Rev (2 page)

It got old pretty fast. But everyone around me suggested that I should feel like I’d won the lottery. I was told, give-or-take, ten times a day how lucky I was. Lucky that Frank chose me. Lucky to be on my way to the top, my fortunes hitched to a well-connected man from a great school. Lucky to be getting married “into a good family,” as my mom would say.

I didn’t feel so lucky. I grew more and more isolated every day. I was about to be married, surrounded by so-called friends, celebrating with the people who’d make up my new life—and yet, I’d never felt more lonely.

“Don’t worry Winter,” Julia chimed in. “I’m sure you’ll learn all the important things once you move in with Frank.”

Frank’s mother, Elsa Wilson, was very traditional. In an effort to appease her—and it seemed like Frank was always trying to appease her—he’d held off on living together until after the marriage. So, while studying for the CPA in my cramped apartment with a broken heater somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn, I’d once in a while visit him at his swanky place in Manhattan. Frank was finishing a two-year investment-banking program before transitioning into private equity. Basically, he had plenty of money even without his family.

My mom wanted to help me out with my living situation, but she couldn’t do much of anything without my stepfather’s permission. And, he really didn’t like me. Not sure why.

Maybe it had something to do with the way I reminded my mom about my father, Dylan. It pained her to think about the man who conned his way through everything in life, including their marriage. One day the gambling debts caught up with him, and he ran off with every bit of cash in the house, as well as every piece of jewelry he’d every bought my mom. He’d left me in a bad situation as well, and I was happy for my mom when she met my stepfather while I was away at college.

Unfortunately, all my stepfather saw was the daughter of the piece-of-garbage man who’d hurt the woman he loved. There wasn’t much I could do to shake the indelible connection in his mind. When he thought of me, he thought of Dylan. So, I didn’t get much help from my rich stepfather, which was fine by me. And then of course, as my mom would often remind me I’d soon be “married and taken care of by Frank Wilson.”

“Well, we can all agree you’re about to marry well,” Charlotte loudly declared, shocking me back into the present moment. She took a long sip of her martini and stood up to mix up another. “I’d say it’ll only take him three years to make partner at Catalyst Strategic Group. And the average partner took home an $8 million dollar bonus last year.”

She poured vodka over the ice in the shaker and then dashed just the tiniest, almost insignificant bit of vermouth over the top. “I know this because I looked it up. It’s much more than James is making as VP at the bank.” Charlotte was very drunk. Smashed even.

“Well, Winter can count her blessings, that’s for sure,” Samantha added. “Here’s to marrying well.” She raised her glass.

Charlotte strained her chilled vodka into a clean glass from the stack of dozens she’d made the hotel bring up. “So I can drink like a lady,” she’d said when the receptionist asked why she needed so many for the four people in the suite. “A lady never refills a martini glass.”

All the while, Samantha stared at her watch until finally standing up and heading towards her bedroom. “Well, it’s basically the morning in New York. I should probably give Roger a call.” She stopped suddenly and turned around to smile at me. “But really, congratulations Winter. God knows what Frank sees in you, but it’s the unexplainable mystery that makes love so special.”

I didn’t even bother answering. I looked at my watch and then my engagement ring. It was late, and I should go to bed. But the swirl of apprehension and doubt made it impossible to sleep.

Maybe it’s just normal marriage jitters?

I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but I thought about heading over to the other side of the hotel and visiting Frank. He’d texted me half-an-hour ago that he’d be coming back earlier because he had a terrible headache. The rest of his friends would still be partying it up in the VIP section of the club. Since we’d given each other our key cards in case of an emergency, I thought it’d be a great opportunity to surprise him. I stared at the text exchange:

Hey pumpkin. Splitting headache, so I’m heading in for some rest.

I’m sorry. Do you want me to bring you anything?

Don’t worry about me. Just enjoy yourself. Plus, we don’t want to break tradition.  ;)

Frank’s mother insisted we stay in separate rooms for every part of the marriage including the bachelor and bachelorette parties. I didn’t want his mother to catch wind and cause him trouble, but I really felt I should see him. Maybe talking with Frank right now was just what I needed. Maybe he shared some of my nervousness and being close would be comforting. Maybe it would stir up the emotion we once had for each other when we met.

So I waited until Charlotte dosed off in her chair, martini glasses all around her. I stood up and grabbed my coat, throwing it over my short black dress. And then I headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Juliet asked, glancing up with sagging eyes as she slumped in the expensively upholstered chair.

“Out to get some air,” I answered.

“Okay.” Juliet stood up, wobbling. “I’m off to sleep anyway.” She staggered over to the opposite side of the huge hotel suite. “You be good,” she said, wagging her finger. “Good for Frank.”

She was also very drunk. I nodded, said goodnight, and stepped out into the hall. Shrugging off my coat, I headed to the elevators, down sixty floors and across the casino floor toward the opposite tower.

The elevator zoomed almost nauseatingly fast straight up 65 floors. I grasped the handlebars for support, teetering on my tall heels. Exiting the elevator, I straightened my dress, smoothing the tight fabric against my body.

I hope Frank likes it.

I’d gotten a full-blown makeover before going out earlier. The whole shebang: hair, facial, nails, and professional makeup. I couldn’t help thinking the whole night long that I wished Frank was there, that he could see me like that.

