"Beth," I said to myself, "Now what are you going to do. It's decision time."
Elizabeth Townsend is my full name and I was a working girl, having decided to take a long break after my junior year in college where I was majoring in economics. At age 21 I was pretty much on my own with not much in the way of family. My real father had died when I was quite young. Mother had remarried but had succumbed to cancer four years ago leaving me with a stepfather who I had never really warmed up to. Mom had left me with a trust which had been controlled by him until I reached 18, but even now money was tight and so work seemed like a good idea.
My stepfather had suggested I work for a physician who was running for state comptroller. At first the job had sounded like something that held no appeal for me, but I still went ahead with the interview. The physician turned out to be a rather attractive psychiatrist by the name of Rolf Gorman, who owned and ran several mental institutions. He no longer was in active practice, having decided to more or less be a business man and politician, and was looking for someone to assist with the financial aspects of his campaign. In particular, someone to help a Certified Accountant with the contributions and expenses. It was the salary that had sold me on the job. Besides, the work would finish when he was elected or defeated, so I could then return to college. So I was pleased when Dr. Gorman had hired me.
In addition, I was happy that he and the others running on the ticket seemed to have the best interests of the people in mind. At least this was my first impression.
But as time passed, things gradually changed, and now, I was faced with a difficult situation. The Certified Accountant had quit or been fired for reasons that were not apparent. I had been moved up and now had considerable more responsibility for the contributions. As such I had taken upon myself the task of making sure that the monies were from reputable companies and individuals.
Within two weeks I had discovered that some of the companies were just fronts for other organizations with unclear backgrounds. When I explained my finding to Dr. Gorman, he answered, "Beth, don't you worry your pretty head about where the money comes from. I'm sure the sources are legitimate. Just do your job. Besides, I personally know some of these people."
For a few days, I didn't worry. But the situation made me very uneasy, so I began to dig deeper and keep some detailed notes on the office computer. At the end of each day, I would transfer the notes onto floppy disks, take them to my apartment and load them onto my computer where they were in a "locked" file, accessible only by using a password.
With only one month left in the campaign I was becoming more convinced that my boss was accepting money that would help him get elected but which would require "payback" later. He was selling his soul. Still, I didn't have enough hard data. At least I didn't until I got a call back from the "Better Business Associates". I had previously asked them anonymously about a corporation which had made a very big contribution, and after doing a little research they phoned to say that the corporation appeared to me a Mafia front. I hung up on them before they had a chance to ask why I had inquired.
So now I had to make a decision. I could keep my mouth shut and continue working, quit, or tell someone what my boss was doing. I considered the other key members of the party slate but they might be just as "dirty". The police would laugh at me because so far my boss had not as yet done anything that was truly illegal. The answer probably was to contact some investigative reporter for a newspaper, and let him decide if he wanted to make a few head lines. That would appear to be the best way to ensure that my boss didn't get elected.
There was certainly danger to me involved with this approach, but I sort of enjoyed the unusual. This was especially true of bizarre, erotic and threatening situations. Bondage was a real turn on for me, but I didn't want to go up against the Mafia.
So I chose to put the latest information on a disk, take it home and then make a final decision over the weekend and after a little more thought. Seeing that it was getting close to the end of my day, I turned off my computer and started to clean up my desk. At that point my phone rang.
It was Marsha, Dr. Gorman's secretary. "Beth, Dr. Gorman would like to have a conference with you in his office at 4:50 today. He knows it is late but hopes you won't mind being a little late going home. Bring your accounting books."
I wondered what this was all about but answered that I would be there. I used the restroom and made sure I looked okay. Dr. Gorman demanded attractive clothes, especially those that emphasized ones figure, saying that visitors made bigger contributions when they saw good looking staff. I thought that the pink soft form fitting sweater, leather skirt and vest would be more than acceptable.
When I arrived in Marsha's office, she told me to have a seat and Dr. Gorman would be with me in a few minutes. "I'm having a cup of coffee and there is some left in the pot. Would you like a cup, or a coke?" she asked.
"That would be nice, thanks," I answered. I sat there looking through one of his psychiatric journals and sipping the coffee, my mind still thinking about what I was going to do.
About ten minutes later, Marsha picked up her phone and said, "Dr. Gorman, sorry to interrupt but Beth is waiting..........Good...........If it's all right with you, I'm going to leave...Yes, and have a nice weekend yourself." Then she turned to me and said, "He said he will be with you very shortly and apologized for keeping you waiting. See you on Monday, Beth."
