Chapter 1

In the suburbs far outside of New York in 2008 before the crash and the recession, an empty bottle of wine had done its job calming the mortgage anxiety of a housewife and the backpain of a tired husband. That bottle made its way back to the recycling plant where it was broken, smashed, melted, reformed then stamped with a wondrous “Beautiful Earth” stamp. The stamp imbued it with the power to turn a $19 bottle of sparkling wine into a $910 bottle of champagne, it was the kind of libation fit for the patrons of Life Lounge, who would never worry about mortgage payments or lunch money.

Four of those patrons, men well-dressed in tailored suits, laughed with gusto unmarred by anxiety. They sat well ensconced in braggadocious stories that sometimes flirted with reality. “No, no, no, the perfect age for a woman is twenty-three. She’s out of college, still got the hot young body, still a little wild and fun, but now she’s hungry. At college, it’s all you can eat, right, but when you get out and you’re here in New York, now you’re surrounded by big shots, you’re in over your head, and you need someone to help you make it through. Fwoosh, I swoop in and it’s easy pickings man.” Nelson Broly chuckled. The former entrepreneur, now gainfully funemployed (emphasis on fun) always chuckled at his own jokes. Tonight he wore a navy suit and a thin tie that matched his thinning hair. Shorter than his buddies, he made up for his stature in volume and gesticulation. He had a strong compact body as if his parents tried to stuff too much muscle, booze, and smarmy grins into too small a container.

“What come on, give me a break, twenty-three, she’s practically a kid. No, come on, twenty-nine, that’s where it’s at. Now, I’m not talking suburban mom twenty-nine, I’m talking city girl twenty-nine. They are beautiful, curves in the right places - tits man - but they’ve been going to the gym cause now all those bouncy little nymphs coming out of high school are the competition. See they can smell thirty and they really need to land a guy, and they know they need to put out and be better than those spoiled little brats. Give me a woman like that, where I can take that girl to an event and she will handle herself right and make me look good, then I take her back home and she’s eager to please. Now, that’s what I want to see.” Adriel Spencer smiled. He was taller and leaner than the others, but not skinny. He’d earned his physique with his time in crew at an ivy league law school. He had a relaxed demeanor of a man already bringing in residuals from his own clients even though he’d barely made junior partner at his firm. He was even rebellious enough to have kept his dirty blond locks long, straight, and full.

“Age, like that really matters. Face it fellas, it’s all about the body, not the age. You don’t say, I’m gonna tap that birthday. You tap that ass. You get a nice firm round one, I’m all about it. I’d tap the shit out of that ass, don’t care if she’s twenty-four or forty-two.” Mohamad ‘Mo’ Bin Koury, banker by trade, salesman at heart, clean shaven, clean cut, well-built, and bordering on handsome, he spoke with barely even a touch of the brooklyn accent he’d once claimed, but still loved to hear.

Nelson cut in, “Yeah bullshit, you probably haven’t gotten laid since 9/11, Mohamad.”

“Hey man, it’s Mo.”

Nelson called out to the stunning waitress in a little black dress, “Hey sweety, ‘nother bottle of bubbles, this one’s on my friend Mohamad’s tab. Got it? Mohamad, as in Bin Laden, right here.”

“Fuck, asshole!”

“Oh right, sorry, he goes by Mo now, it’s very chic.”

Adriel cut in, “Lay off Nelly. I mean for fuck’s sake if you’re going to bust a man’s balls at least do me a favor and steer clear of the mispronounced puns. Shit.”

Mo prompted the fourth man in the group, “Hey Preston, weigh in on this, age is bullshit, right?”

Preston took a small sip of champagne.

Nelson stopped chuckling long enough to toss in, “Yeah, Preston, tell ‘em how it is, young and dumb right?” Adriel did not add anything, he merely peered at Preston.

His pinky pointedly wasn’t touching his champagne glass as he tipped it up and finished the swallow. He set it down slowly then his deep and steady voice rolled out, “Well boys, you all make fine points, but I’ve got the right answer. I’ll even prove it to you with a story, but first, we’re going to my place.”

At his last words, the other three quieted, their faces taking on a disbelief. Through the din of bottles clinking, fake smiles, fake flirtations, and real lies, this particular VIP table held a beat of silence.

