by B. B. Hamel
“May I be excused?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he says. “Thomas is already in your room, cleaning it out.”
I stand and leave without another word. I hurry back to my room, heart beating fast in my chest.
Thomas gives me a sad look as I come into my room. He has a small box, and in it he has piled every device I could possibly use to contact the outside world. He leaves my room wordlessly, and doesn’t meet my gaze.
I shut my door quietly before retreating into my closet.
My fucking father. I finally let the anger that I’ve been suppressing flow through me as soon as I’m in my nook. I want to kill him, scream at him, hurt him as badly as he hurts me. But I can’t do anything. I’m powerless here, and I can’t even contact Gavin to explain. He’s going to wonder where I’ve gone and maybe think that I don’t want to see him anymore.
I can handle a dinner with Milo. That’s not a big deal. I can get through it and pretend like I give a shit about any of it. But what I can’t handle is Gavin thinking I don’t want him anymore.
Because I do. All of this is making me want him even more. Gavin is the first person to let me live the life that I want. He seems to care more about making me happy and making me feel good than getting whatever he wants out of me. He makes everything feel better.
It’s just one dinner, I tell myself. Then I’ll get my phone back and I’ll tell Gavin the truth about what’s happening. He’ll understand.
It’s just one dinner.
Milo smiles at me as he spreads his napkin in his lap. I smile back, trying to make the best of this situation, but inwardly dreading every single moment.
“What do you think of the wine?” he asks me.
I shrug a little and sip it again. “Pretty good.”
He grins. “Pretty good? Please, this is some of the finest wine I’ve ever tasted. A lovely French vintage, I think, from the Somme region.”
I frown a little bit. “Doesn’t it say that on the bottle?”
He pauses. “Well, of course, but I can taste it in the grapes.”
“Right.”
He starts in on a little speech about how each different vintage comes out slightly different due to water levels and blah, blah, blah. I tune him out pretty quickly, idly playing with my fork, smiling and nodding only when required, which isn’t often.
The differences between this date and my date with Gavin couldn’t be more obvious. Gavin took me to a personal spot, a place he clearly loved and cared for, while Milo brought me to the most expensive restaurant he could. It’s a lovely place, and I’m sure the food is great, just like the wine is wonderful, but it feels cold. I can’t really explain it. Luberto’s was warm and inviting and maybe it wasn’t fine dining, but it was family style and it was delicious.
I sigh to myself and glance down at the table. Milo doesn’t seem to notice that I’m not really listening, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Maybe he thinks that having money and knowledge about things like wine, plus a strong family connection, makes him important and special.
Well, it doesn’t. It makes him just like all of the other boys I know: dull and entitled.
The waiter comes after a few minutes. He asks if we’re ready, and Milo doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes, we’ll start with the anchovy spread and the rustic bread, please. The lady will have the halibut and I will have the risotto.”
I blink, a little surprised. I wasn’t in the mood for fish. I was going to order the biggest, juiciest steak on this damn menu and at least try to enjoy that. But by the time I come to my senses, the waiter is already gone.
Milo smiles at me. “Have I ever told you about my father’s yacht?”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t know he had one.” Of course I knew he has one. Every rich person has one. It’s so cliché.
“Well, we used to go fishing off the coast of Australia. We’d catch these enormous…”
I tune him out again, looking down at my napkin. Milo is nice enough, I guess, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything but talking about himself. In fact, another big difference I noticed between Milo and Gavin is that Milo doesn’t ask me questions about myself.
Gavin seemed genuinely interested in me. He asked questions about my life and followed up on the answers. But he didn’t ask much about my family at all, now that I think about it. He was more interested in me, what I like to do, what my hobbies are.
Milo only seems to care about himself and his family. He’s the kind of man I’ve met a hundred times before, obsessed with image and influence, the sort of stuff my own family is interested in. Even Peter buys into that. Peter is the only person in my family who seems to give a shit about me, but even he is obsessed with image and status above everything else.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live a normal life. I wonder if I would be happy without the money and the status. All this privilege gives me great stuff, and gives me so many opportunities. I don’t have to worry about money. But it also forces me into other roles, like having to be basically auctioned off to the highest bidder. I’m more of a tool than a person in my family structure, but with Gavin, I feel like I’m actually valued as a woman.
Eventually our food comes, which is a really nice distraction from Milo’s monologue. At some point he switched over from yachts to inheritance tax structure, which is always a popular subject with the ultra rich. It doesn’t matter to me, since I won’t inherit much of anything. My parents want to marry me off to someone else that can take care of me.
As I listen to Milo and our dinner finishes up, something important strikes me. Right now, I don’t have anything that’s just mine.
Sure, I have a lot of things. I have clothes and privilege and money and all that, but none of it is actually mine. I didn’t earn any of it. I’ve been given everything, and if my parents have their way, I’ll be given everything for the rest of my life. I see women like that, running charities and having lots of kids, but they never seem fulfilled. Right now, nothing I have is my own, but I want something that’s truly just mine.
