"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 slippersl" The robe was thrown over an easy chair. The slippers had been dropped at its base.
"Leave them," be said.
I knew I bad 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 penlike 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 bear 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," be 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 u~ 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 bow 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.
He was looking down at me. He was so large and strong. I was afraid he was not pleased. I smiled my prettiest up at him. I adjusted the towel a bit about my breasts, seemingly inadvertently, accidentally, pulling it down a bit, and then, hastily, with seeming modesty, tucking it securely, much higher, even more closely, about my body. "It is only," I smiled, "that you took me by such surprise. I did not know what to do."
"I understand," he said.
"It is not every day," I said, smiling, "that a girl finds herself surprised in her own apartment and then, in effect, forced to present herself before unexpected guests clad only in a towel."
"Mat is true," he said.
I smiled again.
"I hope that you are still interested in me," I said, teasingly, and, I am afraid, a bit anxiously.
"Perhaps," he said.
I would have preferred a more affirmative response.
There was a moment of awkward silence. I hoped they were not disappointed. I did not want to fail to please them. I would have been willing to do anything. I would even have been willing to let them hold me in their arms, or kiss me. I would even have been willing to let them make love to me. I knew such things were common. Why should a girl not turn her charms to her own profit? I did not want them to lose interest in me. They paid well.
"The coffee is ready," he said.
"Yes," I said, gratefully. I could no longer bear it perking.
I recalled I had been told to make it.
I hurried into the kitchen.
In a few moments I was serving them coffee, in white cups on the rectangular, black-legged, white-topped Formica table.
The kitchen tiles felt smooth and cool under my feet. They sat about the table. I felt aroused, and very feminine, serving them. I then poured myself a cup. "Put your cup on the floor," said the man, "there, on the tiles." Puzzled, crouching down, I did so.