The Lessons (4 page)

Natalie

Monday. The first day at my new job as Marketing Manager at Heaven Sent. I chuckled to myself as I strode across the granite and steel lobby of 101 California Street, a large office building that was home to the lingerie company’s Worldwide Headquarters. If only they knew they’d hired a virgin to hock garter belts and push-up bras, well, I’m sure someone would be fired. Yet personally, I had no qualms, I had a job to do. Heaven Sent had spent years at the top of its industry, but a few competitors had been able to break into the market. Our job was to realign the company’s image and bring Heaven Sent back to the top, and after being out of the workforce for a few years, I was eager to get started.

“Good morning,” I said as I approached a security attendant at the reception desk. “My name is Natalie Reese. Denise Romero is expecting me.”

The attendant checked his clipboard, his expression giving nothing away. “Ms. Reese,” he said, handing me a visitor badge. “Second elevator on the right. Fourteenth floor.”

Fourteenth floor
, I groaned inwardly, remembering the one negative point of this job. I looked down at my new patent leather heels—yep, the stairs were out of the question. I swallowed hard and stood up straight as I walked to the bank of elevators. I hated elevators. Miraculously, I managed to make it up without incident, and I exited into the lively, bold offices of Heaven Sent. I’d been there before, a month ago during my interview, but somehow it looked different, knowing I’d gotten the job. The lobby was clean and bright, with white stone floors and a sleek white reception desk. Behind the desk was a huge blow-up of an image from the current ad campaign. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t great.
Something to add to the list
, I mused as I approached the desk.

“Good morning. Natalie Reese for Deni—”

“Natalie!” a cheerful voice cut in behind me.

I turned and was greeted with a huge smile. Denise Romero was the head of Human Resources, and I’d been in close contact with her during the interview and hiring process. She was effusive and bubbly, and had tried hard to convince me that working at Heaven Sent was the right decision.

She, of course, knew nothing of my ulterior motives.

“Denise, good to see you again.” We exchanged firm handshakes.

“Good to see you, too. How’s San Francisco treating you?”

“Good, good. Still getting my bearings, but it’s beautiful here. I’m excited to get started.” I said, glancing around the lobby.

Denise nodded. “Excellent. Well then, shall we? I can take you to your office…”

I spent the morning getting acclimated with my new workplace. The headquarters of Heaven Sent were a fair size; probably about a hundred people spread over two floors. The marketing team was relatively small, only six people, not including the graphic designers. I met all of them briefly during Denise’s tour, and then was swept into a quick meeting with my new boss, Cathy Cannon. She was relatively new to the company as well, and we were both excited to get to work.

After a quick lunch at my desk, I attended the monthly manager’s meeting, which took the rest of the afternoon. We reviewed our current market position, and I was introduced to the rest of the team. Denise made a quick presentation on the new employee handbook, and by the time five o’clock rolled around, everyone seemed more than ready to go. I was gathering up my notebook and phone while everyone was rushing out of the room, when I noticed that someone was standing next to me.

“Natalie?”

“Yes?” I asked, looking up.
Oh.
It was one of the other managers. He must have been sitting on my side of the table, because I hadn’t noticed his face during the meeting, and I am sure I would have. He was very attractive, in Ralph Lauren ad kind of way— tall, with blond hair and deep green eyes.

“I’m Brad,” he said extending his hand “Brad Valentine. I’m in IT.”

I held my notebook up to my chest. Valentine? Seriously? Well, the name suited him. He was much better looking than the IT nerds back in New York. Yes…very good looking. I eyed his tailored gingham shirt and silently wondered if he was gay. Josh had clearly prepped me a little too well.

#jaded

“A couple of us are going to the bar across the street. I was wondering if you might like to join us. You know, to celebrate your first day and all.”

I looked up at the ceiling and froze in what was not an uncommon reaction for me. In professional environments, I could navigate like a pro, but social situations usually gave me considerable anxiety, and even though I knew why, I couldn’t stop my body from tensing. I know it sounds like I’m being an arrogant jerk, but over the last few years, I’d recognized just how green I was, and now I’d become paranoid that an innocent drink into something more and I’d, once again, be exposed for the inexperienced virgin I was.

I wasn’t ready for that, especially right now; I was so close to taking care of my little problem. Yet Brad
was
cute. Beyond cute, really. I squinted and tried to picture what he’d look like behind a white picket fence and then shook my head. Maybe once a certain thing was taken care of, we could venture down that road, but not now. Not yet.

Stick to the Plan, Reese!

“Oh, uh, thanks for the offer, but I have to get home. I’m still moving in and I’m expecting a delivery.”

Brad’s eyes sparkled and his mouth twitched upwards. “Can’t your boyfriend sign for the delivery?”

I blushed as I shook my head, gazing down at my shoes and taking a breath before looking back at him. “Oh, um, no I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I see.” He folded his arms in front of his chest and grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “So what part of the city are you living in?”

