The Girl Beneath the Skin

I stood in utter disbelief. I thought and thought and simply couldn't make heads or tails of the whole thing. I couldn't comprehend why she wasn't completely ecstatic. I had done nothing but help the poor girl from the moment she got here, and now she was blaming me for ... for ... WHAT? I sat back down on the couch again and held my head, as if maybe I could physically keep the frantic thoughts from escaping. My brain felt as if it was full of jigsaw pieces, most of which were missing. I don't know how many minutes I sat like that before I became aware that she was in the room again. I stood up abruptly.

"Jenny, I ...."

"Mr. Grant ... Tim," she said quickly, interrupting. "If you don't mind ... I'd like to accept your gracious offer of dinner tonight, but with one condition. Let's NOT talk about the Hobart Contract. Okay? We'll have a date, just the two of us, right here in this office. But please, please, let's not talk about the Hobart Contract."

"Jenny," I pleaded, "if I said something that ...."

"Please, Tim. Please? Not another word. Okay?"

I slumped back onto the couch. "Sure," I replied, trying to hide confusion, exasperation, and a myriad of other emotions. "By all means. I'm afraid the food may not be hot any more."

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," she said quietly, righting her chair and sitting back down. "May I have a little more wine, please?"

"Um ... of course."

As I poured her another glass, she reached down beside her and picked up her small, black purse. She fished around in it for a moment, took out a small glass bottle with and eye-dropper cap, and set in beside her plate.

"What's that?" I asked her, nodding toward it.

"I'm not going to tell you," she answered, smiling, "Not yet. When I'm ready to let you know, I'll tell you then."

I glanced up at her, and she met my gaze almost happily. She smiled broadly. I suddenly realized that behind her crooked mouth, she has almost perfect teeth; straight and pearly white.

I groped for something to say. "You changed your hair."

"I pulled it back while I was in the restroom. Do you like it?" she asked lightly.

"Truthfully? I like it better down."

Her smile froze and her hand faltered a moment before setting her chopsticks down. Without comment, she reached behind her head and pulled the rubber band off, freeing her cascading hair. As if by habit, she smoothed the right side across her ruined face. But before she could resume eating, I leaned across the table and stroked it back behind her ear.

"You have beautiful hair," I said honestly. "But it shouldn't be used as a curtain. You have absolutely no good reason to hide behind it." And I began eating again.

She regarded me curiously for a long moment. "You're doing it again," she said gently.

I sighed. "Doing WHAT!?" I implored.

But she ignored me. She took a deep breath.

And then she began.

"It happened just over six months ago," she said in a quiet, resolute voice.

"Jenny," I said seriously. "You don't have to ..."

But she disregarded me completely and continued.

"It's so strange about pretty girls. When a girl has a pretty face, all the boys can think about is her body. From the moment I started dating, guys were always coming on to me, trying to cop a feel, trying to get me into bed. I was engaged, you know. He wanted me ... wanted me constantly. But I told him no, not until we were married. And he was content to wait. For him, I was WORTH waiting for. But then, after the accident, he didn't even wait until the bandages were off. He sent me a letter. He broke up with me by sending me a stupid letter! He told me I could keep the ring. And would you believe it? I forgot all about it. I'd forgotten I even HAD it. I found it a month ago in the lining of my suitcase, and I pawned it to pay off my overdue rent."

Her words were disjointed. Her narrative skipping backwards and forwards and I tried to keep up and make sense of it.

"I borrowed a car from my roommate's boyfriend. An old Jeep. I could barely steer the thing. It didn't have power steering, and I almost drove it off the road twice before I got to the Mathematics seminar being put on by the military up in Victorville. But then, on the way home, the stupid thing just quit. It just ... quit. I was on an old two-lane road, out in the middle of the desert, and there were no other cars in sight, and the lousy jeep quit running. I got out and somehow got the hood open, but I didn't know the first thing about car engines. There was smoke coming out of the battery. White smoke. Lots of it. But I didn't know anything at all about batteries, either. There were these two plastic cover-looking things on top of it, and the smoke was pouring out of one of those. And I just thought that if I took those covers off, then maybe it would cool down. You know?"

"Aw, God, Jenny," I groaned.

