5
Lynn
A messenger was waiting at the door of my room.
"Mrs. Lynn Plath?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I was directed to hand this to you personally."
"By whom?" The question was merely conversation as I reached into my purse for the card to open the door and some money to tip him. I wasn't really listening and can't remember if he answered.
I assumed it was another congratulatory note. Fortunately I didn't tear open the envelope until I was in the room. Talk about a fall! I felt as though an elevator cable had broken. I abruptly sat down. That is to say I collapsed onto the bed. The photographs fell from my hand.
After a moment I leaned over and retrieved them. There were two pictures of me, somewhat fuzzy, but more than clear enough. In one I am naked on my knees facing away from the camera, my wrists tied. In the other I am on the bed, naked but for black high heels and the necklace Winston gave me as a wedding present. My ankles are tied in the air. My wrists are also tired behind my back, though they are not visible. My sex is completely exposed.
There were two other pieces of paper: the cover of FORBES on which I appeared; and a sheet of hotel stationery on which was printed: Telephone Room 1601.
A man's somewhat out of breath voice answered on the fourth ring.
"Mrs. Plath, I assume."
"Yes. And who are you and what do you want?"
"My name is Brad. I am just two flights up. Please join me. I'm sure we don't want to have this discussion inadvertently overheard."
Before I could respond, he hung up.
In disbelief I stared at the photographs. I knew exactly when the photos were taken and where and of course by whom, but I couldn't conceive how this Brad person had obtained them. I noticed that my face was not visible in either picture, though every other part of me was. Still there was the necklace. I assumed that he wanted money.
Leaving my purse in the room, taking only the card to unlock the door, I walked to the elevator and rode up to the fourteenth floor.
I had myself under control by the time I knocked. Or so I thought.
The door was opened by a monster. Literally and figuratively. One of the fattest men I have ever seen. I recognized him immediately as having been at an adjacent table at the award dinner. He is nothing if not memorable.
"Do come in, Lynn."
I pushed past him.
"What is this all about?"
"Would you care for a drink first?"
"No."
The room was large, with a bar to one side and a couch and several stuffed chairs loosely arranged around a low teak table on which was situated an open notebook computer. A desk and other furniture was scattered about. One wall of the room was all window glass. Closed doors led to other parts of the suite. The only unexpected objects were three camcorders mounted on tripods. One was directly behind the couch; the other two at the sides of the room. Red glowing lights indicted the cameras were recording.
"What is going on here?"
"Do please sit down."
"No."
"But you will want to see something, actually several things, on the computer."
He moved well enough on his feet, but had difficulty sitting, and just sort of leaned back until he sank onto the couch.
"Sit here, by me. I promise I will not touch you." He smiled pleasantly.
"I want to know what this is all about."
"The quickest way to learn is to sit."
His bulk caused such a depression in the cushion that I slid closer than I intended and brushed against his tree trunk thigh, before recoiling.
His smile broadened.
"Settled now?" he asked, and when I did not reply, reached out and turned the laptop toward me.
The image on the screen was the one of me on my knees. He clicked and the image changed to the other one of me in the envelope.
I sat frozen as click followed click and images of me that had not seemed obscene at the time but did now in this hotel room kept appearing on the screen. There were dozens. I hadn't realized there were so many.
When the horror show ended, we both sat silently until I finally asked, "How did you get these?"
"I will tell you, but in fact how I got them is not nearly as important as that I do have them.
"Now, all of those, along with the cover of FORBES for people who might not recognize the exquisite Ming Dynasty creation you wear around your lovely
throat--which I must say I particularly admire in the pose where you are standing with your head thrown back while wearing nothing else but black high heels--is ready to be sent as Email. You might want to peruse the list of recipients before it goes out and let me know if I have missed anyone who might be interested."
A click and the screen changed. Beyond my shock I was impressed with his thoroughness. As he well knew, he hadn't missed anyone. It seemed that everyone I had ever known was there, and a good many I had forgotten. Everyone at Broadthroup from my partners to the mail room. The adult members of my family, parents, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins. Members of committees and boards on which I served. Friends. He kept scrolling as I stared numbly. It went on and on.
