The Girlfriend Contract 2 (3 page)

Didn't it know she was busy? Couldn't it see she was sharing a pleasant morning with a handsome man who clearly knew his business when it came to a woman's body?

That gave her a moment's respite from the buzzing. She concentrated completely on their joining, on the way their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, as though weren't two people but one. One perfect sexual being living entirely within the moment, living entirely for the pleasure of it.

But then the buzzing redoubled. The bedroom started to slip away, with its cream-colored walls and its window with a view of Central Park. It became hazy, indistinct. Then the bed started to fade.

It wasn't so bad, at first. After all, it left just the two of them joined together, floating in the nothingness.

Then Aiden left her, too.
Dissolving with the rest of it.

Gwen sat up in her bed, one hand shooting out to slap the alarm clock into silence.

She looked around. Yep, this was her room all right. Inside unit 705 in her old building. Sunlight crept in around the edges of the old curtain her parents had let her take from home when she moved away for school.

The weight of reality came crashing back down onto her, and she gathered her knees up in a hug against her chest. She felt hot,
and a little sweaty. Short of breath and shaky. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

Gwen sat there for a while, watching the minutes tick by on the alarm without actually seeing them. The dream had been so real.
So visceral. So sensual. If she closed her eyes, she could still smell him all clean and perfumed from his shower. And it took no effort to recall the memory of his weight against her. Or the way it felt as their bodies moved.

Gwen blew out her cheeks and shook her head, trying to shake herself back into waking life.

"It was just a dream... Well, not just a dream. A fantasy. A good fantasy, too..." she muttered. Her thoughts interrupted: Okay, Gwen, you're getting off track here. Remember, he told you that you're not his type.

She snorted at that. It certainly felt like I was his type in the dream.

"Get a grip, get a grip," she said. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember that a dream was just that, a dream. This was real life. Real life, with its essays for class and its paying rent and all those other mundane things. In real life, she didn't live with Aiden Manning in an amazing condo with a view of the park, and he didn't step out of the shower in the morning to take her back to bed. No matter how much she wanted it.

That startled her. Do I want it? Is that what I want?
she thought. It still hurt to think about him telling her she wasn't his type, and that he wasn't actually interested in her in that way at all. It was all just wasted feeling, thinking there was something actually between them. Best just to leave it as the business relationship they both knew it to be.

And that thought brought her to look at her desk. The contract was there, just waiting for her to actually read it and find out just how much longer Aiden expected her to keep the act up.

Chapter 3

Gwen forced herself up out of bed and into the shower, and from there into some clean cloths. The hamper in one corner of her room was getting pretty full. She needed to get down to the coin laundry soon. Yet another aspect of real life she didn't feel particularly fond about.

A steaming cup of instant coffee in one hand, she sat down at her desk. From one drawer she pulled out the contract. It was thicker than she remembered it being, and a tickle of trepidation started in her stomach as she wondered just what she'd put her signature to.

She wanted to be mad at Beatrice. But that would be too easy, blaming her friend for
making her sign so hastily. No one had forced her to sign it. She had done it of her own free will, and lied about the contents to her best friend as well. That ate at her.

From another drawer, she pulled out a glasses case, flipped it open, and put her glasses on. She didn't use them very often, but her eyes still felt a little blurry from sleep and they would help her puzzle out what was doubtlessly page after page of small-print and legalese.

The first thing she did was lick her index finger and start leafing through it to find out the duration of this sham, the pages making a whisking sound against each other. The sooner this ended, the sooner she could get the weight of this lie off her chest and tell her friend.

She scanned the pages quickly, running her fingertip down the middle of each to keep from getting lost.

"Ah!" she said, tapping the page. She read the line.

The Undersigned acknowledges that their obligation shall continue until the instigating party discharges them from the duties outlined herein, or until the Undersigned states in a written notice that they wish to terminate the agreement with no less than two weeks' notice...

It went on like that, tying words into evil little knots that left her brain reeling as it tried to untie them. So basically, she thought, it goes as long as he wants it to go. Or as long as I want it to. Now that was interesting. For some reason, she'd been feeling like she was stuck in this agreement with no way out.

Of course, there was the whole two weeks of notice part.
Like it was a job or something. But still, better than no way out at all.

Another flipped page revealed her list of expectations re: the phony relationship. She read these while chewing on her bottom lip. She was indeed required to basically drop whatever she was doing to go out with him on "social engagements."

Wow, lawyers could even make dates sound boring.

There was a minimum amount of public displays of affection like hand holding, hugging. No arguments were permitted in the
presence of others, "Except in the case whereby a verbal altercation could be construed by any observers in question as a relationship-strengthening exercise."

What did that even mean? Were they supposed to stand at opposing sides of a restaurant and scream, "I love you more!" and "No, I love
you
more!" at each other?

Speaking of the L-word, there was even a clause about that. Apparently, should the relationship persist for two months or more, she was required to tell him she loved him at the end of phone conversations, when parting in public, things like that. When possible, it was to be preceded by, as the contract stated, "A physical display of affection."

Gwen pushed her glasses up her nose so that she could rub at her eyes. What have I gotten myself into?

There were more stipulations, but she moved onto the next page. This one pleased her more. It was about Aiden's obligations and restrictions regarding her.
Everything she'd specified was laid down there in that overblown legal language, from no open-mouthed kissing to absolutely no sexual contact.

