"Well, as you realize, Miss Duncan," the balding older man behind the desk began, "I'd been expecting to see you yesterday at three." He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped them on his handkerchief, an unconscious nervous habit of his, all the while staring at her as if he expected her to provide some explanation.
If he does that again, I'm going to scream, Jill thought. Although she'd not even noticed this mannerism of Professor Jorgensen's in her first meeting with the criminal law expert, the agitated young redhead was so distracted by his every movement today that the excuse she'd come up with to explain her absence fled from her mind. She could only stare at him in confusion as her brain groped for words to explain why she'd not been at her appointment yesterday, and why she'd not showed up today until nearly six o'clock in the evening.
"And I did inform you that my office hours are from three to five," the mild-mannered professor continued in a puzzled voice when it became evident that the curvaceous young woman seated before him was not going to reply to his unspoken question. "So I don't quite understand why you're here now."
Oh Lord, Jill thought, twisting her hands nervously in her mini-skirted lap. She'd quite forgotten what he'd said about his office hours; not that it would have made much difference anyway, since she'd not awoken today until almost five o'clock in the afternoon. In spite of the fact that she'd slept for nearly twelve hours, the young female law student did not feel at all alert or refreshed. Her sleep had been punctuated by a continuous stream of terrifying nightmares. Now she found herself having great difficulty concentrating on the awkward conversation with her professor.
There was a long pause. Jorgensen cleared his throat, then began to polish his glasses for the fourth time since the attractive young woman had entered his office. Oh God, there he goes again, Jill thought, lighting a cigarette before she realized that there was no ashtray. It was obviously her turn to speak, but she couldn't think of a thing to say. What does it matter what he thinks, anyway? she thought irritably. I've got real problems to worry about!
The gray-haired Danish law expert was being made nervous by the girl's strange behavior. What was the matter with her anyway? Last time he'd seen her, he'd been impressed with her confidence and ambition – but now she was staring at him for all the world as if she were deaf and dumb.
"Of course, I wish that I could devote more of my time to student interviews," he tried again, unable to bear the tense silence any longer. "I do believe in a close relationship between student and teacher, especially at the graduate level… but there's the problem of time…"
"Oh yes… of course…" Jill managed to say. "It's just that I… that I… I've been sick…"
"I'm sorry to hear that," the middle-aged man said. "What's the matter?"
"Oh… the flu… yes, the flu, I think," Jill hedged. An inch of dangling ash dropped from her cigarette onto his desk, and she stared at it in embarrassment.
"Well, I trust you're feeling better now," Jorgensen said, then glanced at his watch. "I'm very sorry, Miss Duncan, but I really haven't time to discuss your work with you just now. But perhaps you would like to come out to my home this evening? I was going to invite you yesterday, but you weren't here. My wife and I are having a hjemmeaften, a home evening, for the criminal law students to get to know each other better and to discuss our goals for this coming year. And we've invited Kirsten Nielsen, of whom you, of course, have read in the material I assigned you – to give a short talk about the specific problems of women law-breakers. Do you think you'll be able to attend?"
For some reason, his invitation seemed to agitate Miss Duncan more than ever. Her hand twitched nervously, scattering more cigarette ashes over his desk, and beads of perspiration formed on her forehead.
"No… I'm sorry, but I… I have a date," she blurted out in a low voice.
"I'm so sorry," Jorgensen said, polishing his glasses one final time and then starting to gather up his papers. "Maybe another time." Too sick to work, but not too sick to find time to go out on dates he thought wearily. That was the trouble with so many of the American students who came over to study in Europe, but he'd had the impression from the earlier interview that Miss Duncan was different from the run-of-the-mill female student. Well, he'd apparently been wrong. "Sorry to have to run now," he said as he snapped his briefcase shut, "but Mrs. Jorgensen is expecting me home at seven. Perhaps you could stop by at four o'clock on Monday."
"Yes… of course…" Jill agreed. She rose from her uncomfortable chair and hurried from the room, relieved to have that embarrassing ordeal over with. But as soon as she reached the street her sense of liberation vanished. Now she had to face Lars Jensen, and she knew she'd prefer watching Professor Jorgensen clean his glasses from here till eternity if by doing so she could avoid confronting the manager of Club 33.
