Title: Reliance
Chapter: 1/?
Author: jdc15
Rating: M/NC-17
Word Count: About 5.1k
Summary: "'You've changed,' she says finally. It's the only thing she can think to say, really, to describe the situation."
Notes: This is the changed version. Sorry for my very poor organizational skills.
/
She never really knew Stacie that well, honestly. She'd considered her a friend, sure, but not a friend like Chloe, who you tell everything to and share a bed with, and once she graduated she barely gave her a second thought.
And yeah, okay, maybe her first impression of the girl had been that she was hot, but it isn't like she had a crush on her. It was merely an appreciation. Anyone with eyes would appreciate Stacie's Conrad's body.
But now, when said body is sat nearly naked on a chair in front of her, eyes wide and shocked, Aubrey can't really do anything except clutch her purse and stare at her.
/
"Okay. I swear I didn't know this was your apartment. I didn't even know you lived in New York. I—oh my god." She buries her face in her hands and starts to drop onto the couch, but appears to remember her unclothed state and leaps back up with a curse.
"Let me get you a shirt," Aubrey says finally. She isn't really able to process exactly what's going on, and the lingerie-clad girl in her sitting room is kind of throwing a wrench into her evening plans.
"It's okay. I have clothes in the car—"
"No, I'll get you something," Aubrey waves her hand. "Just—stay there for a sec, okay?"
Stacie nods and Aubrey leaves her standing awkwardly in her underwear and ducks into her bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it. She presses a hand over her eyes and tries to clear her head. Her mind feels muddled. On the list of all the things she could walk in to her apartment to find, this was probably dead last.
When she opens her eyes she nearly lets out a shriek because her boyfriend is emerging, shirtless, from her bathroom. He shoots her a mischievous grin and she wonders for a split second if someone slipped her something at work and she's hallucinating all of this.
"Henry? What is going on?" she asks, trying her best to steady her voice but hearing the shock seeping into it nonetheless.
"What does it look like?" he asks, as if he really doesn't know why the situation might be a little bit confusing from her perspective.
"It looks like one of my friends from college is half-naked in my living room."
"Wait, you know her?"
"Yeah, she was at Barden. Why is she here?"
"I didn't know you knew her," he says, a slight crease of confusion appearing between his eyes. "Does that make this weird for you, or something?"
"It's weird whether I know her or not! What is even happening?" She wonders briefly what Stacie thinks of the conversation, which she can undoubtedly hear from the next room over.
"Babe, I rented her," he says matter-of-factly, looking at her as though this is something she should expect to come home to on a Monday night.
"You rented her?"
"Yeah. Like, paid her to come have a threesome with us. You agreed to that, remember?"
"You mean she's a—" Aubrey lowers her voice to a whisper. "A sex worker?"
"Yeah. She's hot, isn't she?" he grins lewdly and she actually shudders a little bit.
"And when did I ever agree to a threesome?"
"Last week!"
"You mean when you asked to have one, and I told you not to be ridiculous?"
"I thought you said yes," he mumbles, looking guilty. "Look, Aubrey, can't you just be flexible?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asks angrily.
"Babe, come on—"
"You're such an asshole!" she growls. "Are you really stupid enough to think I'd appreciate you bringing a girl to my house to have sex with us, unannounced?"
"Well, yeah," he says, looking confused as to why she wasn't showering him with grateful affection. "I totally thought you'd be into that."
"Into what, exactly?" she bristles.
"Girls? Threesomes? Me being spontaneous? I don't know!" he says defensively. "I thought this was what you wanted."
She shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, praying for the self-control to keep from punching him. She feels like she's talking to a small child. "Okay, Henry, I can't deal with you right now."
He frowns and places a hand on his hip. "You don't need to flip out. I was just trying to be nice."
If that's his definition of "nice," there's no getting through to him. "Just go, okay? Let me talk to her."
"So you don't want to—?"
"No, I do not. We're done."
"Are you fucking serious?" he asks incredulously.
Without bothering to answer, she grits her teeth and turns to the dresser, rummaging through until she finds an oversized blue sleep shirt before turning back to him. "Okay, I'm walking you out."