A click and the screen changed. The word SEND was highlighted.
"As you now know, Lynn, I can change your life with the tip of one finger, though I don't suppose that most of the recipients will check their Email until tomorrow. I'm sure it will be interesting when you return from your triumph. Just imagine."
I did.
"How much do you want?"
He laughed. "I knew you would ask that. I am as familiar with your finances as I am everything else about you, and I assure you that I don't want your money. You have done quite well for yourself by most standards, but your entire net worth does not approach the daily fluctuations in mine."
It was then that I began to be afraid.
"Then what do you want?"
"Why it should be obvious. What else is there? I want you."
I felt as though I were on that falling elevator again. Stalling for time while my mind raced, I said, "You were going to tell me how you obtained the pictures."
But the unexpected reply only threw me into greater confusion.
"Your husband gave them to me."
"What?"
"Winston gave them to me, although I did not then know his name. He sent them over the Internet."
Anger flashed through me. "The incredible fool!"
"You must not be too hard on him. He did keep your face hidden. It was all anonymous. Except for the necklace, of course, and that only appeared in the one sequence. And what were the odds that anyone would ever make the connection. He couldn't have foreseen the magazine cover. No one could have. Besides he was lonely and bored and neglected."
"You know that?"
"I concluded it."
"Were there others?"
"You mean who received the photos? I believe so. In fact I am sure there were. Not many I don't think. Winston even let us suggest poses for you. Remember the dildoes and the spread eagle. You have already acquiesced to my wishes."
My brain was in overload. Too much information. Too many shocks. Too fast. As he intended.
"You need a drink. Tangarey and tonic is your usual. There is an unopened bottle on the bar. Go fix yourself one."
I did not trust myself to speak and shook my head negatively.
"You are much too intelligent a woman, Lynn, to mistake a demand for a suggestion."
I got to my feet and crossed to the bar. While my trembling fingers fumbled with the bottle top I heard a sound and turned to see him pushing the coffee table away from the sofa.
"While you are there, pour a very small cognac for me."
I noticed that he omitted please.
I finished mixing my drink and took a swallow. I considered not pouring his, but I did, turned and walked toward him.
"Sit there," he said, indicating the chair on the other side of where the table had been, about six or eight feet in front of him.
Only too willing to put distance between us, I sat down, keeping my feet and knees together, glad my dress was long. The camcorder directly over his shoulder stared at me like an unblinking eye.
He waited patiently until I took another swallow of my gin and tonic. As I lowered the glass, he said, "Remove your shoes."
I have relived that instant--and the next--endlessly, agonized over it as I have no other. I am justifiably considered to be decisive, and once a decision is made, I don't have second thoughts. But this. So precisely pedestrian an act. Something I had naturally done thousands of times.
I could see the faces, of Jason Walters, the senior partner who has been my mentor and is the individual most responsible for my promotion; and of Christopher, my personal assistant; and of Judy, my secretary, and of my parents, and my brother, Jack; and all the others. I could never return to the office. Not even to the industry. Though even at that moment, I did know I could refuse. This Brad person might not even follow though. It might be a bluff. But I sensed that it was not, that he would take pleasure in humiliating me one way or another. But as I say, even at that moment I knew I could simply walk away from everything and disappear with Winston that much sooner. But 'everything' was what I had worked for all my life. And I was furious with Winston for putting me in this position, however unwittingly. And even at that moment I knew, although I did not fully admit it to myself until a long time later, that some tiny perverse sliver of myself was aroused, or at least stimulated, sensitized, by the prospect of being used helplessly by this man. His very grotesqueness. To be touched by such a creature.
I have wondered if I had not already fallen under his control. I had come to his room. I had sat beside him. I had made and brought the drinks. But those were different. Removing my shoes was so innocent. And yet it wasn't. It was letting him tell me to undress. It was more than crossing a line, it was passing over a threshold to a whole new dimension in which I was truly helpless, where things would happen to me, where I would do things that I could not even imagine. Removing my shoes was surrender.