The troubled young redhead made her way slowly from the relative safety of the university building toward the Walking Street. Today she didn't hold her shoulders and head proudly or march in her usual brisk manner; instead, her feet dragged along the pavement as though she were wearing shackles. With every reluctant step she had to force herself from turning and running in the opposite direction from Club 33, but she knew that if she yielded to her temptation she would only make her situation more desperate. Jensen had been so furious last night that she had no doubt he'd make good his threat of retaliation if she didn't see him today. Besides, there was the matter of the money!
She'd gotten out of the taxi last night, still in a state of semi-shock, had blindly handed the driver the bill the irate club manager had thrust at her, then hurried toward the stairs. To her surprise the driver had come running after her, saying something in Danish that she couldn't understand. She'd stared at him so blankly that he switched to broken English.
"You have left the money which is yours," he said as he handed her a pile of bills.
She'd managed to thank him, realizing that Jensen must have been so angry he'd accidentally given her a hundred kroner bill instead of a ten kroner one. But when she reached her room and counted the money, she found that it had been a five hundred kroner note… almost a hundred dollars!
This was a vast sum of money to the scholarship student – nearly half of what she had to live on for a month, and she was certain that when the manager discovered his mistake he'd call the police if she didn't return the money today.
So Professor Jorgensen is having a speaker on women criminals, Jill thought bitterly. Well, I guess that's what I am now… a criminal! If anyone had told me that this would happen to me even last week, I'd have thought they were crazy. Now I think I'm going crazy!
She reached the Walking Street where she'd strolled with Erik that first happy day in Copenhagen. She'd do anything now to turn back the clock, but, of course, it was impossible. There was absolutely nothing for her to do but drag her reluctant body through the gay crowds of Danes and tourists toward the little side-street where Club 33 was located. It was hard to believe that she had once been as carefree as the people around her, Jill wondered if she'd ever be able to feel that way again.
At last the auburn-haired young woman found herself standing in front of the anonymous brick building housing the club. A discreet gold-lettered sign on the heavy door reading, "Club 33 – Members Only" was the only thing that differentiated it from the other buildings on the block. Feeling as though she were issuing her own death sentence, the fear-haunted American student rang the bell. It was opened by an exotically clad young man whom she recognized as the bartender in the downstairs level of the club.
"Lars is waiting for you upstairs," he said, his eyes running over her curvaceous body with lewd insolence. "You know where his office is, of course."
Jill flushed beet-red with embarrassment. Apparently the manager had told this man, and probably lots of other people, too, about the corrupt things he'd discovered Erik and herself doing last night in his office. Without answering the leering long-haired youth, she began to climb the carpeted stairs, then knocked softly on the luxuriant mahogany door. Well, this was it – there was no way of escaping now. A protective fatalistic detachment blanketed Jill's brain, causing her to feel strangely detached from her surroundings and even from her own trembling body.
"Come in," a man's voice called out, and she did so, slowly closing the door behind her before turning to face the all-too-well remembered club manager. Much to her surprise, he had a smile on his handsome, lightly freckled face. "I'm glad you've come – you'd have been sorry if you hadn't," he said in a tone so calm that Jill hardly recognized it as the same invective-shouting voice she been hearing over and over in her mind all day long. "Sit down," he gestured toward one of the leather armchairs close to his desk. "And have a smoke – you look like you need it."
Blinking in disbelief, the bewildered redhead sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair with her body poised to flee from the expensively decorated office at the first possible moment. His unanticipated mild manner made Jill feel more ill at ease than if he'd ranted and raved, and there was an unsettling gleam in his steel-blue eyes. The last thing she wanted to do now was to accept the small hand-carved ivory pipe that he held out to her; every time she'd smoked hashish, she'd found herself doing things that she deeply regretted later, and today she already felt so far out of control that there was no telling how the drug would affect her.
"No, thanks," she replied, shaking her head at the pipe which he offered as casually as a cup of coffee.
"Oh, yes," he said. "I think you should."
