Betrayal Page 19

  We were sitting back where we started. “So Infidelity pairs clients with…”

  “Employees,” Patrick answered. “I work for Infidelity. I get a monthly check from them. When Cy joined, he agreed to provide housing and living expenses. Theoretically, my check from Infidelity covers my incidentals. Since I also work for the design firm, I have that check too, and…” He smiled with a shrug. “…Cy is very generous. My checks are mostly invested. Infidelity works on yearly agreements. During that anniversary month, Infidelity provides extensive interviews to determine if the agreement is renewed. There is even a buy-out clause if two people decide they want to stay together, without the company.”

  “What if you two hadn’t gotten along? Could you quit?”

  “At the end of one year.”

  I shook my head. “One year.”

  “The people at Infidelity can explain it better than I, but the year thing is there for a reason. The client is putting a lot of resources into this relationship. They don’t want to do that to have it end in a week.”

  I took a deep breath. A week is too short.

  “There’s something psychologically reassuring about a year,” Patrick explained. “Every day doesn’t have to be wine and roses. I told you that what I have with Cy is real. We fight. We make up. Make-up sex is awesome!”

  I couldn’t believe I was smiling at him and really listening.

  “Pat, what? How? How did you even learn about this?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t give specifics. Like for example, if you decide to look into this, you can’t tell anyone it was me and Cy, other than Karen, the intake representative at Infidelity. I can tell you I learned about it while I was at Pratt. I didn’t do it, not at first. Then, while I was working on my master’s, I had offers for different internships and decided to take the one here. As I was cooking macaroni and cheese on my tiny stovetop, I made the decision to call the person I’d met while attending Pratt.

  “It wasn’t an easy decision. During the intake interview, Infidelity was extremely transparent. Although they put a lot of money and resources into this, not all matches work as well as ours. The thing that sold me was the exclusivity. Infidelity pairs its employees once. They don’t serve as a pimp. If at the end of an agreement there’s a mutual decision to end the relationship, the employee receives a severance package and he or she is done. Clients are given two chances.

  “The network is small,” he went on. “Confidentiality is paramount. To the world we are a couple. Cy has an important job. I’m his partner. He’s met Mom and Dad. I’ve met his family. No one,” he emphasized, “knows how we actually met.”

  I considered all he said. “You said some of the clients are married.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they provide the same… housing and living expenses?”

  “Yes.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Why?

  “Why would an employee want to be paired with a married client?” Patrick asked, clarifying my one-word question.

  “Yes? Why?”

  “Commitments. The job still pays the same, but since this client is splitting his or her time with the employee and the spouse, well, the employee’s services aren’t required as frequently. Like, say the employee has another commitment… law school, perhaps.”

  I shook my head. “I-I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but married men? That’s my hard limit. What if Cy would’ve said no to the design firm?”

  “It was in my profile. He knew I had a commitment to the firm. He came into this relationship understanding my priorities. Though I didn’t know him, I agreed to enter being willing to support his.”

  “When is your one-year… anniversary… contract renegotiation?”

  Patrick grinned. “It was last June. We’re in our second year.”

  “You don’t regret it?”

  “Little cousin, do I look like I regret it?”

  I tried to take it all in, but the more I thought about it, the more questions I had. As in most of my times of indecision, since Del Mar, my thoughts went briefly to Nox. “Pat, what if you met someone else?”

  “I’m not looking.”

  “No, of course you’re not looking, but what if?”

  “He’d have to wait until next June. Monogamy is in the agreement. It was also on my list of hard limits.”

  A ridiculous thought occurred to me. “So if I agreed to this, I couldn’t commit to Bryce until my contract was up.”

  “They call them agreements, not contracts.” He shrugged. “It’s a legal thing, and yes, but you couldn’t tell Bryce, Aunt Adelaide, or Uncle Alton about the agreement. No one can know.”

  Patrick reached for my hand. “Little cousin, I know this is a lot to consider. Like I said, it took me almost two years before I decided to do it.

