“Your office number, and I’ll bet you have one of those voice mail systems. I’m going to want your boss’s extension number, too.”

“I don’t understand,” Ginger said.

Brett placed a pillow over her face and pinched her hard in a tender place. When the scream was over, she removed the pillow. “Ginger, you do exactly as I tell you. Do you understand?”

Ginger gave her the phone and extension numbers, and Brett wrote them down. Then she found her handbag and removed a straight razor from it.

Ginger was attempting to squirm off the bed now, and Brett grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back. She held her hand over Ginger’s mouth, then placed the razor against her throat and drew it lightly across her skin, raising a hairline of red. “When I take my hand away,” Brett said, “don’t scream, or I’ll hurt you badly.” She took her hand away.

Ginger was crying now.

“That’s very good,” Brett said. “You keep that up. Now here’s what we’re going to do, Ginger: I’m going to dial your office number and your boss’s extension, and when his voice mail answers, here’s what I want you to say. What’s his name?”

“Mr. Arnold,” Ginger sobbed.

“You say these words exactly. ‘Mr. Arnold’—you’re sobbing—‘this is Ginger. I’m afraid there’s been a death in my family, and I have to fly back to Indianapolis tonight. I’m going to be away for at least a week, and I’ll call you when I know when I’ll be back. I’m awfully sorry about the short notice.’ Did you get that?” Brett pressed the razor against her throat again, eliciting another paroxysm of sobbing.

Brett began dialing the number.

“I’m not going to say that!” Ginger said, suddenly collecting herself.

Brett hung up the phone and held the razor to Ginger’s left breast. “You’ll do it exactly that way, or I’ll slice your nipples off, Ginger.”

Ginger began sobbing again, but she nodded.

Brett dialed the number, waited, then dialed the extension number. She held the phone to Ginger’s lips and the razor to her nipple.

Ginger performed admirably, Brett thought.