Lavish Lies

by Charlotte Byrd

  I watch as he leans on her, draping his arm around her shoulder. Her brushes her hair from her neck. Her shoulders go up a little, in surprise.

  She looks up at him.

  Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Perhaps, it’s not her. But as soon as she swivels around, I know that I haven’t.

  Everly tilts her face. Her eyes open widely and she looks at him inquisitively.

  “Hello, stranger,” she says without balking at his touch. Her lips, the color of the dying sun, open slowly and form a smile.

  Stopping a few feet away, I’m just within earshot. I don’t interrupt.

  “I didn’t think you would be happy to see me,” Abbott says.

  Without removing his arm from her bare shoulder, he nods to the bartender, asking for a refill.

  “And why is that?” she asks.

  “Well, you remember? We didn’t start off on the best of terms.”

  “I’ve gotten a lot wiser since then,” she says. “And you…you’ve gotten a lot better looking.”

  Abbott laughs.

  “A shower and a tuxedo go a long way with me,” she adds, taking a sip of her drink.

  I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t pull myself away.

  Who is this woman?

  She looks like Everly from the outside. An upscale, dressed up version of her, anyway. But the shy unsure girl I met at the Oakmont is all but gone. It’s as if she has aged two decades in the time she has been here, without getting one single crease on her face.

  “Nineteen, I’d like for you to meet my brother,” Abbott says loudly. “Easton, why don’t you stop spying from over there and come say hi?”

  Her face falls as soon as she sees me, but she tries to catch herself.

  “You’re Abbott’s brother?” she asks.

  “Easton,” I say, extending my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Everly clenches her jaw and purses her lips. Her eyes throw daggers of hate at me. She recognizes me. She thinks that I’m the one responsible for her being here.

  “Isn’t this a beautiful island?” I ask.

  She inhales deeply, about to say something mean, but then changes her mind and nods.

  “Well, it’s made only so much more beautiful by the women in this room,” I say. “You being on top of that list, of course.”

  “Thank you,” she hisses through her teeth.

  These are blanket pleasantries. I’m not trying to be kind or sweet or to give her a compliment.

  I’m just trying to keep her mouth shut about what I did at the Oakmont.

  Why is it that she was able to play her role so expertly when she saw Abbott, but not when she saw me?

  Lucky for both of us, Abbott doesn’t seem to notice a thing. He is too enamored with her transformation to pay attention to anything else.

  “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to make my rounds,” Abbott says, taking Everly’s hand. “But I’ll see you later, I hope.”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  I wait for him to find his new mark and take off in her direction. Then I ask Everly to follow me out onto the balcony.

  “Please?” I ask and place my hand on hers. She swivels the stool to face away from me. “The sky is beautiful now and we will have some privacy there.”

  Eventually, and with great reluctance, she agrees.

  As I escort her to the balcony on the other side of the room, I try to put my hand on the small of her back, but she takes a few steps forward to get away from me.

  The balcony isn’t really a balcony in the normal sense. It comes in at almost two-thousand square feet and overlooks the translucent waves below.

  I lead Everly to the far end, where we are a bit out of the way of the cameras and the sound is muffled by the wind coming off the water.

  “We don’t have much time,” I whisper. “The camera people will be here soon.”

  “I don’t need time,” Everly says. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I’m sorry that you’re here,” I say in a hushed tone.

  “Me, too. And I’m also sorry that I believed you and got into that cab.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. I tried to help you.”

  “Help me? You? You’re the one who told me not to trust my date,” she whispers loudly.

  “I thought that you would be safe getting into that cab alone.”

  “Whatever,” Everly says, waving her hand. “I’m done with this place and these games you all play here.”

  “I’m not playing a game.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re playing the role of the hero. Pretending to help me, just to betray me at the very end.”

  I glance into the distance. The camera people are coming out onto the balcony.

  “I want to help you,” I whisper.

  “You did,” she whispers back. “You showed me how this game is played. I can’t trust anyone in York. And I never will.”

  Cameras surround us, and Everly quickly takes my hand in hers.

  “Thank you for saying those kind words to me,” she says. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Part V

  First Rounds

  Everly

  When I am shown…

  The blood red gown makes a quiet swishing sound as I walk.

  The first two steps in my four-inch heels are unsteady, and I have to lean against the wall for support. The guards lead the way and eventually I manage to get a better handle on my footing and stop tripping. The guards, dressed in tuxedos, show me down a long hallway and through a doorway. There, in a poorly-lit room with extremely high ceilings, I join the rest of the women.

  Some talk among themselves. Others stand motionless, staring into space.

  Something is about to happen, but we don’t know what.

  I glance at the guards who surround us. Their faces are flat and expressionless, revealing nothing of what is about to happen.

  Then a spotlight comes on in the distance and a brunette in a form-fitting strapless canary-yellow gown walks onto the stage.