“Wait, really?” Adriel asked.

“Yeah boys, settle up and let’s go.” Preston Fletcher Harrison got up to leave.

Mo whistled, “No shit, we’re going to the infamous fortress of solitude.”

“Alright,” Nelson grinned and straightened out his cuffs as he got up, “Story time motherfuckers.”

They settled up in a hurry to get out the door to where Preston’s car service was already waiting for them. The four of them shuffled into the large black limo where thick doors shut out the sounds of the city and they promptly renewed their various quips. Preston remained a stone statue peering out along Water St. and State St.

Adriel poured himself a scotch and nudged Preston, “Hey, I know you’re planning something, and whatever it is, I’m in.”

Preston sniffed in deeply but said nothing all the way to Lower Manhattan. They pulled up to his building where the doorman greeted them all by name despite it being the first time for three of them. The three walked in checking out the opulence of the foyer, but Preston stood back and shook the old man’s hand, looking him in the eye and saying, “Thank you.”

Nelson caught it and furrowed his brow, “What was that?”

Preston ignored him, and led them to the express where they rode the dizzyingly speedy elevator all the way to “PH”. That is where the first real surprise hit. To be clear, Adriel, Nelson, and Mo were not paupers, but the sheer size of the space they walked into had them all gasping.

“Nice,” Nelson blurted out, looking up and around.

The foyer stepped down into an open area with a circular set of couches as a pit, beyond that a two story wall of glass offered a breathtaking view of the city. A set of circular stairs lead up to a loft style bar area overlooking the main living room, and halls extended in both directions. But it wasn’t the layout or the details in the architecture, like arches and moulded surfaces that was commanding their attention. It was the plethora of scantily clad women milling about and smiling. Two on the far wall sat playing chess, several women chatted in the kitchen around a tray of fresh fruits and savory treat, and a brunette with strikingly pale golden eyes clad in red lingerie and heels walked by stopping only to hug Preston and give a heartfelt whisper and a meaningful smile.

Mo had been trying to maintain stoicism but his veneer cracked with this scene, “Whoa, Preston, my man, you didn’t tell me you were Hugh fucking Heff, man.”

Nelson chuckled, “Yeah, you been holding out on us.”

Preston heaved a sigh, “More than you know,” his shoulders were hunched and his arms were retracted into his body. It was as if he was a different person, mousy and quiet, not the domineering bad ass he always presented as. It only lasted a moment, and Preston reinflated, “but let’s fix that, boys. Grab a seat on the couch I’ve got a story to tell.”

“This better not be bullshit.”

“Oh, like it matters, just give me some good scotch and I’ll listen to whatever the fuck this motherfucker has to say,” Mo grinned as he flopped on the couch.

Nelson couldn’t help but ogle a particular petite blonde who smiled at him and bit her lip. She pushed her silken robe off her shoulders and Nelson couldn’t see a bra anywhere near those warm soft mounds. “Hello, honey.”

Preston put his arm around her pulling her robe back into place, “Hey Lonnie, you can go ahead upstairs.” Lonnie smiled at Preston with a quick sadness and nodded before hurrying up.

“Bye, sweetie,” Nelson waved, then looked back, “WTF mate?”

“Relax, buddy, I promise you, after story time there will be plenty of fun times. Have a little faith.”

Adriel grinned, “I heard that.”

Nelson threw his hands up in the air, “Alright then, let’s get this story time going.”

Preston set three empty tumblers and doused them each with obscenely expensive glugs of scotch.

“The answer to the question is twenty seven. But to really understand the question, you’ll need the story.”

“Let’s call her Emily. She was twenty seven years old wondering how the heck she’d gotten there. See, when she was 20, she found a guy who she just knew was her guy. Six years of dating this fucking loser douchebag, but see, she didn’t know he was a douche. Sure, she knew some of her close friends didn’t like him, but he had a way with people, a kind of forceful personality that drew some people in and pushed some people away. She called it gravity and she was stuck in his orbit. Until one day he decided that he was done. But he didn’t break up with her, no, he just treated her like shit ‘till she got the hint. That lasted two years. Finally he got sick of spreading out the abuse and just lumped it all in one day.”

