A Girl Undone (35 page)

“It’s recessed. It can be raised with the touch of a button, just like the glass rail.”

The chef appeared with a pizza for each of us. Sausage on Hawkins’ and mushrooms on mine. Hawkins folded his slice in half and took a huge bite.

I bit into mine, surprised at how good it tasted. Maybe it was the relief of hearing that Luke was safe.

“I heard you built a gingerbread house,” he said.

“Pasadena City Hall, actually.” I had that surreal feeling Hawkins was trying to get close to me again. He asked me all about the project, and even laughed as I described Gerard ordering Deeps to go to the grocery store to replace the green jelly beans he’d scarfed down. I didn’t tell Hawkins that Gerard smuggled Yates out of the house while Deeps was gone.

Finally, Hawkins put his empty plate down, and the relaxed look in his face turned serious.

I sensed something coming and I set my plate down, too. Maybe someone had tipped him to the news story.

“I never expected when I drew up your Contract that you’d turn out to be—” Hawkins swigged his beer. “You hold a mirror up to me day and night and force me to look at myself. No one’s done that in a long time.”

In his own odd way, he was complimenting me.

“I met with my lawyers today to revise your Contract. When you Sign it tomorrow, the new version will replace the old.” He pulled some folded papers from his inside pocket and handed them to me. “I think you’ll find it more acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. “But you’ll still own me.”

He shook his head. “You never stop. Do I need to remind you, we’re in this together?”

“No, you don’t need to remind me.” I stared into the flames, the Contract on my lap. What did it matter? In a few days, everything would change.

“I also instructed my lawyers to draft the Zara Akimoto Defense of Sexual Preference Bill to ban auctions of girls whose sexual preference excludes men.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I can argue for the bill as fraud prevention. That it would reduce the number of men who are defrauded when they enter into a Contract for a woman who will never love them. I can probably get the insurance industry on board since it would up the profitability of Contract insurance.”

“I guess asking the legislators to pass it because it’s the right thing to do, wouldn’t work?”

“What do you think?”

“No. Probably not.” I stretched my legs toward the fire. “Too bad it can’t help Zara.”

“She broke the law, Avie.”

“I know.” I understood why Zara killed her dad, but she had other choices, even if she didn’t realize that she did.

“The political climate is changing, and the ‘No on 28’ protests are bringing pressure on the Paternalists. It’s a good time to introduce small reforms to the movement.”

I needed to warn Hawkins about the reporters, but I wasn’t sure how to begin. “What would you do if Jouvert and Fletcher were gone?”

“Gone? You mean if for some unfathomable reason they both left politics?”

I tried to act casual. “I know it’s not going to happen, but I hear you complain about them, so I’m wondering what you’d do if you were president.”

“The first thing I’d do to fix this country is to open up the borders. I’d ask Congress to eliminate import taxes on foreign brides that artificially raise Contract prices, creating a have/have not situation—”

Hawkins continued, giving me an economics lecture that I only understood about a quarter of. He talked about rebuilding the work-force, wealth distribution, and the link between scarcity of available females and crime. Nothing about girls whose lives were being ruined.

“When the time is right, I’ll be ready.” He reached for my hand. “We’ll be ready.”

He squeezed my hand, and I tried to keep my breathing steady. We weren’t ready for what was coming.

“So what did you want to tell me?” Hawkins asked.

As I tried to answer, I realized I couldn’t tell him about Jouvert without Hawkins trying to guess who told me. And he’d probably decide it was Sig. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

“No, come on, tell me.”

I scrambled for something to say. “I designed a dress for tomorrow. Sig’s having it made for me tonight.”

“A dress?” Hawkins studied my face, and even though he gave me a smile and said, “That’s great,” he didn’t believe me for a second.

47

Upstairs, I opened the Contract Hawkins had given me.

My Signing was a formality. Or at least that was what I tried to tell myself. The Contract had gone live weeks ago when Dad took the fifty million from him for Biocure.

But now, holding it in my hands, the Contract felt different, more real, because tomorrow I’d sign my own name to it. I was supposed to agree to terms I would never agree to if I had the choice, to sign a document neither Yates nor Luke would ever have asked me to sign.

