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You Won’t See Me

James Hold

“I don’t know why you should want to hide”

    While no marriage is perfect, O’Toole felt his was a happy one. They loved each other dearly and Elsa was exceedingly beautiful, having retained her wedding day figure of fifteen years earlier. There was also the fact she enjoyed parading around in her underwear after work. Most nights she would shed her day clothes and go about in panties and t-shirt. Never once did O’Toole complain.
    One evening while snuggling on the couch, O’Toole remarked, “It’s a pity you have to wear clothes for work. It’d save time if you didn’t.”
    “I know,” Elsa smiled into his eyes. “Especially days like today.”
    O’Toole gave it no thought until they were preparing for bed. He was brushing his teeth when of a sudden he burst into the bedroom. “What do you mean, especially days like today?”
    “Mr O’Toole!” she scolded. “You’re dribbling toothpaste on the carpet.”
    “Sorry,” he apologized, and went back to finish. It was after he turned out the light the subject again hit him. “You never answered my question,” he reminded her. Then a note of panic struck. “Elsa, is something going on? Are you seeing someone?”
    Elsa sighed, “No,” and gave O’Toole her loveliest smile. “But someone at work is seeing me.”
    O’Toole requested an explanation.
    “Please, dear, it’s not what you think. One of the scientists asked my help with an experiment, is all.”
    “Experiments that require undressing?” O’Toole went green in the dark, flattered that others saw Elsa as beautiful as he did, but not appreciating the covetous implications it entailed.
    “Just listen: An associate at the Power Company—”
    The Power Company was a large energy conglomerate providing gas and electrical service throughout the state. They employed many scientists who conducted research in various fields.
    “—Röntgen, requested my help with a project. I’m to receive fifty dollars for each session.”
    “What kind of project?” O’Toole asked. “And why you?”
    Elsa hesitated, aware all Power Company undertakings were classified. “His goal is to achieve invisibility. He chose me because I match the physical type needed.”
    “By ‘physical type’ do you mean hot?”
    “Thank you,” Elsa kissed his cheek. “But I’m not the only one. I know four other women who are participating. Most of them younger than me.”
    “Okay,” he granted. “But why do you have to disrobe?”
    “Because I’m hot.” Again, she smiled and kissed him. “I don’t understand the principles involved. I work in a different department and never met Röntgen until yesterday. He’s working on a method of rendering human tissue invisible. To do this he must find the right physical prototype with the proper mass, density, and internal chemistry. I don’t know if I fit the bill. It’ll take several weeks to find out. He uses women because our tissues are less dense, and a lighter weight range because it means less mass. And it’s necessary we be naked because jewelry or fabric would throw the calibrations out of kilter.”
    “Of course,” O’Toole understood. “Like you don’t wear metal during an MRI.”
    “Once Röntgen finds his ideal test model he’ll try other body shapes and genders.”
    O’Toole was not one to stand in the way of science so he bought into it, reluctantly it must be admitted.
    “I just don’t like the idea of another fellow ogling you.”
    “I wouldn’t do it if it involved that. But I undress behind a screen before entering a metal chamber. The chamber has a single opaque window through which Röntgen can observe my form, but not the specifics. That’s a safety precaution. The room has a single chair. Röntgen encourages us to smile and keep a positive attitude; to move about, bend, stretch, and exercise to keep the blood circulating. If we get tired, we can sit, but Röntgen warns not to slouch or scrunch; we must expose as much surface skin as possible to the wave bombardment.”
    “In other words, your posture is nothing Emily Post would approve.”
    “No,” Elsa admitted. “I’m afraid not. Which is why I’m glad no one can see me.”
    Satisfied with her explanation, although not thrilled with it, O’Toole cupped Elsa’s shoulder and pulled her close. With a gentle kiss, he suggested, “If you’d like to replicate some of those poses for me, I’m sure I wouldn’t object.”
#
    Röntgen did not look up when O’Toole entered his workshop. Without lifting his eyes from the gizmo he was tweaking, he said, “They’re on the desk. See that they get to Flynt’s by four.”
    He indicated a dozen manilla envelopes stamped Pictures: Do Not Bend. O’Toole coughed and said, “Sorry, Röntgen. I’m not the mail boy.”
    “Who are you then?” Röntgen swung around.
    “O’Toole, in accounting.” Both O’Toole and Elsa worked for the Power Company, he in an administrative role. “I’m here about an invoice. You requisitioned a large amount of photographic film and I’m curious how it fits with your research.”
