Adapted from the Short Story, "Candid Camera" by Ann Douglas. Used by Permission of the Author
Denise rode the elevator up to the ninth floor. Getting off and walking up the corridor to the security office, she swiped her card through the door-side reader.
"Quit feeling sorry for yourself," she muttered, as the door opened. "You knew the deal."
Which wasn't much help, when everyone else in the LaSalle building was up in the Starlight Lounge.
This year, held on the sixty-ninth floor, the Christmas party was "the" event of the year. Or at least the event of the season.
"You're working tonight, so live with it, bitch."
Calling herself bitch always helped.
Blue-eyed and blonde, with shoulder length hair, Denise was a part-time security guard, and a part-time student. In the mornings she attended Northwestern University, then spent six of her seven evenings watching the floors. Boring, but the money was good. And she had time to study. Best of all? Tuition reimbursement. This alone, made the employment worthwhile.
Entering the security station (the fishbowl as everyone called it), Denise said hello to Ed Simeon, then dumped her gym bag in the corner.
"And a good evening to you," Ed replied, not looking up from his book.
A retired Chicago city cop, Ed was roundly robust, gray as a battleship, and miserably funny. The father of six, he had fifteen grandchildren, half a dozen of whom were older than Denise. He liked his newest employee enough to let her come in late sometimes, and to leave early. Denise enjoyed his attention, also knew Ed would never act upon it. She knew that for sure: he had already had the chance.
Retrieving her bag from the floor, Denise dumped it on the counter. "Quiet night?" she asked.
Ed said, "Quiet as a tomb." He finally looked up. "Everyone's up at the party."
Denise scowled. She muttered, "The least they could have done was rescheduled us in shifts."
Ed laughed. "You got a lot to learn, kid."
Denise gave him the finger. Then she stuck out her tongue. Then, to show him Ed still loved him, she blew him a kiss.
"Tart."
"I am not."
"You are if I say you are. I'm the boss."
Denise went, "Oooooooo," and flipped him off again. She loved her Ed Simeon. Even if he were a pain.
Unzipping the bag, Denise removed a large textbook and a binder full of notes. "You going?" she asked.
Looking at her with a neutral expression, Ed said, "Yes. I wish you could too, but one of us has to be here, and it ain't gonna be me."
Denise tucked hair behind her right ear. "I got plenty to keep me busy," she said. "Besides," and here she grinned cutely, "someone has to guard the file cabinets and chairs."
Ed laughed. Then he grew serious. "What about that dress of your's?"
"What dress?" Denise said, looking pointedly at the book.
"The dress you bought for this party," he said. "That dress."
Denise said, "Oh. You knew about that?"
"Nothing escapes me," Ed said. "You should know that by now."
Denise laughed. "I'm beginning to learn that." She put the book on the counter--her Comparative Literature text--and opened the binder. "It's okay," she said. "Really. I'll wear it sometime."
Your wedding day, perhaps?
"You enjoy yourself for us both," she said.
Ed remained silent and Denise let the silence extend.
Come on, her inner voice nagged. He's older than your dad.
So what, she thought. Daddy's good looking, and so is Ed Simeon.
Slut.
Cunt.
Don't call me that.
Then Leave me alone, Annie.
Anne was Denise's middle name, also the name of her inner voice, with whom she had conversed with since childhood. Annie was her best--and sometimes only--friend.
Ed rose, and began gathering his things. "Beth said to thank you for coming in early. She wanted a jump on the party, and you gave her that."
Denise said, "Then go and enjoy it, old man, and stop bugging me."
Then Ed did something that both shocked Denise and thrilled her. Coming up behind her, he slapped Denise smartly on the tail, then kissed her cheek.
"Merry Christmas, stooge."
Denise grew incredibly red. She blurted, "Ed!" and then burst out laughing. "Get out of here, you!" she cried. "Before I call your wife!"
Ed went laughing to the door. "By the way," he said. "Don't ask why, but they installed cameras in four copy rooms downstairs." He shrugged. "Guess someone's been stealing the toner. Or mooning the machines. Either way, don't say I didn't warn you." He looked at Denise over his glasses. "I know what goes on down there, after hours."
Denise, already lit up like a Roman candle, violently shook her head. "Not me!" she denied. "Not on your life." Then she broke out laughing and exclaimed: "At least not here!"
Grinning hugely, Ed stood undecidedly in the door. Then he gave her a wave and let the door close. Denise listened to his footfalls receding down the hall.
"Whew!" she said, fanning her face. "That was intense."
Had Ed actually just whacked her?