There was an icy commanding tone to his innocuous words that told Jill she'd be unwise to resist. "Well, okay," she murmured, taking the ivory pipe and drawing in a lungful of acrid smoke, then another, and another. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad idea after all, she decided as her fear-tensed nerves began to relax for the first time all day.
The successful sex-club proprietor stared at the young auburn-haired girl with a lewd little smile upon his lips. His plan was working just fine so far, and he had no doubts at all as to its final success. Before the night was over, he'd have a new actress, an actress whose voluptuous body coupled with her air of wholesome innocence made her far more attractive sexually than anything his competitors could possibly offer. On top of that triumph, he'd have the personal sadistic satisfaction of playing God, of corrupting this innocent student into a provocative, cynical sex star. And he'd have the additional satisfaction of teaching his old friend, Erik, a lesson.
Jensen was the sort of man who had to be first in all things, a trait that had insured his business success but which also contributed to a rather disagreeable character. Not only could he not accept life unless he was king of the mountain, he also insisted that all the people around him must share his opinions and life style. His basic insecurity and underlying doubts about his ruthless pursuit of success and pleasure compelled him to convert all those around him to his way of thinking, or if that was not possible, to somehow use his power and keen intelligence to harm his uncooperative victims. So long as people played his game, he was a good friend; but when they violated his personal rules, as Mortensen had last night, Lars Jensen had to retaliate to salve his own wounded ego.
The club manager had thought that Erik would appreciate the clever way he'd fooled this innocent young beauty into thinking that she'd broken some law so that he could blackmail her into performing for him. Up until last night, his friend had seemed as content as Lars himself about using women in any possible way to gain his own satisfaction. But when Erik hadn't seen the point of the joke or admired his cleverness, Lars had been surprised and annoyed. Mortensen had been downright unpleasant, in fact. If Erik had just been mad at his friend for interrupting before he'd managed to fuck this cute red-haired piece of ass, Lars would have understood; but Erik's obvious concern for the American girl had been too much to take.
Lars Jensen chuckled to himself now as he thought of the way he had planned to show his friend that all women were whores underneath despite whatever facade they chose to present to the world. It was all going to work so smoothly! As the hashish coursed through his body Lars congratulated himself for being so much more intelligent than anyone else he knew. Then he turned his attention to the voluptuous, half-stoned girl who was staring at him in fearful anticipation.
"Well… about our little problem…" he began, enjoying the expression of terror on her pretty face. "It's a little more serious than I realized last night."
"Oh no!" Jill whispered, knotting her hands together in her lap as she struggled to stay calm. Even the powerful effect of the hashish she had just smoked could not erase the dread that ran like an electric shock through her trembling body.
"You see, an inspector did see you. He phoned me this morning to ask what was going on in my office last night."
"Oh no!" Jill repeated, visions of prison, her destroyed career, and her horrified parents running through her reeling mind.
"Of course, I couldn't tell him what was really going on," Lars continued, drumming his fingers on the table as he spoke, "so I said that you were a new actress rehearsing for my show. But he didn't believe me, I could tell that, and I'm sure he'll be back tonight to check out my story."
"Your show?" Jill asked. Her mind didn't seem able to comprehend what he was talking about. "What show?" she said, dreading his answer.
"That's right," Lars smiled in a way that turned Jill's heart to ice. "You've never seen one of our live shows, have you? Well, I think you'll enjoy playing a star role in it, judging from your performance last night."
"What… wh-what do you mean?" the fearful student whispered.
"I think it's quite obvious what I mean. Either you are going to act in my show tonight, or else one of us is going to be arrested – and it's not going to be me. I'll be damned if I'm going to lose my license because a little slut like you was prostituting herself on my premises without my knowledge!"
"But it wasn't like that…" Jill tried to protest. This was by far surpassing her worst suspicions – she was in a situation now that she couldn't even understand, much less handle.
"It wasn't?" his voice was cold with disbelief. "Then why did you take five hundred kroner with you when you left?"
So that was the explanation for the hundred dollar "taxi fare"… oh, it was too terrible to be true. "But… but I thought it was ten kroner for the taxi!" she cried, her voice breaking as tears sprang into her green eyes.