“He kicked her out of the apartment. So there she is, this woman, twenty seven years old, decent job in client relations but most people in her position are younger, and she’s stuck. She can’t afford to get her own place anywhere near her job. So she crashes on a friend’s couch, only he is about to make things uncomfortable.”

Nelson cut in, “Yawn.”

Preston gave him a death stare that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “Like I was saying, Emily is crashing at Kyle’s place...”

Emily was carefully putting herself back together with a base layer of foundation in a tiny bathroom in an unfamiliar apartment in New York. Yesterday had been a complete disaster of a day, she’d gone from girlfriend to persona non-grata in the span of twenty minutes and lost a place to lay her head. Thankfully, Kyle had been free and answered her call, since after calling and texting several other first choices, she had been starting to worry she was going to rack up a hotel bill. He’d been the sweetest thing in the world, driving over to get her and helping her get a carload of clothes and necessities into the zipcar he rented. He even sat with her as she bawled her eyes out for way longer than she wanted to allow herself. But it was okay, she was alive. Here in the morning on a Tuesday, Emily looked in the mirror and took stock.

At twenty-seven, she was still in the prime of her life, but her facebook page was almost exclusively pictures of her smiling with a sandy brown ponytail and big smile posing next to Raymond. He was of mixed descent, but the roman nose and thick dark hair usually evoked Italian to most people. Now in the mirror she tried to conceal the puffiness her eyes had gotten from bawling late into the night and the crow’s feet she was just starting to notice. Her comfiest sleeping t-shirt was a souvenir from a trip they’d taken and her plaid pj bottoms clung tighter to her bottom than they had when she first got them six years ago.

She brushed on the last of her blush and smiled. If nothing else, at least she could look put together. She stepped out of the bathroom at 6:20 AM and smelled something sizzling.

“Kyle?”

“Good morning,” he called back. Emily rounded the hall to peek into the tiny kitchen to see Kyle in a shirt, tie, and slacks hovering over the stove and prodding some eggs. “I figured you might need some breakfast.”

“Aww, that’s really sweet, but you didn’t have to. I usually just get coffee outside the office.”

“It’s no trouble, plus I wasn’t sure if you were going to go in, I mean, if there’s ever a day to take off, I mean after last night, you deserve a little bit of a break.”

Emily smiled, “Yeah, I don’t think it works like that. But thank you, this is really really sweet.”

“Of course, just grab a seat.”

She sat down, waiting a few moments in silence while he fussed over the stove.

“You know, I should - I’m going to go get ready.”

“Yeah sure, it’ll be just a minute more.”

Most of the prep work was makeup, and since most of her stuff was shoved into suitcases, she just grabbed a pair of black jeans and cream pussy bow blouse and changed in the bathroom. By the time she got out, the table had been set and she had orange juice, a small omelette, and buttered toast waiting for her. He sat down as she did, “Bon appetit.”

The food was certainly palatable, but she wasn’t entirely in the mood to eat. Emily poked at her food and made a show of eating some, “It’s really good.” That seemed to satisfy him for a moment. “Do you do this every morning?”

“Yeah, well, no not every morning, but, well sometimes but hey, it’s good for ya,” he egged her on to eat with a beneficent palm to her plate to which she smiled politely. “And hey, look, I know - well, I don’t know what happened exactly, and you don’t have to tell me, but I would definitely listen and I can tell you this. Raymond’s a jackass. Okay, there I said it, it’s out in the open and done.”

She forced another smile.

“And listen,” he continued, “for me, I’m glad that you’re here, I’ve been wanting to try out a recipe for salmon, so if you’re going to work, when you get back, let me cook dinner for you. After everything you have been through, you deserve better.”

She forced another smile as her heart sank. She could barely stomach anymore food, but she forced some down and drank some orange juice. She noticed the glances he was shooting her. Everything was screaming warning signals at her and after everything that had happened, she didn’t want to listen but she couldn’t help hear them. He was trying too hard to be casual. He was staring with eyes just a little too wide. At the end of the meal when she said she had to go, he had an awkward moment where he got up and went to kiss her on the head, like he had last night. But last night she’d been a crying mess and needed to be held; this morning she just needed to get to work. He kissed her forehead and grasped her upper arm meaningfully and looked into her eyes with a little too much earnesty and said, “You deserve better.”

