Hi readers! I know, I know, I owe you all an apology again for taking so long to update! I am sorry, you guys have no idea how I wish I could write all the time. Sometimes inspiration doesn't come, sometimes it comes at work and I'm teaching, sometimes it comes and I sit and write.
I did that for this update. I wrote and deleted and wrote again. I reviewed it a million times. I changed my mind another million. Because I do warn you, things get VERY DELICATE to discuss on this chapter. So here is your WARNING for any potential violence trigger. Read it, and when you get to Donna and Rachel's conversation, stop it.
If you get to the end, I do hope you like it. I do hope you take a minute to write me a review, because I can tell you I come back to those few when I wanna give up.
Thank you for still reading, always.
B.
Scarlet
It was almost 4 o'clock when the bus finally reached its destination down the shore. The air-conditioner had been malfunctioning the whole ride, on and off at different times, making her cheeks show two pink circles. Her hair was up in a thick, messy bun, sweat making a few strands stick to her neck, just as the black leggings did to her thighs, a choice she already regretted. She still had to walk to the casino, about two or three blocks away, so she stepped off of the tall ladder, school books on her backpack and a small duffel bag with clothes for the weekend.
The more she told herself to look brave, to suck it up and lift her head, the heavy weight of her belongings added to the heat and the shame brought her face down to stare at her feet. She knocked on the back door, as they had instructed her, noticing that part of the red paint peeled off and glued to her fingers. Everything looked hot, old and dirty. Another girl, bleached blond hair and a tan line she knew it'd be impossible for her to ever get, opened the door without a word, walking away right after. Turns out there was lots of politics in these clubs. She wasn't wanted there, it wasn't hard to tell.
She could dance and she was flexible, years of ballet and tumbling to thank for. She had fair, evenly toned legs, and abs that could hold a long plank pose. Her breasts filled a size C bra, the freckles visibly decorating her chest and arms. Her hair's natural red color was a full hand of cards at the end of a game, the one that wins all the bets. Then there was the sweet, innocent air from a Connecticut rich girl, all adding to the involuntary pristine virgin looks. She was money.
It was a part, a character, she convinced herself when she stepped on stage for the first time, one she'd play for entertainment of others just like any other theater play. Standing next to the pole, while the room was still empty, she closed her eyes and grabbed it, shaking it to test for steadiness. With her back lined up against it, she lifted her arms above her head, gripping the pole firmly and pulling both her legs straight up, knees parallel to each other. Once, twice, three times. Then once again with her legs opened in a v shape. Next she turned to face it, placing her right hand on it, around chin height like her friend had explained. She got it immediately, it was physics, that hand was going to hold her in the air. Her left hand slid up and without much thinking she jogged around it for a step or two, jumped and pulled herself up, spinning on its axis, right leg wrapping around it until she slowly lowered herself to the ground, left leg extended in front of her. The next move was all about her core. From the floor she only partially squatted with her right leg curved, forming a square angle with her thigh and knee. Then she lowered her left hand to the floor for support, and with all her strength threw her legs open in an 180 degree split one arm handstand, right hand on the pole for balance, ribs lined up to the shining structure. It was a duet, not a solo dance like many believed.
While she worked to hold the pose, the first dollar bills were thrown right in front of her face, almost making her collapse. Her left arm shook like bambu holding the weight of her body and she folded the right leg to touch the floor, quickly picking herself up , hair falling on her back.
She stared him in the eye, panting.
"Why d'ya stop?" He questioned.
"You distracted me," she said, regretting it immediately.
He scoffed, then shook his head at the naivety of her answer. That was the business.
"That was fantastic for only the second weekend," he said, smirking. "You can keep that."
She lowered her look, catching sight of the green pieces of paper next to her feet, resisting the urge to kick it right back.
"Two shows on the main floor tonight," he told her. "Then I want you in the private diamond room after midnight," he added, and she realized this was why he had come.
"Why?" she dared. "That's Shana's room. It's Friday."
"Not tonight, it isn't," he answered with his back to her. "And soon I'm taking you on a trip."
She felt her blood rush down all at once, fear lodging on the pit of her stomach, body suddenly wobbly against the metal.
II.
He tossed the folder with Riggs information on Cahill's desk, free hands sliding into his pockets and chest puffing with the best immediate confidence a man can summon.
