Dilemma is a Latin word. It means so much as having two choices that are mutually exclusive. Dilemmas can bring your life to a standstill; they can also leave you crazy.
After leaving Fleming, Juliana found a hidden nook somewhere in the puzzling maze of the villa. She sat down on a little bench and fought her tears. Her mind felt just like the labyrinth she'd just followed - a bewildering sequence of corners, stairs, and doors that opened - or didn't.
It would be easy to blame Fleming or Charrier, but they weren't the real cause of her misery, were they? They only grabbed chances - rewards, you might say; prizes for their unique talents. And anyway, was offering her body such a terrible thing, considering the wonderful gift it would enable - the gift of life for the man she loved?
Juliana knew it wasn't that easy. Oh yes, if she'd been the big chested, single-minded Melinda there might be no problem: she wouldn't even sit here probing her confused mind. But she wasn't Melinda; she was Juliana Enders, the thoroughly naïve Christian girl that didn't know how to just give her body. She realized, deep down, that Dr. Charrier knew that too.
She wasn't the elegant butterfly that let herself be fucked on the dinner table, like the girl in the party dress. She wasn't experienced like the tattooed woman, or pliant like the scared blonde she prepared to be fucked in the lounge. Juliana was an ignorant country girl; she had to find her way in a jungle of exotic plants named 'love' and 'sex,' grown into one inextricable knot.
The problem wasn't that she wanted out; she knew she couldn't. She was prepared to pay the prize of her body for saving her husband. What scared her was that it wouldn't stop at her body. She remembered her feelings while sitting on the doctor's knee being felt up, or being licked at the dinner table by Melinda. She recalled the incredible sensations that shook every nerve in her body and entered her mind.
Juliana sat in her niche, chewing on her dilemma. She didn't make a sound, but warm tears ran down her cheeks.
"Mrs. Austin."
The voice sounded clipped and British. It belonged to John, the butler. She looked up, rubbing the tears from her eyes.
"You have an appointment with Dr. Charrier, if I may be so bold to remind you," he said. Juliana sighed and rose.
"I know," she said. "Could you please show me the way? I'm lost."
The big black table was still there, and so were the abstract paintings and the modern draperies. The doctor rose from behind his desk. He wore a burgundy robe with gold and black print. Under it she saw a black shirt and pants. A sash closed the robe around his bulging stomach.
"Welcome yet again, Mrs. Austin," he said. "Please, let's sit over there." He gestured to a corner, where overstuffed club chairs stood around a low table. "So much more comfortable, don't you think?" He smiled as he led her there, and waited until she sat before sitting down himself. His big hands rested on his knees; his large pink head was reflected in the glass surface of the table.
"As for comfortable," he went on, "how do you feel now, Mrs. Austin, after adjusting for a few days?" She just stared at him. He asked how she felt?
"I feel awful, doctor," she said. His face fell. He leaned forward over the table.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," he said, his eyebrows frowning. "Did we cause any of your discomfort? If so, please tell us, so we can remedy it."
Was he mocking her? He looked sincere. She moved deeper into the leather chair, crossing her legs.
"It is just..." she said. "Doctor, I'm very worried about my husband." His face relaxed into a smile. He sat back.
"Of course," he said. "But there really is no reason for that. He is doing great, under the circumstances."
"Dr. Fleming just told me so," Juliana informed him. "He also said you wouldn't allow me to see him." The smile didn't leave, but it seemed to freeze. He rose.
"That's right!" he boomed. "He needs his rest. Can I get you a refreshment - coffee, tea, anything at all?"
"But I understand he is in a coma," Juliana said.
The doctor walked closer, his bulk blotting part of the light that came in through a tall window.
"Mrs. Austin," he said, his voice tainted with forced patience. "Your husband is in the best hands imaginable. You know that. We do our utmost to save his life, and we do that for free. It is my gift to you. Now I told you before that I didn't want to repeat myself on this, Mrs. Austin, but have you even started thinking about how to recompense us for our unselfish efforts?"
Juliana sat straight in her chair now, her fingers strangling the hem of her sweater. Everything felt so wrong, and yet: everything the man said sounded reasonable. He stood over her, looking down; his knees almost touching hers.
"At the dining table, Mrs. Austin," he went on, "and on my knee in the lounge you acted like a dummy, like a blow up doll that I could have bought for fifty dollars. Do you think your husband would have even a fraction of a chance if I treated him like you treat me - cold, absent and aloof?" Juliana felt tears flooding her eyes.