I leafed through the Contract. Most of it had to do with Hawkins buying shares in Dad’s company, but the last section was all about me. I flipped through the pages, surprised that paragraph after paragraph had been lined through and initialed. All the sections about “transferring ownership” were deleted. Hawkins couldn’t just decide he was unhappy with me and sell me off.

Was that because I was too dangerous to transfer, I wondered, that I knew too much to hand me off to another buyer?

That reason didn’t feel exactly right. Was it possible Hawkins had realized how degrading it was to be resold like a painting he was tired of, and he’d taken my feelings into consideration?

A two-page addendum was stapled to the back. I’d learned too well that the worst news was at the end, and as I scanned the extra pages, my jaw dropped. I could divorce Hawkins without repaying my Contract once we’d been together ten years, less if I gave him two children. I’d leave with four million dollars if I fought for custody of our children, thirty if I agreed to joint.

Hawkins had given me an out. A divorce. No one ever did that. No one. Clearly he’d continue trying to control me, but this was the first time he’d given me any choice at all.

I could be free in ten years. Free to live a life I chose. Free to fall in love.

I smiled, seeing Yates and me suiting up and walking our boards into the surf, but a second later, the image fell apart. Then I tried to imagine us on his motorcycle flying up Angeles Crest Highway, but that turned into Yates striding down the federal courthouse steps, and the heart-stopping boom of a fireball.

The only way we had the slightest chance at a happily ever after was if we survived Jouvert.

Signing Day

48

Anti-Contract protesters lined the road outside the compound by mid-morning, vying for space with the news crews. According to Deeps, a fight broke out, and a photographer from KABC just missed being hit by a UPS truck. Then the Malibu police forced the protesters to the other side of the four-lane highway, where they were squeezed between the road and the hillside. Still somehow they managed to put up a small stage and sound equipment.

The protesters’ speakers were powerful enough we could hear them all the way in the kitchen. Adam Ho fumed over the cappuccino machine, and yelled into his phone, “Would someone please shut them up!” as the crowd chanted, “Real Men Don’t Need Contracts,” and, “Marriage Doesn’t Belong to the One Percent.”

I was itchy to be outside, out of my skin.

In a few hours, I’d put on the dress Sig was making, and do something I could never undo.

I slipped into the subterranean garage, and stood just inside the raised door out of sight of the street, pretending to watch the K-9 unit inspect the coolers the caterers were unloading, but actually hoping I’d hear Yates address the protesters.

I just wanted to hear his voice. Even if he was on the other side of the wall, even if he said something hideous about me, I’d feel he was with me.

The news crews were poised on the roofs of their vans. Out by the gate, the Secret Service had lined up the forty reporters and photographers who would be admitted into the compound. I watched them frisk and wand each man, then swab each piece of their equipment and run it through a machine.

Deeps caught me watching. “Are they checking for explosives?” I said.

He frowned at me. “What’s the safe room code?”

“You’ve already asked me that four times.”

“Tell me again.”

I repeated it back to him for the fifth time that day.

“Anything strange happens, I want you in there,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be walking around right now.”

“I’m too nervous to stay inside. I want to wait for Sig.”

Deeps checked his watch. “He should have been here by now. The photo shoot is set for fifteen hundred hours.”

“Care to translate?”

“Three o’clock. You’ve got less than an hour.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Deeps walked over to the catering truck, and I had turned to walk inside when I heard Yates.

“Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These are our unalienable rights. No one—no one!—can take them away from us!”

The crowd’s cheers reverberated in my body.

“The men who signed the Declaration of Independence said that the government can’t mess with these rights. It can never take them away, and if it does, we the people have the right to abolish the government.”

The news cameras on top of the vans swiveled away from the compound toward Yates as the crowd whistled and clapped.

“Today, let’s tell the Paternalists that they’re over!”

“Yes!” the crowd yelled back.

Yes, I thought.

“That they cannot take away our rights.”

“Yes!”

Yes!

“That we will fight with everything we have to create a new government! One that protects and honors these freedoms.”