It didn't take Cahill a long time to understand this was an unusual encounter.
"You know the answer, Harvey," he said after just glancing at the first page, eyes immediately back to his computer screen.
"Sure I do," Harvey shrugged him off, expecting that exact reply. "And I came here to ask you what I need to do to change your mind."
Cahill shook his head. Harvey's arrogance would always be infuriating.
"Your mistake is to assume you can," he retorted with a shot straight to the ego.
"Well, that's what I do, Sean. I make people change their minds and I'm good at it. I'd say your mistake is to dismiss me without getting something in return," Harvey said, a reply purely used to hide his anxiety as much as possible.
Showing his game plan on the first move was something Harvey never did. He hated not having a trick up his sleeve, or a suggestion to drive the other man in the right direction, but he was playing for time. And for her.
"Wait a sec…" Cahill caught on. "So you'll owe me one?" the question came with an air of mockery and disbelief, albeit it sounded like anticipated victory as well and that usually was a part of Harvey's schtick, not his adversaries'. "This is a favor then?"
It goddamn was. "I prefer to call it a trade," Harvey refused Cahill's idea mostly for his own good, because in his dictionary a favor put him in an inferior position. A trade was done between equals.
Cahill stopped typing and turned his head slightly to the side, finally looking at Harvey in an attempt to observe his demeanor, to find a signal, a giveaway that would help him decide if he should pursue the negotiation or send him on his way. The period right after Summer was usually full or mergers and acquisitions, companies pushing to close deals by the end of the third quarter, the piles of work on his desk a clear reminded that this better be meaningful because time was short and expensive.
But Harvey Specter's businesses were always worth a pause. If not that, then his reputation of a rule bender wasn't something to ever be ignored, and neither was his power, Cahill knew. This could be a pitfall, or an easy bet.
"Usually I come after your clients, Harvey," he theorized out loud as he searched for a confirmation that something was out of ordinary. "But today you show up in my office wanting me to look at this guy and, what, simply put a word to pass a millionaire merger?"
It was Harvey's turn to scoff in realization of the absurdity, his answer exactly the opposite of what Cahill expected.
"Plain and simple, Sean? Yes." He conceded.
That got Cahill up from his chair. He walked to the front of his desk and leaned backwards, resting on it while he created possible scenarios to justify this offer. He passed the pages in the folder, giving them a more attentive look. Seconds went by without any of them saying anything, Harvey just stood, watching Cahill and playing with different outcomes in his head, predicting his next argument. The next move was crucial wherever it came from.
Harvey wasn't usually that easy to read. In fact, he was always an excellent player, who never granted an advantage to his opponent unless his next move would certainly win it all. So there's probably a catch, Cahill thought. He would find out what it was if he said yes. But maybe that was the catch itself, for him to think that he shouldn't take the deal and miss the opportunity of having Harvey goddamn Specter owe him a favor. This wasn't about Cahill having a price. Everyone had a price, he and Harvey saw eye to eye on it. This was about how much Harvey was willing to pay.
"How high can I go until you fold?" he decided to challenge him, knowing that asking the million dollar question was a naive move, but nothing to lose so far.
"This isn't how the game works, Sean," Harvey raised his voice, starting to lose his faux calmness. "Don't make me think you're not worth my bet."
"Fair enough," he agreed but refused to be ridiculed, "but you're the one that needs to play, Harvey."
By the deep breath Harvey took and the annoyed look when he exhaled, Cahill felt luck turning his way. This is how he could control the game because one simply can't play alone.
Harvey met him with silence, holding whatever fiery comeback had filled his mind. It was enough for Sean to realize he was definitely off his game.
"You must be in some deep shit, man," he nodded to the general truth that was going to lead him to have the upper hand, regardless of Harvey's plans.
But being in an inferior position wasn't something Harvey could bare for too long. Harvey Specter did not wait and did not beg.
"Will you consider it or not?" he urged one last time.
Cahill opened the folder once again, focusing on the seven figures at the bottom. He lifted his eyes to look back at Harvey.
Vulnerability always demanded caution, especially if felt on the other side. So Sean refrained from prying beyond business out of respect for his rival. Neither of them liked an easy fight, but yet he needed more.
