At first I thought it was just basa-basi, or empty words, that he was spouting, but as time went on and still he persisted with his warnings, I began to wonder if there wasn’t more to it than met the eye, and if Heri wasn’t in fact referring to something in particular that I should be wary of.
Anyway, after around another six months I was once again moved on, this time to work in one of Pak Neil’s hotels. I was officially without title in the time I worked at the Rose Garden Hotel, but my brief was pretty much the same as in my previous positions; namely to learn as much as I could and also, although this was unsaid, to try and show leadership or management qualities.
I have to say I didn’t really enjoy the position in the hotel that much. I am not sure why; maybe it’s because I ended up getting arrested!
Like my problems before with Mr. Simon, it wasn’t my fault, not really. I think the only thing I could be blamed for really was my naivety. It all started when I was working as a Floor Manager at the RGH.
You see, what I had to do was be in charge of one floor of the hotel and to make sure everything was going ok. Like in the apartment, I was the liaison between the various departments, but I had the brief that the guests were the most important. If they had any problems or complaints then I was the one who had to sort them out.
One day I was making my rounds, just walking around and making sure that security was ok, housekeeping was doing its job, and any guests around were happy and had no problems, when I came across a room with its door open. This wasn’t unusual because many guests leave their doors slightly ajar, for any number of reasons, such as they are waiting for someone to come back, are expecting a visitor or room service, are in a big group which has taken many rooms and so now they are leaving them open to allow for easy access or many more reasons. So, I wasn’t unduly worried or surprised to see the door of room 624 slightly open.
I did what is protocol in those situations and just knocked gently on the door.
‘Come in,’ said a female voice in English. I did so. In later days I wished I hadn’t, but by then it was too late.
I was greeted by a western lady wearing just a short nightdress, a baby-doll, we call it here – and a smile.
I was embarrassed.
‘So sorry, ma’am. I saw your door was open and so I was just checking that everything is ok,’ I said in my far from perfect English, but I think she understood me.
‘No problem, dear,’ she smiled. ‘It’s good to know there’s someone who still cares about other people.’
‘Erm, I was just doing my job,’ I stammered. ‘I will be on my way, then,’ I added, nodding at the door but unable to take my eyes of this very attractive lady’s legs.
She saw me looking at her and gave another grin as I no doubt blushed deep red. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay for a cup of tea or coffee?’ she asked, while giving me what even I in my limited experience of such matters knew to be a look of amusement and fake innocence.
‘Erm … I’d better be getting back to work,’ said I, Mr. Smoothy.
‘Nonsense,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll fix you a coffee. Wait there.’
I did.
She went over to the mini bar and I have to admit I enjoyed watching her walk. She was, I guess, in her mid-thirties, was around 150 centimetres, perhaps 50 or so kilos and was very, very attractive. She had short brown hair cut in a sort of bob style and a nice suntan. Her white baby-doll dress was short, to just above her knees and, as it was a little tight fitting, it showed the curves of her rather attractive body nicely.
I tried to keep my eyes off her but it wasn’t easy. To make matters worse I think she was fully aware of the effect she was having on me.
She walked over to the mini-bar and turned away from me, glancing ever-so-sweetly at me over her shoulder. She then made what appeared to be a great show of bending forward to look for the coffee while keeping the palms of her hand on her thighs. She knew what she was doing; she was teasing me. She knew that by adopting this pose her baby-doll would draw that bit tighter around her and show off her assets even more.
I wasn’t going to look; I wasn’t! I was going to be strong on keep my eyes and mind elsewhere. I could do it, I knew I could.
I couldn’t.
‘See anything good here, darling?’ she teased.
Hmmmmm … it was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it and I know I have only myself to blame, but it’s natural, isn’t it? It was her fault for teasing me and for driving me to it.
So, here I am now; on trial for rape.
I didn’t rape her. I have never raped anyone. She wanted to make love with me; she was just as willing as I was.
I have a lawyer. His name is Mr. Bambang Yohannes. He is good and he believes in my innocence, I think.
We are in court now and he is asking me questions about what happened that day. He is gentle with me and I answer him the best I can. I tell him what happened with the open door, the invitation to have a drink, the lady in little more than her underwear. I tell him how