She couldn’t have gotten out of there faster. She knew what he meant, ‘I deserve you,’ she thought, ‘that’s what you’re screaming loud and clear.’ She strode down the sidewalk to the train, bracing herself not against the cool autumn winds but the creeping feeling in her skin of the knowledge that Kyle was making plans for her. ‘I need to get my own place because this is going to go bad quickly. Three days.’ She resolved.

Six days later, she was on her way to check out a new flat that was coming up for rent. Sunday’s search had been a total bust, the most promising lead on the List was just scammy subletters that wanted money up front and no real guarantee that she was actually going to be able to stay. It didn’t take a genius to read them; They were just a little too eager. Then again, without rent control, there was nothing she was finding that was even manageable much less affordable. At least the flat she was heading to check out tonight was a bona fide listing by a realtor, and while it was small and expensive, at this point she was willing to stretch into debt to get out of Kyle’s shrinking apartment. She’d had to scramble out of work early on a Monday to make it uptown and despite the cool air, she was sweating from the hustle. Emily fixed herself up hurriedly and tried to stretch out the kink in her neck that refused to get better since morning, and finally knocked.

“Hello there, you must be Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sarah” The realtor was east asian (precisely where, Emily couldn’t say) with almond shaped eyes and a medium tan on flawless skin. She had a friendly face that always seemed tilted a little bit forward as if she was really interested in hearing your story. Smartly dressed and wearing slick patent leather pumps, she seemed a woman who was making much more on commissions than this particular place could ever provide. Her smile was plastered from ear to ear, but it felt real.

Sarah showed her in and started describing the various features of the apartment, and Emily’s heart sang. It was big, it was sunny, and it was affordable! It wasn’t too long before she took out her application already filled out with her paystubs. “I’m ready, I have everything here, it’s perfect, it’s amazing.”

“I know right, and I haven’t even showed you the bathroom, it’s so cute!”

“You’ve got me already, I’m sold, here.”

Sarah did a quick check, but the smile faded from her face and Emily’s heart fell. “So, just for clarification, you’ll have a cosigner right?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Roommates maybe?” Sarah offered, “I love this place for you, but I’m a little concerned about affordability here.”

“Wait, just making sure, this is the listing for the $1300 a month loft, right?”

“Oh honey, no,” Sarah shook her head with visible pity. “Let me see the ad you have there. Mmmm, mm-hmm. No, I’m sorry, this is a loft configuration but it’s $3200 per month.”

“What?”

“I was wondering how you got this listing, it wasn’t going to start showing until tomorrow, but I got your call.”

Emily flopped down on a barstool in a 900 square foot apartment that she was never going to be able to afford. The life and fight drained out of her. Last night, Kyle had kissed her after trying to get her drunk on wine. He hadn’t exactly asked, he just did it, and even got a little grope in there for good measure. She’d gone stone faced and lips sealed, but he was getting more and more intimate and even suggestive. Worse, he’d kissed her after she told him she wasn’t interested in him that way, but he’d seemed undeterred. She had a chilling feeling that he had an idea of what she deserved and he was going to try to give it to her. It had felt like a lifeline, but now she gasped for breath that wouldn’t come as she thought about going back to Kyle’s place. None of her girlfriends either had space or would take her in. Apparently, some people had heard that Emily was a real bitch and now even some people she thought were friends were staying loyal to Raymond. The words all came tumbling out without context or clarity. She didn’t know why she was spilling it all to Sarah, her mouth kept moving so she wouldn’t have to cry.

“I just ... I just really really don’t want to go back there, and I don’t have a home.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry,” Sarah had been listening and touched her shoulder reassuringly, offering up a soft smile.

“No, I’m sorry, what am I doing, you don’t need to hear me whine. I - I’ll just go.”

“You’re not going back to Kyle’s place are you?”

Emily shrugged, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Sarah looked off in thought for a moment, “Okay, listen, you have a problem, sure, but there’s an easy solution.” She took out a card and offered it to Emily, “Go here tonight, dress to kill but high class, trust me, you’ll have no problem and before you know it, you’ll be enjoying a much bigger place than this.”

Emily stared at the card, then at Sarah incredulous.