"What does he have on you?"
"Nothing that you need to know," his response was dry but Sean wasn't a newbie.
"You think I'll go in this deal completely blind?" Sean laughed again. "This isn't how the game works, Harvey. "
Whenever the opposite side used his own rules, his own words as a move, he usually saw nothing but red, spitting something back or walking away. But at the moment that wasn't the red he was focused on.
Very few people knew how Harvey hated having to ask for cards to complete his hand. He liked winning from the start.
"It's personal, Sean," he shared bleakly, against his will.
Cahill waited to see if Harvey was going to offer him more than a line, but he didn't, not verbally.
"You're gonna have to give me more than that if you want me to really look at it," he pushed further.
For the second time that night he watched his rival draw a deep breath in.
"It's Donna," the words came out a second later, to Cahill's surprise.
Nothing more needed to be said.
This wasn't a game at all.
Leaving the SEC building, he leaned on the door while waiting for his driver, loosening his tie as he struggled to organize ideas dropping in. Nothing seemed doable in due time, every plan seemed too small, every attempt depending on too many factors, every day felt like a month and every hour suffocated him, suddenly the tie was off completely.
Stuck in the city's gridlock on Canal street and Broadway, he raised his hand questioning Ray's decision on the route.
"Why not West side highway, man? I can walk faster than you drive through Soho!"
The motionless feeling extended to a literal meaning, way more than he was willing to accept.
"It would be the same!" Ray replied, also wishing he could go faster than 15 mph. "School is back, more cars, more buses, more people driving," he justified with a superiority air that stated you got no kids, you wouldn't know.
Just as he felt he was losing the millionth argument of the day, his phone lit up with an email from Cahill.
"I'll work on it. Talk soon."
Air finally seemed to make its way through his nostrils as he looked out the window hoping for the best. Except to hope was something he absolutely did not believe in.
She was gone by the time he got back to the office, a post-it note on his table read in her hand writing "Update me later? 8pm my place?"
He folded it into a small square and placed in his pocket, the grin of hours before growing back on his face.
III.
Donna hadn't even been home for half an hour when Rachel repeatedly rang her doorbell, holding a bottle of riesling close to her chest. The red haired opened the door with a smile that carried joy and surprise, wondering to which side she would sway.
"Did we have plans?" she asked, slightly tilting her face at her friend. With the day she had had, it was totally possible she would have forgotten.
"Not really," Rachel answered briskly, unapologetically stepping inside without an invitation. "But I don't need a plan to see my best friend, do I?"
"Uhm, no," Donna said, feeling bad for how she had greeted her. "Of course not, Rach."
"Glasses?" the brunette said without even putting her bag down. "Please?"
Donna moved slower than she should have, still taken aback, pretending to 'find' the wine glasses claiming to have recently reorganized the kitchen cabinets. The nervous edge on her friend's voice was worrisome, much unlike the calmness she usually conveyed.
"Did you come straight from work?" She had noticed the same outfit, then realized she hadn't had time to change either.
"Yes, and I told Mike not to wait up. I just need to go over the wedding stuff one more time, and the rehearsal dinner things, make sure we're not forgetting anything. I also... just...I feel like we haven't really talked in a while, you know?"
She certainly did not know. Rachel trusted her to execute basically every request on the wedding list, and that was because she could. They had tirelessly checked every item before their minds were consumed by the latest events. Their last wine night was not long ago. So no, none of what Rachel said made any sense, something new had happened to be the motivation behind the impromptus visit. There were two weeks left for the wedding and this looked like an emergency.
Maybe it's wedding jitters, she tried to shrug it off.
"Did something happen between you and Mike?" Donna went straight to the most obvious question, trying to not let Rachel notice her puzzled face.
"No, no, not at all," Rachel quickly tried to dismiss her before the conversation went on to a different path than she had planned.
"Okay, good," she paused, holding a bit of a forced smile. "He didn't...end up inviting that girl to the wedding, did he?" She moved past her friend, calculating the steps and words not to upset her.
"What girl?" Rachel tried to make sense of it, getting caught on her own lie.
"Last time I was at your place, you answered Mike's call and he was asking to bring his ex-girlfriend to the wedding, remember?" Donna set the glasses on the table purposely not looking at her friend. Not yet, at least.
