Do This For Me

by Eliza Kennedy

  Still, I couldn’t let them go on.

  “My personal life is a little challenging right now,” I said. “I don’t think this—you and me, you know, dating—is a good idea.”

  “I understand,” he said. “And I will submit with good grace. I’m sure my crush will fade eventually.”

  Would it? Did I want it to?

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be.” He smiled at me easy as could be. “Aren’t we having fun?”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Help me understand something,” Sarah said.

  I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. “I can’t wear this.”

  She swept a makeup brush across her cheeks. “Here you are. Recently launched on a bonkers sex binge. Made over, done up, putting yourself out there in surprising and totally applause-worthy ways.”

  I was wearing a red leather miniskirt, a black-and-white-striped T-shirt, tall boots and a fur vest. “I look like a fool.”

  “Lo and behold,” she continued. “Along comes a man. A man you find smart and interesting. A man who is objectively hot and openly available. A man who, notwithstanding your weird protestations, is clearly interested in you.”

  “But we work together, so—”

  “You slept with an IT guy, Raney. ‘We work together’ is not a winning argument for you anymore, okay?” She made her eyes huge and swiped on mascara. “As I was saying. You and this man travel to another city. Circumstances force you to be alone together, during which time he banters with you. Flirts with you. Confesses his mad crush.”

  She capped her mascara and caught my eye in the mirror. “Why, why, why did you not take him upstairs and fuck his brains out?”

  “Can we not do the whole exhaustive-analysis-of-my-motives-and-behavior thing tonight? I thought we were going to have fun.”

  “The whole exhaustive-analysis-of-your-motives-and-behavior thing is fun. Do you like him?”

  “No! I mean, I like him, but I don’t like him like him.”

  “Oh, God.” Sarah raised a hand. “Put that answer right back in your Trapper Keeper, because you are so middle school right now I can’t stand it.”

  I frowned at myself in the mirror. She nudged me. “You look fantastic. Let’s go.”

  The Fury was waiting downstairs. As we emerged from the hotel, Jorge held open the back door. People on the sidewalk stopped and admired the car. Sarah took my arm, sashaying proudly.

  “Raney?”

  Aaron stepped into the light cast by the hotel’s awning. My stomach lurched.

  Sarah held my arm tighter. “Hi, asshole!” she cried gaily.

  I found my voice. “What are you doing here?”

  He stepped closer. “I need to talk to you. You won’t answer your phone.”

  Sarah pushed herself between us. “Let me femmesplain something to you, Aaron, because you’re obviously not getting it. When a woman ignores your calls and e-mails and texts, that doesn’t mean she wants you to show up in person. It means she wants you to Fuck. Off.”

  “Hey.” I touched her shoulder. “Wait for me in the car?”

  She flounced into the backseat. Aaron watched, puzzled. “Is that hers?”

  “It’s mine.”

  He tore his eyes away from the Fury and noticed what I was wearing. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  I adjusted the strap of my tiny purse. “Sarah and I are going clubbing.”

  He couldn’t process that, so he moved on. “Raney, we have to come to some resolution here.”

  He started telling me about a couples therapist he’d found. I half listened. He looked tired. Was he busy with his next book? With the show? Was he still working with Deirdre?

  Did I care?

  I thought back to my realization, months ago, that I wasn’t ready to give him up. That there was too much that was good about our life and our marriage.

  What about now? Did I still love him? I looked at him, and I felt…

  Nothing.

  I crossed the pavement toward the car. Aaron followed.

  “This is not how we deal with problems, Raney. We talk. I did something terrible, I know. But I chose us. I want us. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  He was drawing me in, trying to keep me talking. Even a screaming argument on a city sidewalk would have been preferable to total silence.

  “I have to go.” I ducked my head and got in the car, not looking back until we pulled away.

  * * *

  —

  And so the days and nights passed. I worked hard. The girls spent two or three nights a week with me. I exercised with Jared, went out with Sarah, shopped with Athena.

  And I slept with a lot of men.

  I tried to follow Sarah’s advice. To stop thinking. To focus on my sensations. Sometimes it worked. I felt more present, more engaged, more connected. Yet some part of me always remained detached. An observer. I was never swept away.

  Was that all sex was? Was I expecting too much?

  Thoughts like those nagged at me. Until I had a great idea.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Cameron said.

  We were in my office one morning, near the end of February. “I’m completely serious,” I said.

  He practically leaped out of his chair. “Boss, that’s…all due respect, but that’s crazy talk right there.”

  “Why?”

  He started pacing the room. He reached the window, then whipped around and headed back. I’d never seen him so worked up. “I guess I’m confused. We both know your track record is mega impressive. You don’t need to pay someone to…to…”

  “I don’t want to sleep with a prostitute, Cameron. I want to talk to one. Learn from one.”

  He looked relieved, but only slightly. “It still seems extreme. There are books for that. Internet guides.” He pulled out his phone. “What if I found you a sex therapist?”

