Before I Do(57)

As they stood in front of a piece named Emergence, Benedict pointed out an abstract shoulder bone. In one sense it was just an angle of golden metal, but in another it clearly read as a female shoulder—it was captivating.

“I love this one,” she said, almost to herself.

“You do?” he said, sounding pleased.

She didn’t imagine an artist of his standing would care a fig what a twenty-two-year-old girl like her thought.

“This is one of my favorites. What do you like about it, Audrey?”

She thought for a moment, contemplating the piece. “I like how feminine it feels, even though it looks nothing like a woman. These mounds here.” She felt herself blush. “Even though they aren’t . . . you know, they still read as something womanly.”

“Goodness, girl, you can’t even say the word ‘breast’ to me. You really are repressed.” Benedict laughed, a genuine, chesty laugh.

“I’m not repressed,” Audrey said, her forehead furrowing into a frown, her cheeks glowing red.

“You’re the most repressed girl I’ve ever met.” He smiled, amused by her blushes. “When’s the last time you had sex?”

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question.”

Benedict let out a bellowing laugh. “You don’t need to tell me. I can tell from the way you hold yourself, your spikiness, all that pent-up frustration.” She frowned, but he seemed to find her discomfort amusing. “Don’t be so British, we’re all adults here. That’s what you want, isn’t it, to be treated as an equal, the same as the grown-ups?” Benedict moved back toward a sculpture on their left. “This piece is called Bloom. It depicts the unfurling of a girl into womanhood. You see these petals of the flower; do you see what they are?”

Audrey saw the flower was not a flower at all; every petal had nipples. She found herself smiling despite herself.

“Breasts.”

Then they were both laughing. He looked at her for a moment, then back at the artwork, before taking her hand. “Let me show you something.”

Benedict guided her through to the second room, away from the daylight coming in from the street, away from the outside world. She didn’t like him holding her hand, but she thought it would be rude to snatch it away. He led her over to a mirror and positioned her in front of it. Audrey averted her eyes, instantly feeling tense in the windowless room.

“Please indulge me. Is it such a chore for you to look at your own face?” She stood still as he leaned over to a large panel of switches on the wall next to the mirror. He turned off the gallery lights, leaving only a single spotlight above the mirror shining down on her. She shivered, uncomfortable under such an intense spotlight, in an otherwise dark room with Benedict so close behind her.

“Look, here,” he said. He took her handbag from her shoulder and placed it on the floor, then pointed over her shoulder at her clavicle bone. “You have a very pronounced bone here, so elegant, just like your mother’s. Have you noticed?”

She froze. “I don’t want to do this.” She tried to turn away, but he held her arms in place by her sides, pinning her there with no effort at all.

“You should look. You’re a beautiful girl, Audrey, but you lack the posture and the confidence of a woman. You slouch when you walk, you hide your chest. The way you hold yourself, it’s like watching a Ferrari being driven by a learner, it genuinely hurts my eyes.”

She must have rolled her eyes, because he clicked his tongue at her.

“That too. You have the mannerisms of a twelve-year-old. If you want to own your femininity, you need to stop making these childish facial expressions.”

Withered by his words, she stood frozen, unsure of what to do. He reached around and lifted her chin, his eyes on her reflection the entire time. Then he pushed his hand gently into the base of her spine, forcing her hips down and her breasts out. She didn’t want his hands on her, but she was paralyzed, her inner voice muffled and mute. She found herself clay beneath a sculptor’s hands, being molded to his purpose.

“There, look. So much better,” he said, proudly inspecting his adjustments in the mirror. As she looked, part of her conceded he was right, she did look more grown-up, more assured, in her body at least. She momentarily forgot Benedict’s presence behind her until she felt his hand skim her neck and heard the smallest sigh of appreciation. She flinched.

“Please don’t do that,” she said, her voice high and childlike in her throat.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Audrey, I see women as angles of bone and skin; it is my job. You mustn’t always make things so personal.”

“I am more than bones and skin, and I’d like to go now,” she said, reaching out for the panel of lights to escape this intense spotlight, but as she pressed the panel, she only managed to turn the spotlight off, plunging them into darkness. He laughed at her mistake, and she felt adrenaline and fear course through her veins. She was a rabbit, cornered by a fox in its den.

“Wrong switch, I think,” he said, his tone light and cheerful. “Let me get it for you.” Then he reached up his hand, and she felt it brush against her breast, pausing just a moment before continuing up to find the light switch. She didn’t even move from under his hand, she just let it sit there, her body entirely disconnected from what her head was telling it to do. Could it have been an accident, a mistake in the dark? A chill spread across every inch of her skin. Before she could process what had happened, all the lights were back on and Benedict’s jolly smile suggested nothing untoward had taken place.