Nat opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t find the words to defend herself. Ivan, while progressive in many respects, obviously maintained some traditional values. His voice was shrill, loud, cutting.

“I knew something was up when you went to Vermont. And then when you moved into that apartment . . . It didn’t make sense. But I never thought you were a hooker.”

“I’m not a hooker,” she whispered.

“Just because you don’t get paid by the blow job, doesn’t mean you’re not a prostitute.”

“Ivan, stop,” Keltie scolded. “You’re being an asshole.”

“She’s having sex with old men for money! It’s disgusting!” A crowd of classmates was gathering around them, all of them looking at Nat, some looking at their phones. All of them judging her. She felt Keltie’s hand squeeze hers, and it was that small show of support that unraveled her.

Tears blurred her vision as Nat turned and fled. Scurrying blindly down the streets, back to the apartment Gabe paid for, she told herself it would be okay. That it would all blow over. When school resumed in the fall, they’d all have forgotten. She would call her mom and make up a story—a vindictive former friend out to disparage her. A free ticket to the opera.

But alone in the tiny studio, her shame felt overwhelming. She’d made peace with the nature of her relationship, had stopped feeling guilty about the money Gabe gave her. Because he cared for her, loved her even. He’d told her so. Just because he hadn’t repeated the sentiment since that night when they’d had amazing sex in his apartment, didn’t make it less true. Gabe loved her; she knew he did.

She needed to see him. He was her boyfriend, and it was normal to crave his support at a time like this. It was Friday afternoon—he would likely be heading to Long Island to pick up his daughter at school. But just this once, Violet could spend the weekend with her mother. Just this once, Natalie could come first. She dialed his number.

He answered after one ring. “Hello?”

Did he sound annoyed? Or was it concern that gave his voice that edge? Gabe had made the parameters of their arrangement clear: weekends were for his daughter. But that conversation had happened months ago. Their relationship had evolved since then. Hadn’t it? She suddenly felt afraid, was tempted to hang up, but she couldn’t. Not now.

“I need you,” she said.

31

Self-harm

When the call from Nathan came in, Gabe was on the Montauk Highway, just past Bridgehampton. Had Natalie called ten minutes later, he would have been at his picture-perfect country house and wouldn’t have answered it. Her voice was shaky, tearful. Someone had outed her sugar baby status on social media and she was humiliated. (He’d found a tactful way to ask if he’d been identified; he hadn’t.) Natalie had wanted to see him, needed his comfort and support, but he was already in the Hamptons. She’d pleaded for him to come back early, to spend the weekend with her, just this once. He’d made up an excuse, an important fund-raiser at his daughter’s school.