Chapter 9

"DID YOU EVER HEAR OF WALTER MITTY?"

Dr. Wellington asked me that question during one of our sessions.

I said, "No, I don't think so. Who's he?"

"A fictional character," he said, "but a very interesting one. He symbolizes the daydreamer."

"So?"

"You do a lot of daydreaming." "Is that bad?" "Yes and no."

"Why do you answer question yes and no? It's one or the other."

"Not necessarily. A certain amount of daydreaming is all right. Ambitious people, citing their goals in life, daydream. In such case, the objective, the substance of the dreams, are wholesome.

But your daydreams aren't that way."

"What's wrong with them?"

"They're always about sex. They're negative."

"What's wrong with sex?" As I asked that I thought that maybe, if he'd come over on the couch with me, I could give him something to daydream about.

"One thing that's bad about daydreaming," he said, "is that if you do too much of it, you come to a point where you don't know which is which. You can no longer discern fantasy from reality."

"That's crazy."

"No, it isn't."

"Take your case. You've told me a lot of things that have happened to you."

"But I always told you which were the dreams and which were the things that really happened."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. What are you trying to do, get me all mixed up?"

"On the contrary. We're trying to straighten things out for you."

"So you do it by telling me I don't know what's true and what's false."

"If you'll be honest and think back, your truths and your fantasies do overlap. At times when we've talked, you've angled off into fantasy and made up adventures as you went along. And when you'd finished telling me, I'm sure you thought you had related something that really happened."

"You're out of your mind!"

"I'll tell you what I'd like to have you do." "What?"

"Write it down for me. Make it a biography. Write about yourself and the things that have happened to you."

"Why should I do that?" "Because when you write, you don't go as fast as when you talk. Writing is a slower process. That way, your mind will be slowed down and will perhaps be able to see the difference more clearly."

"You sound like you think I'm some kind of a case or something."

"We're all cases of one kind or another." "What kind of a case am I?" "It's a generalization, but you're channeling your energies into unproductive directions."

"So I like sex. And I admit it. You ought to try it sometime, Doc. You might enjoy it."

"I do find it enjoyable. But there's a matter of discipline. You might find that you'd also get satisfaction from exerting some self-control." "That's just a lot of abstract talk." "Perhaps, but will you follow my suggestion and write the story of your life?" "It will be a lulu."

"I've no doubt." He smiled here and went on. "Who knows? Perhaps it will be so interesting it'll make the best-seller list. Then you could sell it to the movies and make a fortune." "Who's daydreaming now?" He checked his notes and said, "Tell me again how you happened to leave home."

"I told you. Frank was mixed up with hoods. He was killed. Sis had a nervous breakdown and had to go to a sanitarium."

He stared straight into my eyes. "Are you very sure of that?"

"Of course I'm sure." He was trying to make me out an idiot or something, and I was getting mad.

"What sanitarium?"

"You know what sanitarium. What are you trying to do? See that I stay in this place forever?"

"Lorna, if you'll start writing it down, it may help you to — "

"You're after something?"

"After something?"

"You're trying to trip me up and make me tell lies. I know what happened and what didn't happen. When Frank was killed — "

"He was bludgeoned to death."

"That's right. They came to the house and killed him. The police were there. It was in the papers."

"Yes. That's true—"

"Well, I'm glad that you admit something is true!"

"And after Frank was killed and your sister went to this sanitarium, where did you go?"

"I'd been working. I had a job. I met a girl there and moved in with her."

"That was after Frank was killed?"

I sat up on the couch and wanted to climb over the top and claw his eyes out. He was trying to make a fool out of me!

"Yes —yes! After Frank was killed!"

When you went to work and moved in with your girl friend — after that — you never saw Lex or Hank or Pete again?"

"Of course not. That was kid stuff — with them — high school stuff. After I got out in the world, I began meeting real men."

"You lost that first job shortly after you got it, didn't you?"

"I quit. The boss made a pass at me, and I wasn't having any. He backed me into a corner in the washroom and tried to rape me. I reported him."

"Why don't you write that down as part of your biography?"

"Oh, damn you and your biography." "Lorna—"

I couldn't stand him any longer. I said, "All right. If I promise to start writing it down, will you let me out of here now?"

"It's a deal. I'll see that you're provided with paper and pens."

I got up and ran out of his office. It was stifling in there.

I didn't have the least intention of writing anything, but when I got to my room that afternoon I found the things, the paper and a ballpoint pen, and just for kicks I sat down and began to write.

And I guess I liked it because I kept on. It quieted things down in my mind.

The thing that Dr. Wellington asked me about happened this way. When I finished with school and went out on my own, I got a job in a big commercial credit company as a messenger girl. I carried things around because it was a big place, eleven floors to the building, and there were a lot of papers to be transferred from one department to another.

Then one day after five, with everybody gone, I was in the washroom. I hadn't been in any hurry, so I still had my uniform on. It was little jacket with a beige skirt and medium high heels. Very chic. All the girls wore them.

I was just taking the jacket off when Lee Holt came in.

