The Arrangement

by Robyn Harding

  “What happened?”

  “We went for a drink, and he was charming. He said he was into white parties. I was feeling kind of wild, so I said I was, too.”

  “White parties? Like all white clothes?”

  “Like all white drugs. Coke and pills.” The ice pack returned to her cheek. “I went to his hotel room. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be spontaneous, just this once, but . . .” Emotion stole her voice, filled her eyes with tears.

  Nat squeezed her hand. “It’s okay.”

  “It started off fine. We were fucked-up, but we were having fun. And then, he went crazy.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He punched me in the face. Hard. And then he threw me to the floor and he . . . he raped me. He didn’t wear a condom.”

  “Oh, Ava.”

  “He held me by the neck, crushed my face into the carpet while he did it. And when he was done”—her face paled beneath the carpet burn—“he spat on me, called me a whore, and then he left.”

  Nat gathered the bruised girl into her arms and let her cry on her shoulder. After a few moments, Nat asked, “Have you seen a doctor?”

  Ava pulled away, dabbed at her eyes with the collar of her sweatshirt. “I’ve got an appointment at three.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “What would I say? I met a guy on a sugar daddy site. He paid me to go to his room and do drugs with him. They’d think it was all my fault.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. You’re battered and bruised. They’d see what that monster did to you, and they’d make him pay.”

  “There’s no point. I have no idea who he really is.”

  “Can you report him through the website?”

  “I did. But he can always create a new e-mail, upload some new photos, change his username.” She pulled a crumpled tissue from her sleeve and blew her nose. “You have to be really careful, Nat.”

  But she didn’t, because now she had Gabe. He was officially her sponsor, her blesser. She never had to go on the site again. While she’d been eager to tell Ava about her new arrangement, it would have been unkind under these circumstances. Instead, she said, “I will be.”

  Ava insisted she was fine, that she needed nothing, but eventually agreed to let Natalie run out to the deli to get her some soup and fruit. Nat hustled to the corner shop, her mind entrenched in her friend’s nightmare. It wasn’t Ava’s fault, of course, but she had been careless, reckless. It was so out of character. Ava had scolded Nat for letting Gabe know where she lived when he delivered her home in his town car. And yet, Ava had agreed to do drugs in some random daddy’s hotel room. What had possessed her friend to take such a risk?

  Entering the warmth of the deli, Nat’s confusion turned to intense gratitude. She’d found Gabe. And she knew, in her heart, that he would never hurt her.

  20

  * * *

  The Sighting

  Ava returned to school on Monday, her scraped face camouflaged by makeup, her scabbed mouth covered in lipstick. While her appearance was beginning to heal, her psyche would take longer. Ava was quiet, morose, easily startled. This was not the confident, vivacious girl Natalie had grown to know. Their classmates were noticing it, too. After a sketching session, Nat’s friend Ivan approached her.

  “Is Ava okay? She seems kind of . . . off.”

  Nat had to cover for her friend. “It’s a family issue, back home in Ohio.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “A sick relative,” Nat fibbed. “She’s going home for spring break. She’ll feel better when she’s spent some time with her family.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m going to get a coffee before next class. Do you want something? My treat?”

  “Aren’t you the big spender,” Ivan said, and Nat felt her face redden. He was teasing, she reminded herself. He didn’t know. “I’d love a latte.”

  “Sure.”

  Nat strolled toward the coffee shop at Twenty-Third and Lex (take-out coffee, a luxury her new allowance afforded), her mind drifting back to Ava. Her friend had always been dismissive of her hometown, her working-class family, their staid, boring life. So when she’d announced her travel plans, Nat had been surprised. “I need to go home,” Ava had explained that morning, tears filling her eyes. “I just want to be with my family right now.”

  “I understand,” Nat had said, and she did. Sort of. It was hard to relate to what Ava had gone through in that hotel room, the damage it had done to her physically, mentally, and emotionally. Perhaps Nat would have wanted to go home, too, if she’d been abused that way. But every negative thing that had happened to Nat had happened in Blaine. It didn’t feel like a safe place to run.

