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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: ON DISPLAY
Even after having laid out her plan, no one gathered around Max in the conference room looked enthused. She stared at the three frowning faces looking back at her.
“We need a way to spin this story in our favor, to cut Wayne’s campaign at the knees. Releasing the photos first does that,” Max repeated, even though Peter and the lawyer gave each other uncertain glances.
“Do you know what you’d be saying?” Diane shook her head. “You’d be ruining your reputation—to say nothing of ours. We can’t have these photos linked with us, Max. Not to our outreach program. Certainly not to a senior partner.” She looked at Max, disappointment leaving frown lines on her flawless face. “Especially not to you.” She shook her head again and leaned back. “We just can’t.”
“Why not?” Max leaned forward on the conference table. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Diane sighed. “It goes against everything we stand for—”
“Mutual pleasure,” the annoyed attorney said, ticking things off on his fingers, “sexual freedom, a rich and honest fantasy life.” He folded his hands again. “How exactly does that go against what you do?”
“Misogyny,” Diane corrected. “You and your club promote the degradation, the dehumanization, and the subjugation of women.”
“And men. Of anyone, really; gender isn’t much of a factor.” Peter gave her a mean smirk. “We’re equal opportunity degenerates.”
“What Mr. Richards means,” Max interjected, giving him a pointed glare, “is that the roles and rules of power are not determined by gender, but rather inclination. Everything that happens in-scene is not only consensually agreed upon, but is often stridently sought. Consent is what makes everything okay. Consent is what makes it not abuse. It’s what makes it kink.”
“You yourself once told me that BDSM ideologically glorifies, romanticizes, and sexualizes abuse.” Diane shook her head. “You said it relies upon a power dynamic that mocks the struggle we as women have fought for equality. That we still fight.”
Remembering Kat, Max looked at Peter. “I was wrong.” Max may not have always seen it, but he was—had always been and would always be—a strong, supportive partner who would always be there for her friend. One whom Kat had always fiercely defended, even against Max herself. “People in the community do believe in equality. They believe in women’s rights to choose.” She looked at Diane. “You know me; I believe in feminism. Wholeheartedly. With the same fervor and faith others put in God. It’s why I fought against the idea of this for so long.” Turning to look at her own partner, she said softly, “It’s why I fought against this part of myself for so long.”
She nodded and took a fortifying breath. “It’s why I now believe in this community—will fight for it.” She looked at Diane, this amazing woman she looked up to and admired more than anyone else in her life. Diane Withewood was a legend and her hero. Would probably always be.
But she was also wrong about this. “You want to disapprove—that’s fine.” Straightening her shoulders, she gave a determined, disappointed sniff. “But I shouldn’t have to defend my right to choose this lifestyle to you or anyone else.” She remembered Kat’s words weeks before; she should have listened then. “No one should have to defend their right to make their own choices.”
This was the life she wanted and Max wouldn’t stop until Diane, like Max herself had, saw her way to right. Until Diane saw all the women Max had met, the women of Donovan’s—Pip, Hallie, Cora, Kat, and, of course, now Max herself—for who they were.
Feeling the strength that came from being part of a group, of belonging to such an incredible group of women, Max said, “Because saying that a woman shouldn’t have to submit sexually to a man isn’t the same as saying she should never submit. Or worse, that she can’t.” She looked Diane straight in the eyes. “Dominate or submit, kink or vanilla, the choice is supposed to be ours.”
———
Kat watched Hallie sit awkwardly in Elysia’s conference room. “I get why you’re getting Mrs. Wayne in the same room as Hallie; it’s basic divide and conquer. But why am I here?”
Max handed her a coffee mug. “You’re here to put a face on Wayne’s unconnected victims.” She needed his wife to see what that man was doing. To innocent people. “We need her on our side, Kat. And I can’t think of anyone who can more eloquently present our side than you.”
Kat pouted a bit. “Well, that’s a lot of pressure.”
“Also,” Max said on a sigh, “I wanted to apologize to you. I’ve been a really awful friend for years. I’m so sorry.”
Kat turned to her. “Max, no.” She shook her head. “You were doing what you thought was right.”
Max shut her eyes, wishing she could turn back time. “Why didn’t you tell me how wrong I was?”
"I did try." Kat gave a small laugh. “But you weren't ready to listen then. You needed to figure it out on your own. Needed to see it for yourself.” Kat smiled at her friend. “And now look at you.”
Yeah. Max nodded. Well, she was never one for half-measures. “Well, at any rate,” she said, touching Kat's shoulder, “I’m sorry, and thank you for all the help you’ve given.” Honestly, none of this would have even happened without her and her dare.
What a strange thought.
Elin poked her head into Max’s office. “Ms. Withewood is bringing Mrs. Wayne up now.”
Showtime.
Kat gripped her hand hard.
