Chapter 4 #2
“He will—you have to trust that he will,” Jacquelyn says.
Joan shakes her head emphatically. “I won’t be able to move on until justice is served—I know it.”
My eyes widen as I try to piece together the story. “Did a professor at Columbia do something?”
Joan’s eyes lift, her gaze on mine, before she nods and sniffs. Kat speaks up then, her tone sympathetic. “Savannah was raped
by one of her professors last semester.” Kat swallows, letting her words hang heavy in the air. “She never recovered—her grades
fell and she dropped out and . . . well, she suffered a lot. She committed suicide in February.”
“Oh my God,” Aubrey covers her mouth with her palm.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe.
“She reported him, but the university covered it up—it makes me so angry,” Joan says. “We paid
so much for the best education and sent them our precious girl and they couldn’t even keep her safe. I’d take down all of
them if I could. The whole system.”
“It’s still a man’s world, isn’t it?” Another woman speaks up. Anger flashes in her eyes. “My sister was given a date rape
drug when she was at a bachelorette party in Cabo in college. She woke up in a strange bed all alone—had to walk back to her
hotel barefoot at dawn. It took her a solid year of therapy to be able to sleep at night. And of course, she had no memory
of who did it. Just bruises and blood and knowing she’d been violated by a stranger.”
“One of my daughter’s friends was sexually abused by her boyfriend,” Jacquelyn says.
“They’d only been dating a few months and he told her he wanted to marry her some day—that he couldn’t picture his life without her—but one night he had a few drinks and things got out of hand.
They were trying some of that dominance and submission stuff in the bedroom and he tied her up; she started to have a panic attack and begged him to untie her.
He didn’t. She cried. She told him to stop.
He raped her. Said later he thought her tears were just part of the scene, whatever that means. Asshole.” Jacquelyn shakes her head.
“And my daughter was turned down for a position in the company she was interning for last summer because she refused to fuck
one of the executives in the company. It’s disgusting the way some men seek power through sex,” a blond woman across the table
says.
The women around the table hum and nod their agreement.
“The world is so attuned to men,” Kat says, shaking her head with outright disdain. “It seems impossible that they all aren’t
blissfully happy, but they aren’t—they’re miserable, and all they think about is acquiring more and more—power, wealth, control,
women. It’s so dehumanizing.”
“And all women think they’re different—think they can change a man or make him happy enough to rein in his appetites,” a woman
across the table adds. “They think that there are some things that will never happen to them, but they’re all wrong. You know,
I have a friend at The New York Post—I know she’d be willing to publish an op-ed. What better way to ruin a man than take down his reputation? The bad publicity
alone would probably get him fired.”
“He’s tenured,” Kat informs the group. “And he’ll just deny it. The most disheartening aspect of this is that there are countless stories just like this one—of men going unpunished for these absolutely terror-inducing crimes.”
“They’re stealing lives, psychologically and literally,” another woman says.The slow-simmering rage at this table is palpable.
I listen carefully as the group discusses ways of helping Joan with her crusade for justice.
“I stopped in at the shelter on 77th last week and spent two hours listening to a group of women speak about the physical
and sexual abuse they’ve endured. Oftentimes they’re left to raise the children on their own while the men in this city continue
with their promotions and business lunches at The Waldorf and run for political office and”—the woman swipes at tears forming
in her eyes—“It’s disgraceful. I know the world isn’t fair, but what is our justice system for if it can't protect the most
vulnerable in our society?”
“Well, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Kat purrs, a strangely sinister smile crossing her face. “Those women need the support
of women like us. They need someone to listen to their stories without judgement, someone to give them the opportunity to
rise above their circumstances when the cards are stacked against them, women to teach them how to play the game when from
birth the game is rigged against them. This is why our work is important.” Kat turns to me directly then. “We balance the
scales of justice and equality, we teach women how to control the power in a man’s world—not just with time and donations,
but with real action.”
“How long have you been working with women?” Aubrey asks.
“Our first meeting was in 1979,” Kat explains.
“Our mission from day one was female empowerment and to provide a sanctuary for women who have had their voices stripped from them. You could say we’ve turned generations of women from victims to villains.
” She pats my knee under the table. “It’s our calling.
And we’d love your help reaching the next generation, Elyse. ”
Her icy eyes linger so long on mine that a dangerous chill courses through my veins. Kat's gaze feels more telling than any
words she's uttered since we arrived at Tempsford Manor. I can't shake the feeling that if I knew what was best for me, I
would decline the invitation to join The Society. I’d pretend this ladies’ weekend never happened. But it's too late now—curiosity
has gotten the best of me. Danger or not.