  “No talkers. I want a doer. Someone with experience.” I paused. “Lots of experience.”

  He sank back into his chair. “Oh boy.”

  “I’m missing something, Cameron. I’m not getting it. I’ve hired a personal trainer to improve my body, and a stylist to improve my wardrobe, a decorator to enhance my surroundings. I’ve been scrubbed and peeled, whitened, brightened, detoxed. All of those experts helped me enormously. Why not a personal sex worker?”

  “Because…”

  He didn’t have an answer. I felt a rush of optimism. I was on the right track at last.

  He pulled out his phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “You’re breaking my heart,” I said.

  Jisun looked puzzled. “Wouldn’t that require you to have one?”

  We were sitting on a banquette in the cocktail lounge she’d chosen for her going-away party. My favorite associate was joining the U.S. Attorney’s Office.

  “I should have known you were interviewing,” I grumbled. “So many doctor’s appointments.”

  When associates, formerly the picture of robust youth and good health, suddenly acquire invisible afflictions requiring sustained medical attention? It means they’re leaving the firm.

  “I couldn’t tell you the truth,” Jisun protested. “You would have had me locked up.”

  “I still might.” I patted her knee and stood. “But first, I’ll get you another drink.”

  I wedged myself in next to Amanda at the bar. She was chatting with someone, but broke off to greet me. “Raney!”

  “Having fun?”

  “I’m having a great time!”

  I tried to catch the attention of the bartender. As much as Jisun’s departure stung, I consoled myself that I still had Amanda. I’d never worked with a first-year so naturally talented. She was brilliant, hardworking, unflappable. I was
hugely impressed.

  “You know why Jisun’s really leaving, don’t you?” she said.

  The bartender skidded to a stop in front of us. I ordered, then turned back to Amanda. “Why’s that?”

  “Because the firm is a horrible environment for women,” she said.

  Her suit jacket was unbuttoned and her eyes were bright. She’d had a few. I kept my voice neutral. “In what way?”

  “In the male-female way. The persistently sexist way. The way of men who are the worst.”

  Something about her expression, the bitterness in her tone, made my antennae go up.

  “Amanda, if something has happened to you, you can tell me. We have procedures in place, and I promise—”

  “You think I’ve been harassed or something?” She let out a short, sharp laugh. “No, although I’ve heard plenty of stories. What I’m talking about is far more pervasive. I think you know it, too. Even if you pretend not to, the way you did in Knoxville.”

  She was drunk, which meant this was a conversation for another time. I stepped back from the bar, but she held my sleeve.

  “Here’s a little secret, Raney. I joined the firm for one reason. To pay off my student loans. As soon as I wrote that final check, I was headed right back to the nonprofit world. But then something crazy happened. I fell in love with the work.” She laughed again, this time in wonder. “I’m working with brilliant people, on fascinating cases, and getting so much experience. But the culture sucks.”

  “It’s unfortunate that our profession attracts difficult people,” I said. “You have to learn how to deal with opponents who are aggressive, and—”

  “I’m not talking about opposing counsel, Raney, although they can be awful, too. I’m talking about lawyers at our firm. You know—the guys who work with us. Who are supposed to be on the same side. But who act like total jerks.”

  “Things are better than they used to be,” I said.

  “Oh!” She made her eyes theatrically wide. “Okay! I shouldn’t complain, because the environment isn’t totally toxic? Because we’re not Gaia Café, or Uber, or Fox fucking News? I should be grateful for the present shittiness, because the prior shittiness was so much worse?”

  I said, as gently as I could, “You’re never going to escape the fools and the oafs and the profoundly misguided, Amanda. Your best bet is to ignore them. Work hard. Be better than them.”

  “Why do I have to be better?” she retorted. “Why can’t I be just as good?”

  She’d taken my arm again. I gently disentangled myself. “Because that’s the way the world is. And because it works. It worked for me.”

  She nodded slowly, giving me an appraising look. “Yeah. Let’s talk about you. Do you know how psyched I was when I found out I was going to work for you? You’re, like, a legend. You’re so powerful and smart and accomplished, and you were going to be my mentor. Then, my first day, you got that phone call. Something horrifying happened, and where anyone else would have fallen apart, you dominated it. You’ve been that way ever since. You’re bulletproof.”

  If only she knew. “I don’t think you have an accurate idea of—”

  “But then,” she continued, ignoring me, “I started seeing things differently. There was the deposition, and that crazy day at Barneys. And all the other things you’ve done to change how you look. All for men.”

  “How about you don’t bring my personal life into this?” I said.

  “Why not? You brought me into your personal life. And now I want to know. If all you did to succeed was be yourself, like you told me that first day, well, who is that? Someone who lets it all roll off her, or someone who changes herself to accommodate what men want? Are you above the fray—or are you complicit?”

  “Complicit?” I had to laugh. “Because I don’t call out trivial sexism?”

  “It’s not trivial. Not when it’s a constant drip, drip, drip, every day.”

  “Complaining about it won’t change anything.”