“Don’t you look at me like you don’t need this. Take it, trust me.”

Sarah closed the door leaving Emily standing outside staring at the small white card in her hands. It was just an address. She thought about Kyle and started walking back in a daze. She rubbed the stabbing throbbing muscle in her neck and dreaded the thought of that tiny couch. She thought about the food Kyle’d been throwing out because she couldn’t bring herself to eat much. She thought about the wine he was going to try to ply her with tonight. ‘Why not just do it. Just spread my legs and get a good night’s sleep in a bed and a hot meal. It’s been done for less. Sure, I don’t want him, I can hardly stand him right now, but maybe after a few drinks.’

It’d be fine. Tonight, she’d go ahead and drink everything he poured for her, and when he’d kiss her, she wouldn’t push him off. Then finally, she could pass out in a warm bed with a real pillow as soon as he’d had his squirt and fallen asleep. Her vision blurred as tears came up, ‘besides, what else do I really deserve. I haven’t gotten a promotion in years, I don’t have any real friends who will help me out. God, I’m a worthless mess. Maybe Raymond was right, I mean if I wasn’t a bitch maybe I’d have more friends a better job, a better life. Maybe this is all I’m good for, just going to Kyle and being his little whore.’

She shook her head vigorously and rubbed her eyes. “Stop it,” she scolded herself. ‘No self-pity parties, Em,’ she scolded herself, ‘You don’t have time for that.’

By the time she made it back to the apartment she had decided. Kyle was there and cooking, and the smell of it made her stomach turn. She didn’t bother to respond to his greeting, she was busy navigating the mess of open luggage, makeup bag, and shoes that sat in his living room. Digging through, she pulled out a black dress that she hoped would still fit. After all, she’d started losing weight while she and Raymond were fighting, and now she’d barely eaten for four days. If there was any chance for her to fit into this slinky black sequined lace powderkeg of a dress for the first time in three years, this was it.

A shower and a prayer later, Emily slipped into the dress with ease. She worked some product in her hair and hoped for a Scarlett Johansson type of wet look.

Kyle’s reaction told her he’d gotten the look right, “Wow, you look amazing. Come, sit, I made us dinner.” Of course he was already eagerly pouring her wine. She took the wine glass and drank a large swallow.

“Thanks,” she put down the nearly empty glass. She could see the excitement in his eyes watching her down the wine; He looked like a spoiled child that was about to get a new toy. “I’ve already got plans, but save some for me, ‘kay?”

She moved with purpose, throwing on a trench coat and plowing out the door while he lobbed some weak entreaties and complaints. Emily just plugged in her earbuds, tuned out the noise, and waited for her ride-share. Plopping in the backseat she gave the driver the address, then skipped the chit chat. She usually rode in the front seat with these things. Never when she was with Raymond, of course, but on her own it was nice to strike up a conversation with the driver. But tonight she sat in the backseat and closed her eyes. Kyle was probably still mulling over his next attempt at seduction. She could let him have his way and live that life. ‘Yeah right,’ she snorted, ‘it wouldn’t last even if I could stand his hands on me.’ Her mind kept issuing a silent prayer, wishing over and again that she’d get into a fatal car crash. The driver would be miraculously safe, but she’d be dead in an instant. Then people would say nice things about her at her funeral and even Raymond might show up and he’d feel like a gut punch and would regret the way he treated her. Most of all, she wouldn’t have to go where she was going, and she’d never have to see Kyle again. ‘It’s the assholes like Raymond that make it exciting’, she thought with a dead straight gaze out the window, ‘it’s the nice guys like Kyle who rape you.’ She shook off the dark thoughts as the car pulled up to the address she’d been given.

She exchanged pleasantries with the driver, an older man of some vaguely brown ethnic descent. She didn’t bother to remember his name, but he seemed nice.

Stepping out of the car and slipping her earbuds into her clutch, she looked up at the building. It was just a restaurant, albeit a nice one, but at the ground floor. Various people ate, even some families at tables. She frowned, but walked in. A young short hostess greeted her at the front with a big smile and asked how many in her party.

Feeling more and more like a fish out of water, Emily hugged her coat close, “You know, actually I think I might be in the wrong place, is there a bar or something?”

