Charlotte froze like a deer caught in headlights. Why did I open that door so carelessly? Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Rainer was drunk; she could tell by his labored breathing and how he slightly swayed from side to side in the doorway. Would that make it easier or harder for her to turn him away?
"There's the prettiest Jew in the world, " he said with a lopsided grin. I missed you, Eliora." The sound of her birthname rolling off his tongue sent a shiver up her spine, leading into her eyes that bloomed open in shock.
"You've got the wrong person, my name-."
"I have the right person, honey," he said, throwing his head back to laugh. "The doorbell says Reißer, doesn't it? But you're not Charlotte Reißer; you're Eliora Drexel." His voice softened as he said it, and he reached up to cup her cheek with his hand. His hand was soft. His thumb brushed over her lips. "Eliora..." He said slowly.
Charlotte pulled away, finally regaining her wit and defiance. "I'm not Eliora Drexel," she spat. "Bring the Gestapo if you want. I have an Aryan bloodline, and I can prove it." With that, she stepped back, her hand on the door, to slam it shut. But Rainer lunged forward, grabbing her by the neck.
"You're not getting away from me this time, Eliora." He hissed. With the heel of his boot, he slammed the door shut and, for a second, he took one of his hands off of her throat to reach back and lock the door. Charlotte was terrified. His movements were precise and calculated, although he was intoxicated. The next second, he was half-pushing, half-marching her across the room to the dinner table, where he picked her up in one swift movement.
Charlotte struggled against him. His intentions were now clear to her.
He was going to rape her.
"Don't struggle so much, Eliora." He grunted. "It's bad for the baby to stress."
"Halt dein drecks Maul. Shut the fuck up." She hissed back. She placed her foot square onto his chest. His hand slid down her exposed calf and wrapped around her ankle gently.
"You have nice ankles, Fräulein, wonderful legs too..." His voice was both mocking and aroused. She stared up at him in horror. What was happening felt surreal to her.
A few years ago, she acted in one of her own pieces. It had been Rainer's first play at the theater—he'd only done amateur school plays before it. He'd been a side character, a fool from London, and she'd been the lead, a successful young photographer from Wien. In one scene toward the end of the second act, they both await the train's arrival. The fool from England tries to strike up a conversation with her, first about the rainy weather, then throwing compliments at her and asking for her number, but she ignores him. His German is terrible, which always causes the audience to laugh. He comments about her ankles, which aren't covered up, and asks if she's cold. The young photographer sees the train puffing toward them in the distance, but before she stands up to go, she swings her leg up and rests her shoe—a delicate Italian high heel, against his chest. She pushes gently and demands that he touch her ankle. She asks him, "Does it feel cold to you, sir?" In perfect English. His mouth falls open, and he shakes his head. Then she pushes off him and stands up, entering the train.
Now, here they were again, the bare sole of her foot pressed against his shirt, his hand possessively wrapped around her ankle. He raised it to his lips and gently kissed it. "Eliora...the girl with the beautiful ankles..." He whispered. He placed her leg over his shoulder and began to kiss his way up her calf, toward her knee, and then her inner thigh. Eliora stared at him, unable to move. A part of her felt like the young woman in the show, being pestered by the English fool. She remembered how often they'd rehearsed the scene, although it had been just a tiny, insignificant part of the show. They'd had a lot of fun together. He'd picked her up and swung her around, and it had been the only time she'd ever allowed an actor to change a line of her play because he'd executed the part more perfectly than she'd written it.
"Don't do this, Rainer." She whispered. He looked up at her, pausing his kisses.
"You aren't pushing me off, M'lady," he answered with a suggestive smile. "Your legs are even more beautiful than I remember...you know I think about you a lot, Eliora." His tongue darted out against her inner thigh. Eliora Drexel had had enough. She slid her foot down from over his shoulder and pushed hard, pushing him off her and causing him to lose his balance. He fell to the floor with a loud thud.
She scrambled over the table and slid off the other side, putting the large piece of furniture between them. Rainer lay on the floor for several long seconds. She couldn't see what he was doing, and her heart hammered in her chest, the sound roaring in her ears.
Rainer had fallen next to the cigarette. His cheek pressed against the cold wood of the floor. He studied the trail of ash in front of him. Silently, he ran his fingers through the grey trail and then, carefully, stood up.
Charlotte stared at him from the other side of the table.
Rainer stared back. And then he smiled.