Seven Men Called Me Her Stand-In, So I Made Them Pay novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Seven Chairs
Seven men who each think they are June's only one sit down to dinner, call her a stand-in, and pay to be rid of her; in the lobby Anthony tells her not to go to Maine, a place she told no one about.
At eight o'clock on Friday night, seven men sat down at one table, and each of them thought he was the only man I was seeing.
I had spent three weeks planning the seating.
The private room at the back of the restaurant was long and quiet, with a fireplace nobody had lit and seven place cards in my handwriting.
I stood at the head of the table in a green dress I had bought myself.
Their drinks were already poured, because I knew what each of them took.
The surgeon had his chamomile with two spoons of honey.
The race car driver had a tonic with lime, since he had not touched alcohol in four years.
The lawyer at the end of the table had black tea, no sugar, a lemon wedge on the side.
At 7:58 the lawyer had texted me: "Whatever you say tonight, it won't change how I see you."
It was a kind message, and I had read it twice without knowing why.
His name was Anthony Brandreth.
Now he sat three seats down, with his hands folded, and said nothing at all.
"June?" the surgeon said. He looked down the table at the other six, then at me. "Why is everyone here?"
"Your friends," I said. "You've known each other since you were fifteen. Ask them how long they've known me."
Nobody spoke.
Then the pianist laughed, short and confused. "Two years in March," said the pianist, and stopped.
"Eighteen months," said the architect.
"Fourteen," said the race car driver, and put down his glass.
The senator's son counted on his fingers under the table and stopped at his third.
"I see you on Mondays," the hotel heir said slowly.
"I'm in Chicago on Wednesdays," the architect said.
"Miami on weekends," said the driver.
I let them do the arithmetic.
It took about a minute for the hotel heir to stand up so fast his chair fell over.
"Every one of us?" he said. "You've been seeing every one of us?"
"Yes," I said.
"Why?"
"Ask each other what you told me about her."
I watched it happen.
The pianist's face changed first. "You said I reminded you of someone too," he said to the driver. "Who?"
The driver looked at the table. "Tessa."
"Tessa Lind," said the architect.
"The housekeeper's girl," the senator's son said quietly. "From the summer at Hollin Point."
All six of them turned and looked at me at once.
I was ready for that look.
"She looks like her," the surgeon said. "She talks like her. That's why I couldn't, with you. I kept thinking, it's not fair to touch a copy."
"I never touched her either," said the driver. "Not once. I told myself it was respect."
The pianist set down his fork. "We've been dating a replacement. All seven of us. The same replacement."
"You're a cheap print of someone worth ten of you," the hotel heir said to me. "Did you think that was flattering?"
"I never thought you'd say it so well," I said.
"You're not even a good stand-in," said the architect. "Tessa had real warmth."
I picked up my bag from the chair beside me.
"You're right," I said. "I'm only the stand-in. Which means this is the end of the arrangement, and we should settle up."
Nobody moved.
From the bag I took out a card with seven lines on it, each with a name and a number.
"Eighteen months of birthdays, flights, and weekends," I said. "You each promised to cover what I needed. I never asked for a cent. Tonight I'm asking."
"Name your price and go," the hotel heir said, and took out his phone.
The race car driver was already typing.
"Take it and don't call me," the pianist said.
One by one the phones lit up, and one by one my own buzzed against the table.
I did not look at the screen until the surgeon, last of the six, tapped his.
Then seven confirmations came through from the bank.
That was all I had wanted from them.
Anthony had not moved.
He set his phone down beside his tea, turned it face up so I could see his transfer was larger than the rest, and met my eyes.
So I walked out.
I made it through the lobby and halfway to the revolving door.
"June."
He had followed me, and he was not out of breath.
Anthony stood in front of the glass with his coat over his arm.
"Six men just called you a cheap print," he said, "and you didn't flinch. Listen to me. Don't go to Maine."
I had told nobody about Maine.
Not Anthony. Not any of the other six.
Not even my mother's neighbors knew I was going there tonight.
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