/
Stacie is still leaning against the back of the couch, and Aubrey averts her eyes as she hands over the shirt.
"Thanks," Stacie says quietly. Henry smirks at her and Aubrey kicks him in the ankle, shoving him out the door with a growled "don't call me" and closing it quickly behind him. She locks it for good measure and then turns back to Stacie where she's buttoning the shirt, fingers slightly shaky.
It's huge and falls almost to her knees and it looks like it's swallowing her. Aubrey notices then that she's lost a considerable amount of weight. It's more apparent, somehow, when she has a shirt on than when she hasn't.
She doesn't quite know what to say. "Can I get you something to eat? Or some water?"
"No, thank you," Stacie says quietly. Aubrey doesn't argue but she still has a desperate urge to force-feed her cookies, or something.
She sits down on the couch and motions for Stacie to do the same. The girl complies, looking uncomfortable, and she squishes herself into the corner as far away from Aubrey as she can manage.
"So…" Aubrey says slowly. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"
"Well," Stacie begins uncomfortably. "Your boyfriend paid to send me here. But like I said, I didn't know this was your place."
"Okay." She's expecting Stacie to continue but she doesn't so they fall into an uncomfortable silence, in which Stacie chews on her fingernail and Aubrey stares holes into the ceiling.
Finally Stacie clears her throat. "Okay. So I know this is really weird, but I have to ask…do you want me to do what he sent me here to do?"
"No!" Aubrey says, appalled. "Good god, no. I wouldn't ask you to do that."
"It's my job," Stacie says with a shrug. "I didn't think you'd say yes, but I'm required to ask. And I can leave, if you want me to, but he paid for me to stay for two hours and I'm not allowed to give refunds."
She still hasn't looked anywhere but at her own hand. Aubrey doesn't think she's ever felt more stressed out in her entire life. "No, don't leave. Can you just stay here, so we can…catch up? Or something?"
"If you want," Stacie says indifferently. "But there isn't really much to tell."
The absurdity of that statement gives Aubrey a sudden, inappropriate desire to laugh, but she holds it down for the sake of keeping Stacie on her couch as long as possible. "That can't be true. I mean, we haven't seen each other in, what, two years? Not since the Worlds competition?"
"Yeah, I guess."
There's another silence, and Aubrey feels rather like she's grasping at straws. "You've changed," she says finally. It's the only thing she can think to say, really, to describe the situation.
"Well, my life isn't the same as it was at Barden."
"So you're admitting that there is something to tell?"
Stacie glares at her. "What's your goal, here?"
She's clearly on the defensive and Aubrey backs down. "I didn't mean—I just want to know how you've been."
"Wonderful."
Aubrey winces because, yet again, she's being insensitive. "Look, Stace, I'm really sorry. But you have to understand that I never would have expected to come home and find you in my apartment, so if I'm being rude, I don't mean to. Okay?"
Stacie only shrugs. With the way she's chewing her nails she isn't going to have any left, and Aubrey twists her hands together in her lap to keep herself from reaching out to stop her. "I heard you got accepted to Duke."
"Yeah, I went there."
The fact that it's only been two years since her graduation from Barden, and they're five hundred miles from the university in question, is not lost on Aubrey and she gives Stacie a curious look.
"I dropped out," she admits, clearly trying to seem blasé but doing a horrible job at hiding her embarrassment.
"Why?"
Stacie's cheeks color slightly and she drops her hands to the couch cushion underneath her, squeezing the material until her knuckles whiten. Her long hair falls over her shoulders and curtains her face and Aubrey notices that her hair is auburn now.
"Not enough money," she says quietly. Aubrey's heart clenches in her chest and she's halfway to reaching out to hug the girl when she stops herself.
"So you moved here? And got…this job?"
"No," Stacie shakes her head a little. "Not immediately." Aubrey gives her an encouraging look and she continues, looking reluctant. "It started as just modelling underwear, on the side, for some extra money. I had a partial scholarship but it's a private school, so, you know. Crazy expensive." She lets out a single breath of a laugh but she doesn't smile as she continues, "And basically it still wasn't enough, because my mom couldn't afford to put me through school so I had to come up with the money myself. I did okay for a bit, working nights at a restaurant but after a while I had so much classwork I had to cut my hours and I was racking up, like, a ton of debt."