I said goodbye and watched as she left. I finished my cup of coffee and walked around her office looking at the diplomas and pictures, but also glancing at he material on her desk, thinking I might find some incriminating information.
At that point, the door to the inner office opened and Dr. Gorman came out extending his hand and saying, "Beth, sorry to keep you waiting. Come into my office and bring me up to date on things."
I sat down in the chair in front of his desk opposite him, admiring the neatness of the desktop as well as the impressive quality of the furniture. "Where would you like me to start, Sir?"
"Well, let me first tell you how happy I have been with your work. It has been excellent although it must be a little boring for you. Now give me a broad outline of our contributions and our campaign expenses."
This I did, showing him the accounting books, and explaining that there was a sizable unspent amount that I anticipated he would need for TV and radio advertising in the final month. He went over the figures and asked a few questions. Then he said, "Beth, I'm glad you are keeping the details of the donations in a separate book like I asked you."
"Yes, Sir, although I'm not sure that is how a CPA would do it." In fact I knew he had some devious reason in mind.
"Well, it makes things easier for me. And I see that you have sent acknowledgments to all the donors. Very good. Now I do want to ask you about one thing. This noon while you were at lunch, Marsha took a call from the Better Business Associates looking for a Sally Shepard. We don't have anyone on our staff by that name but it was your phone that rang. Do you know anything about it?"
My heart raced and I'm sure my face became a little flushed as I tried to think of a plausible story but could not come up with one. So I decided to be honest about it.
"Yes, Sir. I called them using that anonymous name to check out one of the donor companies. I was trying to keep you from accepting money from an organization that went against your best interests."
"And what did you find out, Beth?"
"That the company had Mafia connections, Sir."
"And when were you going to inform me of this possibility?"
"Er, I guess when I could be sure that it was a fact."
The tone of his voice changed and he rather angrily said, "Didn't I tell you that I would worry about this sort of thing and that it was of no concern of yours?"
By now I was not only feeling very red in the face and hot all over, but also was strangely a little light headed. Still I was thinking well enough to say, "Sir, I'm sorry. Obviously I have let you down and gone against your wishes. I think that under these circumstances, I should resign as of this minute."
"Let me think about that for a minute, but here's a piece of paper and pen. Go ahead and write out your resignation. Please date it and put down the time."
I took the pen from him and tried to formulate some appropriate words, but now I was having difficulty thinking, couldn't even remember the date, and had trouble holding the pen. With help from him I did manage to scribble the words, "I resign," and signed my name. Suddenly the thought occurred to me that the coffee might have had some drug in it.
Dr. Gorman's next words sounded as if he was talking in an echo chamber. "Beth, obviously you have been under considerable strain and I believe you are having a nervous breakdown. I also strongly suspect that you have quite a few secrets to tell me. As a licensed psychiatrist I am therefore going to sign an involuntary commitment order and have you admitted to one of my hospitals. The staff here will certainly concur, particularly when they see the damage you did to my office."
Slurring my words, I tried to say, "Wha....damage. You can't do that...."
He stood and pushed his desk lamp onto the floor where it broke, pulled books from the bookcase, and threw various papers and files all over the place. Then he went to the door and called out, "As I suspected she is having delusions and an attack of acute paranoia. Come get her but be careful. She may bite or become more violent."
To my dismay and horror, two rather heavily built men dressed in dark blue, coverall uniforms came in with a stretcher and two equipment bags. I clumsily tried to run but one of the men easily caught and held me while the other removed a stretcher blanket and then unzipped what looked like a long, heavy rubber bag. The two of them wrestled me down as I ineffectively thrashed, spit and yelled. The bag was zipped up to my neck and two inch wide straps were pulled tight around several spots in my body, making me feel like a mummy.
My thoughts immediately went back in time to when I talked one of my college roommates into wrapping me tightly in a blanket and then using duck tape to keep me from escaping. I had become extremely aroused and finally climaxed when she fondled me through the blanket.
Now in my semi-delirious state I was again feeling very excited, my private parts becoming very sensuous and wet. Bound tightly to the stretcher and beginning to sweat inside the rubber sack, my body was further covered with the blanket. I was still trying my best to yell for help but realized that all the other workers had undoubtedly left the building.
Dr. Gorman said, "Poor little Beth. I wonder whether insanity runs in your family. But we can't have you making a lot of noise when we take you out to the waiting ambulance. Boys, put that mask on her and give her a chance to breathe some of that obstetrical anesthetic."
The mask resembled a gas mask and encased much of my head. I tried holding my breath but finally had to start inhaling the rather sweet smelling agent. Everything became fuzzy and I drifted off into another world.