  “Cy said he could get you an interview tomorrow. That doesn’t mean you’ll be accepted. Infidelity has a rigorous intake process. They wouldn’t be as successful as they are and as exclusive, if everyone was granted employment.” He tilted his head. “And they wouldn’t be able to pay as well as they do.”

  “Can you tell me how much?” I asked, curious despite the fact that I was disgusted with myself that I was giving this company any consideration.

  “No, but I can tell you that they’ll pay you for the interview, for your time.”

  “If I go to the interview tomorrow, I’ll be paid? No sex… just an interview?”

  “Sex is down the line in this process,” Patrick said. “They’ll explain it better. Infidelity doesn’t sell sex. They foster companionships. And yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  IT’S JUST AN interview.

  I’d said it over and over to myself as well as to Patrick. He’d taken a second day off work to help me with this, and I didn’t know if I was thankful that I had his hand to hold or if I should hate him forever for even suggesting this. More than once during the night I woke with near panic-attack-level doubts.

  I was a Montague and I was entertaining the idea of selling myself, my companionship, as Patrick continued to remind me. But then, I’d think about my mother and Alton. Was what they wanted me to do any less degrading? They wanted me to forfeit my dreams and sell myself to Bryce, and for what? For the Montague name. In their deal, I lost everything. I lost my dreams and the future I’d planned. I lost my ability to choose my own husband. Their scenario was a lifelong sentence. In their plan, I wasn’t only securing my own future unhappiness, but more than likely that of my children, future Montagues and Carmichaels.

  With Infidelity, if—and that was a big if—I was accepted by the company and I agreed, I could continue law school. If I did this and became an Infidelity employee, I would agree to one year. After that time I was free. There was no lifelong sentence and no children.

  That was part of my ongoing inner monologue as Patrick chatted away with Andrew, my first appointment of the day. Andrew was a stylist extraordinaire, apparently very high-priced, and sought-after. New clients rarely made it to Andrew’s chair for hair and makeup, but with one call from Patrick, I was there at ten-thirty in the morning.

  Patrick told me as we left the apartment that my attire didn’t matter. Andrew would have clothes for my interview. I got the distinct impression that I was in over my head, and I hadn’t done anything yet.

  Every now and then I’d catch some of Andrew and Patrick’s conversation. It was never about me, except to discuss colors of eye shadows or my blouse. Andrew shaded and perfected my complexion, painted my lips, and curled my hair. I was nothing more than a life-sized doll being made into something fit for display.

  The dressing room didn’t have a mirror as I shimmied out of my shorts and top and redressed, all the way from the lace underwear to a lace-accented, sleeveless sheath dress. I called Patrick to help me zip the back. When he did, the material came together hugging me in all the right places.

  “Little cousin, you look amaz
ing.”

  I didn’t know. I hadn’t seen myself. “Why the underwear? You said no sex.”

  “Because it makes you feel sexy. It’s a package. You may not be selling sex, but in a classy way…” He helped me with the matching jacket, the one with matching lace cuffs. “…you need to ooze confidence. It’s a persona and, Alex Collins, you’re rocking it.”

  I sat on the bench and eased my freshly painted toes into black suede Prada platforms with an ankle strap. When I was done, Patrick reached for my hand.

  “Come here, little one. Let me introduce you to Miss Alex Collins, Columbia law student, sexy and confident. Close those gorgeous golden eyes and when I say so, open them.”

  My heart beat erratically as I blindly followed Patrick’s lead. With his hands on my shoulders he turned me to the side.

  “Open.”

  I stood paralyzed as the woman in the mirror did the same. After the spa in Savannah with my mother, my hair was nice, but with the dresses she’d bought, I had the sensation of Alexandria, five years old and dressed for tea. That wasn’t whom I saw today. Patrick was right. My hair was up, professional with more than a hint of sex appeal. The charcoal gray dress and jacket with the straight skirt flattered my curves. At the same time, there was nothing about what I saw that said I was selling my body or my soul. Even the shoes. They were sexy, but could easily be worn to court. My makeup was flawless, with just the right amount of bronze to highlight the red and blonde highlights in my hair.

