The Experiment (2 page)

She wasn’t especially nervous, but neither was she entirely calm. The room, she decided, felt like a cathedral, like a place of profound silence and empty space.

A door she had not noticed before opened behind the desk and a figure entered. A man, but that’s all she could say for sure, it was so dark. And now she tensed with uncertain fear.

“Good evening. You are Ms. Zoe Alexander?” he asked. The voice was deep and cultured.

Zoe cleared her throat. “Yes. That’s right.”

“Very good. They call me ‘the Doctor’, and I apologize but it is important that I remain in shadows for the time being. Does that bother you too much?”

“No,” Zoe said. Then, “Well, yes. Actually. It does.”

“I’m so sorry. It is only temporary though. I must keep my identity hidden for now and I feel that shadows are much less threatening than if I were to wear a mask, or speak to you over an intercom. You understand?”

His voice was polite, educated, but not exceptional in any regard. He might be anywhere from thirty to sixty, Zoe guessed. He did not whisper or attempt any affectation. There was no discernible accent.

She could just make him out as he moved from the door and sat down at the desk. He turned on a desk lamp which spilled a bright cone of light on his hands only, folded above a clean, green blotter. A man’s hands, nothing exceptional there either. He was wearing a gray shirt buttoned at the sleeves. No jacket. He had a manila folder which he opened on the desk and seemed to be perusing.

“Now, you’ve accepted our offer to participate in our study?” he asked.

“Yes. So far, I mean. I’ve agreed to this interview.”

“And you’ve signed the confidentiality agreement?”

“Yes. Ms. Liu gave it to me.”

“Fine,” he said. “Well. Do you have any questions before we start?”

Zoe just blinked in the darkness. “Start?”

“Yes.”

“The experiment?”

“Yes.”

Zoe stuttered for a moment. “But I thought this was just a preliminary interview. I thought you were going to explain the study to me.”

He was quiet, but for some reason Zoe thought he was smiling.

“That’s really not necessary. You’ll pick it up as we go along.”

As he said this he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out another folder, a more substantial one. He reached into the drawer again and pulled out a stack of bills—money, still in the bank wrappers. He placed this on the desk to his side, in the shadows.

Zoe was confused. “I just want to be sure,” she said. “I just want to be sure that I understand this. I’m to be paid for my time?”

“That’s right,” he said.

“Including my time here tonight? I’ll be paid for this interview?”

“Correct. You’ll be paid for every session.”

“And I can quit anytime I like?”

“Right again.”

“I can just get up and walk out whenever I want? And the money is mine to keep?”

“Exactly.”

She thought this over once more although she’d already gone over it in her mind a thousand times, looking for some loophole, some scam. Unless he was simply lying to her outright, she could find no way she might be conned.

“Why can’t you tell me about the experiment? Why won’t you tell me what it’s about?”

The Doctor folded his hands patiently.

“I understand your concern, Ms. Alexander,” he said, “But very often in psychological studies, it’s important that the subject not know the purpose of the experiment. That might bias the result. Indeed, the literature is full of psychological experiments that were hopelessly ruined precisely because the subject guessed or inferred the purpose, even falsely. In this case I’m afraid your ignorance is critical to the success of this work. I do hope you understand.”

Zoe thought about this. She knew it was reasonable, but even so, sitting there in the darkness with the spotlight on her, it was hard not to be suspicious. She looked at his hands—calm, strong, patient. She believed him. She believed his hands.

“Okay,” she said. “I understand.”

“Then you’re ready to begin?”

“Yes.”

The hands seemed to relax.

“Very good,” he said.

“Now— I’ll give you four hundred dollars to take off your clothes.”

She was surprised that his words didn’t shock her. She’d perhaps been expecting something like this.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

His hands didn’t move.

“If you’ll take off your clothes, Ms. Alexander, I’ll give you four hundred dollars. Right now. Cash.”

“You’re joking.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

Zoe laughed once, harshly. “So that’s what this experiment is about? To see people’s reaction when you ask them to take off their clothes for money? That’s it?”

“Not entirely, no.”

“Not entirely,” she repeated knowingly.

She waited for him to say something further, but he didn’t.

She was not surprised at his offer, but she was disappointed. She had expected something more sophisticated from a man of his wealth and intelligence.

Zoe sighed and picked up her purse. “No, thank you,” she said, standing up. “I think I understand it now and I’m not interested.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “First impressions may be very misleading, Ms. Alexander. If you should leave now, that will immediately terminate your participation in the study. There will no be coming back. So I would consider it carefully were I you.”

Zoe looked into the darkness where he sat, weighing his words. It was just as she’d feared, he was nothing but a wealthy old pervert looking for entertainment. She knew the type. She saw them all the time at her waitressing job, some of them joking but some of them serious and always the same—they just wanted to watch. No touching. Entirely honorable.

Still, she’d expected something better from a man of his wealth and breeding.

Suddenly she was tired of all this, all this pretense and manufactured seriousness. She knew when she was being played with and it made her angry.

“With all due respect,” she said sweetly, “fuck you and your experiment.”

She turned and headed for the door, which was invisible in the darkness. “Five hundred,” he said.

She stopped, shocked at his effrontery.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Five hundred dollars if you’ll take off your clothes.”

Five hundred dollars was a considerable amount of money for Zoe. Tips had been bad lately and her rent was overdue. She stopped and looked back at him, or rather, at the cone of light where his hands still appeared.