  She still hadn’t told Ava about Gabe, though she was practically bursting to share. It wouldn’t be fair, not with her friend so damaged and broken. So Nat kept it to herself, tried to suppress her delighted smiles, hide her dreamy stares when her mind drifted back to their time together. The relationship had been going for nearly two weeks, if she counted from their first date, which she did. As clichéd as it sounded, she had never felt this way. Not even in the early days with Cole. Not with Miguel. Those boys couldn’t make her feel secure, cherished, adored. That took a man.

  But this was not a storybook romance; she knew that. It was a financial arrangement between two consenting adults who had laid out the parameters of their relationship up front. No strings. No commitment, obligation, or drama. And above all, no emotional attachment. This was about enjoying their time together, as limited as it may be, with no thought for the future. Because there wouldn’t be one. Her brain knew it, but her heart begged to differ.

  On their fourth date, that rare Saturday rendezvous, Nat thought they might consummate their relationship. But she’d been terrified. What if Gabe’s fifty-five-year-old body didn’t look as good beneath the ten-thousand-dollar suit? Would she be turned off? Men his age were prone to erectile dysfunction, judging by the embarrassment of Cialis ads featuring fit, handsome fiftysomethings that ran during her mom’s Shonda Rhimes programs. How would Nat deal with that? Or, what if Gabe took the Cialis or some other sexual-performance-enhancing drug and she had to deal with an eight-hour erection?

  Even more terrifying was the possibility that it would go well. That she would be attracted to him and the sex would be amazing. Then what? Gabe would hand her an envelope full of cash in a month’s time, thereby turning her into a full-fledged prostitute. It was all too overwhelming.

  When Gabe had taken her back to his place after an incredible dinner in the Meatpacking District, she’d expressed her fear. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “I’ll wait,” he’d said. “I want you to want this as much as I do.”

  Gabe had slept on the sofa that night, afraid he couldn’t control himself in bed next to her. She knew he wouldn’t wait much longer. He was a man with needs. For thirty-five hundred a month, he’d want more than a dinner companion, more than a teddy bear. She wanted to be close to him, to share that intimacy, too. But she was afraid of how it would impact her emotionally.

  She ordered two lattes and waited in the crowded shop, scanning her phone. Her mom had texted to check in. Since Cole had been in New York roughly two weeks without contacting Nat, they were all beginning to relax. Gabe had texted her, too. They had made plans to go to a show on Thursday night. What did she want to see? This would be Natalie’s first Broadway experience. She had no idea what was playing, what was good.

  Surprise me, she texted back. I trust your opinion. And she did. Gabe was cultured, classy, informed. The more she got to know him, the more impressed she was by him. She couldn’t quite believe that a man of his caliber was interested in her, and yet, he seemed to adore her. He looked at her like he’d never seen anyone more beautiful, touched her like she was a goddess. Her stomach fluttered, and her cheeks flushed at the thought
of him. It was an infatuation, she told herself. It was not more than that.

  “Two lattes for Natalie!”

  She stepped up, slipping the hot drinks into cardboard sleeves before grabbing them and pushing her way out into the street. The March sun was high in the sky, doing little to jettison the seasonal chill. But the sun’s rays, the coffee in her hands, the Broadway show to look forward to, warmed her, made her feel light and happy. It had been a while since she’d felt that rush of gratitude for her life in New York, that feeling that she was on the right path. Crossing at Third Avenue, she hurried back to campus and her next class.

  At the main building, she paused, her hands full of coffees. As she waited for an exiting student to hold the door open for her, she felt it, subtle, but there; a chill, a prickle, a frisson of dread. Some sixth sense, some instinct for self-preservation made her whirl around and scan the streets. No one was looking at her—students, construction workers, tourists, all going about their day. But her eyes moved to the opposite side of Twenty-Third Street, and she spotted him. This time, she was not hallucinating. This time he was not a mirage. There, loitering outside a thrift shop, was Cole Doberinsky.

