Member-only story
Why I Befriended My Rapist
Screaming at the Harvey Weinstein trial
You are old enough to know better, but you don’t. You are not worldly. You are 27 years old. This is your first big job. Your first serious money. Your first foray into being responsible for yourself. No parents. No husband. No roommates.
Nothing in your upbringing has prepared your for this night when you meet your business contact for dinner in the hotel restaurant. You are dressed in your best outfit. A modest mid-calf skirt, a ruffled Ralph Lauren blouse whose shocking price tag you ignored because it was covered by your wardrobe allowance. The tweedy blazer, also Lauren, cuts in at the waist, and with your tawny leather high-heeled boots you are tall. Confident. A picture of success. The money. The money. The money. You are making so much money.
But where is he, this man you are supposed to meet? Dinner was agreed upon. You are hungry. You feel slightly goofy when you get hungry. Like your knees are coming out of their sockets and your brain disconnects from your mouth. You order a brandy Alexander at the bar. Calories. The ice cream settles you so you have another. When your contact arrives an hour late, he says what are you drinking, let me get you another. He goes to the bar, chats with the bar tender like they are old friends. The man brings the drink to your table. The waitress comes by and lights…