“You got this.” Max squeezed her hand back before leading her friend to the table.
Kat settled in her seat. “We’ve got this.”
Max smiled then turned to greet their guest. “Mrs. Wayne.” She nodded at the woman she’d only known through images and soundbites. “I’m glad you could meet with us.”
“You didn’t really give me much choice.” The slender woman stood stiffly in the conference room doorway.
Max nodded. She could be very persuasive when she needed to be. “Please take a seat.”
Eliza sniffed but, beyond turning her head a bit, she stayed still. “This had better not be about Donna.”
“Donna?” Kat asked.
Diane leaned over to whisper to her. “The sex worker Wayne—”
“The young woman from the outreach program,” Eliza interrupted, “that my husband is helping.”
“Outreach program?” Max said. Well, that was one way to phrase it.
“My husband often works with the church to help less fortunate people get off the streets.”
Max’s lips thinned. “I’ve seen Donna’s website and rates. She’s not living on the streets. I’d bet she has a nicer condo than I do.” From the pictures she’d seen, the woman certainly had a better car and wardrobe. Max, while she seriously questioned her choice of clients, had to admire the woman’s entrepreneurial prowess. “Whatever your husband was doing with Donna, I doubt it was altruistically motivated.”
Eliza crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.
Max shook her head. This was beside the point. “But, no,” she said with a shake of her head, “that’s not why we asked you here.”
“Then why?”
“Please,” Diane said, ushering the other woman to the table, “let’s have a seat.” Diane sat before gesturing to each woman. “You know Hallie Hannings and Max Wells. Let me introduce one of our writers, Katherina Valdez-Richards.”
Kat held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Wayne. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Eliza shook her hand. “And what are the circumstances exactly?”
Kat grabbed her tablet. “As you’ve heard, Hallie’s store was recently vandalized.” She turned the screen toward everyone else before flicking through photos of all the damage done.
“Which my husband had nothing to do with.” She shook her head. “No matter the lies you’ve spread all over the media. I know what kind of man my husband is and he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t have to stoop to such behavior. Not when he has the moral high ground.”
Max reached into the folder she had on the desk. “We have copies of your husband’s credit card charges—”
Eliza reached for the papers in Max’s hand. “Where did you get these?”
Max frowned, not particularly wanting to answer that question. She didn’t exactly agree with her lawyer’s means but, if it achieved their end, Max was willing to accept them. So, she pointed at the highlighted list. “As you can see, your husband has made several odd and suspicious purchases recently that coincide with the attack on Hallie’s store.”
Eliza stared at the paper, not looking shocked, per se, but certainly taken aback. As if she was looking at proof of a truth she really wanted to deny. “What are these charges here?” She pointed to several large unhighlighted but underlined purchases.
Max winced. She hadn’t actually intended to talk about that—even though the lawyer had urged her to use it as leverage, if she needed it. She just didn’t know how to break that kind of news to someone. She took a deep breath. “Well, Donna’s escort service presents itself as an events service, where clients purchase tickets to an event—a dinner or party or show.”
“So the service can avoid solicitation charges by claiming he’s paying for the entrance to the event,” Diane pointed out, “and not for Donna’s,” she coughed, “service.”
Like she'd said, you had to admire Donna's business savvy. “But, beyond that,” Max continued, pulling out the black and white photos from her folder, “here are blackmail photos your husband admitted to taking of me and my partner without our consent.” For a moment, Max couldn’t let go of the photos. Her fingers gripped the filmy paper tightly. But, no matter how much she hated the idea of sharing the stolen images, she knew this was what she had to do. She could do this, if it meant protecting everyone else.
So, with shaky hands, she placed each one side by side on the table.
“And those aren’t the only ones.” Kat tapped through more photos on her tablet, showing pictures of herself and of Hallie and the others they’d gotten permission to share. “Your husband is blackmailing as many people involved in the campaign to fix Hallie’s store as he can.”
Now Eliza did look shocked. Embarrassed by the graphicness of the photos. But also by her husband’s behavior, Max hoped. “Look, Mrs. Wayne,” she said, handing Kat’s tablet to the prim woman, who looked at it like it might scald her, “we can’t tell you what’s moral or not. And we can’t tell you what kind of man your husband is.” She put the tablet on the table on top of the pictures already spread out there. “All we ask is that you look at what he’s done and ask yourself, is he really the man you think he is?”
———
Leaning back, Max let out a satisfied sigh and smiled. After weeks of hard work, it was finally happening. She looked out at the street bustling with people setting up booths and stands and displays. Blocked off for the festivities, the street was a happy mess of partially constructed chaos that was steadily building a community’s dreams.
