57.
Abigail has built a website,” said Nathan.
“OK,” said Madeline. She had stood up from her desk, as if she had to leave for somewhere, right now. The school? The hospital? Jail? What could be so momentous about a website?
“It’s to raise funds for Amnesty International,” said Nathan. “It’s very professionally put together. I’ve been helping her with this Web design course she’s doing at school, but obviously, I didn’t . . . um . . . yes, well I didn’t foresee this.”
“I don’t get it. What’s the problem?” said Madeline sharply. It wasn’t like Nathan to see a problem when there wasn’t one. He was more likely to miss a problem that was staring him in the face.
Nathan cleared his throat. He spoke in a strangled voice. “It’s not the end of the world, but it’s certainly not ideal.”
“Nathan!” Madeline stamped her foot in frustration.
“Fine,” said Nathan. He spoke in a rush: “Abigail is auctioning off her virginity to the highest bidder as a way of raising awareness for child marriage and sex slavery. She says, um, ‘If the world stands by while a seven-year-old is sold for sex, then the world shouldn’t blink an eye if a privileged white fourteen-year-old girl sells herself for sex.’ All the money raised will go to Amnesty International. She can’t spell ‘privileged.’”
Madeline sank back down in her chair. Oh, calamity.
“Give me the address,” said Madeline. “Is the site live? Are you telling me the site is actually live right now?”
“Yes,” said Nathan. “I think it went up yesterday morning. Don’t look at it. Please don’t look at it. The problem is that she hasn’t set it up so she can moderate comments, and naturally, the Internet trolls are in a feeding frenzy.”
“Give me the address right now.”
“No.”
“Nathan, you give me the address right now!” She stomped her foot again, almost in tears of frustration.
“It’s www.buymyvirginitytostopchildmarriageandsexslavery.com.”
“Fabulous,” said Madeline as she typed in the address with shaky hands. “That’s going to attract a wonderful class of charitable person. Our daughter is an idiot. We raised an idiot. Oh, wait, you didn’t raise her. I raised her. I’ve raised an idiot.” She paused. “Oh God.”
“You’re looking at it?” said Nathan.
“Yes,” said Madeline. It was a professional-looking website, which made it worse for some reason, more real, more official, as if the right for some stranger to purchase Abigail’s virginity had been officially endorsed. The home page featured the photo of Abigail doing her yoga pose that Madeline had seen on her Facebook page. Viewed in the context of “buy my virginity,” the photo took on a sinister sexuality: the hair falling over her shoulder, the long, skinny limbs, the small, perfect breasts. Men were looking at her daughter’s photo on their computer screens and thinking about having sex with her.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Madeline.
“I know,” said Nathan.
Madeline took a breath and clicked through the site with her professional marketing and PR eye. Along with the photo of Abigail, there were also images from the Amnesty International website about child marriage and sex slavery; Abigail had presumably helped herself without asking permission. The copy was good. Straightforward. Persuasive. Emotional without being over-the-top. Apart from the typo in the word “privileged” and the fact that the entire premise was horrifyingly flawed, it was hugely impressive for a fourteen-year-old.
“Is this even legal?” she said after a moment. “It must be illegal for an underage child to sell her virginity.”
“It would be illegal for someone to buy it,” said Nathan. She could tell he was speaking through gritted teeth.
For a moment Madeline felt disoriented as she realized that she was talking to Nathan. She must have subconsciously felt as though she were dealing with Ed, because she’d never before had to discuss a tricky parenting problem with Nathan. She set the rules and Nathan followed them. They weren’t a team.
But the thought simultaneously occurred to her that if it were Ed, it wouldn’t be the same. Ed would be horrified at the thought of a man buying Abigail’s virginity, of course he would, but he wouldn’t be experiencing the visceral agony that Nathan was feeling. If it were Chloe, yes. But there was that subtle distance in Ed’s relationship with Abigail, the distance Madeline had always denied and yet Abigail had always felt.
She clicked on the section for “bids and donations.” Abigail had set it up so that people could leave comments and register their “bids.”
The words swam in front of her:
How much for a gang bang?
You can suck my cock for $20! Any time, any place.
Hey, pretty little girl, I’ll fuck that tight little cunt of yours for free.
Madeline pushed herself back away from her desk, the taste of bile in her mouth. “How do we shut this website down right now? Do you know how to shut it down?”
She was pleased to note that she hadn’t lost control, that she was speaking as if this were a work crisis: a leaflet that needed reprinting, a mistake on the theater website. Nathan was tech savvy. He must know what to do. But as she clicked off the comments page and saw the photo of Abigail again, her innocent, ridiculous, misguided daughter—vile men were thinking and saying vile things about her little girl—her anger rose volcanically from the pit of her stomach and burst from her mouth.
“How the hell did this happen? Why weren’t you and Bonnie watching what she was doing? You fix it! Fix it now!”
Harper: Has anyone told you about Madeline’s daughter’s little drama? I mean, I hate to say it, but as I said to Renata at the time, she was over at my place for dinner I think, I said, “Now, that wouldn’t happen at a private school.” I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with public high schools per se, I just think your children are more likely to interact with, you know, a better class of person.
Samantha: That Harper is so up herself. Of course it could have happened at a private school. And Abigail’s intentions were so noble! It’s just that fourteen-year-old girls are stupid. Poor Madeline. She blamed Nathan and Bonnie, although I don’t know if that was fair.
Bonnie: Yes, Madeline did blame us. I accept that. Abigail was in my care at the time. But that had absolutely nothing to do with . . . with the tragedy. Nothing at all.