  The lattes slipped from her grip, the paper cups hitting the sidewalk, dislodging their plastic lids, sending coffee splashing over her shoes and jeans. Cole wore a black hoodie over his sandy hair, but she knew it was him. His physique was familiar, strong and wiry. His posture was tense, tightly coiled. For a brief moment, their eyes connected, and she saw her shock and fear reflected back at her. Cole had not wanted her to spot him. But she saw something else in his dark eyes. Anger and resentment. Cole Doberinsky still hated her.

  She thought of the gun hidden in her sock drawer. Should she have been packing it to school? What would her liberal, art-school friends have thought of that? And would she have the guts to walk over to Cole, pull the gun from her pocket, and point it at his face?

  “Are you okay?” It was her classmate Keltie. She bent down and picked up the dropped cups. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Nat mumbled. “They . . . slipped.”

  She turned back toward Cole, but he had disappeared.

  21

  * * *

  Broadway

  Nat was shaken by the encounter with Cole. She’d been lulled into a false sense of security when her ex had failed to materialize, but now she knew. He was in New York because of her. The only mystery left was what he planned to do to her. And what she was willing to do to protect herself. Nat had no one to talk to about the boy’s sinister appearance. She couldn’t burden Ava with it, given all she’d been through. Her roommates already disliked her and would see “stalker ex-boyfriend” as definitive third-strike material. And Gabe Turnmill had not signed up for all her drama. He’d been tender and supportive when Nat had conjured Cole in the French bistro, but she didn’t want to belabor the issue.

  She had other friends at school, like Ivan and Keltie, but they wouldn’t understand the mess she was in, would be repelled by it. Her only confidant was Oleg, the driver. Despite his muscular, menacing aspect, despite the weapon kept casually in his glove box, Nat had developed a rapport with him as he’d shuttled her to and from her liaisons with his employer. Tuesday night, after a quick drink downtown with Gabe, she vented to her chauffeur.

  “I told Cole I have a gun. I told him to stay away from me. But still . . . he came to my school. He’s obsessed with me.”

  Oleg’s voice was level, his eyes on the road. “If you really think he’s dangerous, you should learn to use the pistol.”

  The alcohol in her stomach churned at the suggestion. Nat could never shoot someone, not even Cole. While her ex-boyfriend’s presence filled her with anxiety, her rational mind knew he wouldn’t really hurt her. Not physically anyway. He would probably scream at her, humiliate her, publicly disparage her. Or he might be more devious. He might watch and wait and gather evidence—of her relationship with Gabe, of their financial arrangement. And with that, he could ruin her.

  “I’ll think about it,” she muttered.

  She had reported the Cole sighting to her mother.

  “Maybe you should come home,” Allana said, sounding shaken.

  “How would that solve anything?” Nat responded. “He’ll just come back to Blaine and harass me there.”

  “You’re right. . . . Have you called the police?”

  “And say what? My ex-boyfriend stared at me from across the street?” She was being snarky, and she knew it. But she couldn’t seem to stop it.

  The line was quiet for a moment. “Do you have any male friends who could protect you? Do you . . . have a boyfriend?”

  Her mom’s reticence to delve into her daughter’s private life articulated the distance between them. If things had been different, her mom would have known everything that was going on in Nat’s life. They had been so close. But now, Allana’s new family came first.

  “I can protect myself,” Nat said, her voice hoarse with repressed emotion.

  She heard her mother’s deep intake of breath. “I’ll call Trish again.” Trish was Cole’s rather domineering mother. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I love you, Natalie. You’ll get through this.”

  The week progressed without another Cole sighting. That didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking, watching, planning a way to get to her. Her mom informed her, via e-mail, that Trish Doberinsky was worried about her son, felt he was more destructive to himself than anyone else. But Nat wasn’t so sure. She went to school, tried to focus, but she was distracted, on edge. Much like her friend, Ava. The girl’s pretty face was back to normal, but her spirit was not. Ava had taken to scurrying home between classes, skipping more of them than was acceptable for a decent GPA. Nat understood the temptation to hide away. At times, she wanted to hole up in her chaotic Brooklyn bedroom, where she knew Cole could not find her. But she couldn’t risk her scholarship money. Even with her new allowance, tuition would be out of reach on her own.