"It exploded. It just ... exploded ... right in my face. And there was no one around. Not for the longest time. And there was no water. Maybe if I'd brought a bottle of water with me, but I hadn't. And no one came ... no one came. And it burned. It burned and burned and burned, and no one came."

"Aw, God, Jenny."

"Do you know what 'maximum coverage' means in an insurance policy?" She didn't give me time to answer or comment. "I just had a student policy. I didn't even read the thing before I signed it." She sighed. "Do you know how fast you can go through $100,000 when you're in a hospital burn unit? I was there one month ... well, actually five weeks. Seven skin graft operations, but those were all, and I quote, Vital and Necessary, unquote. The insurance didn't cover anything cosmetic. The cornea transplant didn't take, so they removed my eye. They said that I'd be good candidate for a 'whole eye transplant,' but that wasn't, and I quote, Vital and Necessary, unquote.

"And then, the insurance money was gone. All gone. And that was just the last thing in a whole LIST of things ... and they just kept getting worse and worse. One right after the other. First came the 'Dear John letter' from David, and then a letter from the Dean telling me that my research grant had been cancelled, and that the whole project staff had been laid off. The next thing was a letter from the administration department saying that 50% of the teaching assistants in the Physics Department were getting laid off 'in seniority order,' and of course, I was one of them. Then a letter from the state saying that 'due to budget cuts my scholarship was no longer active.' And if I was no longer a student, then I'd have to start paying on all my student loans. And then, the icing on the cake, the hospital discharged me when the insurance would no longer pay. The chief surgeon in my ward gave me twelve prescriptions, for pain, for infection, for all sorts of things. I still have them in my purse. What good are prescriptions without a way to pay for them?

"And finally came the realization of what it's like to be an ugly girl. More than ugly. The looks people gave me! The way they'd cringe! Some would actually cross the street to keep from having to pass close to me. EVERYONE did it, to one degree or another. Before it had happened, had I ever done that to anyone? Honestly, if I ever had, I couldn't remember doing so. But then, these people probably wouldn't remember ME, either. They don't WANT to remember people like me. That's just the way it is. Undoubtedly, it's always been that way. No one even realizes it's happening ... unless they're someone like me ... like I am now. And WE can't forget. WE can never get away from it. It's always around us. Ever-present.

"I have no family. And no one would give me a job. Usually, I wouldn't even get past the secretary in a personnel department. And do you know what the most common reason they gave for NOT hiring me? I was overqualified. Overqualified!

"I hocked the ring to pay the back rent on my hotel room, and then I found a room in Watts for $90 a week. When I started missing payments on that place I really panicked. On Monday, I went to a job interview at the YWCA. I thought it was for an entrance-level management position, so I dressed up in the nicest clothes I still had, but when I got there, I found out that it was just for a part-time position for janitor. I took it. A hundred a week.

"I sat down on a bench outside the place and tried to figure out what I was going to do. I owed $180 in back rent, and I wouldn't be paid for another two weeks. I'd have to go to a shelter. I was SO hungry. I hadn't eaten in three days, except for half a candy bar I'd found in the hall trashcan in my apartment building. I'd hit bottom, Tim. There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do. It was a problem with no possible solution.

"And there, sitting on the bench beside me, was a day-old newspaper. And there, in the want ads, was your notice about hiring a secretary. And there, right across the street, was your building ... this building. And then ... and then ... and then, there was you.

"You gave me the job, right on the spot. And I simply couldn't believe it when you insisted on giving me a 'one-month's signing bonus.' Remember how you dragged me down to personnel and forced them to cut that check? They practically refused, but you wouldn't leave their office until they'd written it out for me. I'd walked into this building without a penny to my name, and now I was walking out with a real job and $2,000 in my pocket. But none of that really mattered to me. Not really. What mattered to me was you, Tim. You'd treated me like a real person. An honest-to-goodness real person. I'd forgotten what it was like to have someone be polite to me. I'd forgotten what courtesy was like. But most of all ... most of all, I'd forgotten what it was like to be respected.

"And suddenly, I WAS somebody. Not a big somebody ... not really. A secretary. Not a theoretical physicist, like I'd planned to be all those months ago. But, don't you see, Tim? My prospects went from being a part-time toilet-scrubber at the 'Y' and living in a shelter, to working in an environment where someone actually respected me. Someone who gave me challenging tasks. Who complimented me for completing those tasks. Who put his OWN JOB on the line to protect ME! And finally, somebody who wants to step aside and give ME credit for something worth a million bucks!"