  “How do you know? If you really care about women sticking around, you should be standing up for us. You should be showing us that you think the way we’re being treated is wrong, and that—”

  “You want some mentoring?” I snapped. “Get over yourself. Men won’t change simply because you want them to. You need to forget about your grievances, forget about being a woman and do your job.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do!” she cried. “I only want to work, but I have to face this bullshit. Men falling silent when I enter the room. Talking over me. Ignoring me. Making stupid jokes. Making comments about how I look. Because they see me as a woman first, before I’m anything else. You think I want special treatment? I don’t! I—”

  “Aaaaand we’re done here!” Rahsaan materialized, slipping his arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Nothing like a little diatribe from the tipsy first-year, right, Raney?”

  He led Amanda away.

  * * *

  —

  An hour later I was ready to go. I said goodbye to Jisun and wended my way to the front of the bar, greeting a few partners and associates along the way. I was still a little shaken by my encounter with Amanda. I shouldn’t have spoken so sharply to her. Still, complicit? Changing myself to accommodate what men want? In my off hours, for my own purposes, maybe. At work? Never.

  I was reaching for the door handle when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Rob Preskill, an associate who’d worked for me a few years earlier, during his second summer of law school. He joined the firm after he graduated, but chose corporate over litigation.

  “Hey, Raney!”

  After Amanda’s diatribe, it was nice to see a friendly face. I smiled at him. “Hello, traitor.”

  He laughed. “You’re still bitter I switched departments?”

  “Of course. But what’s new? And why do you look so good?”

  “My girlfriend kept nagging me about the growing pudge, so I trained for a marathon.” He patted his flat belly. “It had unintended benefits.”

  “She must be very happy.”

  “You’d think,” he said. “But she still dumped my ass.”

  I laughed, then covered my mouth. “Sorry! That was rude.”

  He shrugged. “She was rude first.”

  We smiled at each other.

  “So,” Rob said. “What’s new with you, Raney?”

  I kissed him in a taxi on the way to the hotel. I kissed him in the elevator going up to the suite. He was voracious, hands everywhere. I laughed. Then we were kissing again.

  We stumbled into the suite. I led him to the sofa. I held his face. I felt him. I felt myself, feeling him. My breathing, my body. I was there.

  “This is not happening,” he murmured.

  I unbuttoned his shirt. “Is it so hard to believe?”

  “Yes!” He pushed my skirt up, yanked my panties aside, and thrust two fingers inside me. I gasped. He thrust them deeper. He kissed my face, my neck. I pushed off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt.

  Was I getting it? Maybe I was getting it at last.

  “Let me show you the bedroom,” I whispered.

  “No. I want you right here.”

  He pulled off his shirt. I felt his shoulders, his chest. His skin was cool.

  More kissing. His hands, skimming. Our bodies stretching out. A knee between mine. Legs parting.

  Then he was inside me. He began to move. One full stroke. Then another.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Oh God that feels good.”

  I found his rhythm. We looked into each other’s eyes. His were shining and so, so…what? Sincere.

  How did I feel? I felt…I felt…

  Nothing.

  He was kissing my throat and murmuring something. I stroked his back.

  But I was gone.

  How could I not b
e into this? Rob was attractive and smart. I knew him well. I liked touching him and being touched by him. But a veil had come down between him and me, or between me and my body.

  Used to be I wasn’t present, I couldn’t focus, I was distracted.

  Now I was present, focused, undistracted. But I still wasn’t there.

  And I didn’t know how to be there.

  “Rob?” I put my hand on his chest. “I think we should stop.”

  * * *

  —

  Marty knocked on my door the next morning. I looked up from the memo I was editing. “What’s another word for futile?”

  “Vain.” He wandered in. “Fruitless, ineffectual, pointless.”

  I scribbled “fruitless” in the margin. “Thanks.”

  He headed for the bookshelves, where he inspected the titles. “The general counsel of Hyperium called me yesterday. You’ve got a very satisfied customer on your hands.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I circled a typo.

  Marty walked to the door and shut it. “I have to ask you something.”

  I waited.

  “Did you take an associate home last night?”

  “No.”

  He exhaled, visibly relieved. “Good.”

  “I took him to the Mandarin Oriental.”

  “Raney Jane.” Marty sat down, all seriousness now. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “You know a better hotel?”

  “Don’t be clever.”

  “Why shouldn’t I ‘do that,’ Marty?”

  “Whatever you’re after, all these,” he waved at me vaguely, “changes of yours, these new habits? You need to keep them out of the office.”

  I tapped my pencil against the blotter. How easily I could have relieved his mind. Explained that my “changes” and “new habits”—none of it had worked. I couldn’t understand sex. I didn’t get desire. So I was done.

  I could have said all this. But I didn’t care for Marty’s tone.

  “I’m not Rob’s supervising partner, Marty. I haven’t broken any rules.”

  He stood again. He paced. “I’ve given you a lot of leeway. I didn’t say word one about that business last fall, the stunt you pulled on Twitter—”