In Laymon's Terms

Originally Published in Debonair, February 1976

It was a case of “The best laid plans of rapes by men going oft astray...”

tan answered the ringing telephone. “Wide World Travel, Mr. Dallas.”

“Hello. I’m Cindy Hart, and I’m calling in reference to your want ad in the Times. The secretarial position.” The girl’s voice had a quiet, feminine quality without a trace of the cold steel he heard so often in women calling about his ads. Cindy Hart sounded like a warm, open woman. One of life’s winners.

“Would this morning be convenient for an interview?” Stan asked.

“That would be just fine, Mr. Dallas.”

“Very good. We’re located at 110 Weston Avenue, Suite 1408. That’s on the fourteenth floor. Does eleven o’clock sound all right?”

“Just fine. That’s 110 Weston, Suite 1408, at eleven?”

“Right. I’ll look forward to meeting you Miss Hart.” Stan hung up, wiped the sweat off his hands, and stepped out of the telephone booth.

His car was parked at the curb. He got inside and took a deep, trembling breath. Then he looked at his wristwatch. 10:10. Fifty minutes to kill. No, not to kill—to savor. With shaking hands, he lit a cigarette.

The telephone rang. He inhaled deeply, and wondered whether to answer it. Why not? Maybe he could set up a two o’clock appointment for that office building on Central. It was locked on Saturdays, but that wouldn’t give him much trouble. He climbed from the car and walked over to the telephone booth.

“Wide World Travel, Mr. Dallas.”

“I’m calling about the job. Are you the man in charge? Get me the man in charge.”

“I’m sorry, but the opening has already been filled.”

“Sure, sure. Don’t give me the run-around, mister. Get me the man...”

“Get stuffed,” Stan said, and hung up.

The next time the telephone rang, he stayed in his car with his eyes shut, and thought about the soft, warm voice of Cindy Hart.

At 10:40, he pulled away from the curb.

Eight minutes later, he parked on a side street off Weston Avenue, took his briefcase from the back seat, and walked around the corner to the building entrance. A paper sign stretching across the lobby windows read, “OFFICE SPACE FOR LEASE.” He pushed open the door and stepped inside the empty lobby. It had the moist smell of new cement.

The Building Directory on a wall beside the elevator hadn’t changed since yesterday. It still listed nothing on the fourteenth floor.

At 10:50, he stepped into the elevator. The timing would be just right. Plenty to reach his floor and make certain it was deserted. He would be ready for Cindy Hart, and still have five minutes to spare. Five minutes to wait, with nothing to do but think about how it would be.

He knew how it would be. Fantastic. It nearly always was.

The elevator stopped at the fourteenth floor, and the doors parted.

“Mr. Dallas?”

His heart lurched. First with shock. Then with joy. He couldn’t believe his luck.

The woman in the hallway smiled at him—a sweet, questioning smile. She was blonde, no older than twenty, with a slightly wind-blown and sunny look as if she’d been walking on the beach. Her yellow knit dress hugged her curves. Its belt was a slim, golden chain.

“Miss Hart?” The elevator door suddenly began to close. He threw out an arm, blocked it, and lunged into the hall. “You’re early.”

“I hate being late.”

“Good. Very good.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “That’s a real asset, Miss Hart.”

“Mrs. It’s Mrs. Hart.”

“Fine. No problem. We’re an Equal Opportunity Employer.” He laughed nervously. “Would you like to step this way?” He walked down the hallway past the closed doors of offices, past a drinking fountain, all the while breathing deeply of her perfume. Her dress—barely seemed to cover her thighs. The jutting buds of her nipples pushed the soft fabric outward.

“Just up here,” he said. He led her around a corner, past the men’s room, past another office, to room 1408. “Let’s see, where did I put those keys?” He unlatched his briefcase. “Ah, here we are.”

He reached into the briefcase and pulled out a .357 Magnum Colt Python.

Cindy’s lips moved, but no words came out.

“Do just what I say, or I’ll...” Grinning, Stan pressed the muzzle between her eyes. “You know.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t. Whatever you want. I won’t give you trouble, I promise. I haven’t got much money, but...”

He pushed her against the wall, leveled the gun at her left eye, and said, “I’m not interested in your money. Just strip.”

“My clothes?”

“You heard me.” Stan cocked his pistol.

Cindy’s belt jangled quietly, and dropped to the carpeted hall. With a single, swift motion, she slipped the dress over her head and let it fall. Her naked breasts shook slightly as she bent down to step out of her panties.

“Beautiful. You’re doing nicely. Now stand up straight so I can get a good look at you. Yes. Yes, indeed. Beautiful.”

She stood against the wall, eyes wide, mouth open, breathing loudly. “Good girl. Keep this up, and you’ll be fine.” Stan bent down and set his pistol on the carpet beside his briefcase. “It’s right there if I need it. Be good, and I won’t need it.”

“There never was a job?” she asked.

“That’s right. No job, no Wide World Travel, no Mr. Dallas.” Stan stepped closer to her. “Just me.”

Cindy shut her eyes and shuddered as Stan’s hand slipped between her legs. She moaned as he gripped one of her breasts, and made a quiet whimper when he pinched its nipple. “You’re going to...rape me?”

“That’s the general...” and he looked down in astonishment at Cindy’s hand pressing his groin. “What the...?” Her hand tugged open his belt. Her small fingers worked the button loose, and slid the zipper down. “Holy shit,” he said as Cindy lowered his pants.

“Lovely,” she said. “Lovely, lovely. This’ll do fine.” Rolling backwards onto the carpet, she pulled Stan down onto her. “Yes, there. Oh, lovely. Lovely.”

She was wild beneath him, splitting his lips with fierce kisses, clawing him, moaning, meeting his every lunge with an upward, grinding thrust. Her fingernails raked his buttocks, and his aching tightness errupted.

Spent and happy, he relaxed on top of her.

“How was it?” she asked. She smiled strangely.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. “Absolutely fantastic.”

“Good, because it was probably your last.”

His belly knotted.

“When I phoned you, Brodo was listening on the extension. Brodo, that’s my husband. I’ve lost more jobs on account of him. I don’t know why but he’s always so jealous and unreasonable. He just won’t let me go anywhere alone. Not anywhere.”

“He...?” Stan’s voice vanished.

“Well, don’t blame me. I phoned you back just as soon as I found out he’d be with us. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say. But nobody answered the phone. I am sorry. He’ll just tear you all to pieces, honey.”

Stan tried in vain to free himself from her clinging body as he heard, two doors away, the faint sound of a flushing toilet.

Cindy’s legs were wrapped tightly around Stan’s hips. Her arms encircled him, hugging him close. Then as footsteps sounded in the hall Cindy shouted in a voice that rang with panic, “Brodo! Brodo! Help! Help! Help!” The footsteps quickened to a pounding, running sound.