Lee Holt was a department head. He was good looking and his clothes were sharp. He had a lot to say about hiring and firing on the fifth floor where I was stationed.

He came into the girl's washroom right from his desk, where I guess he'd been waiting for everyone else to leave. He didn't have his jacket on and his tie clasp, the one with the diamond in it, gleamed.

He smiled a real oily smile and said, "Hi, honey. Have you been waiting for me?"

I was so astounded, I couldn't even speak.

He believed in working fast, no preliminaries, and he came close to me where I was standing, almost in a corner of the washroom, pressed me against the wall and tried to kiss me.

I was so amazed that I didn't do anything and let him. His tongue was in against mine before I could take a breath.

But then my reactions came back, and I pushed him.

"Let me alone!"

"What do you mean, let you alone!"

"Just what I said. I want to change my clothes and go home."

He grinned. "Oh, I get it. Okay, honey. Strip off that dress, and we'll have our little interlude before you put your street clothes on."

"What interlude?"

"Are you kidding? You told me you'd be here, remember?"

"I'm here every night after work," I said with dignity. "All the girls are."

"Oh, come off it. Quit kidding and playing hard to get. We haven't got much time."

"Mr. Holt! I don't know where you got the idea I could be molested with impunity but —"

He laughed. "Molested. Impunity. What big words we're using. Come on baby, let's get with it."

He'd been pawing at me, and now he had me tight in that corner with my blouse half open. But I had my hands too, and I clawed at his face.

I thought that would stop him, but he was a very determined man.

He said, "You can't make a date with me and then get coy!"

He turned me around then, with my face to the wall and tight in that corner so I couldn't use my hands. They were against the wall and with his body holding me there, my hands were trapped.

"Okay," he rasped. "That's better. Now be a good girl and just stand still."

"I'll scream."

"Try it. There's nobody around." "The cleaning men."

"They aren't in yet. Besides, all they'd do would be to come in and watch. Do you want witnesses?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to let them help with this job," I said contemptuously.

"I won't need any help."

His hot breath was on my neck, and I writhed and struggled as I felt the back of my skirt being pulled up. Then his hands were on my bare flesh, caressing the backs of my thighs.

"Gorgeous," he muttered, his breath coming in little, short jerks now.

"Please," I said. "I'm a nice girl!"

"You can say that again," he replied. "Real nice. The nicest I've seen around here, or felt."

I felt only disgust and contempt for him and his animal ways, and I wasn't going to let him think I was afraid. As he felt for the elastic of my panties, I said, "Do you make a practice of doing this to all the girls, Mr. Holt?" my voice dripping ice.

"Most of them don't go around saving it the way you do, sweetie."

"I take that as a compliment, Mr. — ouch!"

I knew he was grinning. He'd pulled my panties down while I'd pushed and struggled and tried to escape and had been caressing my cheeks with both palms.

He'd whispered, "Nice, oh, nice," panting and pushing harder to hold me where he wanted me.

Then he'd pulled back in the middle, holding me with his chest while he opened his clothes.

I was all bare now, with my skirt pushed up against the small of my back and my panties way down around my knees. He'd had to jerk them down with force because I'd held my knees so tight together that my thighs ached.

But then he used a knee and a hand at the same time and I yelled "Ouch!" in spite of it being very unladylike, nothing more, really, than a great big grunt.

His vicious, filthy attack had forced my knees apart. In fact, I'd jerked them wide without realizing it, kind of trying to get free and was half squatting down there in the corner.

When I tried to straighten again, he had his knees inside mine and there was nothing I could do but stay that way, partially bent over with his flesh touching mine and his breath coming raggedly.

"Please," I said. "Honestly, Mr. Holt. I'm not that kind of a girl!"

He laughed nervously. "What I've found so far makes you just the kind of girl I'm looking for, like all the others except better!"

He was lunging and puffing like some disgusting animal, and all of a sudden I jerked and found myself trying to climb the wall.

"No!" I screamed. "Oh, my God, no!"

I began clawing at the wall, and then I found he had at least a small spark of decency in him because he muttered, "Sorry," and after that it was a little better. Disgusting and filthy and rotten from where we were and the position he had me in and the degradation he was forcing on me.

But with him it could have been worse.

I had resolved not to respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction of thinking that his brutal coarseness stirred me in the least.

But I was having trouble with my knees. They were weakening, weakening, turning to water and wanting to melt down, and there was nothing to hold onto on the wall. In a minute or so it was like I was sitting on his lap in that crazy position.

He was going mad as his passion rose, lunging, grunting and trying to push me up through the ceiling. A couple of times my feet actually left the floor and with his vigor at its height, it was frightening, the helpless sensation each time.

I had a wild, frightful vision of falling from somewhere and being mangled to pieces.

"Please," I begged, "oh, please have pity."

I don't think he even heard me. He was panting and babbling, and I felt his foul breath on my neck and his hand, around in front, clawing in under my bra and digging into my boobs. Clawing and pushing the hard nipples deep in as though he wanted to push them out the back so he could get at them with his drooling mouth.

