Meritocracy, Ch. 1
By Leila

My name is Leila. I was sitting in a booth at a restaurant in Manhattan and staring down at a plate overflowing with eggs, sausage, hash browns, toast, and a lot of grease. It was late, and in a few hours I would be home in Miami. I ate all that I could and drank as much water as the waitress could bring. Shiners were growing around both of my eyes, and I would have to wear a lot of makeup to class next week. The bruises and lumps on my arms, legs, torso pulsed with heat. Kathy, the small brunette sitting across from me, lingered over a salad and checked her phone while I ate. She was in her 40s and a midtown socialite. When my plate was empty, she gave me a big smile and asked me how I was feeling.

“Sore. Hungry. Full. Exhilarated.”

“I am so glad to hear it. I want you to know that it was so much fun watching you fight. It wasn’t your first one, I take it?”

“No. I’m not a pro or anything, but I’ve been around a bit.”

“Does it feel good?”

I thought about it. “It’s too complicated to say it feels good. There’s a lot of pain, of course, and I don’t enjoy hurting other people. I do enjoy winning, though, and being over my opponent. I added, lowering my voice, “I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t feel good to slap a woman in the face if she has it coming. And we all have it coming.”

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I grew up in Sao Paulo, where my father owns a major construction company. He sent me to England to a boarding school even though I had wanted to stay at home, but for college I talked him into letting me go to the University of Miami as a compromise. My mother was Thai, and the two of them had met while he was going to Oxford—his family has been at the top of Brazil’s social ladder since my great-great-grandfather moved there from Germany. My mother had gone to England to study classical dance, but when she was thrown out of the school she took up less respectable types of dancing. And that was not acceptable to my father’s family. When I was seven she moved back to Thailand. Everyone who knew her told me that I inherited her looks and her dancer’s body. That legacy put me on the outside of my father’s family, and I never knew my mother’s.

In my junior year, I was working at a sports bar, wrestling in a ring. I got along well enough with the girls there, but I was always separate from them because of my looks and the BMW I drove to work. It was a good way to make spending money, but I didn’t really need it. I needed the rush I got spending the money I had earned in that ring. While shopping with some of that money, I met a local woman named Kim and her girlfriend; we tangled in our ring and then later Kim brought me into an arranged fight between the two of us and two other women. That match was in the condo of an older man named David, an investment banker from New York. I attracted his attention, and a few days later we went out to dinner.

The dinner date was only three days after my two fights in his condo. I wore a long dress with a jewel neckline that covered up the bruises that I had earned at David’s against Claudia and Gemma. It was the beginning of May, and the extra clothing stuck to my skin in the Miami air. David sent a car to pick me up, and I chatted with the muscled driver. He reminded me of Raul, my bodyguard when I was a little girl living with my father in Sampo. He had been thrown off the police force—quite an accomplishment there—and I had bothered him to show me how to fight. My father spent most of his time at work or entertaining his clients, and I followed Raul around our compound and made him drive me everywhere. At last I bribed him with brightly colored string bracelets, which I made for him and were supposed to be good luck in Thailand for people who believed in nonsense. And so Raul taught me about leverage, conditioning, taking a hit. He was killed the year before I came to America when he ran into a group of men from his time in the police.

David met me at the door and told me how beautiful I looked. We kissed, and then he led me into the living room. All the furniture had been replaced after the competition, and the nighttime view of the bay was impressive even though it could not compare with the view from my father’s house on the coast back home. David was wearing a gray suit with a loose white shirt, and as he sat me down on the couch I ran my hand over the open portion of his chest and along the line of his collarbone. He gave me a glass of wine and took a scotch for himself and stared at me. I felt the way I always did with men who had money and power: I was gliding over a stage as they applauded and watched grimly. I finished my wine and asked where we were going to eat.

“We have a table at Creatori’s at 9. How are you feeling? Not too sore?”

“I have a few bruises, a few scratches. Nothing like what happened to Kim, of course.”

“What a fucking way to end a great competition. They got her stitched up, though. And we’ll get the carpet replaced.” He finished his scotch and got another for himself and a new glass for me. “Claudia gave you a bit of a pounding, but I thought that you did a nice job of coming back against Gemma.”

“Both of my fights were with tough, competitive women. And I am pretty competitive, too, so they were good match-ups. And they were both more mature women with a lot of experience. I do have some experience, but I’m not as mature as they are,” I added, which brought a smile from him.

“Claudia proved to be a handful, in particular.”