"Step aside?" I asked loudly. "The idea was YOURS!"

"Bosses don't give their employees credit, Tim. Bosses steal their employees' ideas. In my seven years of college, I've had four different profs who stole my ideas. I'm not bitter ... it's just something that happens. It happens all the time. It happens everywhere. But it never even occurred to you to do that, did it? It never even entered your mind."

I could only look at her, dumbfounded.

"You, Tim, are my knight in shining armor. You have been from the very beginning. And every day, every time I turn around, you're doing more and more for me. Showing genuine respect in more and more different ways. Can't you understand? Don't you have any inkling what kind of effect you're having on me emotionally?"

I gawked at her. It had been just about the saddest story I'd ever heard, but she hadn't shed a single tear from her good eye. Now, she was more or less telling me that I'd somehow forced her to fall in love with me. What was I suppose to say to something like that? I imagine most guys would have felt something akin to revulsion; but honestly, all I felt was immense confusion.

"Um ... Jenny ...."

"Tell me about your wife," she said, leaning forward to fetch my empty wine glass, once again flashing her magnificent cleavage at me.

"What?"

"Your wife," she said, matter-of-factly as she refilled first my glass, then her own. "Why did you leave her?"

"Evelyn?" I stuttered. "I didn't. She left me."

Jenny set the wine bottle down between us, but left both glasses sitting next to her plate, untouched. "Okay, why did SHE leave YOU?"

These rapid changes in topic were helping my confusion factor not at all. "Um ... I suppose it was the same old story," I told her, shrugging. "She wanted more and more things in life. Better and better things. Bigger things, faster things, prettier things. And I tried to give them to her. The more she wanted, the harder I worked. The harder I worked, the less I was around. She needed a man, and I wasn't there. So she found another one." I shrugged one last time. "Like I said, same old story."

She picked up the little glass bottle and started unscrewing the stopper-cap. "Did you love her?" she asked, not looking up at me.

"Yes."

She squeezed the stopper, filling the eyedropper, then looked into my eyes. "Do you still?"

That made me stop and think for a moment. "No," I answered finally, honestly. "I think I still love the THOUGHT of her, but I don't love her anymore. I guess I just miss her. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," she said softly. She held the dropper over my wine glass and counted out three drops. Then she replaced the stopper in the bottle, picked up her purse, and dropped it back inside. She held my glass before her face and swirled the wine around for a few seconds, then placed the glass back in front of me.

"Drink that, please," she said quietly.

I stared at her open-mouthed. "What the hell was THAT?"

She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, her hands together, palms down, and she rested her chin on the backs of her hands as she looked back at me mildly. "Do you trust me, Tim?"

"I don't do drugs, Jenny," I said defensively.

"I guarantee you there's nothing either narcotic or illegal about what I put in your drink," she said calmly. "Do you trust me?"

I leaned back and regarded her in a whole new light. She wasn't trying to hide her face now at all. Her mouth, twisted from her accident, curved slightly upward at the corners, smiling gently. Her one good eye sparkled. Her arms formed the top of a triangle with her elbows down like that on her parted knees, and the tops of those soft, creamy breasts peeked through, with that sparkling crystal warming itself luxuriously between them. I felt suddenly warm. And more to the point, I felt suddenly that I was no longer in control.

I sighed. "Yes, of course I trust you."

"Then, please," she said, maintaining the same pose.

I reached forward, picked up the glass, and downed the wine in three gulps. I tasted nothing except the wine itself. I wondered if the liquid had been water. It had looked like water. Was she just testing me for some reason? I waited for her to explain.

Instead, she smiled triumphantly, began picking up the paper plates, napkins, and various leftover food containers, placing them in the plastic bag they had come in, and asked: "What are you going to do when she comes back to you?"

"What? Who?"

"Your wife, of course. She WILL come back eventually."

"What?" This woman was keeping me hopelessly puzzled. "No. I mean, she won't come back. She's remarried already. What WAS that?"

"Oh, she'll be back. You're a good man, Tim."

"What?"