The dinner ends and Milo pays, of course, making sure I notice the generous tip he leaves. It’s not impressive, since I know that’s all his family money and he didn’t really earn any of it. We head out and Milo’s driver takes us back to my apartment.
“I had a nice time,” Milo says to me. He slides across the seat, sitting close.
Dread suddenly falls down my throat. “Sure, me too,” I say.
“You know, I wasn’t sure about this match. Your parents can be a little… intense.”
I smile at him. “That’s true.”
“But it is a good match,” he continues. “You’re from good stock and so am I.”
I cringe at that word, “stock,” like we’re freaking animals or something.
“That’s true,” I say, wanting this ride to be over so desperately I can practically taste it.
“You’ve always been different, Sadie. I don’t know what it is, but I thought maybe you were different in a bad way. But now I see that you’re worth my time.”
I cringe again. “Thanks,” I say, looking away from him.
He doesn’t get the hint. He reaches out and takes my chin, turning my head toward him.
Panic sets in, real and true panic. He leans toward me, clearly intending to kiss me, and I don’t know what to do.
I turn my face away from him. He stops, inches away from me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I, uh, I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”
I don’t look at him. This is so awful. I don’t want to kiss this man or have anything to do with him, but I’m forced to be here. In a lot of ways, he is too, but he doesn’t realize it.
“Yes, of course,” he says, moving away. “That’s more proper.” He smiles to himself, creating the lie in his mind and believing it.
Mercifully, the car pulls up in front of my building. He goes to say something, maybe
wanting to set up another date, but I don’t give him the chance. I jump out of the car and hurry back inside, not able to stand another second with Milo.
I’m so disgusted with myself and with my parents. They know I’m not interested in him, and I should give in to that sort of thing. I’m not just livestock that they can marry off like that, a pawn in their little political game. My heart is hammering as I ride the elevator up to our apartment.
I storm inside, intending just to hide out in my room until I’m calmer, but a voice stops me short.
“Sadie,” my father calls out from the dining room. “Come in here, please.”
I pause for a second then tentatively head into the room. He’s sitting at the head of the table, reading a complicated document, with a glass of brandy at his elbow. He peers at me over his glasses, a small smile on his face.
“How was the date, dear?” he asks.
I want to yell at him. I want to really lay into him and tell him the truth. I want him to know how all of this makes me feel like less of a person and that he’s doing this to me.
But something stops me short. Sitting on the table next to his brandy is my cellphone.
I could yell at him right now. I’m angry enough to do it. But if I give in to that impulse, I’ll never get my phone back.
And my phone represents my freedom. That’s how I can get in touch with Gavin again. If I really want to see him again, I need to play the game and be smart about this.
“It was nice,” I say, although it practically kills me to do it.
Father doesn’t notice my anger or my discomfort, of course. “Very good,” he says, nodding. “I knew you’d get along well with Milo. He comes from good people, very good people, you’ll be happy with him.”
I want to puke. “I agree,” I say to him.
That clearly makes him happy. He smiles big. “Well. Good. Since you feel that way, I think maybe you should have your phone back. So that you can communicate with Milo.” He picks up my phone and holds it out for me.
I take it from him. I feel dirty doing it, but I don’t care. “Thank you,” I say and I give him a smile.
“Good. Now run along. I’m proud of you.”
I turn and leave the dining room as fast as I can. I hate having to do that, pretend that I’m one thing when I’m really something else, but I know that I have to. If I want to talk to Gavin, I need my phone.
I hurry to my room, shut the door, and lock it. I head into my closet, crawl into my nook, and power my phone on.
There are a few messages from Gavin, which isn’t surprising. My heart fluttering, I type out a text.
“Meet me tomorrow?” I hit send.
The wait feels like years though it’s probably only a few minutes.
“Of course,” he says. “When and where?”
“Ten,” I type back. “Same place as last time.”
“See you then.”
I smile and put my phone down, staring at the wall.
I’m going against the direct wishes of my family, but I don’t care. I want this man and I want to have someone in my life who actually gives a crap about me. I don’t want to get shackled to a man like Milo and end up alone and miserable for my whole life.
Gavin represents freedom for me, but there’s always another basic truth that I can’t deny. I want him badly. I want him so badly that it makes my whole body feel weak. I smile to myself, picturing the gifts he might send me next, and try to figure out how I’m going to sneak out to see him.
9
Gavin
I half expect her not to be there. I don’t know why, but part of me thinks that this is some trick that fucker Silas is trying to play.
I can’t resist it, though. I can’t miss an opportunity to see her like this. Maybe it’s not smart to go on this date with her, maybe I should just stay home and pretend like none of this happened, but I can’t help myself.
I want Sadie, and I’m going to fucking have her. Tillman can send as many goons as he wants, but I’m not backing down.
I’m nervous when the car pulls up, but there she is, standing under a streetlight and smiling. She’s wearing a long tan jacket, like something out of a spy movie. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she looks absolutely beautiful.