In a way, I’d always felt like I needed to get his attention. When we met, he was in a whole other league: valedictorian of his MBA class, the popular, wealthy guy on campus with great job prospects lined-up. Women were doing anything they could to get his attention and possibly lock him down. Within blue blood elite society, Frank Wilson was quite the catch.

And of course there was my own insecurity. I grew up as the daughter of a swindler, a grifter, a con man. I spent my childhood without any real money and went to college on scholarship. Suddenly, everyone was wearing expensive clothes and talking about exotic family vacations. I stood out like a sore thumb.

When my mom married into the Calloway family, she encouraged me to take her new last name. After all, my dad was nowhere to be seen and hadn’t been heard from. She encouraged me to go do everything I could to fit into the “right circles,” and bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t found “the right kind of boyfriend” yet.

That is, until Frank and I met at a house party during his last year in business school. My new last name opened a lot of doors to elite social environments I hadn’t even known existed. Some girls from the undergraduate college were invited over to a graduate student gathering, and the rest is history.

Amid an atmosphere of small talk about knowing so-and-so and being able to get you a meeting with you-know-who, I caught Frank’s eye. To me, he was ambitious, educated, well spoken, and financially secure—the archetype of the world I was trying so hard to fit into. My mom, needless to see, was thrilled.

There was something attractive about Frank’s complete confidence, which admittedly often bordered on entitlement. Unlike me, he knew exactly where he was going. His certainty and control over every situation was engaging and enticing—it made me want him.

And to him, at least according to what he told me, I was down-to-earth and had a golden heart. I hoped he found me attractive as well. I loved that look when he ran his eyes over me and wrapped his arms around me. To me, it was an embrace of acceptance. Like I finally had somewhere I was desired, somewhere I unequivocally belonged.

Finally, there I was standing at the door to his skyline terrace suite, I ran my hands through my dark coffee hair, which I’d had smoothed earlier during the spa-day retreat. The stylist had recommended highlights, but I felt attached to the shade as it was. Maybe it was because my dad used to call me coffee bean, patting my mess of tangled hair and laughing out loud as I poured myself a cup at breakfast even when I was 12. I would get extremely hyper and start making schedules of all the important stuff I had to do for the day, from homework to reading to painting my nails.

Those were simpler times.

I pushed the door open. The lights were out and only the soft glow of small fixtures guided me through the entrance hallway into the expansive, open living space between the rooms.

“Frank, it’s me—Winter,” I called out, hushing my voice mid-sentence as I realized he might already be asleep, out like a light, and recovering from a brutal hangover.  I heard a groan coming from the bedroom to my right and walked quietly over, pushing the door open.

What the fuck?!

Frank was there, alright. Basked in the eerie glow of the bedside nightlight, his pasty ass tensed between two tan, smooth thighs. The woman was moaning in an artificial, lazy kind of way. And Frank was panting like a dog, still in his open shirt and socks, grinding his cock into some club hostess he’d brought back to an impressive, expensive hotel suite.

He turned his head to the side and did a double take when he saw me at the door. His expression was full of shock, but lacked the shame I would have expected. In fact, he didn’t even get off of her, whoever she was.

“What the hell, Winter!” he shouted as if I was to blame. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

My hand went instinctively to my forehead as I tried to fully process what was happening. “I…I…We’re…” I stared at him disoriented and bewildered.

Frank hushed the girl under him as she began to question the situation in high-pitched whispers of protest. “Winter, don’t look at me like that!” he spat, annoyed. “We’re not even married yet!”

“I can’t. Frank, I can’t.” The words finally tumbled out of me. I gripped my engagement ring and pried it painfully off my finger. “You can have this back Frank.” I threw the diamond ring right into the middle of the bed and it landed somewhere in the tangled mess of their bodies. “I know how much your mother wishes it went to someone better than me anyway.” I turned to leave.

Not one word of attempted apology came out of his lips. And I swear they got right back to fucking the minute I left the room. I broke down in tears. My hair stuck to the side of my cheeks as pushed the salty wetness from my eyes. I was a mess, as much on the inside as the outside. Now I really was lost. I had nothing, and after all that, I had no idea where my life was going.

Chapter Two

Rev

There were a million girls just like her. They’d show up at the tracks looking like wide-eyed deer in headlights. They were usually light blonde, perfectly done up, impeccably put together, and trying their best to look like the good-time girls of Las Vegas.

But daddy’s money always showed through. The expensive designer purse, red-bottomed shoes, and the entitled vibes they gave off—no, they didn’t belong here. For them, this was an act of rebellion. They came to the tracks with the most daring of their friends. They felt the reckless abandon and wild thrills of the races. But what they really came for was guys like me.

What they wanted was a night of sex they’d never get anywhere else. They wanted a story to tell when they started dating that boring asshole their dad liked so much. They wanted something to remember when they touched themselves late at night under those fancy sheets in the gilded cages they called home.

And hell, that was fine by me. I loved it. All those leggy girls showing off their assets, just waiting for me to pluck them out of the crowd and teach them what dirty, filthy fucking was really all about.

This one was something else. Smooth tan thighs, tight little leather micro-skirt barely containing her plump little ass, and those sky-high heels. But the nose had given it away. It was a little too perfect. Just like her tits. You could see daddy’s money all over her.