"You're a good man. Honorable. Respectful. Honest. But most of all good. Do you have any idea how few GOOD men there are in the world? Yes, she'll come crawling back to you someday. You should have some sort of idea how you're going to handle that. Are you feeling sleepy yet?"

"What? No!"

"We'll give it a little more time, then. Why do you sleep in your office at night sometimes?"

"What? Um ... I work late a lot. I get tired, and I crash here on the couch. There's really nothing for me at home, anyway. What difference does it make? What was that you put in my drink?"

"Oh, just something to help you relax. You're uptight. You need to relax. That's a very comfortable-looking couch, alright. Tuesday morning, when I came to work early, I stood here and watched you sleeping for the longest time. You looked so relaxed and peaceful, lying there. You look sort of sleepy right now, as a matter of fact. Have you ever been hypnotized, Tim?"

And now, I was really concerned. I felt the blood rise in my face, and I sought frantically for something intelligible to say. "No ... I ... um ... no. No, I've never ... um ...."

"You'd really like to be, though, wouldn't you?"

"Jenny ...."

"Shhh!" she ordered, and I fell silent, staring. For the first time, I realized that I'd somehow acquired an erection. "Lean back on the couch, please. Do it now. That's it, Tim. Now, relax and wait to get sleepy while I tell you what's happening here. That's right. You're going to feel very sleepy very soon now. Just listen while you relax for me.

"Tuesday afternoon, after you'd gone home, I came in here, into your office, and I fired up your computer. I really know a great deal about computers. It didn't take me long to get through your password and into your files. I wanted to know more about you. In fact, I wanted to know ALL about you. And do you know what? The more I found out, the more I realized that this big front you put on for everyone about being such a nice guy was no front at all. The more I looked for a flaw in my knight's armor, the shinier I found out it really was. You are TOTALLY honest. You really are!

"And you would not BELIEVE how hard I was falling for you. Head-over-heels in love. And the more I resisted, the more I fought it, the more realistic I tried to be --- the more in love with you I fell. But what could I possibly do for a guy like you? There must be SOMETHING you wanted. Some secret something, that no one else ... not even your former wife ... suspected that you wanted. Some unfulfilled desire -- that's what I longed to find. That's what I yearned to discover.

"And I found it, Tim! Right there in your internet history. Right there in your temp folder. One more day, and your virus software would have purged it all! I was so LUCKY! Since I met you, I've become the luckiest girl in the world!

"You like 'mind control porn stories.' When you're here, all alone, late at night, you read them. But not just any kind of MC ... you crave stories about erotic hypnosis. I never even knew there WAS such a fetish. You don't mind me calling it a fetish, do you, Tim? That's what most of the psychology web sites call it. I checked out a couple books at the library, too. If it's any consolation, it doesn't seem to be an isolated sort of fetish, at all. Evidently, LOTS of people have it ... men and women, too. Most experts say that it's really rather harmless. The biggest drawback comes with the differences between the fantasies most people have and what REALLY happens during hypnosis. Real hypnosis, I mean. I didn't know anything about hypnosis on Tuesday, but I do now. I think I've become a bit of an expert, actually. I've read dozens of books during that time. Did you know I was a speed-reader? And I planned this little event ... but I truthfully didn't know it was going to happen tonight. Not until I was in the bathroom a few minutes ago. And then, I figured, why not go ahead and do it now? Are you getting sleepy, Tim? Oh, you ARE, aren't you?"

I couldn't believe this was happening to me. She'd discovered something about me that I'd never told ANYONE. This had to be one of the most embarrassing, impossibly frustrating moments of my life. What if that HAD been water in that little bottle? I couldn't let her talk me into some sort of trance by making me think it was something else! Could I? More to the point, would I? This was something that I'd had fantasies about as far back as I could remember. And now, it was happening. It was really happening. I felt my eyes flutter. But what if it HAD been water!?

"Oh, Tim, that's wonderful. Now, I need you to focus on something while I tell you the rest of it, okay? Would you like to focus on the candle, or on the crystal ball hanging between my breasts? You've been trying SO hard to keep from staring at my tits all evening, haven't you? Oh, now, see? I've embarrassed you, haven't I? Okay, we'll do the candle, then. Just look right at the candle, while I talk to you, okay? That's right. Just listen to my voice and look right into the candle and be sleepy for me, okay? Oh, Tim, you're such a good boy.