The hostess gave her a smile, “Oh yeah, there’s a bar at the top of the hotel, kind of swanky place? Just go through there and take the elevator up.”

She followed the directions, took the elevator and was greeted by another host, a man with a thick neck who smelled of military experience. “ID?”

She smiled, her eyes shining and she fished her ID out of her clutch. It’s nice to get carded at 27, she thought and wondered how many more years she’d have like that. She checked her coat in the complimentary coat check but kept her clutch. At first everything seemed rather mundane, so again Emily wondered if she’d been given the wrong information. She made her way through to the bar area, which wrapped around the wall. While there was a token dance floor lit by warm reds, most of the action was going on at the bar and tables. The buzzing of chat dominated the soundscape with well dressed men of varying ages flirting with attractive women. It would seem she was in the right place.

She took up a post at the bar and ordered an eight dollar club soda and lime. ‘Better pace myself,’ she thought ruefully as she looked at the $32 remaining in her clutch. For the first fifteen minutes, she mostly watched. Men came up to women at the bar, they tended to be complimentary but insistent.

A few men made eye contact with her while she was people watching, but she looked away. She looked down at her drink and took stock. ‘What am I doing here? There’s nothing special going on here except that a glass of wine costs 20 bucks.’ She took a deep breath and despite the ambient noise, she felt the silent solitude of being out at a bar alone. This wasn’t the kind of place she ever would go to alone and (having been with Raymond for pretty much her entire adult life) it wasn’t really the kind of scene she’d frequented in years. But there was a problem to be solved, and as much as she hated herself for it, this time the solution was not going to be resting bitch face.

The next time a man made eye contact, she flashed him a smile. He smiled back as she toyed with her hair with faux coyness while internally rolling her eyes. He wasn’t particularly attractive or even memorable. Like most men, he was quick to talk about himself and she mostly let him. He was in some kind of financial business. She listened, and graciously accepted the wine he offered to buy her.

“See what most of those guys don’t realize is that it doesn’t matter what new fangled trading algorithms they want to bring up if they work or don’t work, I could care less. If there’s volume I’m going to make money.”

“Oh, wow,” she nodded, already checked out. She swirled her second drink and imagined it to be hemlock.

He studied her for a minute. “You’re new at this aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” she nodded absently, not actually paying attention, “This is really good by the way.”

He blinked at her, then chuckled and shook his head, “Yeah, alright, look here sweetie,” he turned her chin with an abrasive finger, “You’re phoning it in, normally I’d walk, but you’ve got a great ass, and I’m in the mood for a good hate fuck right now. 1 grand right now, let’s go.”

Emily stalled for a moment, processing his words and shock through the haze of alcohol, then pushed his hand off her chin and followed it up by slapping his face. “Get bent, ass.”

He drew his hand back, and she saw the back of his hand and flashed hard to a memory. Emily flinched, covering her face and knocking over her glass of wine onto her lap, the cool fluid splashing on the black shimmery dress. The glass cracked on hard stone tile right as she expected to feel the had come down.

He just shook his head and turned away in disgust. Shakily, she reached to her clutch and opened it up, grabbing a twenty. The bartender hadn’t seen the little event and even though her heart was pounding, she decided she’d need a little more liquid courage to do what she was going to need to do. She was going to need to be fun happy party girl.

Emily scanned the room looking for the best way forward before she got too drunk to think straight. He’d need to be an easy mark. Someone with enough bravado and machismo to want to save a girl, but not nice enough to be evil. Stupidity not required, but prefered. That’s when she saw him.

He was well dressed, but that wasn’t unusual. Tall and fit he had the shoulders of a man more suited to outdoor activities than cubicles and office politics. He had a relaxed aura about him, even as the three other men around him grinned, joked, and prodded, he looked comfortable. His gaze turned to her and he looked directly into her eyes. He’d caught her staring and suddenly she couldn’t look away. It took a beat before she realized she ought to smile and another before she was able to compose one.

She turned her back to him and psyched herself up with smiles and fun times. She needed a name to go with a new persona, so she glanced around. Cherry? No. Amber? Maybe. Brandy? That could work.

“Hello, I’m Preston, would you mind if I join you?”

“Here we go,” Nelson interjected.

“That was a long assed introduction for a bang story man,” Mo laughed.