Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Let’s go!” Holli grabbed my hand and nearly dragged me off the floor, but Neil intercepted us.
“I hate to spoil your fun, darling, but I believe it’s time for me to thank our donors,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
I turned to Holli. “Take pictures.”
“Take pictures of Courtney Cox using the toilet?” she asked, making a face.
I shot a nervous look at Deja. “Don’t let her.”
“No, of course not.” Deja gave Neil a smile. “Break a leg.”
“Thank you,” he replied. Though there was still a frisson of tension between the two of them, owing to the nasty bit of corporate espionage we’d all gotten caught up in, Neil and Deja were getting along a lot better than before. They’d never been outwardly cold to each other, but having her at the house or him at the office was occasionally awkward.
The party planner led Neil and me to the dais at the base of the stairs, where someone had set up a microphone.
“I suppose there’s no more delaying it,” Neil said, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Hey.” I reached up to hold his face in my hands and force him to look down at me. “You’re going to knock this one out of the park.”
“I know I will. It’s the coming up from the dugout that’s nerve wracking.” He cleared his throat. “Shame that Emma and Michael haven’t arrived, yet.”
“They haven’t?” I was so busy hanging with Holli and Deja I hadn’t even noticed.
He didn’t get the chance answer. The band ended their number, and the leader announced that he was turning the floor over to “your host for the evening, Mr. Neil Elwood.”
Guests drifted closer to the stairs. They were all clutching drinks of some kind, which was good, and they were all smiling, which was even better. Neil would definitely notice those two things, and it would put him at ease.
“Well.” Neil flashed his brilliant smile. “I expect I’ll be called upon for a few favors after tonight.”
Gentle laughter rippled through the crowd. Neil would usually chalk it up to the open bar out of false modesty; he knew the effect he had on people. But tonight, he was nervous. More than nervous. He was petrified. He hadn’t said as much to me, but I could tell, knowing him the way I did. His posture wasn’t as easy, and it really did seem like he was concentrating on commanding the room.
“In November of last year, I publicly announced my intent to create and fund the Elwood Rape Crisis Resource Center. I met with…concerned resistance.”
More scattered chuckles issued from the crowd. I had no doubt some of them were uncomfortable; a lot of Neil’s business acquaintances had voiced their opinions—forcefully—at the time. People who had huge sums of money could be incredibly stingy with it. It was probably why they had so much.
“But what many of you did not know was my close, personal connection with the subject.” I’d heard his speech. He’d practiced it on me, so I knew what he was afraid of. He cleared his throat, and my own tightened in response as he continued. “When I was twenty years old, I was raped by a man with whom I’d previously had a consensual sexual relationship.”
Everything in the room froze, and the mood changed perceptibly. It was the first time he’d publicly acknowledged his sexuality, though Stephen Stern had gleefully included it in his seedy tell-all.
He’d failed to mention the rape, of course.
“At the time, there weren’t many resources for men who shared my experience. The prevailing attitude was that rape occurred in dark alleys, to women walking alone late at night. Men, it was thought, couldn’t be raped. Unfortunately, that attitude seems largely unchanged, as do our other attitudes about what constitutes sexual assault and who is worthy of calling their experiences rape.” He paused, letting that unfair reality sink in. “When I began discussing this foundation with my wife, Sophie, I told her that if I could only help one person struggling to recover from sexual assault, I would be happy. And she said, ‘Neil, you wouldn’t be happy helping that one person. You want to change the world.’”
My face flushed. I could remember the exact moment we’d had that discussion. We’d been flopped on the couch in our den, clicking through television channels, when he’d stopped on a rerun of Law & Order: SVU. It had been such a surreal segue; one minute, I’d been playing the Kardashian game on my phone; the next, he was telling me he’d met with lawyers about forming a charity.
I looked around the lobby. This had gone far beyond charity. This was the change he really wanted to see in the world.
He went on. “I know that changing the world is a rather lofty dream. At the moment, I’m content to change New York. Everyone at the Elwood Rape Crisis Resource Center, from the doctors, nurses, and therapists who will provide continuing care, to the phone staff who will provide support and direction to those who inquire about our services, will treat survivors with the respect and dignity they deserve.