I open the door and step out. “I’m glad you came,” I say.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No reason.”
She smiles a little uncertainly. “Well, where are we going tonight?”
“You seemed to like our first date, so I thought I’d bring you back there. To that neighborhood, at least.”
She smiles as she climbs into the car. I close the door, go around to the other side, and get in. The driver pulls out.
“I like seeing where you grew up,” she says.
“Good, because you’re about to get a lot of that.”
She grins at me. “Oh yeah?”
I grin right back. “Absolutely.”
“Are you about to show me some old home movies?” she asks, teasing. “Maybe some baby pictures?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “But you’d love it if I did. I was a really cute baby.”
“I bet you were.”
I laugh a little and ask about her childhood. I listen, actually pretty fascinated, as she talks about vacations to the coast and their country home.
“Besides,” she says finally. “I spent most of my time at boarding schools.”
“Really? I always thought that was a rich person cliché.”
“It is,” she says. “But everyone does it. I think because our parents remember going, and it was like the best time of their lives.”
“Did you love it?” I ask her.
“Not exactly,” she says. “There were good parts and bad parts. I made a lot of friends, but…” She trails off, shrugging.
“But what?” I ask gently.
“But I never fit in,” she says. “I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.”
“You were different,” I offer.
“Exactly,” she says. “Different enough, at least.”
“You’re not bragging. I saw it as soon as you stepped out on that stage.”
She looks at me for a second then bites her lip. “We shouldn’t be doing this, you know.”
I smile gently and lean toward her. “Why’s that?”
“My family doesn’t want it.”
“I’m not worried about them. Do you want it?”
She pauses, maybe a little surprised that I’m asking what she wants. “Yes,” she says softly.
“That’s all I care about.”
I want to say more, but the car pulls up outside of The Clinic, and I’m interrupted. I look out the window and grin. “Here we are,” I say. “It’s not much.”
She smiles. “I don’t care. Let’s go.”
I help her out of the car and we looks up at The Clinic’s façade for a second. It’s a rundown bar two blocks away from the house that I grew up in, and I can remember spending a lot of time in there when I was younger. Chucky and I still come here sometimes, and I know the owner pretty well, a woman by the name of Lucy.
We step in through the worn green front door, and instantly I’m hit with nostalgia. The place looks like a million dives before it, although the bar itself is really gorgeous. Lucy herself is working tonight and she gives me a little wave as she pours a drink. Chuck is sitting at the bar, and he pretends not to notice me coming in with Sadie, although he knew full well this was my plan tonight. I told the asshole not to show up, but of course he did.
I steer Sadie over to a booth. “Sit tight,” I say to her. “There’s someone I need to see real fast.”
She nods and sits down as I head over to Chuck.
“I told you not to come,” I say to him.
He just grins. “Couldn’t help myself. Had to see her.” He looks over my shoulder. “I can understand why you’re taking such a big risk on her.”
I sigh, shaking my head.
“Hey, Gavin,” Lucy says.
“Hey, Lucy. Can I get a whisky and a wine?”
“Sure thing.”
I turn back to Chuck with a frown. “You might as well come meet her.”
“Oh really? Am I so important now?” He gives me a fake little smug look.
“Cut that shit out,” I say. “Be normal, all right?”
“Always am, Gav,” he says.
Lucy returns with my drinks. I give her a nice big tip, since she won’t let me pay for them normally. We’ve gone through that dance one too many times in the past. Years ago, I gave her a little loan to help her keep the place open during some hard times, and drinks have been free ever since. She paid me back, of course, so I don’t feel like she owes me. Now I pay her through tips, which she complains about sometimes, but she always takes it.
Chuck and I head back over to the booth. Sadie looks up and smiles as we approach.
“Sadie,” I say to her. “This is Chuck. He’s an old friend.”
“Charmed,” he says, grinning.
“Nice to meet you.”
They shake hands and then the two of us slip into the booth. Chuck sits opposite of Sadie and me.
“How long have you known Gavin?” Sadie asks him.
“Oh, god,” he says. “Years. How long’s it been, Gav?”
I shrug. “High school,” I say.
“Really?” she asks, laughing a little bit. “You guys were friends in high school?”
“We’re both from the neighborhood,” Chuck says. “Gavin got out first, but I wasn’t too far behind.”
“Chuck works on Wall Street,” I explain.
She nods, understanding. “Tell me an embarrassing story about him from back then,” she says to Chuck.
His grin gets bigger and he looks at me. “I’ll let you choose. Deer or pie?”
I groan a little bit. “Deer,” I say. “Please, never the pie story.”
He laughs a little. “I’ll let him tell that one,” he says, looking back at Sadie.
“Now I’m interested,” she says, nudging me. “Tell me the pie story. Is it, like, an American Pie thing?”
Chuck laughs and I shake my head. “Not at all,” I answer quickly. “Chuck, just tell her the damn story.”