Alice wasn’t sure when she started trying to impress him, but it didn’t take long before she started going above and beyond the call of duty of a receptionist. Once, after he mentioned he liked his coffee from a certain coffeehouse on the other side of town, she made a special trip on a Saturday to pick up a jar for the office. She’d work Saturday morning if he asked her to, because the part-timers, according to him, had no idea what they were doing. It was addictive, the way he looked at her. That look of gratitude when she’d fielded a call for him—making elaborate excuses when his mother, aunt, or sister called. No wife ever called, at least not when Alice answered. He didn’t talk about personal things at work, but Alice noticed he didn’t wear a ring.
She did think about him sometimes. It wasn’t that she had a crush on him, exactly—he was too old for that. But occasionally, she wondered what it would be like to be with him. It was like wondering what it would be like to be a housewife in the 1800s—she was fairly certain she wouldn’t like it, but she wondered all the same. It was his calm, powerful nature, she supposed, that got her wondering.
One night, right as Alice was leaving the office for the evening, he called. He’d headed home an hour or so earlier to prepare for an interstate conference the next day and had left some documents at the office. It was too late to book a courier.
“Would you like me to drop them to you?” she’d said.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he said. He always said things like that.
“I insist,” she assured him. “I’m on my way.”
The truth was, she was being nosy. Someone like Dr. Sanders was bound to have a fabulous house. And Alice was naturally curious.
He was on the phone when he answered the door and he ushered her inside. Alice hadn’t expected to be invited in and she felt a little thrill as she stepped across the threshold into the vast home. She followed him across a parquet floor into a paneled living room, glancing around wildly to check the place out. He gestured for her to sit, then wandered off, the phone still pressed to his ear. Alice glanced at the open bottle of red wine on the table. There were two glasses there, one of them clean. Was it for her? Surely not. Maybe he was expecting company? A date?
“Sorry about that,” he said a moment later, putting his phone onto the coffee table. He looked at the untouched glass, then at her. “You’re not having a drink?”
“Oh, I … I wasn’t sure it was for me,” she said, suddenly self-conscious.
“Who else would it be for?” he said.
Alice shrugged as he picked up the bottle. For the next few moments the glug of wine leaving the bottle was deafening in the silence, and it might have been the sheer awkwardness of it but Alice felt a sudden urge to flee.
“Can I ask you something, Alice?” Dr. Sanders asked, sitting down next to her and handing her the glass. He twisted his body to face hers, his elbow resting casually against the cushions.
“Uh … sure.”
“Do you enjoy working for me?”
“Yes,” she said uncertainly. “Of course. It’s a great job.”
“What do you see for the future?”
Suddenly Alice understood. It was a performance review, of sorts. The realization relaxed her a little.
“Well, since you’ve brought it up,” she said, “I’ve been thinking more and more that I might like to become a therapist.”
He smiled. “I think you’d make a wonderful therapist. But I was actually asking what you see for the future personally, not professionally.”
“Oh.” She felt suddenly on guard again. She didn’t expect to have this kind of discussion with Dr. Sanders. “Well, you know … I hope I’ll get married one day. Have children.”
“The usual.”
“It’s not very original, I guess,” she admitted.
“Perhaps not. But I suspect there’s a reason everyone wants to do it.”
The silence stretched on. Alice took a gulp of wine. She waited for Dr. Sanders to say something, but he didn’t. His expression was unfamiliar, and a little unsettling.
“What about you?” she asked finally. “Would you like to have a family … or, I mean, do you already have one?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m hoping I’ll be a late starter. I’d like to have a family one day, very much. I just have to meet the right woman.”
They’d edged into strange territory now, and Alice’s urge to flee intensified. So when Dr. Sanders leaned forward and took her glass to put it on the coffee table, Alice felt relieved. She assumed that he was going to thank her again for coming and wish her good night. But then she saw something different in his eyes. She only had a second to register it, before he touched her face and pressed his lips—all dry and whiskery and passionless—up against hers.
She reared back. “Whoa!” She didn’t know what else to say. The horror must have been evident on her face.
Dr. Sanders remained silent. But his face, Alice noticed, had changed. His eyes grew narrow. His lip curled. Alice should have stood then, but his hands were still on her face. Were they gripping slightly tighter than before? Whatever it was, Alice felt like something had changed. It was like she’d been … pinned in place.
“I should go,” she said, but there was uncertainty in her voice. She had an instinct to make a run for it, but it was too ridiculous. She didn’t need to run from Dr. Sanders. She’d look like an idiot.
His face was still mean. “Why did you come here?” he said quietly.
Alice tried to remember. It took far too long to draw up the memory. “I … to drop off your documents.”
“No,” he said. “Why did you come here?”
Something about the way he asked made her question herself. Had she come here for another reason?
“I … I don’t know,” she said helplessly.
“Yes, you do.” His grip tightened on her jaw. “You do.”
The next thing she knew, Alice was on the floor, trapped by his weight. He let go of her face and took her two hands in his one, holding them high above her head. “Dr. Sanders,” she rasped. “Please.”
It was nonsensical, but she was still holding on to one last shred of hope that it was some kind of joke. It was cleared up when he hit her, once, across the face.
“You know why you came here,” he said, his voice different somehow.
She started to cry. “Please,” she said, her voice no more than a breath. “No.”
There was a strange absence to his eyes. As he wrenched up her skirt she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t summon the breath.
Afterward he seemed, not apologetic exactly, but concerned. He handed her her underwear. She was still wearing the rest of her clothes, though her shirt and bra had been pushed up to her neck and her skirt was around her waist. She tugged everything down. She was still wearing her shoes.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Dr. Sanders seemed interested in her response.
“Yes,” she said, the biggest lie of her life. “Can I … can I go?”
“Of course,” he said, moving out of the way. “See you at work.”
She saw something in his eyes then, and that’s when she realized how crazy he actually was. He actually expected that he would see her at work. But he didn’t.
Dr. Sanders never saw her again.
*
Paul, remarkably, was still awake when Alice finished recounting the tale. And he looked comfortingly horrified. “That fucking…” His face contorted. “I’ll kill him.”
“That’d be great.”