Woman

WOMAN is a contemporary suspense-terror story set inLos
Angeles . When a television producer has fellow show members over to her
apartment for a pre-Emmy Awards celebration, a strange young woman manages to
insinuate herself into the party. Attempting to moderate the uncomfortable
situation the producer's husband (a talk show psychologist) finds it
increasingly difficult as the conversation heats up more and more, turning into
a volatile examination of sexual politics. From there things take a dark and
deadly turn, endangering everyone.

Woman

THURSDAY

StationKBNY, 3:26 p.m. Dr. David Harper:
Candidly Speaking.
How may I help you?

     I don't know if anyone can
help me.

     You sound bitter.

     I
am
bitter.

     What's the problem?

     I am unable to suppress my
total frustration at being a woman.

     Is this regarding career or
personal life?

     I don't know any more. Both,
I suppose. Certainly, mycareer. The better I do at my job, the more I'm
resented by the men. The only time they accept a woman is if she plays the
game.

     Which is—?

     Subordination. Yes, sir. No,
sir. Bleached hair—preferably blonde—tight clothes, lots of perfume.
Willingness to flirt, to be "available."

     I understand.

     Except for the one woman
executive in my department who doesn't have to do any of these things. The men
accept her. (pause) As a
man.

     I see.

     So I've just been wondering
if I'm not wasting my time trying to be an uncorrupted woman.

     Would you rather be a
corrupted
woman? I'd rather be a
man.

     All right, let's just say,
for a moment, that you could be a man. What would you do?

     Use my
power.

     Against—?

     
I
don't know.

     Now you sound distressed.

     I
am
distressed, (pause) Are we getting
anywhere,
Doctor?

     Are women
really
progressing at all?

     Well. . .I'm going to say
something that may surprise some of my listeners—women in particular.

     What's that?

     I question whether the
feminist movement is progressing.

     For God's sake,
why?

     Because the very structure
of society places distinct limits on women. Before they can be truly free, that
structure has to be changed. It's not enough to give women fragments of rights
within society as it now stands. The old, traditional superstition of
"otherness" regarding women has got to be eliminated. They must first
be recognized as
human beings,
then as females. Candidly speaking, what women need right now is
their own personalLincoln .

     And if thatLincoln fails to
appear? I wonder.

4:47  P.M.

David unlockedthe door and came into the apartment,
carrying a large paper bag with several liquor bottles in it. Closing the door,
he crossed to the livingroom bar and put down the bag. Taking out bottles of
Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and a fifth of Scotch, he set them on the bar. Will it
be enough? he thought.

     Liz wouldn't think so.

     But then she never did.
Tonight, she could be right, though, with Charlie, Max and Val coming over.
Well, there were more bottles under the bar. They'd manage. Anyway, they'd all
be leaving early for the show.

     Folding the paper bag, he
carried it into the kitchen and put it in the pantry closet, glancing at the
brown-edged hanging plants. We're not exactly green thumbers, he thought with a
faint smile. There was a note on the kitchentable.
Do
we have enough wine, liquor and ice?
David shook his
head, making a soft, amused sound. Yes, Liz, yes, he answered in his mind. Fear
not.

     Taking off his tweed jacket,
he hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, then folded back the
cuffs of his shirt and loosened his tie and collar. Would he have to put on a
fresh one? he thought, a different tie? He shook his head again, smiling.
Stupid question, of course. Liz would expect him to wear his tuxedo tonight. After
all, it
was
an awards show
they were going to and Liz was up for an Emmy. Oh, yeah, he thought. The tux
would be mandatory.

     There was another note
scotch-taped to the refrigerator door.
Don't forget to
take the ordurves
(Liz was never very good at
spelling)
out of the freezer.
Opening the freezer door, David took out the tray of hors d'oevres and placed
it on the counter. Too soon to microwave? Probably.

Closing the freezer door, he glanced toward the window as
the wind picked up outside. It had been cold and gusting all day, threatening
rain. Hope it does, he thought. This is what the weather's supposed to be this
time of year. Not like last years heat spell in March.

     He was opening a large can
of cashew nuts when the doorbell rang. Now who the hell could that be? he
wondered. Charlie was always an early arriver but even he couldn't be here this
soon.

     Putting down the can of
nuts, David left the kitchen and walked across the living room to open the
door.

     A young woman was standing
there, wearing a simple yellow dress and a light jacket. She was about twenty,
David estimated. "Yes?" he said.

     Her voice was soft, timid.
"Doctor Harper?" she asked.

     "Yes?" he said
again.

     "My name is Ganine
Woodbury." She pronounced her first name as though it was spelled Jeanine.

     
"Yes?"
he said. Who was she and why was she here? he wondered.

     "I live on the seventh
floor," she told him.

     "You do?"

     "Yes," she nodded.
"I saw the name on your mailbox and wondered if—"

     He waited.
"If—
" he said then.

     "You were—" He saw
her swallow nervously. "I asked the doorman and he said you were."
She hesitated, then added quickly. "Doctor Harper of the radio show, I
mean."

     He tried not to show how
uncomfortable he felt. "What is it you want?" he asked.

     "I listen to your show
all the time," she said. "You help so many people."

     He had to cut this short, he
knew. Liz would be back soon. "Miss—" he started. He'd already
forgotten her last name.

     "Woodbury," she
said, "Ganine Woodbury."

     He nodded, "Yes,"
he said. "I'm rather busy at the moment, Ms. Woodbury." He assumed
she was unmarried.

     
"Could
you help me?"
she asked, in a pained voice.

     For a moment, he was
speechless. Then, hastily, he said, "I don't have a practice anymore, Miss
Woodbury."

     "Call me Ganine,"
she said, her tone almost pathetic.

     He grimaced. "Miss
Woodbury, I don't have a therapist-patient practice any longer. It's strictly
books and the radio program."

     "You write
books?
"she said in surprise.
"I didn't know that."

     "Yes, well—" he
began.

     
"You're
the only one who can help me"
she broke in,
sounding frightened. "The only one who knows what it's like."

     Now he felt as perplexed as
impatient. "I don't—" he started.

     
"What
it's like to be a woman,"
she explained.

     He felt sorry for her now.
Still—
"Look,
Ganine I'd
like to be able to help you but my wife and I are having a group of friends
over very shortly and—"

     
"Can
I come?"
she blurted.

     He was speechless again.

     
"Please?
" she said.

     "I'm sorry, that's
impossible," he told her. "And now you'll have to excuse me. I have
to shower, change my clothes, prepare for—"

     
"Please
help me,
Doctor Harper." She was pleading now.

     "Ganine—"

     There were tears rising in
her eyes.
"Something terrible is happening to
me"
she said.

     He stared at her, not
knowing what to say.

     "I don't know what it
is but I can feel it growing every day," she told him in a breaking voice.
"I can feel it getting worse and worse every day."

     He had to end this, that was
clear to him. "Look, I'll tell you what I can do," he said.
"I'll give you the name of an excellent therapist. I'll make a phone call
— "

     "
No!
" She cut him off so sharply that
it made him start. "I need
your
help," she insisted. "You're the only one—"