She takes a deep breath, and Aubrey has a suspicion that she's holding back tears, but she doesn't comment on it and Stacie presses on: "So I found a modelling job and I didn't care that it was for a lingerie company, because it was really good money. And it wasn't secretly a porn studio or anything," she says quickly. "It was a legit place. But I still wasn't making enough, and I was thinking I'd have to drop out, but then one day some dude comes up and pretty much tells me I can make a shitload of cash working for him. I was kind of getting desperate at this point so I said yes and started working as…an escort."
She clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ear. Aubrey mentally makes a note that the word "escort" is apparently the preferred label.
"And I was making a lot. Like, enough to pay for school for once but I was still in debt up to my ears. And then he told me if I moved up to New York I could make a lot more, so I thought about it and realized I could save up a bunch of money and then move back and finish school, so I came up here, got a roommate, and started working for another guy that the first one had told me to go to. And he was right but, only partially. It's really good money but my boss takes a big cut of it. I usually only make enough every month to cover expenses with not much left over."
"Wow," Aubrey says softly. "Can I ask—how long have you lived here?"
"Only a few months."
"Do you still want to go back to school?"
"I don't know," Stacie shrugs. This is surprising; Aubrey would assume she was motivated to get out of the situation, but she tells herself there are other factors at play and forces herself not to pry. Stacie's already told her more than she was expecting to get out of her and she doesn't want to jeopardize her chances of hearing the rest.
Now that Stacie's here, in her apartment, she doesn't want her to go anywhere else. She realizes suddenly how young the girl still is. She isn't even old enough to drink yet, for god's sake.
"You don't have to look at me like that," Stacie says suddenly, and Aubrey jerks her head up to meet her eyes.
"Like I'm…damaged, or something," Stacie says, almost irritably. She twitches her shoulder like she's dislodging a fly. "Because I'm not."
"Okay," Aubrey says quietly. "I understand."
Silence falls and the only noise in the room is the obnoxious whirring of the ceiling fan. Aubrey doesn't quite know what else to say. She hadn't meant to look at Stacie any sort of way but now she's offended her and she feels like an ass.
"Are you sure you aren't hungry?" she asks again.
"No, I'm fine," Stacie says firmly. She still hasn't relaxed from her position in the far corner of the couch and Aubrey feels her anxiety setting in. She wants nothing more than to help her, but she doesn't know how to offer without being immediately shot down.
/
They sit for close to an hour and a half in silence. Stacie offers to leave, again, but Aubrey asks her to stay. She feels bad keeping her here just to sit without speaking, but every time she opens her mouth to say something it feels wrong so she keeps quiet, and after a while she thinks that maybe the silence is changing slowly from awkward to comfortable.
Her phone rings suddenly and Stacie jumps violently. Aubrey silences it with a pang of annoyance because the noise seemed to break the feeling of companionship in the room and now Stacie's visibly withdrawing back into herself, hunching her shoulders and wrapping her arms around her ribcage.
"I should go," she says.
"Why?"
"It's nine o'clock," Stacie says, matter-of-factly, and just like that the atmosphere changes again; a moment ago, Aubrey would have thought they were friends but now she feels like a client or something. It's weird.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
There's a pause, in which Aubrey tries frantically to come up with something, anything, to say before Stacie walks out the door. "Can I have…your number, or something?"
"Why?"
Aubrey's a little taken aback; she thought the reason would be obvious. "Because we used to be friends?"
"I don't give my number out," Stacie says uncomfortably.
"Okay," Aubrey says. She's a little miffed but she isn't about to push the issue. "I just thought maybe you could use a friend or something around here."
"I have friends," Stacie says stiffly.
"Right. Sorry."
She's hoping Stacie will change her mind but the girl doesn't even look at her and after a moment she stands and picks up her coat where it was lying by the front door. She wraps it around herself, but then looks down at the sleep shirt Aubrey had lent her. "Oh, shit. Hang on, I'll give this back."