“Two handfuls,” I replied, and we both laughed. I touched his forearm. “And yes, she’s tough and skilled, and she did win that fight. She gave me a few bruises, but I think that I gave her a few too.”

“You’re studying at Miami, right?” he asked, which surprised me. “What do you want to do? You don’t seem like you want to live off of daddy’s money.”

“How do you know that daddy has money?”

“It’s obvious just talking to you, for one thing. You’re from a third-world economy, but you’re studying in America and you’re wearing a dress that runs a few thousand dollars and drinking wine that’s five hundred a bottle. So yeah, you come from fucking money. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud that you’re going to have access to places and experiences that the swarms never will. I went to Deerfield, Yale, Wharton, and I’m not going to fucking apologize for it. But, I’m also in the information business, and I do my research.”

“You have me pegged, I guess,” I said.

“I’m not pegging you down, I’m just getting to know you. So what do you want?”

“Well you are right. My father owns a construction company in Sao Paulo. I’m studying architecture, and I have a summer internship at Bederson’s here in town.”

“Not going back home for the summer, eh? Not going to see daddy? So you want to stand on your own, but not too much.”

“I don’t think that I would put it that way,” I replied, setting the wine glass on the table.

“It isn’t a bad thing. You want to be a professional, and there is no reason for you to give up the access that you have from your family. Why should you have to go live in some ghetto? Why should you be ashamed of who you are?”

“I’m not being a bitch about it, and I’m not ashamed of who I am and who I come from.”

“What’s wrong with being a bitch about it? Be a bitch, and fuck up anybody who has a problem with it. That’s how my business works.”

“That sounds enjoyable.”

I let him kiss me, and then he asked, “How do you feel about New York? I have to head back in a few days anyway. We could get a flight tonight, spend the day there and I can put you on another flight and you’ll be back here tomorrow night.” He ran his finger over my hair and tucked it behind my ear. I nodded and leaned in and kissed him, and then he said, “Tell me about Claudia.”

“What about her?”

“I want to hear what you think of her,” he said. “What was it like to fight her?”

I slid off my shoes, pushed him onto his back, and sliding up my dress onto my hips sat astride him. “She’s a beautiful and successful woman. She has a gorgeous body and a pretty face, and she’s intense and focused. For other women, that makes her a bitch, which is okay. I’m a bitch too,” I added. I could feel David becoming energized beneath me. “Slapping her face, attacking her chest, pulling her hair. It was a rush.” He was running his hands over my hips and my breasts. “Rolling around on the floor, struggling against her, when I fight another woman I feel born again. Like I’m running through the sand along the beach.” Now I was imagining my fight with Claudia, the storm and rage of brown flesh and black hair.

I stood and pulled David to his feet and led him into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed. In front of him, I slid down my dress to reveal white demi bra and panties, the tight sleek lines of my legs and stomach and the swell of my breasts. He sighed deeply and grabbed hold of my hips with his soft, weak hands. I cupped his face in my hands, but as I leaned in to kiss him he shook his head and whispered, “Hit me. Please.” I slapped him across the face, and he smiled and nodded as his cheek bloomed red. I hit him again and again, and tears were starting to form in his eyes. Measuring him, I cupped my hand and reared back and swung with all my might. He yelped and flopped back on the bed, and I jumped on him. I pulled open his pants and grabbed his dick, small and soft like his hands. He moaned and I squeezed his dick and he moaned louder. It got hard, and I slapped it back and forth and he yelped.

“This is what it feels like to have your breast squeezed,” I said. “This is what it feels like to have your hair pulled.”

David stared at me, his eyes wet, and then he nodded and I started slapping his dick again, and when it was hard I slid it into myself and rode him, pinching and hitting his torso until I was done.

We were in New York by 9am and at David’s condo after an early lunch. It had a view of the United Nations building and the East River with wood floors and a full wall of glass. I stood in front of the panoramic glass in my bra and panties, and David brought me a sack with shorts, blouse, and shoes that all fit. He had texted his assistant, and she had gone out and bought clothes for me. She had good taste, too, although a bit conservative compared to what I was used to in Miami and Sampo. David stood behind me as we stared at the skyline. He asked me what I was thinking about, and up came a vision of my mother back in Thailand someplace, dancing or hitting up some guy and her fading looks. I had not spoken to her in years. I said that I was thinking of all the plebs scuttling back and forth, the grime and the trash and the noise and the guns. He hugged me and promised that none of the plebs would ever touch me. Then he said that it was time for us to go or we would be late for our appointment.