  On Thursday, Gabe sent Oleg to collect her for their date on Broadway. She’d spent an hour getting ready, making sure she looked appropriate for a night at the theater with a distinguished man. She’d gone shopping, purchasing three little black dresses and a pair of quality stilettos that would work for dates with Gabe. She did her hair and applied her makeup, using Ava’s expert techniques. Looking good for him, making him proud of the woman on his arm, was all part of their arrangement.

  Gabe would meet her at the theater. The show started at seven thirty, so he would come straight from the office. He worked late most nights, he’d told her, getting home at ten, even eleven o’clock. His long days worked for Nat, allowing her time to study and do homework before joining him for a late dinner. But that night, he was knocking off early to take her to the show.

  When the car pulled up near the theater, Gabe was there, waiting. He was still in the suit he’d worn to the office, looking professional, sophisticated. He opened the door for Nat, helping her exit the car in her tight dress and heels. “You look beautiful,” he said, kissing her cheek. He waved Oleg away, and then, taking her arm, he escorted her past the line and into the opulent theater.

  As they crossed the carpeted lobby, Nat was chagrined to see that many of the patrons were dressed casually: tourists, given their comfortable running shoes, Big Apple sweatshirts, and plastic bags full of souvenirs. She felt conspicuous and overdressed in her LBD and heels, until she looked at the man beside her. Her ensemble was a match for her date’s. And Gabe had told her she looked beautiful. His opinion was all that mattered.

  Inside, the theater was even more spectacular: glittering chandeliers, ornate cornices, pillars, and porticoes. Gabe led them to excellent seats, fourth row in the orchestra section. “This place was built in the twenties,” Gabe said, leaning in close, his breath warm in her ear. “It was built for the composer Irving Berlin.” Nat raised her eyebrows, impressed, though the name meant nothin
g to her. She made a mental note to google this Irving guy when she got home.

  The show was a musical comedy, smart, witty, expertly performed. As a spectator, Nat was awed. As a creative person, she was filled up, energized by the talent it took to craft such a production. Gabe held her hand in the darkened theater, their shoulders pressing against each other. She felt grateful, shy, and infatuated, all at the same time.

  Halfway through the show, the lights went up for intermission. “Champagne?” Gabe asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  They moved with the crowd to the lobby. “I need to use the restroom,” she called over the buzz of the other patrons.

  “I’ll get us a drink and meet you back here.”

  In the bathroom, she waited in a queue of women—tourists and locals—all chattering about the show, about New York, about the weather. Nat peed, washed her hands, freshened her lip gloss. She paused, staring at her reflection. Who was this confident girl with the contoured cheekbones, the smoky eyes, the figure-hugging dress? How did she end up there, at a Broadway show, with a rich, handsome, older man? A small, self-satisfied smile crept across the face of the girl in the mirror.

  When she emerged, she spotted her date across the bubbling stew of people. Gabe was embroiled in conversation with a sophisticated older couple: a man in a sharp suit and a painfully thin woman in a stylish wrap dress. They had to be friends, or colleagues, perhaps. Nat pushed her way through the thick crowd toward Gabe and his companions. When she was about fifteen feet away, Gabe looked up and met her gaze. What she saw in his eyes stopped her dead in her tracks.

  A warning. Even a threat.

  Gabe did not want her to approach, did not want to introduce her to this classy pair. If Natalie walked up to him, he would shun her, dismiss her, even disparage her. Because she was a paid escort, nothing more. Gabe was embarrassed to be seen with her, ashamed of her. She stood still, in the middle of the crowd, her face hot with humiliation. Ahead of her, Gabe clapped the man on the upper arm and kissed the woman on the cheek. As the couple moved back toward the theater, Gabe made his way toward Nat.