In that single tick, seeing her steeped in poverty and humiliation, he had meant to pop her. More like put her out of her misery. It was so delicious, his intended revenge.
Except he couldn’t do it.
He just couldn’t disconnect from those golden eyes filled with degradation, her face awash in shame. Distant memories flooded his brain, and all he could think about was how much he still wanted her.
So he told her to pack her bags. She didn’t even own a suitcase, throwing her meager belongings into two plastic grocery sacks. This all went down at a time when he still did occasional favors for his ex-father-in-law, so he still had the trappings-the limo, the bodyguards, a view suite in a posh hotel on Michigan Avenue. He took her to the place, her disgrace keenly visible as they walked through the crowded lobby. He was carrying the sleeping kid in his arms, leaving her like an overloaded donkey to trod through the public areas, burdened under the weight of her clothes, plastic bags, a backpack filled with heavy books, and an oversize purse. When one of his bodyguards moved in to help her, he warned him off with a subtle shake of his head.
Before he took her upstairs, he checked in with the management, saying that she’d be staying with him for a couple of days, that anything she ordered should be placed on his account. The head concierge in charge of customer service-some thin faggot of a guy who looked her up and down with disgust-became fidgety, giving him squirrelly looks, too scared to broach the subject because of who he was. The little twit of a man made him laugh aloud. He knew instantly what the stick up his butt was all about.
“Terry, show him some ID.”
With shaking hands and downcast eyes, she pulled out her Illinois driver’s license and her Northwestern student ID card from a tattered wallet.
The faggot was instantly relieved. His concern was understandable. She looked around twelve.
He led her into the elevator to an upper-floor two-bedroom suite holding a panoramic view of the city’s skyline. The living area was furnished with several traditional-style couches, a couple of stiff chairs, some side tables, and a dining-room set-typical run-of-the-mill pieces for a hotel penthouse. But to her, the lodgings must have looked palatial-judging by the size of her eyes. He watched her walk over to a large ceramic vase filled with fresh cut flowers. Still clutching her belongings, she held out a finger and touched a lily. When he told her that it was real, she blushed at her stupidity.
After she had settled the kid into the smaller of the two bedrooms, he asked her if she was hungry, tossing her a room-service menu. Timidly, she requested a dinner salad-the cheapest thing on the list. He ordered a hamburger, and seeing her covetous eyes, gave her half. She ate so slowly as if each mouthful were her last; it was a torment to watch. When she was done-and it was clear that he was done as well-she took his leftover French fries and wrapped them up in a paper napkin, stowing the bundle along with the mini bottles of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise in her purse. He must have been staring because her skin went from pale white to deep crimson when they locked eyes. Instantly, he felt warmth suffuse his face, both of them embarrassed by how basic she had become.
In bed, she was all skin and bones, as shy as a virgin-as tight as one, too-and that only served to stoke his ardor. He was rough on her, all appetite and greed, but she treated him with proper respect and gratitude while still trying to retain some shreds of her massacred dignity. In the end, she couldn’t pull it off. After it was over, she broke down and wept openly, her soul broken and futureless. She had whored for half a hamburger and a night out of the cold.
He had quashed her completely, had humbled every cell in her body. It felt okay, but not as good as he had imagined.
In truth, it left him kind of hollow.
Because he still liked her. It bothered him to see her in such distress.
He tried being nice. He smiled. He made small talk. He mussed up her hair and stroked her face. He offered her more room service, but she claimed she wasn’t hungry-a bald lie. He sent out for the best champagne in the house. She dutifully sipped her one glass, but in the end, he drank the rest of the bottle by himself. Depleted, he fell asleep only to awaken at four in the morning to an empty bed. Sweat-drenched and in a panic, he bolted up and found her propped up lengthwise on the couch, a blanket over her lap and feet, her nose buried in her studies. She had drawn the window curtains open, and it was snowing briskly outside-a sea of white diamonds against a charcoal backdrop.
She greeted him with an innocent face and a radiant smile. She said she was warm for the first time in two months and that her mind was finally able to concentrate on the material. If it was okay with him, she wanted to take advantage of the situation. She was drinking clouded tap water and eating his cold leftover French fries. After much prodding, he convinced her to take a jar of mixed nuts and a bottle of orange juice from the minibar. She ate methodically, a sip and a nut every five minutes so she wouldn’t run out. He was leaden with fatigue, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. If she was aware of his scrutiny, she was unperturbed by it, completely absorbed in her textbooks and notes. By his calculations, she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two, but she looked as fresh as if she were on vacation. Compared to what she was used to, she probably was. When dawn cracked the start of a new day, it was hard to tell who had actually gotten revenge on whom.
It had all returned to him… why he had liked her-no, why he had loved her so much. Because now, in the brutal light of morning, as he regarded her calm look and her cool demeanor, he realized that in the space of just a few hours he had lost his grip on her. He had smashed her, raped her soul if not her actual body, and she had sunk to bottom. What could he do to her now short of physical violence against her or the kid, a step he wasn’t willing to take? Right now, she had nothing left to lose.
This night wasn’t going to happen again. He had caught her off guard, had been given a small window of opportunity to act. Two months ago, she hadn’t been as bad off, only a couple of months’ arrears in her rent. Two months from now, in order to survive, she’d have to quit school and work full-time. Out in the job market, she’d find men who’d turn handsprings for her. But as of yet, she didn’t know that. Just the type of girl she was, so focused on her own end point of day-to-day living, she had never looked around.
How long would that last?
If he wanted her back in his power as well as back in his bed-and he really did want that-he was going to have to offer her something, entice her with her own dreams.
He gave her a proposition. She was in her third year of college, struggling to stay afloat. Her goal of becoming a physician was a solid one, but costly, therefore out of reach in her current financial state. Even with scholarships and loans, she wouldn’t be able to hack it. Her debts were substantial, and mounting with each passing day. If she expected to continue with her studies as well as raise the kid properly, she would require money and lots of it. So why not take it from the father of her son?
The deal was straightforward-sex for support-as banal as any American marriage out there. While it was true that she could bring a paternity suit against him-that the law was definitely on her side-it wouldn’t be to her advantage. He had the money and the lawyers to drag it through the court system for years. And he’d make demands-child-custody rights, weekend visitation, summer months, and holidays, too. There’d be lots of animosity… irreparable damage. No, it wouldn’t be good to get technical about it. It was much better to keep it friendly-more practical, too. His way meant she’d be in charge of the kid’s moral and ethical upbringing without his interference. His way meant anything she needed, no questions asked.