  Andrew and Patrick both stood behind me, waiting for my reaction.

  Finally, I let the façade of indifference break away, and my entire countenance beamed with approval. “Wow! I don’t know what else to say.” I turned to Andrew. “Thank you. Obviously, you’re a miracle worker.”

  “No. I’m an artist. All I did was highlight what you already have. You’re stunning. You were before I began.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Patrick and I eased into the backseat of a taxi, he said, “I’m going to be dropped off at Kassee.” When I looked at him as though I had no idea what he was saying, because I didn’t, he went on, “the design firm. I can’t miss this afternoon.”

  My pulse quickened. “B-But…”

  Patrick squeezed my hand. “I would miss it for you. I would. But there’s a big sales pitch this afternoon. I’ve put a lot of time into this and my boss wouldn’t understand. Remember, Infidelity is an illusion so I couldn’t exactly explain what I’d be doing with you today. Don’t worry. You won’t be alone. Cy’s going to meet you in the lobby of 17 State Street. He’ll escort you to Infidelity.”

  “All right. Pat?” I asked tentatively. “Is this a mistake? I had planned on looking for a job, like other people do.”

  “That’s still an option. Go to the interview. See what Karen has to say. Then, if you decide waiting tables or maybe working the box office at the New Amsterdam Theater is what you’d prefer to do, do that. There’s no obligation until you sign the agreement.”

  Five thousand dollars.

  That would double the money in my checking account. That would give me another month’s rent. I swallowed and nodded.

  Before Patrick got out of the taxi, he kissed my cheek. “I can’t wait to hear all about this tonight. Be ready to give me a full report.”

  I nodded, the blood draining from my cheeks. As the taxi driver maneuvered us back out into traffic, I straightened my shoulders and plastered my Montague smile in place. I told myself that this was better than what Adelaide had done. This was on my terms. This was one year. My mother and stepfather had forced my hand and I hadn’t folded.

  One interview.

  I could do that.

  “YOU’RE STUNNING,” CY whispered as he kissed my cheek.

  He’d been waiting for me in the lobby as I entered the blue-glass building with the distinctive curved façade.

  “Thank you. Andrew’s a miracle worker.”

  “No. I may be gay, but I know a beautiful woman when I see one. So will Karen.” He placed my hand on the crook of his arm and led me toward the elevators. “I wouldn’t have made calls last night if I had any doubts. Tell me about yours.”

  “My doubts?” I repeated. “I’m nervous.”

  Our voices were low.

  “Think of this like an admissions interview. That’s what it is. Alex, you passed that interview for both Stanford and Columbia. I think you can wow Karen.”

  Since we’d entered the open elevator and were no longer alone, I didn’t respond. Cy hit the button for the 37th floor. The elevator stopped at several other floors as busy people stepped on and off. With each movement upward, my anxiety increased. This wasn’t like Stanford or Columbia. Those were accomplishments that I could one day list on my curriculum vitae. I was most certain that Infidelity would not be mentioned as previous employment.

  When the doors opened, the large lobby with a glass desk and the beautifully scrolled lettering spelling Infidelity on the fifteen-foot wall surprised me.

  “I thought this was a secret company?” I whispered.

  “No, Infidelity is a website that caters to an exclusive crowd. It employs hundreds of people, everyone from writers and photographers, to janitorial personnel. It’s a legitimate Fortune 500 company.”

  Cy walked us to the desk and spoke to the receptionist. “Mr. Perry and Miss Collins here to see Ms. Flores.”

  “Yes, Mr. Perry. Ms. Flores is expecting both of you. Let me tell her that you’re here.”

  “Thank you.”