He took me to a spa. It was a remodeled building made of glass and marble, and I felt like I was in the Upper East Side version of posh. The women who staffed were thin brunettes with bad accents, loud makeup, and harsh faces from starvation dieting. I was in a strange city without luggage, and I was an authentic embodiment of health and beauty. The woman who helped us at the front desk looked me up and down with a smirk, and I noted her imitation watch and imagined her New York apartment with a bed in the middle of the living room and mold around the exposed pipes. David checked both of us in and then steered me toward a table with an older blonde woman. She rose and came straight at me with a forced smile and her hand extended.

“My name is Danielle,” she said, “and I’m David’s girlfriend.”

“My name is Leila, and I’m his new girlfriend.”

“I’m going to let you two girls get to know each other,” David said. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Play nice now,” he said, kissing both of us on the cheek, Danielle first.

She and I both took notice of the order of the peck on the cheek. She suggested we head back and get changed. The changing area was nearly full of yuppies and housewives, some of whom obviously worked very hard on their bodies. Danielle and I got clear views of each other’s bodies as we put our clothes away and wrapped ourselves in the protective ward of the fluffy white towel, that worldwide symbol of the pampered woman. She was somewhere near 40, and she had gotten a bit of flesh on her cheeks and her stomach, but you could see that she had been a beautiful woman in her youth. She still had that glow of femininity that a lot of men would still find attractive. Her large natural breasts and the sweep of her legs would help with that. I saw her looking at my body with narrowed eyes, and I made no effort to avoid the comparison.

We went to get our massage first. We were lying side by side on our tables, with our towels pulled down and two older Asian women pushing and prodding at us. They made no effort to engage us in the usual small talk, and they seemed to have caught the tension in the air, sharing a few knowing looks. “You’re so tense,” the woman working on me said as she pressed her fingers into my thighs. “You need to relax.”

“I’m always telling her that,” Danielle said. “She is always pushing herself too hard at work.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I replied.

“Are you out of college?” Danielle’s masseuse asked. “You look so young.”

“I am, and thank you. I get that all the time. Just good genetics, I guess!” I added the last with a girly laugh, and the two attendees laughed with me.

“She’s a model,” Danielle interjected. “Of course she has great genes.”

“I knew it,” my masseuse said, leaning over me. “You’re so pretty.”

“She didn’t even need to go to college for it, I’m always telling her. But she managed to create a career for herself even after leaving SUNY Rochester after her first semester. That’s just the kind of woman she is.”

“That’s me,” I added. “When I get my hands into something, I finish it off.”

“Are you in any fashion magazines?”

“She mainly does videos, actually,” Danielle said before I could answer, and the two attendees lost their enthusiasm. We were all silent, and then the woman working on me said that I had gotten tense again.

“Don’t let her be too modest,” I said. “She had a modeling career of her own. She was in magazine ads, newspapers.” I could feel Danielle turning to look at me. “This was years ago, of course. The competition in modeling is so intense, and for most women the window of opportunity is short. But I keep telling her that she could make another run. Not at the top, but with her boobs—and her face is still rather pretty—she could still get work in a certain market.” Now I could hear Danielle’s harsh breathing.

The massage came to an end, and we got a mani, pedi, and facial in total silence. As I lounged in the chair, being pampered, my face covered in muck, my thoughts ground over and over on the woman reclining next to me. Blonde, pretty and curvy, and secure and powerful in her lifestyle. She had been David’s girlfriend for years, most likely, and she would have a great deal of influence on him. David had put us here together so that we would come to hate each other, but I couldn’t know whether it was for her to feel threatened by me or for me to have the chance to forcibly retire her. Or both. She was thinking similar thoughts next to me, except she knew what kind of relationship she had with David but knew nothing about who I was. To her, I was the Other Woman, and she was right to feel threatened by me.

We were sitting side by side in the lobby when David came to pick us up. He was on his phone, yelling, and he barely said a word to either of us. We all got into his car with his driver, whom David told to head to Bergdorf Goodman. It was an old slab of a light grey building, the solid opulence of old New York from before the glass walls of David’s condo. There, we split up as I looked at the cases of watches and necklaces and Danielle went up to the shoes on the second floor, while David stood near the entrance and continued to yell into his phone with only a cursory glance in my direction. Alone, I went up to the sixth floor and picked out a black bikini for myself. As I looked myself over in the dressing room mirror, the saleswoman and a customer both praised the way it arched over my hips and flattered my breasts. With my new purchase under my arm, I found Danielle surrounded by shoes and two sales assistants whom she was berating. When she saw me, she sent them away and told me to sit down by her.

