Years later I'd wonder how it had all started. At what point had we begun the slide into a female-led relationship and I had sold my freedom, dignity and self-respect forever.
The crazy thing is, when I picture it, it isn't in the first whipping, the first night spent on her floor, the first time that a collar was slipped around my neck or the first time she slept with another man.
No, if I really think about it, the first time I ever felt her power was in a hug. It was the day after I had lost my job as partner in Hutson's & Hutson's. I was sent home in the afternoon and drove straight back, not knowing where else to go. I switched the kettle on for tea, but instead of making anything I went to bed and collapsed staring up at the ceiling. I pondered over and over in my head the word "diversity." How in our society it had got to the point where in the name of "anti-discrimination" the bosses could call in a perfectly qualified solicitor who had worked for them for five years and had done nothing wrong, and tell him that they had no choice but to let him go since he was a white male.
I was raised liberal, had always considered myself an ally of LGBT, of feminism, Civil Rights and everything with the name of equality. So I tried not to be bitter about it, to tell myself that my privilege had finally caught up with me and that was a good thing. It was these thoughts that had stopped me lashing out at Alistair Hutson. But try as I might not to, I felt myself bitter on the inside. Betrayed. I would get a new job, but for now, I was only sad.
She came in after the summer sun had set. She didn't call out, which is a habit we have. Two junior partners working in the city and an hours drive from home. Getting home before eight was unusual.
We live in the suburbs but the house isn't particularly big. It's what two young people buy when they don't have a family and they expect their earnings to only go up. Two bedrooms. All amenities. So she found me quickly enough. She put one hand on her hip, concerned. Her brown fringe fell with the angle of her head as she watched me with blue eyes. Her cheekbones danced in the light. She was wearing, as always, a classy, professional suit. Trousers instead of a skirt. But for her conservatism, it was well-cut and couldn't hide her sharp-soft sexiness.
It took me a moment to break the expectant silence. I had been turning her over in my thoughts too. Would she leave me? We were going strong, but we had only been together a year. We had met defending opposite clients and now, here we were. Partners. I hoped, even still.
"They let me go," I said. "Diversity."
She didn't react at first and I couldn't look at her. Just turned my head back to the ceiling.
Then, she came towards me. She leaned over me in the bed and hugged me. She was a tall woman. Even with the small heels she wore for work, she was an inch over me. When she leant down on the bed, my head came to her blouse and her soft chest. She leant her chin on my head. Somehow the mattress didn't stop her arms wrapping tightly around my body. More of a big sister hug, an embracing squeeze than anything else. An enveloping.
" Oh baby," she said. "It's okay. I'm working, we'll be okay."
I felt a relief in me. A gratitude. I had been worried about losing everything and in her arms, with her reassurance, I felt safe.
"We'll get married in the spring, next year Bobby." She said. "I've planned for this."
I tried to lean back and look at her. To check if she was serious. But she held me too tight.
----
Things escalated from there. At first at a reasonably natural pace. I was left at home with a lot of free time, so when not applying to firms in the city, I could take care of things around the house. As a young professional couple, we had taken to letting things get out of hand a little, especially towards the end of the week. We would have to hire a maid every two or three weeks. But now, I could clean the gutters, sweep the path, do all the dusting and wiping that was needed. I could make sure dinner was ready for Alice when she got home.
I took to it well after the initial few days of moping. I got up and went running from 6 or 7am. At the same time as Alice did. Sometimes we ran together. When she got back, she would go and get ready for work I would prepare us breakfast. Make her cappuccino just as she liked it.
Most of what I had made at Hutson's had went straight back into the mortgage of the home, the final payments on the mustang (Ford and used, but still), payments for law school debts and a thousand other habits one makes when he thinks he has a career ahead of him and is young. Now, that the paycheck had stopped, Alice took it up.
I protested in the first week, a month after I had been let go, when she pressed an allowance into my hand.
"It's too much!"