I closed one eye and tilted my head, wondering why he was asking, and then immediately admonished myself for being so critical. “Uh, the Marina. Cow Hollow area. Why?”

“Good. Nice and safe. How do you like it?” he asked. My eyes darted up to his and he caught them.

“Uh, it’s good. I like it.”

“You know, we’re neighbors.”

I flushed. Shit, really? I swallowed, trying to keep my cool. Was it hot in here, or was it just me? “Oh yeah?”

“Well, sort of. I’m in Russian Hill. A little East of you. We should get coffee sometime. I know a great spot not too far from you. I could show you the neighborhood.” We exited the conference room and he started to walk with me to my office.

Triple shit. I was off the hook for drinks, only to be snagged by Mr. Handsome Welcome Wagon. What was with guys offering to play tour guide in this city? I started to feel a little overwhelmed with the situation that was developing and could feel my palms begin to sweat.

“Yeah, maybe some time.” I replied noncommittally, “I’ll let you know once I’m all settled.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he kept his eyes bright. I felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment, for him and for me. I could tell he wasn’t that used to rejection. “Of course. Keep me posted.” He nodded down the hall to, presumably, his office. “You know where to find me.”

“Will—” I coughed, my throat dry. “Will do.” I pressed my lips together and smiled.

“Oh, hang on,” he walked into my office and grabbed a pen off my desk and produced a white business card from his pocket. “Here,” he said scribbling something on it, “this is my cell. Give me a call if you need any help setting up your computer or TV or anything at your new place.”

“Oh,” I said, taking the card and looking at the very neat handwriting. Quality penmanship is on a decline these days, and I was always impressed to meet someone who still held those skills. Unexpected to see from an IT guy. I thought those guys never touched anything but a keyboard. “Thanks, that is really nice of you.” I slipped the card into my trouser pocket. “I will.”

A blond woman appeared in my doorway. “Hey Brad, you ready?” she asked him, making no effort to downplay the stars in her eyes. I looked over at him and tried to suppress a grin.

“Yep, go ahead. I’ll meet you at the elevator, Nikki.” She nodded and headed off down the hall. Brad crossed his arms again and sighed. “Well, I better get going. It was good to meet you Natalie. See you tomorrow?”

I nodded and he disappeared down the hall. As soon as he was out of sight, I shut the door to my office and collapsed onto my chair.

Fuck.

What was wrong with me?

~

Later that evening, I tried to improve my mood by ordering in Chinese and putting on some Motown.

Motown was my
jam.

As The Miracles poured out of my iPod dock, I continued to unpack. All my kitchen equipment had arrived today, and I was eager to stock my cupboards. I knew I had packed way more than would fit in the tiny apartment kitchen, so I set about whittling the selection down.

Most of the boxes were filled with my mom’s stuff. She’d been a professional baker, and as much as I would like to say she’d passed on the skills to me, I was a dunce at it. Except for scones. I could turn out scones like nobody’s business.

So what was the non-baker doing with ten cookie sheets, six porcelain pie plates, two hand-mixers, one standing mixer, four muffin tins, and three rolling pins? Well, she’d loved the stuff, and I couldn’t bear to give it away. After she’d passed, I held an estate sale. I brought in one of those companies that run the sales for you, and my only orders were to not sell anything in the kitchen. Therefore, as a result, I had kitchen supplies to rival the best of them. In addition to the bakeware, I also had her collection of beautiful, milky green jadeite dishes. I put those into the display cupboard above the sink before putting the pie plates and extra mixer into a smaller box and shoving it under my bed.

After a few hours of unpacking, I surveyed my small apartment. A couple of empty boxes gave me a considerable amount of anxiety, but I tried to ignore them. With the kitchen done, my tiny little space on the other side of the country was finally starting to feel like a home. As I washed my face and climbed into bed, I tried to silence the myriad voices in my head.

The ones that wondered if San Francisco could be a long-term home.

The ones that were silently evaluating Brad.

The ones that questioned if I was making fast enough progress on my to-do list.

And the ones that were crackling with anticipation of my first appointment with Ryan.

But despite the frenetic firing of synapses in my head, fatigue eventually won out, and I slept like the dead.

Ryan

“I can’t transfer her, Ryan. We don’t have any other surrogates available for four weeks.”

I sighed into my phone. I’d been up all night, trying to figure out the best way to untangle myself from…from whatever
this
was that I’d started. I know I’d told Natalie I wouldn’t transfer her, but after sleeping on it, it felt clear: I couldn’t do this.

Lisa continued. “Look, I’m really sorry Ry, but I need you to do this for me. Please.”

I ran my hand through my hair, exasperated, but trying to restrain my reaction. Lisa wasn’t going to budge. I would know.