“I don’t like you very much, you know,” she started. “David does this kind of thing from time to time. Brings a new trophy along to get me jealous, make me feel threatened.”

“You should feel threatened.”

“I’ve got a good thing with David, and he’s smart enough to know that he has a good thing with me. I’m not going to be run out of it by some little South American girl.”

“You should know that I don’t like you, either.”

“Now you’re catching on, little girl. Do you know about David’s thing? And not his dick. I assume you’re well acquainted with that device.”

“It’s how we met. Fighting, not his dick.”

“Then you’ve figured out that’s why he’s thrown us together like this. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. But I’m still here, and I’ve gotten some experience at this over the years.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of experience,” I said icily. “And I have some as well, outside of David’s world. And you should also know two other things. Last night was our first date, and I don’t have any interest in being his entertainment.”

“So what’s the point of all this?” she asked. “Why are you sitting here? Why aren’t you getting on a plane home?”

“Because I’m interested in settling up with you. Just the two of us.” So saying, I opened my bag and showed her the bikini. “Are you up for it?”

She looked into the bag, and then into my face, and with a smile she gave me an address. “It’s the apartment David rents for me. 9:00 tonight.”

She sent David a text, and he came upstairs and paid for three pairs of shoes without looking at them. He was fuming, drumming his fingers on the desk and muttering about a Swiss bank that was threatening to back out of an investment he had been putting together, something to do with life insurance and health care. Back in the car, he apologized and said that he had to go to the office but that we should feel free to spend the afternoon getting to know each other. He said that we would all have dinner together in Midtown. The car dropped him off first, and when he was gone Danielle and I rode in silence. She told the driver to take her home first, and when he did she gave him a hundred and explained that she and I had done more shopping and had argued with each other the entire time. This did not seem to faze him any. He took me back to the condo, and I spent the afternoon sitting on the balcony, watching the city.

At 6:30 David called, apologizing again. The Swiss were being obstinate, he said, and he didn’t know when he would be getting home. I told him not to worry about it and that we would have plenty of nights to have dinner together. I ate some leftover fish and drank plenty of water, and then I did my hair and my makeup. Around 8, wearing the bikini under shorts and a shirt from his closet, I took a taxi to Danielle’s apartment. It was a nice-looking building, but older, and nothing like David’s. It did have an elevator, though, and I went up to the top floor and followed the hallway to the end. I received a few appreciate looks from two men who were hanging out by the elevator, but by city standards it was a safe building and I smiled back. I knocked on the metal door, and a petite brunette answered.

“You must be Leila,” she said, hugging with one arm so that she not spill her wine. “I’m Kathy. I’ve heard a lot about you. Come on in. Look at that, wearing David’s shirt and shorts. How dare he not buy you better clothes.” She had pulled me into a small entryway. A brick wall blocked us from the rest of the apartment. “You are just so, so pretty,” she said. “I can see why he likes you so much.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Kathy.” I didn’t know anything else to say.

“My husband is David’s lawyer. His name is Mark. They went to Deerfield together. Don’t even get them started on that or we’ll be here all night. And I understand that you have to get back to Miami.”

My mouth was hanging open, at which point someone yelled for Kathy to bring me inside. Around the corner we found David, another man whom I took to be Mark, another couple, and a single man, and Danielle standing in the middle of them. She was wearing a long t-shirt that came down to her bare thighs, with a good deal of makeup. Everyone turned to Kathy and I, and she introduced me to the group. I barely heard them. Danielle and I were staring at each other. Kathy suggested that we all move into the back bedroom. As the others moved, glasses of wine and liquor in hand, David came to my side.

“Welcome to Danielle’s apartment,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m going to chalk this up to inexperience on your part. If you don’t want to participate in our shenanigans, that’s your choice, but you’ll find that there isn’t much that I don’t find out about. And I usually get my way.”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I smiled and accepted his kiss and then I followed him down the hall. The mattresses had been taken off the bed and set side by side on the floor. The rest of the furniture had been moved out. Danielle was standing on the far corner of the mattresses, and I stepped into the near corner. Danielle took off her t-shirt. She was wearing a pink bikini with full cups out of which flowed her D cup breasts. She pushed her blonde hair back with both hands, sticking out her chest. I took off my shirt and shorts, revealing my lean, strong body encased in the black string bikini. My skin was darker than hers, like weak coffee, and my hair was black and straight. My breasts were C cups, smaller than hers but young and firm, and I had a hint of power and definition on my flat abs and the lines of my shoulders and thighs. I eyeballed Danielle’s body and then returned her glare.