She begins to pull the shirt over her head but Aubrey suddenly can't bear thinking of her not wearing the blue button-down with the frayed sleeves so she shakes her head quickly. "Keep it."
"No, I'll give it back."
"Stacie." She takes a step forward and places a hand on Stacie's wrist to still her. Stacie freezes and glances down at her hand, and Aubrey pulls back at once. She hadn't meant to touch her, and now she feels like she's overstepped some sort of boundary. "I'm sorry. But please, just keep it. Okay?"
"Okay," Stacie murmurs, and Aubrey realizes then how close they're standing. She catches her gaze, studying the way the girl's green eyes are still bright under their heavy layer of makeup, how she has just a few freckles scattered across her face, and how her brow crumples just slightly before she takes a step back and clears her throat. "I have to go," she repeats. "It was nice to see you, Bree."
And then she backs out the door and shuts it softly behind her, and Aubrey's left confused with nothing to assure her she didn't imagine the entire evening except the small gray scarf she finds hanging on the side of her shoe rack, which was most definitely not there earlier that day.
/
She spends the rest of the night wide awake. Hard as she tries, she can't get over what's happened, and she stumbles in to work the next morning frazzled and strung-out from lack of sleep.
"Morning, Ms. Posen," Shay chirps dutifully from her desk. "Coffee?"
"No, thanks," Aubrey says. "Have there been any calls?"
"None so far," the receptionist answers politely.
"Okay. Thank you," Aubrey says tiredly, and heads for her office, looking forward to collapsing onto her desk and being minimally productive for the remainder of the day.
She picks up a paper from her desk and scans it over, relieved when it doesn't command her immediate attention, and turns instead to her computer where there are undoubtedly close to a hundred emails waiting to be taken care of.
She never would have expected The Lodge at Fallen Leaves to grow into such a popular company. What began as a single retreat in the middle of Georgia turned into a full-blown franchise within two years, complete with a highly professional website advertising their philosophy and an office building in New York City.
Her promotion from general manager to CEO hadn't been a surprise to anyone; after all, she essentially ran the entire place for over a year and her personal training methods were arguably the only reason the company had grown so quickly.
Half an hour later, she's quickly developing a raging headache so she shuts off the computer monitor and picks up the phone. She can't pull her mind away from Stacie, so instead of ignoring it she decides on getting a second opinion.
Chloe picks up on the third ring. "Hey, Bree."
"Hi, Chloe, how are you?"
"Not bad. Is everything okay at work?"
"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine." She pauses. "That's not why I'm calling."
"Is something wrong?" Chloe, astute as ever, already sounds worried.
"No. Well, not really." She tries to decide how exactly to breach the question. "Have you heard from Stacie at all recently?"
"Not really," Chloe answers slowly. She sounds rather confused. "She and Beca used to talk a lot, but after she dropped out of school she changed her number and disappeared and we haven't heard from her since. Why?"
Aubrey wonders, then, if it's okay to tell her. She decides that it's for Stacie's own good, but she still feels a little guilty as she says, "She's here, in New York. I saw her last night."
"Really?" Chloe asks. "Is—why are you telling me this? Did something happen?"
"Well—this is going to sound weird, but I just want your opinion. Don't freak out, okay?"
"Oh my god, Bree, just tell me."
"She's working as, um…an escort."
"What?" Chloe sounds thoroughly shocked. "How do you know?"
"Because my darling boyfriend decided to make a grand romantic gesture in the form of sending a girl to my house without telling me."
"And it was her? Jesus."
"I know."
"So what happened? Why is she even doing that?"
"I don't really think I should talk about it," Aubrey says reluctantly. Basic details are one thing but she doubts Stacie would appreciate her telling Chloe every word of what she divulged.
"Okay, yeah, I agree," Chloe says, but Aubrey can hear her voice absolutely dripping with curiosity. "What are you going to do about it? Are you going to try and see her again?"
"Well, I asked for her number but she wouldn't give it to me," Aubrey says, frustrated. "And I want to see her again but there's no way I'll be able to find her without a phone number."
"What about Henry?"
"What about him?" Aubrey wrinkles her nose. "He's a douche."
