress and that would be my declaration that I was fighting back.

  Deeps loomed up in my face. “Go. Now.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m gone.”

  As I showered, the house filled with people. Hearing them, I put on my robe, and peeked through the bedroom curtains. Men had gathered on the terrace, chatting and drinking around the tall cocktail tables. Photographers and reporters moved among them.

  Then I spied a sharpshooter positioned on the roof of Hawkins’ bedroom, and another above the main room. I glanced at my ceiling, sensing there were more, including one on the roof right above me.
>
  The strength I’d felt hearing Yates speak began to collapse, and I took my security corset out of the drawer. How could anything so thin, so flimsy, save me from what was coming?

  I unhooked Becca’s necklace from my neck and slid the silver dolphin off the chain. I fumbled and dropped it twice, trying to safety-pin it to the lace on the corset. Please, Becca, watch over me today.

  When I came out of the bathroom, Sig’s pink strapless dress lay on my bed with the train beside it. The train, made from Maggie’s embroidered hanging, was dyed the bright color of fresh guava to match the plain silk dress. I picked up the train, wondering if Sig had made it detachable so he could give me an out if I was too scared. No, I didn’t need an out. I was doing this.

  Sig had made the train slightly stiff without folds that might hide the stitching. Clear crystals caught the light, drawing the eye to the branches. Fletcher. Perue. Eighteen leaders of Congress. Seven governors. And now Jouvert. The stitch-coded names appeared and disappeared in the design.

  I ran my fingers over the branches, gratified to see Sparrow’s story was here, too. How she’d seduced Jouvert, learned of his secret dealings, then martyred herself on the Capitol steps.

  When I saw Hawkins’ name, I flinched. Somehow I’d stupidly forgotten he was named here, too. I decoded what Maggie’d discovered about him. It didn’t look like he’d done the heinous things other men had done, but he wasn’t innocent, either. The lawyers for Regimen Industries could be busy defending him for years.

  I straightened my shoulders. Jessop Hawkins had made his choices, and now I was making mine.

  There was a knock and “Are you decent?” Sig came around the corner and eyed me in my robe. “Excellent. A few minutes for hair, makeup, and the dress, and you’ll be ready for the press.”

  The audio monitor was on in the bathroom. Sig kept talk to a minimum as he swept my hair into a loose updo and applied the lightest touch of makeup.

  “You’ll wear the pink dress for the photographers and the white for the Signing,” he said.

  “Two dresses?”

  “At New York Signings, girls typically have three dresses for the event. Some have four. Besides, it’s important you feel relaxed and confident when you sign your Contract and the less constructed fit of the white dress should do that. Trust me.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Sig wasn’t saying exactly why he wanted me in the white dress, but my gut said it wasn’t for fashion’s sake.

  I zipped into the pink dress. The fitted bodice was tight and it wasn’t easy to move in the skirt.

  Sig held up the train. I stood, trembling slightly as he attached it between my shoulder blades.

  I wasn’t on the sidelines anymore. This was my chance to help push Jouvert from his pedestal. I felt for the little dolphin pinned to my corset. This is for you, Becca. You and Maggie and Sparrow, Zara, Portia, and all the Hannas and Mikhaelas trying to stay free.

  The chants of the protesters came through the closed windows, and I realized this was also for the two young men I loved, but in such different ways. I was keeping my promises to Luke and Yates by speaking the truth.

  I eased the Love bracelet over my hand and Sig helped me screw it on my wrist. He fussed with my bangs, then waved his hand with a little ta-da. “So, girl,” he whispered, “ready to go onstage?”

  Onstage. Images of Vegas, Maggie, and Jouvert came rushing back, and I nodded, suddenly too nervous to speak. Nothing will happen today, I tried to tell myself. It’s like Deeps said. Shooting me here would be hard to cover up.

  Deeps met me right outside my door and we walked toward the stairs. Hawkins was at the opposite end of the hall with Ho. “The photographers are set up in the main room,” Deeps said. “Mr. Hawkins will take your arm at the top of the stairs, and you’ll come down together.”

  “All right.” My feet carried me forward like they were acting on their own. Hawkins walked toward me, a smile on his face.

  Deeps kept talking in my ear. “I don’t want you more than eight feet away from me at any time.”

  “Okay.” Hawkins had no idea what I was about to do. If we were lucky, Jouvert would fall, but if not—

  “And don’t eat any food unless I give it to you,” Deeps said.

  “Okay.”

  “And that goes for drinks, as well.”

  I felt like I might stop breathing.

  “What did I just say?”

  I gave a dramatic eye roll. “Blah blah blah. Don’t have any fun.”

  He let my joke evaporate into the air. “I have your back, Avie,” he said quietly. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

  We’d stopped just out of sight of the photographers below. “Thank you, Deeps.”