I smiled to myself. In a few minutes, I would put on Sig’s dress and that would be my declaration that I was fighting back.

Deeps loomed up in my face. “Go. Now.”

“Okay, okay, I’m gone.”

As I showered, the house filled with people. Hearing them, I put on my robe, and peeked through the bedroom curtains. Men had gathered on the terrace, chatting and drinking around the tall cocktail tables. Photographers and reporters moved among them.

Then I spied a sharpshooter positioned on the roof of Hawkins’ bedroom, and another above the main room. I glanced at my ceiling, sensing there were more, including one on the roof right above me.

The strength I’d felt hearing Yates speak began to collapse, and I took my security corset out of the drawer. How could anything so thin, so flimsy, save me from what was coming?

I unhooked Becca’s necklace from my neck and slid the silver dolphin off the chain. I fumbled and dropped it twice, trying to safety-pin it to the lace on the corset.
Please, Becca, watch over me today.

When I came out of the bathroom, Sig’s pink strapless dress lay on my bed with the train beside it. The train, made from Maggie’s embroidered hanging, was dyed the bright color of fresh guava to match the plain silk dress. I picked up the train, wondering if Sig had made it detachable so he could give me an out if I was too scared. No, I didn’t need an out. I was doing this.

Sig had made the train slightly stiff without folds that might hide the stitching. Clear crystals caught the light, drawing the eye to the branches. Fletcher. Perue. Eighteen leaders of Congress. Seven governors. And now Jouvert. The stitch-coded names appeared and disappeared in the design.

I ran my fingers over the branches, gratified to see Sparrow’s story was here, too. How she’d seduced Jouvert, learned of his secret dealings, then martyred herself on the Capitol steps.

When I saw Hawkins’ name, I flinched. Somehow I’d stupidly forgotten he was named here, too. I decoded what Maggie’d discovered about him. It didn’t look like he’d done the heinous things other men had done, but he wasn’t innocent, either. The lawyers for Regimen Industries could be busy defending him for years.

I straightened my shoulders. Jessop Hawkins had made his choices, and now I was making mine.

There was a knock and “Are you decent?” Sig came around the corner and eyed me in my robe. “Excellent. A few minutes for hair, makeup, and the dress, and you’ll be ready for the press.”

The audio monitor was on in the bathroom. Sig kept talk to a minimum as he swept my hair into a loose updo and applied the lightest touch of makeup.

“You’ll wear the pink dress for the photographers and the white for the Signing,” he said.

“Two dresses?”

“At New York Signings, girls typically have three dresses for the event. Some have four. Besides, it’s important you feel relaxed and confident when you sign your Contract and the less constructed fit of the white dress should do that. Trust me.”

“Okay, whatever.” Sig wasn’t saying exactly why he wanted me in the white dress, but my gut said it wasn’t for fashion’s sake.

I zipped into the pink dress. The fitted bodice was tight and it wasn’t easy to move in the skirt.

Sig held up the train. I stood, trembling slightly as he attached it between my shoulder blades.

I wasn’t on the sidelines anymore. This was my chance to help push Jouvert from his pedestal. I felt for the little dolphin pinned to my corset. This is for you, Becca. You and Maggie and Sparrow, Zara, Portia, and all the Hannas and Mikhaelas trying to stay free.

The chants of the protesters came through the closed windows, and I realized this was also for the two young men I loved, but in such different ways. I was keeping my promises to Luke and Yates by speaking the truth.

I eased the Love bracelet over my hand and Sig helped me screw it on my wrist. He fussed with my bangs, then waved his hand with a little ta-da. “So, girl,” he whispered, “ready to go onstage?”

Onstage. Images of Vegas, Maggie, and Jouvert came rushing back, and I nodded, suddenly too nervous to speak. Nothing will happen today, I tried to tell myself. It’s like Deeps said. Shooting me here would be hard to cover up.

Deeps met me right outside my door and we walked toward the stairs. Hawkins was at the opposite end of the hall with Ho. “The photographers are set up in the main room,” Deeps said. “Mr. Hawkins will take your arm at the top of the stairs, and you’ll come down together.”