John Norman - Kajira of Gor

I turned away from him, suddenly, and hurried away. I had not yet been out of the limousine for five minutes. I could not yet speak.

***

I took my hand from the shower handle. A few drops of water descended from the shower head. It was warm and steamy in the bathroom, from the warm water which I had been running. It was about ten or eleven minutes after eight P.M. It was Tuesday. Yesterday, on Monday evening, at eight P.M., I had received another call. I had been instructed to take a shower at precisely eight P.M. this evening. I had done so. I slid back the shower curtain. There was steam on the walls and mirrors. I looked for my robe. I had thought I had left it on the vanity. It was not there. I stepped from the shower stall, and picked up a towel and began to dry myself.

Suddenly I stopped, frightened. I had thought I had heard a noise on the other side of the bathroom door, from beyond the tiny hall outside, perhaps from the tiny kitchen or the combination living and dining room.

“Is there anyone there?” I called, frightened. “Who is it?”

“It is I, Miss Collins,” said a voice. “Do not be alarmed.” I recognized the voice. It was he I took to be the leader of the men with whom I had been in contact, that of he who had first seen me at the perfume counter.

“I am not dressed,” I called. I thrust shut the bolt on the bathroom door. I did not understand how he could have obtained entrance. I had had the door to the apartment not only locked but bolted.

“Have you cleaned your body?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. I thought he had put that in an unusual fashion.

“Have you washed your hair?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. I had done so.

“Come out,” he said.

“Do you see my robe out there?” I called.

“Use a towel,” he said.

“I will be out in a moment,” I said. I hastily dried my hair and put a towel about it, and then I wrapped a large towel about my body, tucking it shut under my left arm. I looked about for my slippers. I had thought I had put them at the foot of the vanity. But they, like the robe, did not seem to be where I thought I had left them. I slid back the bolt on the bathroom door and, barefoot, entered the hall. There were, I saw, three men in the kitchen. One was he whom I now knew well. The other two, who wore uniforms much of a sort one expects in professional movers, I did not recognize.

“You look lovely,” said the first man, he whom I recognized, he who was, by now, familiar to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Make us some coffee,” he said.

I proceeded, frightened, to do so. I was very conscious of my state of dishabille. Their eyes, I could sense, were much on me. I felt very small among their powerful bodies. I was conscious, acutely, how different I was from them.

“How did you get in?” I asked, lightly, when the coffee was perking.

“With this,” he said, taking a small, metallic, pen like object from his left, inside jacket pocket. He clicked a switch on it. There was no visible beam. He then clicked the switch again, presumably turning it off.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Come along,” he said, smiling, and getting up from behind the kitchen table. I followed him into the combination living and dining room. I noticed the coarse, fibrous texture of the rug on my bare feet. The other two men followed us into this room.

“There is my robe,” I said, “and my slippers!” The robe was thrown over an easy chair. The slippers had been dropped at its base.

“Leave them,” he said.

I knew I had not put them there.

He opened the door to the apartment and looked outside.

He was seeing, I supposed, if anyone was in the hall.

He stepped outside. “Lock and bolt the door,” he said.

I did so. I then stood, waiting, behind the locked, bolted door. I glanced back at the other two men, in their garb like professional movers. They stood behind me, in the apartment, their arms folded.

I heard a tiny noise. Fascinated, I saw the bolt turn and slide back. I then heard the door click. The man re-entered the apartment. He closed the door behind him. He returned the pen-like object to his pocket.

“I did not know such things existed,” I said, Inadvertently, frightened, I put my hand to my breast. I was very much aware that only a towel stood between me and this stranger.

“They do,” he smiled.

“I didn’t hear you enter,” I said.

“It makes little noise,” he said. “Too, you had the water running.”

“You knew, of course,” I said, “that I would not hear you enter.”

“Of course,” he said.

It had been in accordance with his instructions that I had been showering at the time.

“What are those things?” I asked. I referred to two objects.

One was a large carton and the other was a weighty, sturdy metal box, about three feet square. The metal box looked as though it would fit into the carton, and, presumably, had been removed from it, after having been brought into the room.

“Never mind them now,” he said.

The metal box appeared extremely heavy and strong. It reminded me of a safe. I wondered if it was. Too, I wondered why it had been brought to the apartment.

“Is that a safe?” I asked, indicating the box. It was sitting on the rug, like the carton. It was squat and stout, and efficient looking. Because of its weight it was impressed, with sharp lines, into the rug.

“Not really,” he said. “But it may be used for the securing of valuables.”

I nodded. There seemed little doubt about that. It appeared to me, indeed, that it might serve very well, by virtue of its strength and weight, for the securing of valuables. I conjectured that I, with my strength, would scarcely be able to move it about.

“What is in it?” I asked. I was curious. In the side of the box facing me I could see two small holes, about the size of pennies. I could not, however, because of the light, and the size of the holes, see into the interior of the box. The interior of the box was, from my point of view, frustratingly dark.

“Nothing,” he said.

“I see,” I said, in an acid tone. I was certain he was not being candid with me.

“Come over here,” he said, pleasantly, beckoning to me.

I joined him.

I glanced over at my robe on the easy chair, and the slippers at its foot.

“My robe and slippers,” I said, “were in the bathroom, were they not?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You then entered the bathroom while I was showering, and removed them, did you not?”

“Yes,” he said.

I had neither seen nor heard him doing this, of course. The water had been running. The shower curtain had been drawn.

“Why?” I asked.

“We decided that you would appear before us much as you are,” he said.

“But, why?” I asked.

“It would be more convenient for us,” he said. “Matters might then proceed somewhat more simply for us than might otherwise have been the case.”

I was angry. Obviously I had been manipulated. I had been ordered to shower. Then, while I had showered, my apartment had been entered and my robe and slippers removed from the bathroom. I had been surprised in my own apartment. Then I had been given little alternative other than to present myself before them, doubtless as they had planned, well cleaned, fresh from the shower, and half naked.

“Are you angry?” he asked.

“No,” I said, suddenly, “of course not.” I was suddenly afraid that they might cease to find me pleasing. Doubtless their entry into my apartment had some purpose. I was then certain I understood their motivations. They had wished to take me by surprise, to observe my reactions, to see me as though I might be confused or startled, to see how fetching and exciting I might appear, captured, so to speak, in a moment of charming disarray. I hoped I had not disappointed them. Doubtless they were interested in testing me for a performance in some commercial, perhaps having to do with soaps or beauty products. I hoped that my responses had not jeopardized my chances for participation in whatever might be their intended projects. I did so want to please them. They paid well.