The Woman Before You: An intense, addictive love story with an unexpected twist.... Carrie Blake

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СКАЧАТЬ Charlie Sheen character. Dude, relax. I’m joking. I’m not asking you to rob banks or commit serial murders.’

      I looked over his shoulder at a helicopter hovering over the Hudson.

      ‘Does this involve sex?’

      ‘Not with me,’ Val said. ‘I don’t even want to watch. I’ve got Heidi. Remember?’

      As far as I knew, Val and Heidi were more or less happily married. A few days before, Val had taken me to lunch at Michael’s. He’d ordered the Cobb salad, as always.

      He said, ‘I don’t know if you know this, Matthew, but I’ve been married three times. I must believe in the institution. I’ve got four kids, two from each previous marriage. Everybody gets along, loves everyone else. I’d say okay to one more kid, but that’s not on Heidi’s agenda. So at the moment we’re good.’ He knocked lightly on the table and gave me a version of the smile that had made him a movie star.

      Now, in his office, Val said, ‘Don’t be an asshole, Matthew. This is not about the porn film of your dreams. Sex with this … accomplice would be your call. Sex, I need hardly point out, is one of the most reliable forms of mind control. Especially useful with young women.’

      It was an odd thing for an older guy—my boss—-to say. Was he saying that Heidi was his personal mind control sex slave? I’d assumed their connection was about Morton’s money and power. If power was the greatest aphrodisiac, money and real estate were right up there along with it.

      ‘That’s not very feminist,’ I said. ‘Very retro.’

      ‘Mea culpa,’ said Morton ‘Please. Take it easy. This is supposed to be fun. You’re getting paid to seduce a pretty girl of your choice. Thank me. There’s no rush. Let’s give it to the end of the fall. Find the right girl. Get her ready. Maybe hold off on fucking her. Make her wait for it. Make her beg. Keep me posted. Let me know how it’s going. Tell me when she’s ready to do what we need. What I need. Then I’ll tell you what comes next.’

      Actually, it was intriguing. What a cool assignment. All I had to do was find a girl who would do anything I said. I could have sex with her if I wanted to, but I didn’t have to. And it would be fun to make her wait. Val was right. I was getting paid for what most guys would pay to do. And somehow, in a funny way, that qualified me to do it. It was a job. Compared to the jobs that were out there, this was beyond sweet. I’d be nice to the girl, court her, tease her a little. She’d never have to be the wiser. And—at least as far as I knew—no one would get hurt.

      I felt a little guilty, not telling a woman the truth, but, let’s face it, I’d done it before. It was something guys did all the time, even when they were married. Especially then.

      I’d had several relationships. They always ended badly. Freud said, what do women want? I could have told him: Whatever they want, it’s more than you want to give.

      Val Morton made it a challenge. An assignment. I began to look at women in a different way. A more … specialized way. More … practical.

      Dating apps made it too easy. I went on Bumble—where sweet girls who want to feel empowered by doing all the work go to meet guys who supposedly want more than one fun night. Maybe for the first time ever, I knew what I was looking for. And now all I would have to do is swipe right and wait for her to make the first move. That was how I found her.

       Isabel.

      Later, too late, I asked myself: Why her? I never figured it out. I guess people just know things about each other. They pick things up on their radar. They know how far a person will go.

      I don’t know how I knew about Isabel, but I did. Even when I thought her name was Riley.

      That was an added twist—something that made her even more perfect, for some reason.

      Right away I could feel it between us. The heat. When she walked into the coffee shop and told me about her little game. When she said yes to my own game. When I asked her to lie down on the overpriced mattress she was pretending to sell me. Well, good for her. It was pure inspiration. It was fun, and it was hot. By the time I left the mattress store, I knew I had found my accomplice, my partner in crime. My creature.

      Who knows how far I would have gone if her creepy boss hadn’t shown up at the store? Or maybe we’d gone far enough. For the moment.

      That night, alone in my bed, I thought about her and jerked off. I hoped she was doing the same. I would have liked to call her the very next day. But I knew better. I made her—and myself—wait.

       Isabel

      One slow morning at work, I looked up from my book and saw a white business envelope on the floor, just inside the door. I jumped up to get it before Steve did. I had a feeling about it.

      The thick, expensive, cream-colored envelope was addressed to me. Inside was a printed invitation, the letters embossed in an elegant, old-fashioned cursive.

      You are cordially invited for cocktails at the home of Valentine and Heidi Morton.

      Val and Heidi Morton? Me? Why was my name on the envelope? Someone must have made a mistake.

      There was something else in the envelope. I reached in and pulled out a Loteria card. El Mundo. The world. A picture of the world. On the back it said, in neat block letters, I’ll meet you there at seven. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. I knew it was from Matthew. But why had my own letter with the melon card come back to me? Had he opened the envelope and resealed it and returned it to the postman? Why would someone do something like that?

      I would find out, or I wouldn’t. I was meeting Matthew at a party at the Upper East Side apartment of Val and Heidi Morton.

      What did you wear to a fancy uptown Upper East Side cocktail party when you were a failed actress and mattress professional living over a toxic dump site in Greenpoint? I went to one of the last vintage clothing shops in the East Village and asked Melinda, who’d owned the store for years, what to wear to a cocktail party given by (I didn’t want to name drop) a famous older celebrity actor and politician on the Upper East Side.

      ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Val Morton.’

      ‘How do you know?’

      ‘People have been coming in all week looking for something to wear to that party. You’d think the guests would be shopping at Bergdorf, but everyone seems to want vintage Balenciaga or Chanel. Okay. Let’s see. What can you afford?’

      Nothing was the truth. But I’d gotten an advance from Steve.

      I spent all my money on the perfect little black dress from the Sixties that made me look so pretty that even I relaxed. A little.

      ‘Fabulous,’ said Melinda. ‘Anyhow, it hardly matters. You’ll be a good ten years younger than anyone there. Fresh blood at the vampire party.’

      I called in sick (Steve was definitely not happy about it) and spent the whole day getting ready. I watched the porn clip on my laptop, the one with the guy that looked like Matthew. I came when he was doing the interview and had the prospective secretary bent over the desk. СКАЧАТЬ