In the middle of it all, Rachel and Peter strung up the “Grand Opening” sign in front of Hallie’s store. Bits ‘n’ Pieces was gleaming. Pristine and perfect, the white and blue façade was elegant yet welcoming. Framed by the large display windows, mannequins were posed coyly in shimmering satins, cascading silks, and clinging lace. Through the shined glass, Max could see the rainbow of Hallie’s glorious creations, displayed on racks and shelves, tempting a person to touch, try, and buy. Everything was perfect.
Today was such a victory for Hallie Hannings. After months of red tape and harassment, her dreams were coming true. Despite roadblocks and vandalism, her store still stood. And it would open. Max smiled at her friend adjusting mannequins in her window.
Yes, today was Hallie’s victory. But it wasn’t just hers. Everywhere along the long street full of people, Max now thought of as friends were those willing to give their time, their skills, and their effort to rally around an idea. Around a dream. Around a promise to women everywhere that the world too often didn’t keep. It was so strange that the people protesting Bits ‘n’ Pieces had said that Hallie’s store went against community standards. Yet it took a community—this community—to make today happen. Despite those attacks, that sought to shame and silence them, they all came together.
Max had never been so proud of anything in her entire life.
“Ms. Wells,” Elin said when she approached her, event checklist in hand, “the portraits are here. Where did you want them set up?”
Excellent! “I want them across the street,” Max said as she pointed, “facing the store in a semi-circle.” They’d go right between Cora’s suspension demo and the local free clinic’s safe-sex stand. As much as this event was to celebrate Hallie, Max—and Elysia Publishing as a whole—wanted to make this an all-inclusive fair that celebrated, encouraged, and informed women about empowered female sexuality. In all its forms. “You have the order they go in?”
“Right here.” Elin waved her checklist. “I’ll get them set up.”
It’d been a stroke a genius. A perfect reply to Wayne’s bigoted blackmail. That horrid, little man wanted to release damning pictures of them? Fine, they’d release them first.
Shock value, she knew, lost its worth the second time around.
So, after making several more calls and setting up appointments and plans, Max had taken five of those stark, black-and-white shots. One had Hallie with her head thrown back in hedonistic ecstasy while a fully clothed Rachel prowled over her naked body, a plundering look on her face. Another had Pip wincing as her body was suspended, the ropes digging into her flesh cruelly. There was one with Kat bent naked over Peter’s lap, her nudity shocking against his fully-clothed form while his head turned away from the camera and his hand swung back, ready to strike. Another was of Reena with her back bent and bared, marked with harsh lines crisscrossing over her skin.
Max sucked in a harsh breath and watched the last one being placed prominently at the end. Blown up to 18 x 24 inch dimensions, the image hit her like a strike across her face. It was clearly her, even in the colorless, oddly angled image, with her face prominently shown. She stood in Hallie’s dressing room, stripping for the looming man in the shadows with his back to the camera.
She forced herself to breathe while she watched the volunteers set the matching photos next to Wayne’s. In the center, they placed the photo of Hallie and Rachel. In brilliant color, it looked electric next to Wayne’s bleak, black-and-white picture. Beautifully nude, Hallie was embraced—held safe and cherished—in Rachel’s loving arms as they kissed sweetly.
Then came the photo of Peter holding Kat, their faces tucked tight into each other while they clung together, two forms so different yet fit together as one. Then there was one of Pip lovingly wrapping the rope into neat bundles with such care and the one of Reena having her back tenderly rubbed with oil by Cora.
Each gorgeously captured moment seemed to erase the security-cam-caught ones that sat bland and false beside them. Their truth too clear and too strong to deny.
“They’re beautiful,” Kat murmured next to Max, her hands filled with fat stacks of cards with special pre-release passcodes for her latest ebook that she would give away with each donation made at the Elysia Publishing booth. “And the juxtaposition.” She sighed, her voice quiet with awe. “It’s powerful.”
How the world sees us.
Who we really are.
Yes. It was powerful.
Max couldn’t wait for Wayne to see it.
When she’d presented the idea to Diane and the others, she’d known the risk she was taking. And not just for herself. She was asking them all to out themselves. To come out publicly about this very, very, very private part of their lives, of themselves.
Even after she’d convinced Diane, the two long-standing members of this very exclusive club had been sure that her idea would be met with skepticism, if not outright refusal, from those within the community.
And some had refused. There were many, like Rand—a detective with the local police department—and Jared—a grade school teacher—who couldn’t afford the exposure. Who could lose everything if anyone ever found out about this secret they kept like an alter ego.
But others, like Kat and Pip—who made their living, in one way or another, off the life already—measured the cost and the rewards and stepped up. Those like Reena and Cora—who were young and just starting out—knew that they could weather this better than most. So they’d agreed when Max had asked. For themselves. And for those who couldn’t do the same.
Like the feminists before them, these brave women were willing to stand up, proud and unashamed, for what they wanted, what they believed in.