"Oh! Right! No, he...uh, he totally understood how crazy that sounded," it was hard for Rachel to hold a straight face after being busted so easily.
Donna stared at the bottle of white wine, nodding slowly as she then gazed right into Rachel's eyes with a bleak smile.
"You know what else sounds crazy?" She raised her eyebrows.
"What?" the other one practically whispered.
"The fact that you think I don't know something happened for you to come unannounced, talking a mile a minute, claiming yow wanna discuss wedding and dinner when one, we already did this; two, nothing is wrong between you and Mike and three, you better be 100% sure I didn't forget anything, Rachel Zane, since when do you not trust me?" The tables had turned.
"Okay, but…" Rachel's attempt to save herself was in vain.
"Plus…" Donna continued, merciless. "You came right after work bringing the sweetest wine you could find, one you don't even like, which makes me think you are trying to ease your way into finding information like the great lawyer you are. But It is cute that you think you can lie to me," she smiled widely, ending on a better note and adding the praise to the best of her Donna abilities.
Rachel let out the breath she held during the time it took for Donna to figure her out. She dropped her head backwards in defeat.
"You got me, " she shrugged and placed the bottle on the table. It was her turn to grab the wine opener in silence, using the time it took to pop the cork and fill the two glasses to formulate her next move, to analyze the best way to go at it.
But it was the question she heard that fueled her courage.
"What happened, Zane?" Donna asked softly.
Rachel calmly took a sip and as the liquid rolled down gently, the confidence rose to stead her voice.
"That, my loving friend," she said, in an unheard tone, "is precisely my main question to you."
Donna's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Maybe she had not figured Rachel out entirely.
"What do you mean?" she hoped for one last time tonight wasn't about her.
This isn't supposed to look like a deposition. Start gently, nicely, in a non-accusatory tone, Rachel had decided on the way there.
"I'd like to hear more about your relationship with Biggs 20 years ago."
It was Donna's turn to reach for the glass and take a sip, the wine suddenly a necessity. She blinked quickly to summon an appropriate response but couldn't avoid the overwhelming feeling the hidden questioned prompted.
"Look at me, Donna," Rachel pressed, stern yet sweetly, noticing the dance in her friend's eyes. "Why is he back after so long?
Rachel Zane, you'll make a fine lawyer alright, it was the only thing Donna could think when put against the wall. She swallowed the lump on her throat, knowing it was too late to dissolve Rachel's speculation, but not too late to dismiss her.
"I think you should go," she managed to whisper.
Women tended to always find their match on a guy, celebrating when they were looked at as equals. Donna stood up to (and stood with) Harvey, Katrina always rose with and against Louis, Rachel loved and tested Mike, and each one of those victories deserved fucking fireworks. But in that kitchen, in that moment, it was a double win for feminism as Donna knew her most powerful counterpart, the one to come to her apartment to rush her pulse with questions was the young lawyer she called best friend.
Rachel had come prepared for the initial resistance. Arms crossed on her chest, she simply shook her head.
"I, uh, I'm tired. I'm sure you are, too," Donna insisted, slightly annoyed, walking back towards the hallway, ready to point to the door.
"You'll have to forgive me, Don," Rachel said, giving Donna the illusion she was finally coming to her senses, when in fact it was just the opposite. "But I'm not going anywhere until you tell me everything there is…"
"There is nothing to tell, Rachel!" She interrupted her on a higher tone and walked back to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and staring into the sink. Rachel hated that she had to be the person to pry out the information. Talking to Mike earlier, they realized she had no option. You go, I'll keep digging, were his words. Mike didn't want to overstep, wouldn't have any excuse to even let himself in, fearing the conversation would undeniably become too delicate given the nature of the pictures. Do we tell Harvey? He had proposed, ever so loyal. She had voted against it. Sixth Sense, Rachel had said when Mike disagreed. I have a feeling Donna will want to tell him herself, whatever it is.
"You can't expect me to believe you when everything about your behavior says otherwise," she added, regaining focus.
It was a fact, handed nicely to the one who was the master of observation. It left Donna speechless, giving Rachel space to step further.
"We are trying to help you," she softened, because that was her style, her personality, and this was still her best friend.
