Day 4--Sabrina
When Geoffrey announced I would have the whole morning to myself
while he worked in his darkroom, I felt like applauding. It was the
best news I'd heard since my arrival five days ago. I asked if I
could call the association's director to update him on our work,
expecting a polite, but firm refusal. Instead, he led me upstairs to
his study and pointed at the phone on his desk.
"There. And please, do not touch anything else," he warned.
"Am I allowed to sit in the chair?"
He didn't bother to answer, and stomped back downstairs. I hoped I
wouldn't see him again until lunch time. Good riddance.
I sat, or rather slumped, in his leather chair, taking off my
ridiculous heels and putting my bare feet on his desk. Every time I
thought I had sussed out Geoffrey's game, he unleashed another
surprise, always a bad one.
So he didn't use the whip, but he gagged me, which was even worse.
And what about tying me to the ground, coating me with honey and
joking--joking!--about ants? Was it my lack of an appreciation for
verisimilitude, or was this guy insane? I didn't know how many
bottles of his precious wine I had broken the other night, but the
price I'd already paid seemed sufficiently high. In fact, I would
have told him so, if my anger hadn't reached a level of intensity
quite beyond the capacity of speech. No words could have expressed
my indignation better than the stubborn silence I maintained until
bedtime. Not that it seemed to bother him.
I dialed the director's number and, after updating him on the
sessions, tried to get more information on Mr. Sorenson. Apparently,
his reputation was irreproachable, and no one had ever complained
about his work. His artistic ideas were praised by his many clients;
working with him was considered a privilege.
Oh, it was my privilege for sure, I grinned as I put down the
receiver. Well, if he gave up on his bondage madness, I might even
get to see what the fuss was all about.
I left the room and decided to go outdoors. After a long and
peaceful walk, wandering everywhere but near the stables or that
fateful clearing, I returned to the pool and spent the rest of my
free time in the water.
The solo stroll restored most of my confidence and self-control.
However, the minute Geoffrey reappeared, I fretted over what his next
"artistic" idea would be.
As it turned out, this one had been fun. I got to play rock star,
and that was an old fantasy I enjoyed acting out. He asked if I knew
any Joan Jett, and my rendition of "I Love Rock and Roll" almost
brought a smile to his face. Almost. But at least I knew he was
pleased, and I began to relax. Surely the wine cellar disaster was
forgotten now, and our future photo sessions would be as entertaining
as this one.
Dinner was implausibly enjoyable; our discussion centered on music,
and we discovered we had at least one interest in common. When I
went to bed, I was convinced I had gone through the worst and things
could only brighten up. I slept like a baby.