Oh, yes, her inner voice said. He most certainly did. Then Annie warned: That man, despite what you think, Denise, wants to fuck you, really bad.
Her face hot enough to melt ice at fifty yards, Denise had to agree.
* * *
The fishbowl to herself, Denise put up her feet and leaned back in Ed's high-backed chair. She watched the monitors flicker. Stretching mightily, she emitted a loud, "Ummmm!" making joints everywhere pop. She yawned really wide.
"I need a good fuck," she declared.
Giggling, she looked quickly around the room. Then she said it again, more loudly. "I need a
really
good fuck." Then she sighed and leaned back in the chair.
Well, you won't get it here, Annie said. Not even if Ed comes back.
"Which is pretty okay," she replied. "Because he'd probably kill me."
You're not that out of practice, Annie said.
"Out of practice enough."
It's only been six months.
"Yes, six
long
months," Denise said. "Now leave me alone. I gotta work."
Scanning the bank of monitors, Denise got out the log, and started making notes. This was the dreariest part of her night, the constant writing of notes. Management thought (correctly, too) that if you didn't make notes, then you weren't watching the monitors, and if you weren't watching the monitors, then security was shot.
Security, Denise thought. What security?
The reality of it was--there was no security.
The week before Denise got her job, a twenty-six-year old woman on the tenth floor was raped. Caught by two men in the stairwell after hours, they bound her wrists with her own pantyhose, then spent the next hour raping her mouth. Then they took turns raping her ass. Then they raped her mouth again, right out of her ass.
Deciding she was too much fun for only the two, one of the rapists called two of his buddies on his cell phone and invited them in. They hurried on over. This woman had three daughters and a husband at home. Denise understood she was very pretty, but very demur.
They left her spread-eagled on the eleventh floor landing, her ankles and wrists bound to the stair posts. Her panties were stuffed in her mouth and her pantyhose yanked down over her head. They left alligator clips on both of her nipples and one on her clitoris.
Evidently, leaving the garage that day for lunch, the woman had inadvertently cut off one of the men. He vented his rage that evening.
Now, there were cameras in all the stairwells.
Sighing, Denise picked up her book and began to read. She kept away thoughts of the party. She kept away thoughts of her girlfriend--ex-girlfriend, excuse me--Meredith Wentz. Since they'd broken up (was it really six months?) Denise found herself more, and less interested in sex. More with the men that she met, and less with the women. Truth was, for the first time in her life, Denise's interests seemed pretty well split. She'd kiss a penis or a pussy, whichever came first.
Yeah, right, she thought. Stop with the fucking jokes.
Truth was, Denise felt practically sexless.
"But I still need a fuck," she said.
Well you're not gonna get it here, Annie retorted. You need to date.
"I don't want to date."
You just want to fuck.
"That's right."
Then go and fuck Ed Simeon.
"Maybe I will," she said. "So there."
* * *
Two hours had elapsed. Per the ever watchful eyes of the cameras, everything was fine. The party up in the lounge was in full swing--she'd turned that monitor off an hour ago--and aside from the desk guard downstairs, Denise doubted another soul was loose in the building. She sighed. Then she sat up.
Was that Jane Marsh? Walking down the east corridor on level ten?
"Hello there, Jane Marsh," Denise whispered. "What are we doing tonight?"
For two months now, Denise had suffered a crush on Jane Marsh.
Ten years older than Denise, Jane had short, coal black hair, a finely featured face, a trimly kept body, and great big black eyes. Denise loved her black eyes. A senior account executive with Bear Stearns, Jane was invariably well dressed. For the party tonight, she wore a sequined black gown, full length to the floor, with a low back and a modestly cut bodice. She wore black heels.
Working out in the gym every night, often at the time Denise took break, Jane and Denise had struck up a friendship. Getting a forty-five-minute workout daily helped Denise stay in shape, but she was fooling herself about Jane Marsh. The woman politely but firmly rebuffed even her half-hearted advance, which Denise had not even deliberately made.
"I couldn't even buy you a drink," the twenty-year old sighed.
She sharpened the image on the display, only to loose Jane beneath the camera. She did not reappear on the next monitor in line. "Where did you go?" she said, switching between views. There! Just entering the tenth floor copy room.
The tenth floor copy room? What was she doing in there?
Looking at the status reports, Denise discovered that Jane's destination was one of the newly monitored locations. And the camera was concealed. Switching on the feed, Denise leaned forward to watch. She found Jane, unexpectedly were glasses, standing at the big photocopier, punching numbers into the keypad.