Babbling, "Baby, you're the greatest, the greatest. Oh, man, what you've got, what you've got — He finished with a lunge that took me off the floor and when I came down, he wasn't there. Nothing to support me and we tumbled down together. He'd been cheated by his passion in the universal greed for ecstasy.

Mr. Holt rolled on the floor, mad and cursing weakly because that was how it finished. Blaming me.

"It wasn't my fault," I whimpered. "You're a beast. An animal!"

His passion spent, he became what he actually was, a timid, cowardly weakling. Only his degenerate lust had made him brave enough to come into the washroom and rape me in that disgusting manner.

He got to his feet and helped me up, a gentleman now. Oh, yes, a real gentleman with a sheepish look on his weak mouth and in his washed-out blue eyes.

He fixed his clothes and then, the last second before he left, he took his diamond tie clasp off his tie and thrust it into my hand.

"Here, Lorna. Take this, please."

I was indignant. I reached down and got my panties and pulled them up and said, "Never! What do you think I am? A hooker who does it for pay?"

"No, no. I just want to give you something, try to make amends."

"Amends!" I was outraged. "After pushing a girl into a corner and pulling her skirt up and her panties down and treating her worse than an animal, you want to make amends?"

He was in an agony of remorse and embarrassment.

"Please, Lorna! Take it as a token. As an apology. Do it as a favor to me."

I hated him, but at the same time I felt sorry for him. He was a pitiable creature who didn't have the will power to control his own nasty passions.

So, because I did feel sorry for him, I took the tie clasp.

"Sure you took it."

I opened my eyes and blinked when I heard that voice. I was on Dr. Wellington's couch, and I'd just told him about that disgusting incident and actually got lost in the telling, it was so terrible and vivid in my mind.

He was sitting in a chair looking at me with a blank expression.

"That's what I told you," I said. "That I took the tie clasp."

"You took it off his desk where he'd laid it while he went to the washroom, Lorna."

"That's a lie!"

"The men's washroom, not the girl's." "Why, Dr. Wellington! How can you sit there and call me a liar?"

"I'm not exactly calling you a liar, Lorna. Let's not put it that way. Let's say that we're trying to separate truth from fantasy, and we may as well start now."

I began feeling a little dizzy. "I was in the washroom after work and — "

"Mr. Holt is a man of excellent reputation. He's married and has four children."

"What's that got to do with it? A lot of married men with kids are rats. There are lots of them who would sneak around and take a girl's pants down — "

"But we're talking about Mr. Holt. He was the man who hired you, and he had the power to fire you."

"He did fire me. I said I quit, but he really fired me."

Dr. Wellington sighed, and the resigned look on his face made me hate him.

"I didn't tell you that when I came to work the next morning, he called me to his desk and smirked at me and said, "Lorna I guess we understand each other. The next time —"

"There will be no next time, Mr. Holt," I told him.

He laughed and said, "I'm afraid there will be. We'll go to a hotel — "

"Mr. Holt —" Dr. Wellington cut in.

"I'm telling you about that louse! He wanted to get at me again and I refused, I refused, can't you understand? And then he fired me I"

"He fired you, yes, but for stealing his tie clasp and being generally unsuitable for the job."

"Unsuitable! I was suitable enough for him when he had me in that corner with my pants down and — "

"Lorna. It's time we made an effort to jolt you back to reality. You were never in the washroom with Mr. Holt. He didn't follow you in there. He refused."

I stared at Dr. Wellington in complete amazement. "Why, you're out of your mind."

"You invited him in. You told him you'd wait. He didn't come. He didn't go anywhere near the girl's washroom. He went to his own and while he was gone, you went out and stole his tie clasp. He saw you as he was coming back."

"It's all a great big lie!"

"That was what really happened!"

I hated Wellington. He was the same as that nasty Mr. Holt. He wanted me the same way. Every time I went into his office I could see it. The way he looked at my boobs, and how he drooled when I stretched out on his couch.

He was treating me this way because he knew that asking me for it wouldn't do him any good.

In my writing, I put down that I had a very high regard for Dr. Wellington. But that isn't true. That was before I found out what a rat he was.

I lay there on his couch and began to shake. And I thought of all the men who had taken advantage of me. All the beasts and animals who'd only wanted me for my body. Dr. Wellington was one of them. I opened my eyes and saw the paper knife on his desk, and I wanted to grab it and ram it into him. In my mind I could see him bleeding and dying at my feet the way he deserved.

Then he looked at his watch and got up and said, "That's all for today, Lorna."

He came to the couch and took my wrist in his fingers and acted as though he was checking my pulse. But I knew what was in his mind. He just wanted to touch me. In a minute, if I'd given him his way, he would have been on his knees, opening my buttons, kissing my boobs and my neck and trying to find my tongue.

But I wasn't going to let anything like that happen. I sat up and pulled my wrist away.

"Do you feel all right?"

"I feel fine."

I didn't, I was dizzy. So when the matron came for me and took me back, I laid down in my room and that time I didn't even want a dream. I didn't need it.

I slept like the dead.

The dead...