THE BEAUMONTS LIVED a thirty-minute drive from downtown Boston in Dover, Massachusetts. Their sixty-acre property sat atop Strawberry Hill, clustered behind trees and a private road leading to the 10,000 square foot estate.
I couldn't fathom growing up someplace like this. When my parents were alive, we lived comfortably on their lawyer's salaries, but nothing this extravagant. After they died, I lived closer to poverty level in a handful of foster homes until I turned eighteen and got kicked out of the system and into the world with just a backpack full of personal items and a small cash stipend to help me 'get on my feet' while I went to college. It ran out when I graduated and continued on to grad school.
In this other life, Bridgette had gone to prep schools since preschool and still had a room in her private mansion, decorated the same way since high school. When you have a ten-bedroom house, I guess you can afford to keep your kid's room untouched.
I didn't resent her these luxuries. I'm glad she had them. I just wished life wasn't so polarizing sometimes.
We didn't talk much on the way to her house. Mostly we listened to music. I leaned my head against the cool window, closing my eyes as I considered what I was going to do.
All of my law books had been ripped apart, except the ones Professor Cavin had given me when I'd said goodbye before leaving for winter break. I still had them on me and so had something with which to study over break.
But my clothes had been shredded, down to my last pair of underwear. And it would take weeks of work to buy everything back.
Fortunately, the portrait of my parents had been spared. It had been tossed to the ground, crushed in the glass of its frame, but hadn't been badly damaged.
I was grateful to have a home to stay with over break, but it did present a unique challenge to my current employment. "Hey, I still have to work for the next few weeks, or I won't be able to afford food and housing for spring semester."
She looked over at me, and her eyes widened. "You cannot have phone sex while at my parents' house!"
"Brig, I have to. Don't you get it? Do you want me to drop out of school? Or starve to death? Or live on the street? Because those are my options, okay?" My voice cracked and the tears finally came flooding down my face. "Do you think I like this? Do you think I want to talk to these men about this shit after what's happened? But I want out of this life of poverty. I want out of this helplessness I feel all the fucking time. And I don't know another way."
My thoughts flashed to Ash, how he swore he could teach me how to make money without working so hard, but it took money to make money. I knew that at least. And hard work was rewarding to the soul. My dad had taught me that. I wouldn't take the easy way out. I would earn my living.
She reached for my hand, squeezing it. "I'm sorry. You're right. I've been a shitty best friend. We'll make it work. The house is big. You can hide in my room if you need to."
I closed my eyes again, relieved, and hoped The Pleasure Palace would understand why I had to take a few days off.
When we pulled into the long driveway, the house was lit up with lights and other cars were parked in front. A valet in a tux came to our door. "May I park this for you, Miss Beaumont?"
"No thanks, we got it. What's going on here?"
"Your parents are having their annual fundraiser tonight." He scanned us over, especially me—mussed hair, smeared makeup, clothes a mess—and frowned. "Why don't you and your friend go in the back and get cleaned up before making your entrance?"
She rolled her eyes. "Sure."
I followed her around the house, trepidation settling into me. "Brig, maybe I should stay at a hotel. I can't handle a party tonight of all nights."
She pulled me along by the hand. "It's just what you need. A night of distraction. If it's too much, we'll ditch them and hide in my room with Ben & Jerry, 'kay?"
"Fine. But I'm only staying for a minute."
Half an hour later I was clean, hair in an up—do, makeup perfect, and wearing a borrowed Vera Wang made almost entirely of sequins, lace and mesh in black and white. We glided like royalty down the spiral staircase, and everyone in the room looked up and stared.
I had to admit Bridgette and I were striking together, her so pale and blond, me with the darker exotic look. But it wasn't the stares that made me almost trip over the last step.
And it wasn't the horror of that night.
It was the man waiting at the bottom with an ironic grin on his face, wearing a tux in lieu of his leather jacket, but looking just as dangerous.
He held out his hand to me. "Might I finally come to know your name, Law School?"
Bridgette glanced from me to him and back again. "You two know each other?"
We both spoke at the same time. "No." "Yes."