“Alex, this is my partner, Simon. Simon, Alex.” Gary smiled at me over the man’s drooping head.
“Shouldn’t you be inside?” I asked Gary, who rolled his eyes.
“Fuck Alex,” Simon slurred, laughing after with his lip curled up into the base of his nose.
“There.” Gary threw his chin toward the black Escalade. “Help me.” His driver opened the door as he saw us approaching, and I prepared to transfer Simon into his arms.
“Hop in and pull him up from inside, will you?” Gary asked.
I hoisted my gown over my knees and stepped up into the black SUV, turning and grabbing Simon’s hand, then pulled it hard as Gary and the driver shoved him into the car. Gary hopped in after him, and the door shut behind him. I found myself huddled into one of the bucket seats with Simon practically on my lap.
“I’ll drop you,” Gary said to me. Simon was laughing at nothing in particular, leaning the full weight of his body on me.
“You’re leaving your own gala?” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Drop her? Let’s go out! All of us.” Simon rolled his head from side to side as he stared at the ceiling. The driver started the engine. “You are no fun anymore!”
Gary didn’t react, but he pulled at the side of his bow tie until it released.
“I can get my own car,” I offered, reaching for the door handle.
“Let’s go,” Gary ordered the driver. Before he’d finished speaking, the car lurched into drive, and I heard the doors locking automatically. I swallowed hard, trying desperately to figure out why I felt so panicked. I could barely see the trees from the park streaking by the tinted windows.
“Where are we going?” Gary demanded.
“Chelsea. Eighteenth and Eighth,” I managed shakily.
I finally extricated myself from Simon’s weight and slipped back into the third row’s cool leather, where I shoved myself against the far window. My stomach churned as a feeling of dread spread over my entire body. Chill out, I told myself. The firm’s biggest client knew me and was just being nice by giving me a ride home. I’d be there in a few minutes. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. I grabbed for my phone and dialed my own work number, leaving it on and putting it back in my bag.
“So, you’re the one who’s fucking Peter,” Simon slurred from the middle row. I whipped my head up, praying I had misheard. When I met Gary’s gaze, he smiled sadistically and nodded. I couldn’t believe Peter would tell people that. Not people, clients!
“Turn the music up!” Gary commanded the driver. The thudding of the bass from somewhere below my thighs rattled my bones against one another. The bile in my stomach rose as I felt the energy in the car shift. I wanted to disappear into the leather, to melt into the cool black seat and leave only my rented dress as evidence I had ever existed. I crossed my legs tightly and clasped my hands together over my knees. I wondered if they could see the tears welling in my eyes.
“This is just her act,” Gary snarled. “She pretends to be so proper.” Simon burst out laughing and looked at me hungrily. “Really, she wants it,” Gary whispered.
Despite the back of his chair shielding him from me, and the darkness of the car, I could tell Gary was getting excited. I need to get out of this car. The driver turned left and picked up speed. I looked outside and realized we were on the West Side Highway, going at least sixty miles an hour. With a sinking feeling, I noted that there was no door to my left. I had given up my ability to flee the vehicle when I moved to the back row.
I turned to face the front, only to find Gary now next to me.
“Please don’t,” I whispered. Simon leaned over the back of his chair as though watching a dogfight. My mind raced, and I grabbed onto my last hope. “I’m glad that NDA we drafted is working out for you. Do you keep track of who signs them? I never did.”
Gary’s eyes bulged, and a large vein running directly down the middle of his forehead pulsated.
“You don’t have to sign one. You’re my lawyer. What we do is confidential. You only have a job because I let you. Your firm only exists because I let it. This is MY fucking town. Do you hear me, you ungrateful little whore?”
As he screamed, I felt hot tears run down my face.
“Ungrateful!” Simon echoed, cackling.
Gary grabbed at the bottom of my dress and pushed it up toward my thighs. I became an animal in survival mode. I fought him with every ounce of my strength, with every limb and body part I could throw at him, but then I registered another set of hands on me. Simon had somehow gained enough muscular control to hold down my legs quite forcefully. I felt both sets of hands ripping down the top of my dress and shoving the bottom of it up. I could no longer fight and scream at the same time. I fell silent as I struggled to keep my waist pointed down and as far away from the predators as possible. I’m going to die. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to rape me and then kill me.
For just a moment, I felt less weight bearing down on me. Was it over? Were they tired? Had they decided not to do it? Then a primal fear unlike any I had ever experienced froze my body as I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being unzipped. They weren’t tired; they were moving on to phase two. Taking advantage of Gary having to lean away to unzip his tux pants and Simon’s inebriated state, I kicked as hard as I could in the direction of the zipping sound. I felt my heel hit something and then sink into it just as Gary let out a gut-wrenching scream.
The car screeched to a halt, and the lights turned on. I pulled back my foot, but my shoe slipped off, stuck on something. When Gary finally removed the revolting weight of his body from mine, Simon and I stared at Gary’s ripped pant leg, revealing a thick red line of blood against his pale, hairy upper thigh. The door opened from behind Simon as the driver, apparently unaccustomed to the sound of male screams, came to see what the commotion was. With the car light illuminating the back seat, we all gawked at my Louboutin heel and Gary’s thigh, his blood matching the color of my sole.
I pulled the top of my dress up and the bottom down and slipped out between Gary and the driver. I paused for a moment, knowing it was stupid. Nobody was paying attention to me. Were they just letting me go? I kicked off my other shoe and began to run, the ground slicing into my bare soles like an angry blessing.
“Let her go,” I heard Gary yell. “She won’t talk.”
I don’t remember much about the rest of the night. I have a vague recollection of the doorman eyeing my feet, more out of annoyance that I was leaving bloody footprints on our white marble lobby floor than out of any real concern for my well-being. I remember taking great care to remove my dress, as though returning it in decent shape would allow me to ignore what had happened entirely. I remember crying in truncated bursts, but mostly because I felt as though I should. I wasn’t actually sad. I was angry. And relieved. And scared.
For the bulk of the night, I shook. Sometimes gently, and sometimes more violently. And I had terrible nightmares, though I couldn’t remember their substance. I’d find myself upright atop sweat-soaked sheets, my throat raw with the screams still ringing in the air. As the sun rose, I made my way out of bed, feeling dirty from the inside, knowing I should shower, but wanting nothing less than to be alone with my naked body, which suddenly seemed such a liability.