  I watched as women and men walked past. They all seemed to have important business down one hallway or another. If I hadn’t heard Patrick’s elevator pitch the night before, I would never have known what other activities happened behind the walls of Infidelity.

  “Cyrus!” a gregarious middle-aged woman wearing a navy skirt and jacket said as she rushed towards us.

  “Karen,” Cyrus greeted her as they kissed one another on the cheeks. “Thank you for agreeing to meet our friend Alex.”

  “Why, of course. Any friend of Cyrus Perry’s is a friend of mine.” She turned her attention to me and offered her hand.

  As we shook, I said, “Ms. Flores, very nice to meet you.”

  “Miss Collins, my name is Karen and I look forward to meeting you. Please…” She gestured toward the hallway. “…let’s go to my office. We must talk.”

  Cyrus nodded as we began our trek toward Karen Flores’s office. On our way, we passed multiple large office centers filled with cubicles and workers as well as private offices. Once we’d successfully wound around what I could accurately describe as a maze and I’d begun to wonder if in order to ever find my way out, I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs, we came to another elevator. Instead of one button, Karen pressed a badge against a sensor and turned to Cyrus. “How is Patrick?”

  “He’s well. Thank you for asking.”

  When the doors opened we stepped into the elevator. “I believe I heard he’s doing very well at Kassee.”

  “Yes,” Cyrus said, his shoulders broadening with pride. “He’s a talented designer.”

  I stood attentive as they conversed about Patrick’s attributes and promise of success. The entire scene was surreal. If only I didn’t know the backstory, if only I didn’t know that Cyrus had met Patrick with the help of this woman and Infidelity, I could take everything they said at face value. Now, however, with my knowledge, everything I heard was skewed.

  When the elevator moved, I knew we were moving upward, but how far up or the number of floors. The control panel had only two buttons: O and I. Karen had hit I. When the doors opened, I had the distinct impression we were now at the real Infidelity, the reason for our visit.

  We were again met with a large glass desk, a receptionist, and the word Infidelity in beautiful scroll upon the wall behind her. The difference here, versus the other lobby, was that there was only one door beyond this woman and to pass through that door, a security code was required.

  Kare
n’s office was lovely with a full wall of windows that looked out on the financial district and beyond to the Brooklyn Bridge. While Cyrus and I sat in the two chairs facing the desk, Karen asked, “Would you like anything to drink? Water, tea, coffee, perhaps something stronger?”

  They both looked at me.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Karen settled behind her desk and opened a screen on her computer. “Alex Collins, twenty-three years old, soon to be twenty-four, recent graduate of Stanford University, graduated with honors, and currently enrolled at Columbia Law.” Her eyes widened. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Alex, tell me why Infidelity should consider bringing you into our fold.”

  I sat straighter on the edge of my seat. “Ms. Flores, I’m not well versed enough with Infidelity to answer that question. I was given a brief synopsis of this company and what it does, but while it may be unusual, I’d prefer to learn more from you. While I’m intrigued, I have my future to consider. Besides the obvious financial benefit, I’d like to know what Infidelity can do for me.”

  Karen smiled and sat back against her chair. “Yes, indeed.”

  She continued to watch me as the silence grew. Finally, when I didn’t speak, she leaned forward and began, “I’m sure from the brief description that you received you have questions. Miss Collins, let me make this clear, at Infidelity we do not sell sex. That is not what Infidelity is about. I’d like to get that misconception off the table right away. At Infidelity our clients buy class, poise, companionship, and compatibility. Our clients are exclusive and successful. Our employees are confidential and classified. Currently, we have over one hundred employees in extremely high-profile relationships. Whether the client is a CEO, politician, or in the arts, no one, not even their closest friends and family, know where they found their significant other. The beauty of our service is that relationships take time. If a client is high profile, every potential partner is under suspicion. Here at Infidelity, we guarantee that nothing will ever be disclosed. That is one of the reasons that we are very selective as to whom we employ.