Chapter 1: Apartment Rape

"I read recently in a business journal," Kathryn said, apropos of nothing, "that everyone should spend a minimum of 20 percent of their work time improving how they work, rather than just doing the work."

"That makes sense," I said, selecting some wineglasses from the cabinet.

"Yes, it's an excellent rule of thumb; it's how I run my career. And just now, as I was doing the laundry, I realize how much my private life is going to pot."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that..."

"No, it's true. My place is a mess, I do laundry only every other month," Kathryn frowned for a second. "So just now I've decided to apply the 20-percent rule towards my life as a whole."

"Makes sense, I guess."

"And so, here I am."

"So, I'm..."

Kathryn smiled at me, pleased. "That's right. You're my 20 percent."

"Well ... uh..." I stammered, trying to figure out if what she said was a compliment or not. "Thanks."

"Why, you're welcome. So you work at home?"

"Yes. I'm a software consultant - really more of a freelance programmer."

"But it looks like you've got a steady paycheck ... of $8,250 a month?"

"What?" I looked up, shocked. Kathryn was holding my checkbook and was flipping through the register. "Hey!" I said. "That's private. I mean, really."

I walked over to her. Kathryn was just smiling at me.

I should explain about my apartment. It's just a studio, which means that everything is out in the open in one main living area. My sofa folds out into a bed, the end-tables are the same as my nightstands, and at one end of the living room I have my work area which includes a desk with my computer, a filing cabinet, and a bookshelf full of computer manuals. At the other end there's a small dining room table with a few chairs.

"I told you I was wild, but you didn't listen," she said, simply.

I tried to reach for the checkbook, but Kathryn held it out of reach. "When you said 'wild', I thought that meant things like drinking, partying, wearing miniskirts, you know, stuff like that."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Uh..." I hesitated, momentarily thrown off course. "No, that's not the point here."

"And what is the point?"

"The point is that you don't just waltz into someone's apartment and start rooting through their private financial information."

I tried again to reach for the checkbook, but Kathryn easily blocked me with her shoulder.

"It's your own fault. This is what you wanted," Kathryn said, sweetly.

"What do you mean, 'This is what I wanted'?"

"You were the one who wanted us to get to know each other better. You were practically drooling at the idea of having me in your apartment, weren't you?"

"But ... but..." I sputtered, "not like this!"

"Well then, perhaps you should have been more specific?" her smile was wide and confident. She was enjoying herself.

"No, now hold on, there are just certain standards, you know standards of society, which are assumed in social situations..."

Kathryn put a finger to my lips and my words just trailed away. I stood there, looking at her, transfixed. She then reached down, took hold of my wrist, turned it over, and gently placed the checkbook into the palm of my hand.

It was the most sensuous motion I had ever experienced.

"There now," she said, softly. "It's nothing to get all excited about."

"Besides," she continued, as we both sat down with a glass of wine. "I'm done with your checkbook, and I've already learned so much about you!"

I took a sip of wine to calm my nerves. "Like what?" I asked.

Kathryn chose the arm chair, leaving the sofa for me. She sat sideways on the chair, with her legs over one arm and her back supported by the other. This meant that her feet were pointed in my direction. I glanced at her painted toes and watched as she absentmindedly dangled a shoe before me.

"Well," she said, thinking for a second. "You're careful and detail oriented. You keep your checkbook balanced."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Not me. I haven't the time. As long as the balance from the ATM isn't off by more than a thousand dollars, I figure that's close enough."

I coughed. "A thousand dollars?"

"Sure. Anything less than that isn't worth my time. And I noticed you keep everything balanced to the penny, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah. After all, if you're going to do a job..."

"Yes, of course," she cut me off.

I paused for a second, looking at her toes as they gently swung back and forth.

"So," I tore my eyes away from her feet and looked up, "what ... ah ... do you do for a living?"

"I'm a surgeon," she said simply.

"Wow!" I said, impressed. "That's really something. What kind of surgeon?"

"Cardiac."

"Oh my god," my eyes went as wide as saucers. "That means you..."

"Pry open people's chests and touch their beating hearts, yes."

"Holy cow."

And then suddenly I had the weirdest feeling. It was as if Kathryn physically grew by a foot before my eyes. One second she was just my neighbor, and in the next she became ... I don't know. A power figure ... something closer to a goddess, I suppose. It took a few moments before I realized she was still talking.

" ... and so I'm not the head surgeon or anything, but you know, I feel that if I can just apply Beating Heart Surgery to other types of heart disease..."

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "Did you just say, 'Beating Heart' surgery?"

Kathryn smiled, "Yes. It's where you operate on the heart without a heart-lung machine, while the heart is still beating. It's much better for the patient, faster recovery times, less memory loss, and so on."

Kathryn stood up and walked over to inspect some of the pictures on my walls. She touched one, tracing her finger lightly over the brush strokes.

