Chapter 15

Dean froze. Here was the woman he had raped, whom he thought he had murdered in his drunken madness two months before, confronting him on the night of his artistic triumph. He just stood there in the rain, astounded, as the water soaked his hair and mingled with the sweat which had popped out on his brow. "What do you want?" he managed to stammer.

"Just to talk, lover, just to talk," she replied in a calm, but threatening tone.

"I can't talk now," he insisted, "I've got somewhere to go. Maybe tomorrow. How about it?"

Eva laughed. "I don't think you understand, Dean. I could have you in jail in five minutes, if I wanted to. I think we'd better talk right now. Do you have a car here?"

Dean nodded.

"Well," she said, "in that case, I would like you to take me home. I'm sure you'd prefer not to stay here in front of the gallery. Shall we go."

"

Dean swallowed hard. "All right," he said, feeling helpless. His heart was pounding furiously, and his stomach tightened into a hard knot. They got into the car and drove toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

They drove in silence for a long time. When they had crossed the bridge and were heading north on U.S. 101, Eva spoke. "I suppose you're wondering what my game is, aren't you, Dean? Well, I can tell you one thing, baby, you're not very good at hitting people with rocks when you're drunk. Sure, there was a lot of blood, but I was just knocked out. I must've been out for a couple of hours. When I came to, I cleaned myself off with some water and put my clothes back on. Then I walked to the highway and hitched a ride home. Jesus, that salt water stung! Anyway, when I got home, I fell right into bed.

The next morning, I thought about calling the police, and I decided not to. I had a better idea, but I had to wait until I could find you to do anything about it."

Dean stared at the glistening, black highway ahead of him. "It's blackmail, isn't it?" he asked her. "Well, I guess you hit me at the right time, because it looks like I'm going to be making plenty of money now. If that's all you want, why didn't you just say so? I'd rather pay you off than go to jail."

Eva giggled like a mischievous little girl. "I don't think you quite understand, Dean. It's not your money I want it's your body. After my husband deserted me, I stayed completely away from men. I forced myself not to think about sex, because sex meant men, and men were cruel or undependable at best. But when you raped me that night, I had a taste of what I'd been missing. I've decided to make you my sexual slave." She said this in a voice that indicated that her mind was made up, and that she did not even consider the possibility of swerving in her bizarre intent.

Dean was appalled. "You're kidding," he entreated, "you've got to be kidding!"

"No, I'm not kidding, Dean," she intoned. "All you have to do to try me is to refuse. I'll have you picked up for rape and assault before you know what's happening."

Dean laughed with attempted bravado. "That's ridiculous," he argued, "how are you going to explain waiting this long to report it? Nobody would believe you!"

But Eva did not seem the least bit upset over this possible flaw in her plan. "No, they'll believe me, Dean. I'll say that the trauma of being raped, not to mention the concussion you gave me, had me in the mental fog for all this time, and that my memory finally became clear. Any doctor or psychiatrist will tell you that such a thing is entirely possible. Now turn left here. My house is only a couple of blocks away."

Dean parked on a quiet street in Mill Valley, as she directed, and they entered her house, a small bungalow nearly hidden among the trees. She flipped on a light, and instructed him to sit in the living room. The place was furnished in an ordinary fashion, except for the proliferation of oriental objects of art. Dean guessed that these were relics of her marriage to the merchant seaman, things he had brought her upon returning from cruises to the Far East. Eva disappeared into another room, and when she returned, he saw that she had changed the dumpy clothes and the raincoat for a sheer, blue negligee. Underneath, she wore only a pair of brief, black underpants. Her full, mature breasts swayed so sensuously beneath the flimsy material, that Dean momentarily forgot the severity of his predicament. Eva laughed at him. "I see the way you're looking at me, Dean. I can assure you, your fate will have its rewarding moments. Are you ready to hear my conditions?"

Dean nodded, taking her lush curves in with his eyes.

"All right," she said. "From now on, you'll be entirely at my disposal, and that means whenever I desire you. It doesn't matter what you're doing, you must leave it and come to serve me. That's one condition. The other is that you take no other lovers. If I discover you're keeping company with another woman, I'll go right to the police. I must have you, and it must be completely. Is that clear?"

Dean was aghast. "Do you mean," he asked her, "that if I ever have another girl friend, you'll turn me in?"

Eva smiled, and came over to stand beside him, stroking his hair as if he were a child. "No, Dean, it won't be forever. It'll only be until I get tired of you. I hate to flatter you, but I suspect that won't be for a long time. Anyway, I'll release you from our agreement eventually, that is, unless you misbehave. Do I make myself clear?"

Dean felt absolutely trapped. All he could do was nod his head dejectedly. Satisfied that he would be compliant, Eva became suddenly gentle, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't worry, baby," she told him, in a motherly tone of voice, "everything's going to be all right. Eva will take good care of you."

Dean managed a smile, and looked up at her, as if asking what he should do. She took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. There she stripped off the negligee and motioned for him to approach her. "Come on, honey," she said, "suck my breasts." Dean obeyed, bowing his head to the ripe orbs and taking one nipple in his mouth while he rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. He thought of all the women he had had in his young life. He thought of the freedom, the exhilaration of driving his Porsche down the highway, and he thought of Dolly, waiting in Mexico for him.

"Oooh, that's good," Eva murmured. "Now take off my pants. I want you to kiss my cunt." Still lost in his reverie, Dean sank to his knees, drawing the black panties down her legs as he did so. She stepped neatly out of them and stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips. The dream came back to him, the dream that had frightened him the night he had crossed into Mexico. He remembered lying there, strapped to the stone altar, being punished for his selfishness. It was almost funny, he thought, the absurdity of how the dream had come true. He pushed his mouth into the heat of the black triangle, and felt the slippery lips parting at the touch of his tongue. She ground her hips against his face, and he felt her hands again on his head, stroking him as a mother would comfort a young boy.