  Hawkins came up to us, and Deeps stepped away as Hawkins reached for my hand. “You’re shivering.”

  I nodded. “Nerves.”

  “Well, you look fantastic. That dress is quite flattering. Shall we?”

  We stepped out from behind the wall and stood at the top of the curved acrylic staircase. Hawkins waved and cameras flashed like a fireworks display. The suspended stairs quivered under our feet as we walked to the step halfway down where Sig had prepped us to stop.

  The photographers jostled each other to get their shots.

  “Look here, Avie!”

  “Over here, Avie!”

  “Give us a smile!”

  I struggled to remember my instructions. Turn and face Hawkins, then arrange the train so it’s in clear view. Place my left hand on his chest, look over my left shoulder, and smile.

  I took a centering breath, gave the train a tug to fan it out for the cameras, and beamed.

  Cameras flashed in my face, blinding me, but I didn’t care. Women around the country would read the hidden message, and when the news story about what Maggie’d uncovered about the Paternalists broke, they’d know the reporters had told the truth.

  And these women would tell their husbands and sons there was more. They’d start the country talking about Jouvert and the deal he’d made with the Saudis for weapons, about Sparrow and the coverup surrounding her death, and the Paternalist supporters smuggling girls and drugs through the White Gold Pipeline.

  So many faces went through my mind. Maggie. Sparrow. Samantha Rowley. And Mom. She’d be so proud of me.

  I straightened my shoulders and stood taller.

  No matter what happened to me after this, I’d spoken.

  Hawkins nodded for me to pivot and we continued down. The cameras and shouted questions faded into a hum.

  Sig and Adam Ho flanked us as Hawkins and I stepped off the stairs. I posed and smiled as I was told to, but I barely heard the reporters’ questions or Hawkins’ answers.

  It wasn’t until Sig and Deeps had put me in the elevator that it hit me. What did I just do?

  “VPOTUS will arrive in ten,” Deeps told Sig.

  “So Vice President Jouvert is right on time.”

  I felt the blood leave my head. Deeps threw an arm around me as I started to wobble. “No,” Sig said. “No passing out in the elevator.”

  They rushed me into the bedroom. “Keep breathing, Avie,” Deeps said.

  “It’s too tight. The dress is too tight. Please unzip me.”

  They stripped the dress off, and Sig threw my robe over me as Deeps sat me down on the bed. I dropped my head between my knees.

  “You’re doing great,” Deeps said. “Take a minute. Collect yourself.”

  I felt hot and then cold, remembering the night I’d seen Jouvert in Vegas. How he’d walked in with Sparrow in her skintight purple dress, her eyes made up like bird wings, and her hands all over him.

  Jouvert destroyed her reputation, but I wasn’t Sparrow.

  Jouvert would not destroy me. I would not let him.

  Sig picked the dress up off the floor. “I’m going to hang this up.”

  I kept my head down until I felt it begin to clear. Deeps handed me a bottle of water. “Drink up. It’ll help.” I took a long d
rink.

  “How are you doing out there?” Sig called.

  I got up. “Better. I’m ready to put on the Signing dress.” I walked into the dressing room, where Sig had hung up the pink dress. He’d taken off his jacket and was doing something with the lining. Then I realized that even though the train was still attached to the back of the dress, he’d stripped the embroidered panel off it.

  I fingered the tiny strips of Velcro that had held it in place. What the hell?

  He touched a finger to his lips and I realized what he was zipping into the lining of his jacket.

  I nodded. Do it.

  So much passed between us in just one look. The hug we didn’t dare because Deeps was right outside. The satisfaction we shared from completing Maggie’s work and clearing Sparrow’s name. The sorrow we carried from losing them and others.

  “Five minutes,” Deeps called.

  Sig went out, leaving me to slip into the white dress. In the full-length mirror, I saw my face emerge from the silver brambles. I was a warrior, powerful, invincible, and yet undeniably feminine.

  I picked up my heels, and padded out to the room, where I saw them in the short hall by the door.

  I’d been so quiet, they almost didn’t hear me. Now I caught the last moments of something in the sad and tender look Deeps and Sig gave each other, the way their hands fell away, and their bodies drew apart.

  I almost couldn’t speak. “You’re right, Sig,” I said, quietly. “This dress is perfect.”

  Seeing me, Deeps shook his head, and jerked back from Sig, who tried to stop him. “Trust her. She won’t say anything.”

  Deeps waited, his eyes begging me to say that was true.

  “You don’t have to worry,” I said.

  Deeps nodded and his shoulders relaxed. Then he said, “I’ll be right outside,” and escaped into the hall.

  “This is not what you think,” Sig whispered, and I held up my hand.

  “It’s okay.” Sig hadn’t crossed to the dark side, and if there was anything I’d learned on this journey, it was how love can take you by surprise. “It’s really none of my business.”