  Suddenly, it hits me where we are.

  Backstage.

  All light around us seems to vanish and the audience outside gets quiet. I stand on my tiptoes to get a better view of what’s going on out there.

  The music comes on, a slow moving melody, and part of the stage starts to rotate. The woman begins to spin, showing her body from all angles.

  Standing proudly with her shoulders back, she points her chin to the ceiling.

  A man comes out, dressed in an elegant tuxedo which accentuates his large build. He runs his hand over her shoulders and up and down her neck. She tilts her head toward him, as if she is enjoying it.

  Actually, maybe she is. I have no idea.

  Suddenly, the man pulls out a knife from his breast pocket. I expect her eyes go grow wide with fear, but they don’t. Instead, she gives him a wink, leans over, and licks the blade.

  I guess Shakespeare was right, I say to myself. All the world’s a stage and we are all players.

  The man brings the knife to her chest. The point makes a little indentation in her breast as they rise and fall with each of her breaths.

  He teases her with his knife.

  One prick.

  Then another.

  Not at her skin but at the threads of her dress.

  Five pricks later and the dress falls to the floor.

  The stage starts to move faster, making them appear, as if they are waltzing.

  The woman steps out of her dress and kicks it away.

  She presses her lips to the man’s and runs her hands down his body until she reaches his belt. Then she starts to undo it.

  The audience explodes in applause as the man unclasps the woman’s bra, freeing her breasts. The women backstage join in with the applause.

  Reality melts away and morphs into the unknown.

  I cannot distinguish between what is authentic and fake anymore.

  A few moments later, the couple is waltzing nake
d with each other.

  Their hands melt into one. Their legs intertwine. Her lips become his lips. When the song comes to an end, their rotating stage moves further away from the audience until the lights fall and they disappear.

  “Wasn’t that magnificent?” A long-legged, Amazonian beauty turns toward me.

  “Yes, it was…something indeed,” I mumble.

  “You don’t seem impressed.”

  “No, of course, I am,” I say.

  “Oh, okay, because you had me scared for a moment,” she says.

  She has a thick accent - Brazilian perhaps? She uses exaggerated hand gestures to get her point across and introduces herself as Alessandra.

  “You’re scared?” I ask. “Why?”

  “Well, you know, I don’t know what’s going to happen when I go out there.”

  Suddenly, the reality hits me across the face like an open palm.

  “So, that’s not a show?” I ask. “She just did that…spontaneously?”

  Alessandra nods and smiles broadly. “Exciting, isn’t it?!”

  Shivers run down my spine. I’m not one for theatrics, to say the least.

  In school, my stomach would get into knots whenever I even had to raise my hand in class. And I’d have a full-on anxiety attack if I had to make a presentation.

  Someone taps me on my shoulder. “You’re next,” a guard in a blue and white tuxedo says. I glare at her.

  “No, there must be some sort of mistake,” I start to protest.

  “No,” she says, definitively.

  “But…no…” I try again. “What about all those women ahead of me? I thought I had…more time.”

  The guard shakes her head and takes me by my elbow.

  “No, please,” I plead.

  A sob is starting to form in the back of my throat.

  My fingertips get ice cold.

  “It’s a mistake. I’m not next. You don’t even know my name.”

  “You’re next, number nineteen,” she whispers into my ear. “You have to go out there, Everly, or they will send you back down to the dungeons.”

  So, this is not a mistake. I can’t feel my body. A loud muffling sound blares in between my ears.

  “But…I don’t know what to do,” I say. “What am I supposed to do out there?”

  “Just go out to the center of the stage until you see the X, stand there, and be yourself. But do as they say.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask as she pushes me out past the side curtains.

  Suddenly, the spotlight is on me.

  It bathes me in harsh, hot light.

  I walk out onto the stage.

  The hall is quiet and my heels make a loud clinking sound with each step.

  I feel everyone’s eyes on me and take a few deep breaths.

  When I get to the black X, I stop and turn to face the crowd.

  A sea of faces is looking at me.

  Who are you people?

  Do you know what’s going on here?

  A disembodied voice announces me as number nineteen and the stage starts to turn.

  I plant my feet firmly and spin along with it.

  I consider putting one of my feet out in front of me and pushing my hips to the other side, like I’ve seen girls do online.

  But what’s the fucking point?

  I don’t want to be here and I definitely don’t want to be on stage.

  I continue to stand with my legs slightly apart and my shoulders slouching down, in an effort to disappear off the face of the planet. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.

  I should stand up straight. I should try harder.

  But aren’t I supposed to be myself?

  The real me has no desire to straighten her shoulders.

  If they want to see the real me, then this is who I am.

  No one claps or makes a sound. The silence is deafening.

  “Take off your dress, number nineteen,” the announcer says.

  A loud gasp comes from stage right.