“And if I do ‘take off my clothes’,” she asked, “what happens next? As if I have to ask.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “As to what happens next, well, if you won’t accept my offer, I suppose we’ll never know.”

Zoe stood on the deep-pile carpet in that warm and dark and expensive place and weighed her self-respect against his offer of cash. She had nothing against taking off her clothes
per se
. It was the idea of being paid for it that insulted her.

“One thousand dollars,” she said, pulling a figure from the air.

Again, she could feel him smiling in the darkness.

“Six hundred,” he said. “I’m afraid that’s as high as I go.”

“Eight hundred dollars,” Zoe said. “Or nothing.”

“Seven.”

Now Zoe had to smile. “Seven fifty.”

She watched his hands as he thought about it, then felt a sudden thrill as he reached for the stack of bills. He picked it up and she heard the drawer open as he put the money away. To her own chagrin she realized the deal was off, she’d gone too high.

“The standard pay for a session is two hundred and fifty dollars,” he said. “Ms. Liu will pay you as you exit.”

Zoe stood there staring into the darkness at his shadow, her heart hammering in her chest. She was being dismissed. It was over.

She turned uncertainly, looking for the exit in the absolute darkness.

“Very well,” he said softly. “Seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

Excitement surged through her again, as if someone had licked the back of her neck.

“To just take off my clothes and just sit here?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

She walked back to her chair and sat down.

“Where’s the money?”

The drawer opened again and he pulled out the stack of bills. Zoe watched as he counted out fifteen fifty-dollar bills. The bills made a dry crisp sound as he counted them out. He fanned them like playing cards and laid them on the green blotter under the desk lamp.

Zoe looked at where he should be, seeing nothing but shadow. He didn’t lean forward, he didn’t move. She looked down at the money on the desk. Money that was waiting for her.

She put down her purse and sat up straight in her chair. She had worn a simple blue blouse and black skirt for this interview, businesslike, but one that showed off her figure as well. She’d wanted to look nice and it was the best thing she owned.

She kept her eyes on the money as she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it from her skirt. She was aware of her body now, of the feel of her clothes against her skin, how thin and insubstantial her blouse was. She unbuttoned the cuffs, then sat forward and removed the blouse, pulling it down her arms, still staring at where he should be. She folded the blouse carefully and put in on the table beside the chair, taking her time.

She thought perhaps he’d tell her to stop, that the point of the experiment had just been to determine her price, but he made no move to stop her and said nothing. The
fact that she’d been wrong about him again angered her. His hands didn’t move on the desk.

She’d worn her best bra too, a slick, seamless thing of powder blue that was perhaps just a trifle too small for her. She was aware of the way her breasts swelled over the cups.

Zoe was not ashamed of her body. Though she often found fault with it, she knew that she was nice to look at. She stood up as casually as she could and stepped out of her shoes, then unfastened her skirt, her fingers working at the side zipper with a bit of anger and impatience, wanting to get it over with. She got the zipper down and let it fall down her legs. She picked up the skirt and folded it too, then laid it neatly on top of her blouse.

He’s paying you to do this
, she told herself.
It’s not like you care what he thinks. It’s just a job.

She was wearing pantyhose she’d bought that very evening, with white panties beneath it. She stole a glance at him sitting in the shadows, but all she saw were his hands, folded patiently before him. Even though he didn’t speak, didn’t move, she got the message. She hooked her fingers into the waist of the pantyhose and stripped them down her legs, dropping the useless garment to the ground.

She stood up unnaturally straight to face him and adjusted the straps on her bra, determined to show no self-consciousness. But standing so straight made her feel as if she were thrusting her breasts out, so she tried to relax slightly. She couldn’t quite find the proper balance though. It was as if she suddenly didn’t know how to stand.

She faced him wearing only the bra and panties. She was not about to let him make her feel embarrassed or self-consciousness, so she tried to appear as natural as she could, willing herself to be calm. The air in the room was warm and comfortable and she did not feel the least bit cold. But she felt her nipples begin to stiffen inside her bra and goose bumps ran down her back.

He said nothing. He didn’t move.

Zoe stood there with her face composed into an unreadable mask. Even though she couldn’t see him she could feel his gaze upon her near-naked body. She waited for him to say something or give some sign, then felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach when she realized that she wasn’t done.

“All of your clothes, Ms. Alexander,” he said softly. “Your underthings as well.”

She was not surprised. She already knew what he wanted.

Without a moment’s hesitation she reached behind her, unhooked her bra and let it slide down her arms, catching it before it hit the floor. Her ample breasts tumbled free and she felt the warm air on them. She smelled a sudden burst of her perfume from where she always daubed it on the warmth of her breasts.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, stared at him boldly, as if she could see him and pulled them down, bending over to get them over the fullness of her thighs. She let them drop down her legs, then bent down, keeping her knees carefully together and retrieved the wispy garment, folded it, and laid it atop the pile of her clothes.

Her nakedness felt like some sort of moral victory and she straightened up again, purposely thrusting her breasts forward and spreading her legs slightly to make sure he saw everything. She had been naked with men many times, but she realized now that she had never displayed herself to anyone like this before—never stood totally unclothed before another person’s critical gaze and the emotions it set off were complex and confusing. She was both embarrassed and strangely proud.