But she had persisted and reasoned with me. As always, her logic was infallible. We needed groceries. Petrol to get those groceries.
I took her money.
From then on, every week, she would give me an allowance, generous enough to buy what was needed, but not so much that we were ever in trouble. She managed the money, which was only fair. After all, she earned it.
I would ask her what brands she preferred, what she liked for dinner. I insisted she phone me or text me what she felt like so it would be waiting for her when she got home. She gave in, and pretty soon we were in the habit of Alice spelling out what was needed in the house, what she wanted for dinner. More than that, she would tell me if she felt the weeds were getting too high in the garden, or if she needed her suits dry-cleaned. Once we were in the habit, a part of me did resent it. Especially when the air with which she said "I need my pants pressed better," or "don't forget to shine my Monks today," became incredibly casual. But I suppressed my protest for the sake of harmony. After all I had been the one to ask her to let me know if I could help her out in 'any way' while I was still looking for work.
The search for work was going less well. I tailor-made every cover letter, researched every firm in the city. I couldn't figure it out. My credentials were sound. I had been assured of good reference from Hutson's. I would often get as far as the first interview but then, blankness. I would hit a wall. If I phoned them or emailed them I was informed that "regrettably, though you are very qualified, and interviewed well; we have elected to choose someone else for the position."
I tried to stay positive, something I'm good at. I accepted we are in a downturn. But after two, three months, the gap in my CV became seemingly interminable and I began to lose confidence.
And honestly, it didn't help that in October, Alice found herself promoted to Partner with Jones & Lionel. The power balance between us, already wide, was shifting further. I felt that I would never catch up and we could never be equals.
Of course I couldn't say this when she came through the door and told me. I had prepared spaghetti for us in the kitchen and, as it was a Friday, set half a bottle of wine on the table. On the announcement of her "good news" I forced myself to smile, congratulate her and kiss her on the cheek.
She smiled back. It was, for all its joy, a pitying smile. "Come on," she said. She grabbed my wrist. "Forget about the food today, we're eating out."
She pulled me out the doors. I tried not to resent that the dinner I had spent the evening cooking and taking pains over and buying expensive herbs for, was now going to waste.
She drove her Audi with me captive at high speeds. Still in her work clothes, a knee-length skirt, she looked ready for going out. I was dressed for home and hoped she'd be going somewhere low-key. But Alice couldn't contain her excitement enough to let me ask her where.
"They just called me in and told me they appreciated how I'd handled the Watson's account. It was like getting recognition for all I'd ever done, you know? Like my hard work's finally paying off."
I smiled and said nothing.
Instead of going somewhere low-key, we went to Mathieson's. Which is about the most expensive Italian in America.
"Come on Alice..." I said. "I'm not dressed."
"I know honey." She put a hand on my leg. "I should have let you dress." She laughed aloud. "I'm sorry I was in such a rush and yanked you out here without thinking. But come on. This is my night."
I couldn't help but notice that she was yanking me again.
---
It was a humiliating dinner. Everyone there was better dressed than me. Right from when we walked in, I could feel not just the patrons, but the waiters and the maitre d' looking down on me.
All enquiries were directed to the elegant Alice, who seemed not to notice. She laughed loudly and joked with everyone who served us. I had been hoping for a quiet table in the corner, but she picked out a table for two right in the centre.
Things went from bad to disastrous when it came time to order. For one thing, the waiter is male and, from my straight point of view, very good-looking. Apparently from Alice's too, who played with her hair while he told only her the specials. I was feeling too small to interrupt them.
"I'll take the mushroom soup, the risotto and crème brûlée. My fiancé here will take your croutons and your salad. No dessert. But don't worry honey," and she winked gleefully at my shocked face. "I'll give you a taste of mine if you behave yourself."
I started trying to speak, as the waiter collected our menus. But my jaw seemed to have come loose and wouldn't shut. When I recovered I leaned forward and whispered, trying to sound as angry as possible without raising my voice. "Excuse me, but since when did you order for me?"