Her and I had dated years ago for all of a second. A fitting capstone to The Years I’d Rather Forget. Our relationship ran hot and faded fast, and thankfully we rarely spoke of it now. At the time, her father had been the chair of the Psychology Division at USF, and knowing I needed to attend school close to home, she’d pulled some strings to get me into the program. Plus, she’d saved the day, years ago, when my sister had some unexpected medical expenses and our minuscule trust fund ran out— it was her connections that got me the surrogacy job. Our relationship now, however, was strictly professional— although the fact that I was indebted to her made me uncomfortable.

“I don’t see what your problem is. She’s cute, and she’s going to be an easy case. Relax, will you?”

I squirmed in my chair. Right. Just relax.

Everything was going to be just
fine.

Natalie

Today was the day.

I had told HR that I needed the entire day off on each of the days I would meet with the surrogate. Obviously, not giving them the true reason, but instead using the cross-country move as an excuse. Cable guy, doctor appointments, and deliveries… they all provided a wealth of ‘cover’ for the real reason I needed the days off. I even justified it to myself by reminding the angel on my shoulder that I’d be a much more focused and productive employee once I had this all taken care of.

Well, it was true, wasn’t it?

I was meeting Ryan at his office, which was actually on the other side of the Marina district. I was glad for this, because not having to go downtown would ensure I wouldn’t run into anyone from work. As I stood outside a duplex with large bay windows, I double-checked the address. Yep, this was it. I pressed the buzzer labeled R. Andrews.

There was no response.
Fuck, did I have the wrong day?
I rechecked the address as dread started to build in my stomach and my palms grew sweaty—
maybe I should leave. No, I can’t leave. I have to do this. He’s got to be here.
Hmm. Would I still feel attracted to him like I had before? Maybe it was a fluke. Why isn’t he answering? Maybe he had decided we shouldn’t do this after all, and maybe he—

The door swung open.

“Natalie,” he said as he met my eyes with a controlled smile. I felt the same pulse of electricity as before and something moved deep inside me, answering my question—yes, I was still attracted to him. To his body, at least. I searched his eyes.
Did he seriously not feel that?
His expression was hauntingly even. “Sorry about that. Please come in.”

As followed him in, I found myself wondering what kind of person becomes a sex surrogate. I mean, it certainly wasn’t a normal kind of job you’d see in the classifieds. I crossed the threshold into his office, a small, bright space with high ceilings and a bay window that looked out to the street, outfitted with a desk, some bookshelves, two leather chairs and a sofa. Very different than I’d expected. For some reason, I’d been expecting something… I don’t know… sexier? Low lights and red walls. I admonished myself; I’d seen too many movies. Still, I craned my neck, expecting a bed, but didn’t see one.

“The bed’s back here,” he said, reading my mind as he closed a set of doors that connected the office to a back room. “But we won’t be using it today.”

We won’t?
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t confused. I was so eager to cross this off my list. Ready to get back to a normal kind of life—the kind of life I’d been putting off for too long. Despite how attractive Ryan was, I was still hoping to get this whole thing done in a session or two. I wasn’t too keen on stretching it out much farther. Besides, I had primed carefully for today, waxing and preparing every inch of myself— hell, I’d buffed and polished myself to magazine standards. I’d even bought a new set of underthings—nothing from the racy Heaven Sent catalog, but rather a carefully curated selection of modest yet sophisticated gray cotton underwear. I was prepared and ready to go and now I was being given the sartorial equivalent of blue balls.

I raised an eyebrow at Ryan.

“We need to get to know each other first. Talk about goals, and then we’ll do some body consciousness exercises.”

I furrowed my brow.

“I’ll explain later.” He rubbed his palms together and looked around the room. “Shall we get started?”

Boy, he was doing a real good job of pretending he’d never hit on me. He was like a whole other person. Not cold exactly, but… clinical. I didn’t much care for it, but I was willing to go along.
Eyes on the prize, Reese
.

“Come,” he said as he lowered himself down on to one end of the leather sofa and grabbed a notebook off the side table. “Sit with me. Did you find the place okay?”

I chose the opposite end and sat down.
Fine. You know what Ryan?
Two can play at this game
, I thought to myself. Little did he know, he was sparring with the ice-queen. He wants to play it cool? I’ll show him cool. I fucking
invented
cool.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I replied, and immediately I regretted it. I sounded like a bitch.
Shit.
A little too much? I closed my eyes and took a breath.

He took it in stride. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not. Sorry. I’m just anxious to get on with this. We can skip the small talk.” I offered a weak smile.

He chuckled as he shook his head. “Well, okay then. But don’t worry about being anxious. It’s understandable. However, before we
get on with it
, we first need to establish some ground rules.”

Dr. Lerner had mentioned this. I knew the basics. “Yes, fine, go ahead.”