“I’m going to wreck that new bikini you bought for yourself today,” Danielle said.

“I’m surprised you can see it with all of that eye shadow. Covering up a few wrinkles, honey?”

With a snarl she came at me, hands outstretched. I let her get close, and as she yanked my hair I slugged her in the stomach. As she leaned into me, grunting, I yanked her hair with my left and brought my right up into her breast. She staggered, and now tugging with both hands I brought her down to the ground and got on top of her. Only weakly was she tugging on my hair, but in her eyes I saw grit rather than panic. She called me a bitch and slapped me in the face. The strikes hurt, rang my ears. She hit harder than I had expected. I put my forearm on her upper chest and lowering my head punched her in the ribs and stomach. Each thudding blow into her torso made me feel good. She hit me on the side of the head and then with both hands pulled my hair from the left side of my scalp, and when I shifted to get relief from the pain she bucked her hips and I slid off of her.

I rolled clear of her and got to my knees but she was already up. She kicked me in the stomach, knocking the air out of my body. My chest hitched and I doubled over. “Let me help you,” she said, and pulled my head up by the hair. Holding my head in place, she slapped me and then with a backhand. After the backhand she let go of my hair and I flopped onto the mattress. I was still gasping for air, and my head was ringing. My hair was covering my face, and I looked up through a mess of black strands to see Danielle strutting around me. Preening for the crowd, with her bad makeup and her chest stuck out. Ignoring the seizures running through my stomach and chest I lunged forward and hit her in the back of the knees. We went down in a tangle. She tried to wriggle free, but I crawled held her down by the hips and then got atop her again. Her skin was wet and her hair matted with sweat and her makeup was ruined. She tried to reach up and pull my hair, but I put my hand on her face and snaked my hand around the front of her bikini top. I yanked her up and holding the top slapped her with all my strength. The material tore away and her head hit the mattress with a thud.

My breath was still hitching and I rolled off of her and got up. Standing, hands on my hips, the breathing was easier and I sucked in all the oxygen I could. Danielle was on her hands and knees, shaking her head, her blonde hair and her heavy breasts swinging under her. I let her get to her feet to avoid a takedown like I had done to her. We faced off, both of us sweaty and gasping for air. She came in and slapped me in the face and as she did I tagged her in the breast with my fist. She backed off, frowning, and when she started circling I rushed her. I slapped her across the face, and as she raised her hand I slapped her across the breasts and then in the side. She clinched onto me, but only trying to hold on and I swept my foot through both of hers and dumped on the mattress. She went soft under me, and I slid behind her and locked my legs around her waist. I squeezed my legs and she moaned. She was pushing weakly on my thighs, and I got one arm around her neck and grabbed her breast with the other. She was shrieking now and she pulled my hand off her tit.

“You fucking bitch,” she gasped.

“You should save your air, honey,” I told her. “We need to make sure that everyone can see that pretty face of yours as you submit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not tonight.”

I pulled her hair back and patted her on the cheek, and then I went to work on her boob. I pinched and squeezed. She was tugging on the arm that was around her neck, and then when I started pulling on her nipple and then digging my fingers into her tit she started shrieking again and then making violent sobbing hysterical sounds. When she gave up on the choke and flailed at my hand on her chest, I yanked her head back by the hair as far as it would go and choked her and scissored with all I had. She slapped wildly at my arms and then weakened, the sobs coming hard now, and then David was pulling at me and saying it was over. I left her topless, crying, and standing over her I put my hands over my head and swiveled my hips and torso to the cheers of my small, elite audience.

David booked a morning flight to Miami for me as we sat in the living room. Danielle had refused to leave her bedroom, but then after David spoke to her she came out, wearing only her bikini bottoms, and shook my hand, and then we hugged. I could feel her jealousy through her skin. She turned sharply and went back to her bedroom, and David followed her. Kathy offered to take me to eat, and David arranged for his driver to meet us with my things at the airport. And after eating and talking with Kathy and several hours of sitting at JFK Airport, the soreness and fatigue settling down deep into my body, I was flying back to Miami.