  The crowd erupts in applause.

  But I just shake my head.

  “Take off your dress,” the announcer says, and again I shake my head.

  “Take off your dress, now.” His voice is getting impatient.

  I look down at my gown.

  What is it to take it off? It’s no big deal.

  I’ve done much worse.

  They’ve done much worse to me.

  So, why can’t I do this?

  I look out in the crowd. Hundreds of faces are looking at me.

  Do they know about the depths of hell that this place really is?

  Do they think this is a game?

  A show?

  Why not? I thought it was only a few minutes ago.

  I can take off my gown.

  Of course, I can.

  But I refuse.

  In this auditorium full of people, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I have a chance.

  Will this get me kicked out of the competition? I don’t know.

  One thing is for sure.

  I will be myself. If only once in this shitty place.

  “No,” I say defiantly, shaking my head.

  The men come from each side of the stage. Both are dressed in tuxedos with their hair slicked back. They walk purposefully toward me and jump on the rotating platform.

  Then, without saying a word, they grab at me.

  One unzips my dress and the other one pulls it down to the floor.

  Their movements are choreographed. Practiced.

  But they don’t stop there. One unclasps my bra and the other pulls it off. Within a matter of seconds, I’m standing topless in front of a hall of excited eyes.

  “Get the fuck off me,” I say, kneeing one in the balls as hard as I can.

  Caught off guard, he topples over in pain.

  The second one comes for my throat, and I punch him in the jaw. Much to my surprise, the punch lands well and he trips over his feet.

  Three other men quickly run out, surrounding me. Two of them grab my arms and hold them behind my back.

  There’s nowhere to go. No point in fighting. There never was much of a point, but it felt damn good to hurt them.

  Too bad these men will do much worse to me.

  The man standing in front of me rips off my panties. I’m ready for what’s about to come. I close my eyes to get away from here.

  “No,” the announcer says. “Do not touch her.”

  We all look up surprised.

  “Let her go,” the announcer says.

  “But she has to be punished,” one of the guards starts to protest.

  “No, on King’s orders, you will not touch her,” the announcer says and they let me go.

  “Give her her clothes,” the announcer says. They hand me my bra and dress and I immediately put them back on.

  “Let’s have a round of applause for number nineteen, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer says. “As you can see, she’s quite a fighter.”

  I leave the stage to a standing ovation.

  Everly

  When I make a mistake…

  When I get backstage, everyone congratulates me on my performance.

  “Wow, you were amazing.”

  “So strong.”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “I can’t believe they took it that far!”

  I nod and thank them for their kind words. My head is still spinning over what happened.

  “Oh my God, nineteen, you were…amazing! What a performance!” Alessandra yells, wrapping her arms around me. “How did you know to do that?”

  I shrug. She’s holding a bottle of water and I ask her for a sip.

  “I really don’t know what I’m going to do up there,” she says. “Do you think I should also fight back?”

  “I don’t know, maybe,” I say. “But it could also turn on you. I mean, I fought before and…it wasn’t the best decision.”

  She narrows her eyes, inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

>   “Well, you know, back in the cell. The locked hotel room.” I take another sip. She looks even more perplexed than before. Then it hits me.

  “Wait, do you not know?” I ask.

  “Know what?”

  “Weren’t you kept in a room like I was?”

  She shakes her head. “Kept in a room? What are you talking about?”

  We both stare at each other for what feels like an hour. It’s long enough for me to notice that she has a little imperfection on her right iris, which makes her look even more breathtaking.

  “You were kept in a room?” she asks in a whisper.

  I nod. The shivers on the back of my neck warn me against telling her anything more, but for some reason I can’t keep it to myself.

  “It was a really nice room, but it was a cell anyway. I was told that men were going to come and I shouldn’t fight them. Just let them do what they want with me. Well, I didn’t listen.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “I fought one off and hurt him pretty badly so they took me down to the dungeons. That’s where they did really bad shit to me.”

  I can’t bring myself to say the word rape or any of the other ones that would describe what really happened.

  Alessandra shakes her head and starts to laugh.

  “Wow, you’re good,” she says, shaking her head. A big wide smile forms on her face.

  I don’t understand what she means.

  “You’re already competing. I thought that we could be friends, but you’re just trying to scare me.”

  “I’m not,” I whisper. “It really happened.”

  “C’mon, you expect me to believe that? That this place has some dungeons or men who come to your room and rape you? That’s stupid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is York. We are here to meet a desirable bachelor and to compete for his heart. That’s all. It’s a reality show that’s not aired on television.”

  I shake my head.

  “They would never do anything bad to us. We can come and go as we want.”

  “Please, you have to believe me,” I plead. “This place isn’t what you think it is.”

  But it’s too late.

  “I thought we could be friends. But I’m not going to be friends with someone who says these things,” she says, waving her hand.