"Well, you can tell that to the authorities, but I'm not interested in your lies," the cruel manager said, feeling more than satisfied with the success of his plan. "But I suggest that instead of involving yourself in a very messy situation with the police that you just go along with my plan. As I said before, I'm sure you'll like acting in my show anyway… and it's certainly better than jail, even if you don't enjoy yourself!"
"Jail!" Jill exclaimed. "Oh please, I'll do anything you ask… but don't let them put me in jail!" Perhaps if her mind hadn't been so clouded by the hashish she'd just smoked, Jill would have been able to see through the loopholes in Jensen's perverted plan, but as it was she implicitly accepted his words at face value. "Anything – I'll do anything, Mr. Jensen," she pleaded as tears began to run down her cheeks.
"Good! I thought you'd agree with me after I explained our little problem!" Lars smirked. "First, I want you to have another smoke, that way you'll be easier to direct in the 'play'. And stop crying – it'll spoil your looks."
"I… I never acted before," Jill said, choking back her tears and obediently inhaling the pipe he handed to her. "I don't know if I can…"
"Oh, you'll do just fine, I'm sure," the depraved sex-club manager assured her. "You look just right for the part! Now, let's get you into your costume – it's almost curtain time." He walked over to a closet hidden behind an enormous potted plant and came back holding out a skimpy three-piece outfit made of soft suede and a pair of high suede boots. "Hurry up! Try them on and see if they fit."
The drugged redhead took the garments, looking at him questioningly.
"Where… where's the dressing room?"
"Right here," he snapped. "Hurry – we don't have much time. And don't mind me – I've already seen your naked body, if you'll recall."
I can't stand this! Jill thought to herself. She'd never felt so degraded in all her life, and her whole body froze as she murmured, "No… I can't…"
"Of course you can! Or maybe you'd rather have me call the police?" he said, smiling at the shudder of horror that ran through her body again at the use of the word "police".
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but Jill forced them back. Silently she slipped out of her navy blue skirt and then slowly lifted off her striped pullover and pantyhose. She picked up the skimpy garments, trying to figure out how they were supposed to be worn.
"Take off your bra and panties," Lars ordered. And then when she hesitated, he repeated in a louder voice, "TAKE THEM OFF!"
The drug-dazed young woman obeyed, blushing as she felt his piercing eyes surveying her naked flesh. An odd little tingle – born partly of fear and partly of something else – began to travel through her exposed body as she donned the tiny halter top, suede bikini panties, and minuscule matching skirt, then laced up the high-heeled boots. Everything fit perfectly, and the garment was disgustingly revealing, the soft suede brushing up against her drug-sensitized flesh felt unexpectedly pleasant.
"Good! I thought you were the same size as Helga," the corrupt businessman remarked, coming toward her to stroke his hands over the tight-fitting skirt and halter. The tingling feeling in Jill's loins increased at the feel of his hands, she was beginning to feel completely depraved now, and it was a surprisingly nice way to feel, her drug-befuddled mind thought… This depravity in turn created a ripple of excitement which, combined with the hashish and the utter helplessness of her situation, abruptly brought her hidden masochistic impulses boiling to the surface.
"Now here's what you're going to do," Lars instructed, his hands continuing to stroke the soft suede covering Jill's sensitive breasts and thighs. "You'll take this and go out on the stage, and then you'll play with it for awhile. If you feel nervous, don't look at the audience. Just pretend you're home in your own bedroom. The girl in this part is supposed to be shy, anyway." The Danish sex-show manager reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a pink plastic vibrator of the same kind Jill had used before and placed it in her hand.
Jill was immobilized, utterly transfixed by a lewd vision of herself standing half-naked on a stage before a crowd of people, clutching this plastic dildo. Could she be hallucinating, was the hashish she'd smoked so much of lately causing her to lose her mind? How could this man possibly expect her to do such a thing!
"You heard what I said – now get moving. This show's about to start," he said in a cold cruel voice, shoving her behind a jungle plant and pushing the horrified young redhead out another door. There was the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock, and Jill knew that there was nothing to do but turn around and face the audience whose whistles and sporadic clapping she heard behind her.