"Does Harvey know you're here?" Donna snapped, hurriedly carrying her glass to the living room, wine dripping on her hand.
"No, Harvey…" Rachel tried to speak, but was abruptly cut.
"Doesn't even know you're here? Earlier today it sure felt like we were a team!"
Rachel scoffed. The nerve. Now she was getting tired.
Donna was always hard to break, this was beyond the spam of what they shared, but it shouldn't matter. Change of strategy. This wasn't about their relationship anymore, it wasn't about trust. If she had learned one thing at Specter Litt was when to not let her emotions cloud her judgement. The inquietude of Donna's looks, the hostility in her words, the worried questions from that morning in Harvey's office, how she had been distracted throughout the day, it was all right in front of Rachel's face. Yea, she could read people too.
"You wanna talk about being a team? So why don't you work with me and tell me why your story is not adding up?" her hands flew up to intensify her question.
"Excuse me?" Donna hissed her outrage.
"Why is he after you?" Rachel demanded an answer again, walking closer to where Donna stood.
Stop.
"What happened between you two?"
No.
"Donna?"
A flashback frame of years ago invaded her mind, completely shocking her. The effort to bury it had been much too intense to be wasted. She shut it down, taking her energy to walk fast and swing the door open. "You need to go!"
I'm simply doing my job, Rachel told herself, channeling every interrogation and deposition she had watched Jessica lead. Now it was about being the professional her client needed her to be more than the compliant half she always had been. Either the truth was told, or they were at a dead end road. Black and white directions perfectly divided through logical arguments her mind had traced.
"Not until you talk to me," she said in all seriousness she could impose without letting her frustration get in the way. "You need to let me in."
She watched Donna's grip on the door start to slide, her breath picking up pace, and against all her heart's order to stop, she knew this was for Donna's own good.
"Why would Biggs save those pictures for two decades when he couldn't have possibly known he'd want to merge back then?"
Trapped in the multiple flashbacks that now flooded her mind, only later that night did she wonder how she had ended up on the couch with Rachel by her side. One minute she was standing by the door, hearing her friend's words open the dam she had spent the last twenty years trying to drain, the next she tasted the salt of the long lasting stream of tears. Memories had swept away any resilience left. One after the other they rushed to drown her, raining with the thought of each unwanted hand, each piercing finger and the forced kisses. It scared her how her body had suddenly felt exactly the same as it did in that room, as if she were under the effect of an unsafe dose of xanax and wine while her glass sat full on the table.
The silence was recognizable and deafening. She heard nothing then, nothing now, even though Rachel's lips moved with what probably were comforting words. Every time her eyes closed, she hoped she would just fall asleep, rest forever sheltered in a black curtained room of closed eyelids, but instead they threw her right back to feeling each freckle on her chest burn with his callous skin and the hot breath out of his mouth dragging through her body. She felt a puddle of bile rise and her throat held it back, swallowing it down to wash over the fear of then and now. She remembered looking at her own trembling hands and limp legs, internally screaming at them to push, kick, slap him or kneel him where it hurts, finding any way to get her out of there, only to fall in despair as her impulses remained numbed, unanswered. No. Stop.
In my head I was screaming, I was yelling 'no,' but I heard nothing.
Instead the walls only got smaller and darker as the red light flickered like her resolve. Red was the dominant color painted in her brain, for her hair that he praised, the bra and underwear he nearly ripped, and finally her bloody teeth as he stepped back with a hand on his left ear. The fingers that cupped her breast were then marking her face.
She thinks Rachel can hear her, she isn't sure she is saying anything out loud or just reliving it, but her friends' wet cheeks gets her to hope she is actually talking this time. For the first time.
She breathes in and holds it until she's sure the entire movie has been replayed, letting it out slowly. But the nineteen year old in her knew. And the forty year old Donna is just as sure now, as she was at twenty five, at thirty, as she will be at fifty or seventy, that this is a horror movie with unlimited reruns.
Suddenly she's brought back to her living room at the sound of a scream, a loud plead to a name that doesn't exist in her memories. It isn't her voice, it's Rachel's.
"Harvey, wait!"
Donna's eyes open to see him running away, both hands in fists, followed by a loud, hollow noise of him violently shutting the door she had never closed.