“Well, first, neither of us are to sleep with anyone else during your treatment. I know it’s not the sexiest rule to start with, but it is the most important. We’re both disease-free right now, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

He was so serious, I felt like I was at a doctor appointment. “Are you a doctor?” I don’t know why the question hadn’t occurred to me until now. Had Dr. Lerner introduced him as Dr. Andrews? I couldn’t remember.

Ryan visibly stiffened. “No. Not yet. I’m currently in school, getting my PhD, which brings me to rule number two. It’s important we limit our personal conversations.”

Geez,
I thought, suddenly feeling like I’d been scolded. I bit my tongue as my jaw tensed. I hoped this was just one of his pre-made speeches. I had a good track record of cutting off people who even hinted at behavior like this and found it incredibly frustrating that I couldn’t do that now.

“Fine.”

“I also have one request,” he continued, “in addition to the rules.”

I kept my jaw locked and raised my eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Honesty. What we are going to be doing in here may feel uncomfortable at times; it’s going to test your limits, and I need you to commit to being honest with me. About how you are feeling and how things are working.” He closed his notebook. “Does that make sense?”

I nodded.

“Natalie, I need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, fine. Honesty. Got it,” I acquiesced. I couldn’t believe I’d found this guy so attractive before. I mean, yes, physically he was amazing, but he was driving me mad with this charade. Ugh.
Whatever.
I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. “Does that apply with you too?”

“Does what apply?”

“Honesty.”

He looked at me, clearly puzzled for a few beats.

“Do you want it to?” he said finally.

“It seems only fair. Plus, I suppose I’d get more out of the work if you are honest with me.” I surprised myself with this statement. I’d always appreciated candid feedback back when I was in school and likewise now in the workplace, but intimacy was different. I had zero experience in this department, and I knew I was in for a steep learning curve.

“Then sure. Honesty both ways. Agreed?” And for the first time since meeting him at the library, a small smile crossed his lips. He really was good-looking, especially when he wasn’t cross with me.

“Agreed.”

“Okay, let’s talk about your goals,” he said, pulling his notebook up and reviewing it. “Now, I understand from Dr. Lerner that you’ve never had intercourse, is that correct?” He looked over at me with those clinical, deadened eyes.

Oh. My. God. He actually wanted me to say the words? Jesus. My throat ran dry again and I pulled my trusty water bottle out of my purse, nodding as I took a drink.

“And what about oral sex?”

I purposely took my time swallowing, and then shook my head no.

“Given or received?”

Again, a shake and I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but I think I saw his eyes widen an infinitesimal amount. Nevertheless, he didn’t press me for a verbal answer, which I was incredibly grateful for.

“But you’ve kissed a man?”

“Yes.” Finally, something I could say yes to! I wanted to scream
‘See, see? I’m not a total prude!’
but something told me that might not go over so well.

“Who?”

I squint at him. Why does that matter? I’m wrestling with the truth when he cuts in and answers for me.

“Never mind, doesn’t matter.” He uncrossed his legs and shifted in his seat, his dark jeans tugging against his hips. As he shifted, my eyes caught on his crotch. Was he aroused? Not that I’d know, but still...

“Do you masturbate?”

Fuck. I thought we were over the worst of the questions.

“Natalie?”

“What?” I asked, blushing from head to toe.

“Do you masturbate?”

I paused and considered my answer, trying to figure out what was an appropriate fit for my ‘story’. The truth was, yes, of course I’ve masturbated, but it was rare. I just didn’t find much that really— got my motor running, if you catch my drift. But I needed a more sophisticated answer to go along with my story. So I said:

“Not anymore. Not really.”

“But you have.”

Sheesh!
“Yes. Hasn’t everyone?” I stared at him, trying a new tactical offense. Maybe that will make him quit his questions and get down to business.

He didn’t take my bait and instead made some notes in his notebook. Probably some highly technical psychobabble drivel like “Masturbation = Yes”. I scanned the rest of his office while he continued to write. Again I marveled at how sparse and clinical it was—maybe the gaudy sex-pad stuff was behind the closed doors?

“Natalie?” I looked back at him. He was done writing. “So, are you ready to get started? Some body consciousness exercises?” He put his notebook back onto the side table and pulled himself forward so he was sitting a little closer to me.

I blushed.
Shit.
I really had to get a handle on this whole blushing thing. It was so embarrassing. Damn autonomic reflexes.

“Uh, yep. Sure. What should I do?” I asked, mirroring his movements.

“Nothing yet. I want you to sit back and relax.”

I closed one eye and cocked my head at him.

“Just where you are. Against the sofa.”

I settled back and rested my head.

“Close your eyes. Focus on my voice and my touch.”

I shot a hard look at him.

“Relax, I’m just going to touch you over your clothes, but you need to feel relaxed so that you can pay attention to the feelings. Now close your eyes.”

This time I listened to him.