"Well, yeah. I've been telling you that since you first met him. But he was the one who sent her, right? He probably has her number. Or at least the number of whoever makes her appointments."
How did she not realize that before? "Chloe, you're a genius."
"I know. So you'll ask him?"
"But Chlo, I dumped him," Aubrey says miserably.
"Oh. Shit."
"I can't exactly go and ask for it now."
"Yeah, that's super awkward," Chloe says, and Aubrey can picture her nodding thoughtfully, red hair pulled back, leaning against the fridge like she always does when she's talking on the phone. "Maybe pretend to take him back?"
"Even I am not that mean."
"I don't know what to tell you," Chloe says apologetically. "All you can really do is ask him, I guess. Otherwise, are there any, like, directories you can look through?"
"I doubt they allow sex workers to post ads in the yellow pages," Aubrey says dryly. "And I'd say I could ask around, but there's no way I'll find her here. Not to mention, I don't really want people to think I'm, like, a regular customer of that type of…organization."
"True. But, Bree, I have to ask…did you sleep with her?"
"What?" Aubrey jerks so violently in her seat that she slices her finger on a piece of paper. She sits back, pressing it to her lips with a curse. "No, I did not. Jesus."
"I was just asking!" Chloe says defensively. "I mean, I wouldn't judge you if you had."
"Chloe, please stop talking." Aubrey squeezes her eyes shut. "That's not what I want from her. I just want to make sure she's okay."
"Right," Chloe answers. "Well, I don't know how else I can help, but you can always call me if you need advice, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks," Aubrey sighs. "How's Beca's tour going?"
Good friend that she is, Chloe doesn't question the sudden change of subject. "Really well. It's a lot of late nights, but that's a small price to pay for having a famous DJ for a girlfriend," she says dreamily.
"Yeah, yeah, rein it in."
"Oh, shush. You're still coming to the show on Thursday, right?"
"I wouldn't miss it. I'm excited to see you. It's been way too long."
"It really has," Chloe agrees. "Hey, if you can get ahold of Stacie, you should see if she wants to come along."
"Yeah, if I can find her, I'm sure she'd like to see you guys," Aubrey sighs. Her phone beeps at her and she pulls it away from her ear to look at the screen. "Hey, my dad's calling. It's his birthday. I'll call you later, okay?"
/
Later, with a guilty glance at the unfinished paperwork in front of her, she dials Henry's cell number, crossing her fingers that he'll cooperate. He answers just before it goes to voicemail. "Hi."
"Hey, Henry, it's me."
"Yeah, I know."
"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. I was really stressed, and I'm sorry to have ended things the way I did."
"Thanks," he says gruffly, but makes no effort to apologize himself. She rolls her eyes and hopes she can maintain the patience to make it through the conversation.
"I need a favor," she says hopefully.
"Seriously?"
"All I need is for you to give me the phone number of whoever sent that girl to my house," she says quickly. "Do you still have it?"
"I can't believe you right now," he grouses. "You dump me, and then turn around and expect me to do what you say?"
"Come on, Henry," she says, hoping her annoyance isn't overly apparent in her voice. "To be honest, you kind of owe me."
"What for? I didn't do anything," he argues, and she can hear him starting to get angry.
"Okay, I'm sorry," she backtracks. "But is it really so much to ask? All I need is the phone number."
"Why do you want it so bad?" he asks suspiciously. "Are you trying to hook up with her or something?"
"No, absolutely not," she says, and then decides honesty may be the best policy. "Like I said, she's someone I knew from college, and she wouldn't give me her personal phone number so I was trying to find another way to contact her."
There's a moment of silence before he sighs. "You better not be lying to me, Aubrey."
"God, Henry, why else would I want the number of someone like that?"
"Fine!" he caves. "I'll text it to you in a few minutes."
"Thank you," she says gratefully, but he's already hung up.
It takes him over an hour to send it, and she's almost ready to drive to his house and strangle him when her phone chimes and she nearly drops it in her rush to unlock the message containing the number she asked for.
She isn't sure what standard procedure is for this type of thing, but she figures that whoever this is gets texts from all sorts of people.
Hi—is this the person running the escort service? I would like to make an appointment as soon as possible.