    “Then... this isn’t official?” Röntgen looked relieved.
    “Not yet. But it could turn that way.”
    “All right,” Röntgen smiled like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “But, hey, we’re guys, right?”
    “Guys, yes,” O’Toole answered, “although I can’t say we both are gentlemen.”
    “Wait... O’Toole. Was that your wife who participated in my experiment?”
    “It was.”
    “Very well, O’Toole,” Röntgen spread his hands. “You caught me. But it doesn’t have to go further than this. Suppose we work out a deal?”
    “Suppose you tell me exactly what’s going on.”
    “I thought you knew.” Röntgen made with a sleazy leer as he pointed to a metal chamber behind him. The chamber had lots of wires and stuff attached to it, things what looked to be lenses distributed around its sides. “This,” he said, “is my Röntgen Viewer, so called because it’s where I do my viewing.”
    He winked and O’Toole, red faced, told him to go on.
    “As I tell my subjects, the machine works by a combination electro-aeromantic-chemical stimulus.”
    “That’s not what you told my wife.”
    “It hardly matters what I tell them so long as I get them naked.”
    “You’ve seen my wife naked, then?”
    “Who hasn’t?” He shrugged and pointed to the envelopes on the desk. “Once I send the prints to the distributor.”
#
    O’Toole snatched one of the envelopes and tore it open. Out spilled fifty pictures of a woman he knew from the secretarial pool, totally nude and striking poses both exotic and salacious. She was following Röntgen’s instructions to move about and expose herself, else O’Toole doubted she would have comported herself that way.
    “I take it these are not intended for gynecology class,” he dryly noted.
    “Before you rip them all open, your wife is third from the bottom. You can look at them all if you wish, but I’ll have to reseal them before the mail boy gets here.”
    “And you’re doing this—why?”
    “Are you kidding? And you call yourself an accountant. These images earn more in a month than the Power Company pays in a year.” Röntgen took a moment to think. “I take it you didn’t know what was going on?”
    “Not the specifics,” O’Toole confessed. “But I had an idea. I got suspicious when you told Elsa fabric and jewelry would gum the works. But Elsa never removes her wedding ring—not for any reason. That alone should have disqualified her.”
    “My clients prefer not to see things like that,” Röntgen admitted. “Although I doubt that’s where their gazes linger.”
    O’Toole, though seething inside, kept his voice calm.
    “And paying Power Company personnel fifty an hour is cheaper than a real model.”
    “By far,” Röntgen agreed, as it dawned on O’Toole what a pervert the man was. “But enough talk. I’m willing to pay fifteen percent for your silence.”
    O’Toole had a counteroffer. “Suppose I report you and the Power Company prosecutes?”
    “On what?”
    “Your phony foto booth. The snapshots. The testimony of your victims.”
    “By the time you return from reporting me both the machine and the fotos will be destroyed. As for testimony, I’ll claim they knew what they were doing.”
    “You could at that,” O’Toole granted and turned to go. “Unless...”
#
    O’Toole arrived home at dinnertime, and going directly to the kitchen, found Elsa in her customary panties and t-shirt. To O’Toole she never looked lovelier. He came up behind her and nuzzled the back of her neck.
    “Dinner will never be ready if you keep that up,” she told him.
    “Then skip it,” O’Toole spun her around. “Slip on some shorts and we’ll go out. Dinner and a movie. The vintage theater’s playing For Your Eyes Only and I’ve a sudden urge to see it.”
    That night, before bed, O’Toole told Elsa, “You won’t be doing any more work for Röntgen. I went down today to tell him we’re cutting off funding for his Viewer. He’s been working too long without results and...”
    “Yes?” Elsa asked, watching O’Toole trail off.
    O’Toole buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “The man...” he began. “The man...”
    “What, dear?” Elsa crawled to his side. “What?”
    “He freaked out. Ranted. Raved. Before I was halfway down the hall, he crawled into his machine and... There was an electrical surge.”
    “Oh, my God. Did anyone see it?”
    “No. It was just us. When they cleared the debris there was nothing left.” O’Toole looked up with an ironic smile. “You could say Röntgen achieved his dream of invisibility. No one will ever see him again.”
    Elsa found her husband’s arms and snuggled close, her heart beating against his. She was a trusting person. It was one of many things O’Toole loved about her. But she was not stupid. She fingered her wedding ring, recalling how Röntgen never told her to remove it.
    “It’s a shame,” she remarked. “He couldn’t face losing his project. Some people are possessive that way.”
    O’Toole hugged Elsa tight.
    “I glad you’re not like that,” she smiled as she switched off the light.

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