"Please," she muttered, looking up at the darkened face. The doctor went down on his haunches and took her hands in his. A smile returned to his lips.
"Are you a virgin, Mrs. Austin?" he asked.
It seemed a silly question; she was a married woman after all. Her mind went back to the many times Alec's penis had forced itself into her vagina. And yet...
"Yes, Dr. Charrier," she said. "In a way I still am. I have often given my body to my husband, but as far as real... sex is concerned, I guess I'm still a virgin. Does that make sense, doctor?"
He rose to his feet again, his joints creaking.
"Yes," he said. "That makes a lot of sense to me. And I think it explains our little problem." He held out his hand and helped her up. Then he put an arm around her shoulder, hugging her closer. His cologne was sweet and abundant.
"Now go to your room, Mrs. Austin," he said, walking her to the door. "Your lunch will soon be served. Take a nice nap after that, before you shower and dress in what will be laid out for you. Be as beautiful as you can and present yourself at the lounge around five o'clock."
Reaching the door, the doctor let go of her. She stopped.
"What will happen at the lounge, doctor?" she asked. He smiled.
"Let's say," he said, rolling from toe to heel and back, "you'll be deflowered at last, in a sense."
***
They say fear is healthy; it makes you either run or attack. Juliana knew fear from the calloused hands of her father or the brimstone of hell and eternal damnation. But she never knew the kind of fear that seduces you with its sweet, arousing embrace. Of that fear Juliana knew nothing.
She was a bunch of nerves, ever since she returned to her room. When her lunch arrived, she could only nibble. Her afternoon nap was a series of shallow nods at best. At three-thirty she washed her hair and took a bath, hoping the hot water would untangle the knot in her stomach. Caressing her slick skin, she tried to imagine what would be waiting for her. Images of the two women last night, didn't help much to calm her down.
Then her fingertips met the coarseness of regrown whiskers. She rose and stepped out of the bath, shivering from the cool air. She found a small lady shave and stood under a bright light to carefully remove the stubbles. Forcing her hand to be still, she felt her nervousness wane. She concentrated on finding every niche and whisker. Then she shaved her armpits and her legs.
Rubbing lots of lotion all over her body calmed her down even more. Wherever she massaged her skin, it turned pink; a sweet glow radiated from where she touched herself.
Returning to the bedroom, she found pieces of garment laid out on the bed. She picked up a black, stretch-satin top. It was not so much a bra, more of a short, tight chemise. The panties were black and made of satin too, more like very short boys' shorts. She pulled them over her smooth legs, secretly enjoying the goose bumps.
The other parts of the outfit were a black skirt made of fine-knitted jersey and a white see-through blouse. There were no stockings, but she found black pumps with higher heels than she ever wore.
Juliana sat down at her vanity mirror, only wearing the top and panties. Seeing her reflected face, her nerves returned. She surely couldn't be this, could she? And yet here she was.
She reached for a silver box and a sponge. Like the girl Mei showed her, she spread the pale foundation thinly over her face, throat and chest. Then she picked up a brush and dabbed sweet-smelling powder into her skin, adding pinkish rouge to accentuate her cheekbones.
Mei had pointed out which parts of her face to accentuate and which parts to camouflage. She had a generous mouth with good lips. But her main assets were her eyes - large and round and violet-blue, framed in long lashes.
Mei had shown her how to choose and apply the various shades of eye shadow, and how to draw deliciously subtle lines around them. Juliana's skills were still a far cry from the girl's, but after twenty minutes she knew she had outdone herself - and undone herself.
Staring at the stranger in the mirror she recalled the women at church muttering about 'painted faces' that belonged to 'Satan's whores.' Back then she'd been secretly thrilled by the phrase, having no idea what it meant. Now looking at the reflection of the smoky-eyed woman with the pale face and the red, sparkling lips, she wondered if she'd found its meaning. She shrugged. Then she freed her moist hair from its towel and took the blower to dry it. Careful brushing she created a golden halo.
The jersey skirt felt soft and slippery. It hugged her hips and stopped just short of her knees.
The blouse was transparent. It buttoned up to her throat and had long, wide sleeves. One could easily see the black top and the outlines of her arms and shoulders.
Juliana slipped into the pumps and rose, trying to walk. She thanked whatever God might still listen for her strong farmer's daughters ankles. As she strutted the length and breadth of her room, she saw it was time. Fresh anxiety made her shiver. She picked up her clutch and left the room, very aware of the perfume surrounding her.
Juliana's heels clicked on the marble floors, sometimes scratching when she hit an uneven spot. She turned a corner and almost bumped into Melinda.