Reading that one actually left her somewhat disappointed.
Even the powerfully boring word choices of the lawyer who'd written the contract couldn't quite wipe that incredibly vivid dream from her mind.

And, much to her
shock, was another statement. She was to receive additional payments from Aiden every month. All of them never to drop below the level of her initial payment.

Now that really gave her a case of cotton mouth. She trembled a little. I'm getting paid more? Here she'd been, thinking that Aiden got a
helluva deal (a long-term girlfriend for the low-low price of $5000). Perhaps this wasn't such a bad deal after all.

Sure, there was Bradley Manning to deal with. But that guy ran a huge international corporation. Wouldn't he be spending most of his time browbeating foreign governments into graciously accepting Carbide Solutions' business, and not accusing her of being a well-paid prostitute?

And I'm not a prostitute, she told herself, Aiden's not buying sex. He's buying a relationship.

The contract's wordiness and circular language (all to try and prevent her from finding any loopholes, she was sure) began giving her a headache. She leaned back in her chair,
swiveling it a little from side to side. She looked at the puppy calendar tacked to the bristle board pane mounted along the wall in front of her desk. She had two essays due within three weeks, as well as midterm to study for. Lots of stuff to keep her busy.

And now she didn't feel nervous about school. Well, there were still the usual nerves that went along with being a serial procrastinator (Can I write this 8-page essay the night before it's due?) but none of the nerves she'd felt earlier.
None of those feelings wondering whether she'd even be here to put off writing those papers and studying for that exam in the first place.

She leaned forward to try and get back to the contract when he
r stomach growled. The coffee perked her up, but didn't get rid of her appetite.

She got up to go and make herself a PB&J sandwich. Just as she left her bedroom,
the intercom buzzed.

Wondering just what Aiden wanted from her now, she walked over to the apartment door and pushed the little black nub down, putting her mouth close to the speaker. "Hello?" she said.

"Hey, baby, it's me!"

The speaker crackled and spat. It had to almost as old as the building. She and Janice had needed the maintenance guy in to repair it at least four or five times now. The bird's nest of wiring behind the panel just had to be a fire hazard.

Still, she managed to recognize her father's voice, despite the distortions. "Oh, hey dad," she replied, hoping that the sound down there hid her confusion. Why was he here now? Shouldn't he be at work or something?

"
Gonna let me up? Or should I just spend some more time with this interesting homeless fellow down here?"

She let go of the button and sighed.
First Aiden's dad and his accusations, now her own father showing up at her apartment building? She honestly considered telling him she wasn't feeling well, or had a project to finish, before realizing how ridiculous that was. She wasn't like Aiden; she loved her father. Of course it was nice to have him visit!

"Come right up, dad. Remember which apartment it is?" she said.

"Yep," he replied. She held the buzzer down for a few seconds, then waited to make sure he got inside.

A minute later, he knocked on the door. She was in the bathroom, checking to make sure she looked okay. A little warn out, maybe, she thought as she looked at her reflection. But honestly, what could someone expect after a dream like that one?

"Coming!" she said, scurrying to the door and pulling it open.

Her father stood outside, hands in his pockets. He wore a pair of old jeans and a polo shirt. In the past couple years, his hair had receded pretty far, leaving him with a prodigious forehead that wrinkled whenever he smiled, or whenever someone mentioned Gwen's mother. It wrinkled then as he grinned down at her. They hugged.

"Come on in, dad," she said. They wound up in the kitchen, her dad leaning against the fridge, Gwen against the counter in front of the sink.

"Place looks good," he said.

"Yeah, it's okay. Hey, dad, not that I'm not happy you came or anything, but..."

"Why am I here?" he finished.

"Bingo."

He took one of his hands out of his pocket to rub at the broad expanse of forehead. "You're in trouble. I can't just leave my little girl when she's in trouble."

It at once annoyed her that he still called her "my little girl" despite her being pretty close to finishing her Bachelor's and endeared her that he'd actually showed up when she asked for help. She knew it was at least partly so he could rub it in her mom's face the next time they sat down with their lawyers, but it still felt nice to have someone care, to have someone offer help and not want anything in return.

"That's sweet, dad," she said.

"Yeah, I was just on my way to go rent a moving van, then I figured we could grab some lunch and then come back here and start packing..." he said.

"Whoa whoa
whoa! Excuse me? Packing?"

Her dad gave her a look that said, "Uh, yeah? Why else would I be here?"

"I never asked you to help me move," she said.

"You don't need to
ask
, Gwenny. I'm your father; I'm here to help."

She was glad Beatrice wasn't around to hear that. Beatrice would call her
Gwenny for the rest of the month, if she'd been there. No one but her parents called her that. Which was just fine with her. Gwenny sounded like a name for a little girl, or a cute puppy. Neither of which she was, clearly.

Again, she got that simultaneous feeling of annoyance and gratitude. Though her annoyance, she knew, was unwarranted. She hadn't told him everything was fine yet, after all. She couldn't help contrasting her father to Bradley Manning. She didn't think old Bradley would offer Aiden a hand even if he were drowning.

And that just made her feel more sympathy for Aiden, which softened her smile. "Thanks dad. You have no idea how happy that makes me feel that you'd come down like this... without calling ahead... and offer to help. But you really didn't have to. I have everything sorted out, now."