Free Cockpit by Jerzy Kosinski Page B

having made such a good impression.
    About a week later, she received an invitation at the office to a reception celebrating the opening of the diplomat’s mission to the UN. Her first reaction was to refuse but her employer was anxious for her to go. To check whether there really was a party, she telephoned the mission and was told the reception would be attended by the diplomatic corps, by the city’s most distinguished citizens and by reporters. Under those circumstances, she felt she could attend.
    As soon as she arrived at the party, the rapist came over to her. This time he was wearing a robe embroidered with gold and semiprecious stones. He introduced her to his wife, an elegantly dressed woman much younger than himself. The diplomat looked into Theodora’s eyes, then gallantly kissed her hand. He complimented her on her dress and asked in a whisper if she had forgiven him for the most irresponsible moment of his life. She didn’t reply.
    During the reception, she mingled with the other guests to avoid the diplomat. In one of her attempts to stay with a large group, she joined a tour of the mission’s art collection. The rapist, who was escorting his wife, discreetly followed in the long line of visitors.
    On the third floor, as the guests were being guided to a group of sculptures, Theodora felt secure enough to head for a bathroom around the corner. As she was opening the door, she was suddenly shoved inside from behind. Before she could cry out, a large hand covered her mouth and another unzipped her dress. She recognized the diplomat’s cologne even before he turned her around. He was not drunk and seemed perfectly in control. With his hand stillon her mouth, he pinned her to the wall, ripped off her brassiere and pressed her cheeks between his fingers until she opened her mouth; he then stuffed a guest towel into it.
    His robe dropped to the floor as though he had pulled a ripcord. Naked and excited he stood before her, squeezing her breasts as his knees parted her thighs. When she attempted to twist free, he deftly turned her over, ripping her pants as though he had rehearsed it, and thrust into her. He climaxed rapidly, then pulled out and let her go. He carefully wrapped his robe about himself; he looked into her eyes and whispered how sorry he was that once again he could not restrain his passion for her. Then he glanced into the mirror to smooth his hair, opened the door and swiftly left the bathroom.
    The diplomat failed to buy the apartment, and Theodora lost her job. Afterward, she worked as a nightclub hostess, a cosmetics saleswoman, a translator. When I met her, she was supporting herself by gathering data for a small sex research institute. Assisted by professionals, she conducted interviews with men and women who had responded to personal ads in pornographic tabloids. It was not a bad job, she said, although many of the men she talked to pursued her constantly. She was looking forward to ending the project and planned to restructure her whole life.
    She was getting old, and even though she realized it might be too late, she had decided to try to have a baby. She planned to increase her chances of conception by taking hormone shots and finding a lover for intercourse with her at least twice a day. I mockingly remarked she had a better chance of becoming pregnant than of finding a lover, but she said I was wrong: I would be her lover. Before I could protest, she offered to provide me with a different woman every day on the condition that Theodora could join us in bed and collect my sperm. When I objected, she insisted I should first test the sexual skill of her protégées.
    She fixed lunch and, while I ate, made several phone calls. Soon a teen-aged girl arrived. Theodora asked whether I wanted her, and when I said I did the girl took off her clothes. I undressed and got in bed beside her. Theodora, still dressed, reclined on the edge of the bed next to the girl.
    I told Theodora to leave the room