“Max,” Diane said as she came up behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder and taking in the street, “you were right; you usually are. Everything looks perfect. An entire event dedicated to teaching women how to take control over their own bodies, minds, and hearts. That advocates exploration and education about their own desires, whatever they may be.” She sighed, impressed. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”
Max nodded as her eyes narrowed on the last portrait being placed on its easel. It was of her and the enigmatic attorney. It’d been a difficult shoot, she remembered. The lights and the people and that camera had been focused on her. Taking—capturing—her image.
Max was ashamed to admit that it’d shaken her. She’d had so much taken from her already, had been so violated, it had been hard to stand in front of that camera voluntarily.
But he’d been there.
Had seen her fear and stormed the set.
As she’d stood there nearly nude amid the lights and the people and the camera, armed only in barely there lace and mesh, he’d stripped off his suit coat and shielded her. He’d slipped it over her shoulders and given her back her armor. Her strength.
Max looked at that image, of him staring into her eyes—of her staring back into his—as he protected her.
No. As he gave her the means to protect herself.
“Thank you, Diane.” She tugged at the sleeves of her business suit. Yes. “Everything turned out perfectly.”
“The press should be here in twenty,” Elin said as she walked up to them. “Are you ready, Ms. Wells?”
Max looked out at the street and everyone who’d helped make all this possible and just knew that today was going to be worth all the effort. “Let’s go.”
———
He checked his phone, seeing the text message from Elin.
Twenty minutes.
He’d be done—this would be finished—by then. He was sure.
“Mr. Wayne,” he said as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt before rolling them up his forearms, the golden hue of his skin striking against the crisp white, “we’ve gone back and forth about this for months now.” He shrugged. “And, while we’ve both gained and lost ground, I think we can both agree that this battle is done.”
Sitting in Wayne’s office, he gestured out the window at the street, filling up with volunteers, patrons, and press. “Hallie Hannings’s store is opening and nothing you do will stop that. There’s no more fight left.”
“How long do you think her store will last once I release my photos?” Wayne leaned on his desk and gave the other man a knowing glare. “Once everyone knows exactly what kind of woman she is. What kind of people that writer or radio host or,” he said, sneering and lifting his pointed nose indignantly, “that publisher of yours are, as well as the rest of you.”
Wayne gave a disgusted snort and carried on, “You and your femi-nazi bed-warmer think you’re so clever making this about gender.” The prim man scoffed. “It was never about Ms. Hannings being a woman. It was about you—all of you—being a blight on this neighborhood. You’re corrupting our community. You’re destroying the values we’ve worked hard to instill in our children.” He shook his head and sniffed. “People like you don’t belong here. We don’t want or need your kind.”
“People like your wife,” the lawyer said, refusing to waste his anger on this man. Trying to debate gender politics with a man like Wayne was a waste of breath.
“Excuse me?” Wayne huffed indignantly.
“We took the liberty of arranging a meeting with her.” He was still impressed by Max’s plan. “Got her to agree to a very quiet, very private walk-through of Bits ‘n’ Pieces as well as a sit-down with Hallie and Max, who explained the harassment they’ve both faced.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he eyed the man’s increasingly furious expression. “As well as your involvement in it.” He cocked his head and surveyed the man. “She was particularly interested in the photographs you’re so proud of.”
Eliza Wayne had been the first person outside the campaign to see Max’s brilliant portrait display. Had seen her own misconceptions—her fears and prejudices—laid out next to the realities. Had seen the people behind the monsters. The truth behind the lies.
While still not Donovan’s or even Bits ‘n’ Pieces’s biggest fan, Eliza had been shocked to see the depths her husband was willing to go to just to bring down a woman who’d done nothing against him. A woman who wasn’t nearly the devil her husband had made her out to be.
By the end of the meeting, Mrs. Wayne was determined to help. Demanding to help.
“Your wife’s out there, you know,” he told Wayne. “Right now.” He nodded at the denial in the man’s eyes. “Escorting the very same reporters you had listed in that email, as well as others, around the event. Getting them ready for the press conference that’s happening,” he checked his phone, before saying, “any minute now. She’ll be introducing Max and Hallie.”
Smiling, he stood and laid the divorce papers Mrs. Wayne had his firm draw up on the desk, the blackmail and spying—as well as his affair with Donna—showing her husband for the man he was. A man she could no longer be with.
The older man’s face was crestfallen, as if the world—everything that made up that community he held so dear—had been taken from him. It was as if the strength inside Wayne—the faith and fervor and fortitude that had fueled him—was gone, making him look so much older now. Frailer. Weak.
If the lawyer were a better man, maybe he would have felt sorry for him.
But he wasn’t and he didn’t.
He straightened his suit before he turned to leave. “I hope you’re ready.”
And, with that, he excused himself. He had an event to get to and he’d—they’d all—wasted more than enough time on Lionel Wayne.
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