Instead, she took a piece of clothesline out of a bag she'd left in the closet, placed a loop around her wrist, and then violently sawed it back and forth to give herself a rope burn. "Christ, that hurts," she said, mostly to herself.
"Want me to kiss it and make it better, my love?" Vanders said, making kissing expressions.
"Shut the fuck up, you idiot," she snarled and placed a loop of rope over her other wrist and sawed it back and forth, although not quite as enthusiastically. She also avoided swearing so she wouldn't have to hear Vanders's sympathy.
When she was done, she undressed, placing each piece of clothing she'd been wearing in a plastic bag, taking extra care with the moist spot on her blouse. Then she got down on her elbows and knees.
"I want you to fuck me as hard as you can," she told Vanders, who could hardly believe what he had just heard and hopped off the bed. This was the stuff other guys wrote letters to Penthouse magazine about. But when he attempted foreplay, she angrily shoved his hand away. "You idiot, I told you I need this to look like I was raped," she said. "Are you wearing a condom?"
"Yes."
"Then tear me a new one…both holes, you faggot, and if you stop before I tell you, I'll rip your dick off and shove it up your ass."
Vanders did as he was told, but fortunately the roofie kicked in full speed about then, and she hardly felt him hammering away. Just a faraway burning that reminded her of her childhood, accompanied by the sound of Vanders grunting and trying to talk dirty. The more things change, she thought idly, the more things stay the same.
Seven hours later, the morning arrived with her brain throbbing against the interior of her skull. It was sort of how her feet felt after a night of wearing that five-hundred-dollar pair of Manolo sling-backs she bought a half-size too small out of conceit.
She was in Vanders's bed but didn't know how she got there and was suspicious of a dream she'd had of him "doing it" again that morning while she was still out of it. He was still sleeping next to her but woke with a start when she sat up. He smiled and attempted to stroke her arm. She hissed and clawed at his face, drawing blood, which made him cry out. "What did you do that for?" he complained.
"Unauthorized fucking," she replied. "Did you use a condom every time you had sex with me?"
"I think so," he said, playing dumb. She raised her hand to claw his eyes out. "Yes! Yes!" he shrieked. "Jeez, no sense of humor."
Ryder got out of bed and looked at her wrists, happy to see the ugly red marks looked worse than they had the night before. No pain, no gain. She shrugged.
Vanders rubbed at his wounded cheek and sniffled on the bed, hoping she'd come back and make up for hurting him. But she didn't even look his way as she strode over to the closet and dressed in the outfit she'd picked out for that day and left there. She'd chosen a knee-length beige skirt and a high-necked white blouse, both of which showed off her figure but in a modest way.
Part of her still hoped that Michalik would come to his senses-Plan B-and this whole thing could be handled much more easily and pleasantly. They'd begin their affair, he'd leave his wife, she'd get her doctorate, they'd get married, maybe even have babies. So long as we have enough money to have a nanny, she thought. And there'll be no nursing on these tits. It was all she could do to look troubled as she walked through the building, past students and professors, and the protesting secretary outside of Michalik's office.
The fantasy lasted until she walked in and shut the door behind her. She'd hoped that he'd look up from his papers, his eyes teary with love. Instead, he looked up from where he'd been holding his head in his hands, bleary- not teary-eyed…and angry. "What did you put in my beer?" he demanded.
"What do you mean?" Ryder replied. She saw that he was wearing the same clothes and hadn't shaved. Good, she thought, he'll have a hard time explaining that to the little woman. Her eyes had already drifted over to the bookcase and she saw that the lipstick-smudged beer glass was still in place. "You know very well that I came to you last night for help on my thesis and you raped me." She raised her voice a little at the end and hoped the secretary at least caught the word rape.
"I did no such thing," he said. "You, you…put something in my drink and then did that…like a cheap whore."
"Oh, please, Alexis, it was you who put what's commonly called a roofie in my drink and then had your way with me," she said. "I am still sore, you animal you. At least, that's what I'll be telling the administration and, I dare say, the cops before the day is over, unless you do what I say."
"You are a liar," he said and started to rise from his seat but the pain in his head forced him back down. "I did none of these things."
"Maybe you don't remember," she said and shrugged. "But believe me, dear Alexis, I can prove that you did." She pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and showed him the rope burn. "See how you tied me up, Alexis, so I could not resist you."
He stared at her wrist dumbfounded. "Proves nothing," he scowled, but a worried look occupied his face.
"Ah, yes, wondering how your wife is going to react to all of this?" she said. "I guess she's used to you not coming home at night. Or is she? And how is she regarding young women claiming you raped them on nights when you didn't make it home? Hmmm?"
With a supreme effort, Alexis rose out of his chair. "You lie! I will tell the truth and you will be exposed!"
"Fine," Ryder said. "We'll both tell our sides of the story, but believe me, I'll win. However, there is a way out of this for both of us."
"Out of this? How? Is it money you want?"
What she wanted at the moment was to laugh. Such a look of hope had briefly crossed his face. He thinks he might buy his way out of this. It was clear Plan B wasn't an option; the idiot really did love his wife. So on to Plan C. "No, not money. But you'll, of course, give me exceedingly high marks on my thesis paper that I gave you last night," she said.
"Paper? You didn't give me a paper."
"Alexis, listen, don't be dense if you can possibly help it," she said. "You will give me high marks for my thesis. Then you will sponsor me before the doctoral committee which, with you putting in a good word, will make my appointment a done deal."
Michalik looked at her so long and hard without saying anything that she wondered if the drugs were still affecting him. But then he shook his head. "I will not," he said, "give in to your blackmail. I could never live with myself."
The anger went out of Michalik's eyes, and he hung his head. "Please, I ask you not to do this thing. My wife does not deserve this pain, but I cannot do as you say, my honor will not allow it."
"Fuck the honor, Alexis," Ryder sneered. "You're going to lose poor little Helena, and your baby, if I remember correctly, and lose your job. Hell, after they let you out of prison in a dozen years or so, they'll probably kick your pathetic poetic ass back to Moscow."
She sighed as if he was forcing her to make a difficult decision. But she'd pretty much expected the reaction-all part of the plan-from having listened to his lectures for the past two years and knowing what a romantic fool he was. He was bound to make his choice based on his self-image rather than practical consideration.
"Well, if that's how you feel," she said. "You know, it's really too bad, Alexis. You could have had it all. Me. Your life. But now it's all going to go away."
Sarah smiled. It was good to have a plan. Initially, there wouldn't be much in it for her except the publicity, and it never hurt an aspiring actress to have her photograph and resume in the newspapers and on television. But as soon as the criminal trial was over, she planned a civil suit to wipe him out.