"Anyway," she continued, "I'm in the process of setting up some clinical trials to try and advance the state of the art, and I'm hoping that will put me in line for head surgeon, but of course, that's years away."

"Wow," I said in awe, "that's amazing..." stammering, unable to think of a single thing that I could say which would even come within the same universe of what she had just said.

"Mind if I take a look?" Kathryn asked.

I looked up. She had placed her wine on the top of my filing cabinet, and had a hand on one of the drawers, about to open it.

"Why would you want to look through my files?" I asked, getting up from the sofa.

"Please stay seated," Kathryn said.

"What?"

"I said, 'please stay seated.'"

"Uh, okaaay..." slowly, I eased back into the sofa, looking at her. This was weird.

"I just want to get to know you better. Isn't that what you said you wanted? 'Come over and have a glass of wine, so we can get to know each other better.' Right? So may I look through your files?"

"Uh ... sure." At least she asked this time, I rationalized.

Kathryn opened up the top filing cabinet, and started taking files out. "Boring ... boring..." she rifled through the files, clearly an expert. But then, rather than putting the folders back in the cabinet, she just dropped them on the floor.

"Hey!" I said, shocked.

"Yes?" Kathryn looked at me with an arched eyebrow.

"Put those back!"

Kathryn looked me directly in the eye, took out a folder bulging with credit card receipts, and then slowly let it's contents spill out onto the floor.

"Stop that!" I fairly shouted, jumping up.

Kathryn simply stepped between me and the filing cabinet and put a hand on my chest.

"Paul," she said.

"Yes?" I looked into her eyes. Kathryn placed a hand on my chest.

"Please stay seated," she said

"But..." I stammered.

"You can clean that up later. Right now, I want to go through your files." Kathryn gently pushed and I meekly submitted, sinking back down into the sofa.

Kathryn walked back to the filing cabinet. A credit card statement had gotten stuck on her heal. She reached down, pulled it off, and inspected it.

"Well, nothing interesting here," she said. "Although, several entries have suspiciously vague names. Do you download a lot of internet porn?"

"I'll never tell."

"Well, let's take a look, shall we?" Kathryn walked over to my desk and tapped the 'ENTER' key on my computer keyboard. The screen lit up.

"Awww..." she said, "your screen saver is password protected. Who protects their home computer? You are such a nerd."

"The truth is out."

"So, what's the password?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"That's a very good question. I suppose I could offer you something in return," Kathryn thought for a second and then snapped her fingers. "I know! I'll let you kiss my toes."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Well, the answer is no!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, okay. But you want to know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you really want to kiss my toes. I saw how you were looking at them. And just think, if you give me your computer password, I'll let you. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"No."

"Well, just think about it. What time is it?"

I looked over at the clock on the microwave. "Uh, 4:35."

"Okay. Offer expires at five o'clock."

Kathryn went back to riffling through my files. Finally, she found some dirt.

"Well, what have we here? Divorce papers? You're divorced?"

I hid my head in my hands. For some reason, I felt weak and out of breath.

"Yes, three years now."

"Goodness. And ... wow! Look at that settlement. Why Paul, you're a wealthy man."

"Not really."

"1.2 million dollars. Not shabby. Now I know where those pay checks are coming from. Investments, right?"

"Right. I had just enough to move to the city, buy this studio apartment and set up a small revenue stream."

"Not that small. So, was she rich?"

"No ... ah, I started a company and then sold it."

"Interesting. But you still work?"

"Just for a little extra spending money."

"Well, good for you." Kathryn dropped the divorce papers on the floor with all the rest of my files.

"Well, I guess I'm done with your filing cabinet. My goodness, this is a lot of paper," she said, pushing the papers across the floor with her feet.

I just groaned.

"They're just stupid file folders. It's not like I'm really hurting anything."

Kathryn walked over to my end table/nightstand. "Now, let's see what you have in here," she said as she opened the drawer.

"NO!" I slid quickly across the sofa and slammed it shut.

"Please let go, Paul," she said, simply.

"No!" I said. "Just leave! You are no longer invited here!"

Kathryn rolled her eyes.

"You know what I'm doing, don't you?" she asked.

I looked up at her. "No, what?"

"You are being raped."

My heart jumped up into my throat. "Raped?" I whispered.

"That's right. I'm raping your mind. I'm prying into your personal affairs, opening up your private spaces, and poking into every nook and cranny of your life. And you're going to let me. You're going to sit on that sofa and watch me gather all of the information that I need to gain complete control over you."

Stunned into silence, I just looked at her, my hand still on the nightstand drawer.

Kathryn gave up and walked over to my closet. At first she just pulled out a few pieces of clothing, looking them over, checking the labels, and so on. But then, she grabbed an armful of clothes, and dumped them on the floor.