She dithers for a good minute and a half before finally sending it, and she doesn't even pretend to get any work done until a reply comes through.
Yes this is Ken. Send address and time, any requests
How professional. She feels dirty just texting with him.
What is the cost? Can I request someone specific?
Cost depends on the girl, average is 150-200 per hour. Yes who do you have in mind
She stops, then, and realizes she has no idea what Stacie's work name is. Henry would probably know, but there is no way in hell she's asking him for any more help.
Not sure of her name, but she was sent to my house last night by someone named Henry. Do you know who I'm talking about?
She doesn't get a response for close to half an hour. Shay comes in at one point with another stack of paperwork, and Aubrey's so jumpy that she nearly bites her head off when she asks how her day is going.
Yes her name is Sky and she is next available Friday night. 200 an hour. How many hours do you want? You pay in advance w cash or
She shudders. There is no way she's meeting this creep in person.
2 hours. I will use . What is the account name?
/
She's had the least productive morning of probably her entire career, but she doesn't care; she's free of the dickhead boyfriend, and she has two hours on Friday night, reserved and paid for, to become Stacie's friend again. However, she has to muscle through a visit with her father before she can even return to her apartment, and she resents his existence for the entirety of the drive to his house.
Out of habit, she buttons her blouse all the way up, makes sure her shirt is tucked in to her pants, and brushes lint off her blazer before she presses the doorbell and waits for him to answer, rocking nervously on the balls of her feet.
A moment later the door swings open and she's greeted by the formidable presence of Colonel Posen, his frown securely in place and his uniform crisp and spotless as always. "Stand up straighter," he says in lieu of a greeting and stands back to let her in.
"Happy birthday," she offers, drawing in a deep breath and trying to remember to keep her shoulders back.
He grunts and leads the way to the kitchen where his girlfriend is busy wiping the countertops. "Hi!" the woman, who can't be much older than Aubrey, says brightly.
"Hey, Melanie," Aubrey answers, doing her best to sound interested when in reality she feels like throwing up whenever she sees the woman who's half her father's age and, for all intents and purposes, his personal servant. She's referred to the two of them as Clinton and Lewinsky multiple times when complaining to Chloe about her insufferable visits to the mansion. "How are you?"
"Oh, fine. How are you?"
"I'm well, thanks," Aubrey answers with a tight-lipped smile, and then turns back to her father. "I brought you this," she says, and holds out a small box. She doubts he'll be thrilled; she'd picked it up hurriedly on her way to his house, and she personally thinks the only thing the gift has going for it is the professional wrapping job done by the girl in the shop.
He accepts it and unwraps the box, holding up the necktie with a critical expression.
"Ooh, cute!" Melanie says, and all of Aubrey's willpower goes into keeping a smile on her face.
"I thought it would match that new shirt you got," she says hopefully. "You know, the one you told me about? For special occasions?"
"Yes, of course," he says. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she says, relieved. "How has your birthday been?"
He shrugs irritably and Melanie sighs. "We got a visit from some…people earlier. You know, the ones who come to your door and try to convert you?"
"Religious people?" She's confused.
"No, some faggot had the nerve to knock on my door and ask me to sign a petition," he says, and Aubrey stifles a retort.
"What kind of petition?" she asks instead, trying to summon her remaining patience.
"Some idiocy about his people wanting to not be disciplined for what they do."
"You mean hate crimes?" she says, clenching her jaw so as not to yell at him.
"Call it what you want," he says dismissively. "Now that what they do is legal they think they can trespass on people's property and spread their beliefs to everyone else. I'm just glad I have a good Christian wife and daughter with proper values."
He busies himself with the tea kettle and Aubrey clenches her fists under the table, willing him to plant his face directly onto the stove burner.
/
She suffers through another hour of sitting in furious silence before she decides it's about all she can take. It's awful, how every time she sees him it ends, sooner or later, with something like this. Usually sooner.
"I'll see you Sunday, daddy," she says. "I have plans to take care of this evening. Happy birthday."
She ignores Melanie's wave and stalks out of the house. She's used to this by now but this time when she reaches her car there are tears on her face and she isn't quite sure why.