Eileen Slovak

Chapter Thirty-nine: First Sexy then Scary Stalking

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

February in New England can be full of surprises. It’s very much another full month of winter. Once in a while though, mother nature throws in a freakishly Spring-like day. Today is the latter: a dismal, windy afternoon. It takes every speck of my willpower to hoist myself out of bed and into my running gear. The air cuts straight through my multiple layers as I shake off a chill. I’ll be warm enough in no time once I start running. All this for what turns out to be a pathetic jog with too many walking breaks in between. I chalk it off to the winter blahs. Some days, combating the weather isn’t worth it. My preference is running outdoors versus a treadmill. There’s no substitute for the fresh air in my lungs, the changing scenery. It has me questioning myself sometimes. Another winter like this one, I’ll give in and buy a hamster wheel.

      With no clear plan for the day I take a long hot shower. Then, I wrap myself in a fuzzy robe. Cup of coffee in hand, I curl up on the couch to scroll through social media. The first story that pops up gives the stats on the most recent snowstorm. Multiple power outages, property damage and car accidents were reported. It brings a picture of Sean into my mind.

      I abandon the information superhighway, searching for some other distraction. I start to clean the apartment, but quickly lose interest. There are bills to pay. I lift the stack, shuffling them in my hands like a deck of cards. They can wait. Work is always an option. Maybe Corky’s right, I’m hiding. Bereft at the thought of spending another Saturday in my empty apartment, I decide to treat myself to lunch out. Even if it means sitting alone. Alone out is better than plain old alone.

      In my favorite jeans and cozy sweater, I walk to the new bistro a few blocks away from my apartment. The bistro has a lovely fireplace with a relaxing atmosphere. The menu is organic, leaning toward vegetarian, but the food is homemade hearty. It’s the perfect little retreat. I have a plan, but plans can always change.

      Walking past the Un Pub I peer in the large picture window. A few couples are at the bar watching the Celtics. There’s a family at one table, at another a man sits alone working on a laptop. Then I see someone who looks like Scott, slouched in a chair in the corner.

I walk inside. Corky is suspiciously absent from her post. Even better, I think, anonymity. If I’m truly giving up judgment, doesn’t that include Scott? Stretched out in a soft lounger, with the Providence Journal lying across his chest, he appears to be asleep. He’s in form fitting faded jeans, cowboy boots and a sable, long-sleeved tee shirt with a cowboy hat covering his eyes. His sandy brown hair spills out from under the hat onto the edge of the overstuffed chair. Poor boy’s fallen asleep; maybe he needs rescuing from this embarrassment. There’s no harm in talking. Absent Corky’s prodding, I bend down and boldly whisper into his ear.

      “I fell asleep in a bowling alley once. It was mortifying.”

      He startles, nearly jumping up out of the seat. First the newspaper hits the floor, followed by the hat.

      “Oh, hey Scarlet. You scared me.”

      “That was the plan. I hoped to get to you before you started drooling.”

      He sits up shaking his head to wake up, retrieves his hat, then the paper, readjusting himself in the seat.

      “That was mighty kind. It’s great to see you again. I appreciate the wake-up call. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

      I draw on my business training, striving to seem confident while inside, I’m positively dying.

      “Another few minutes, who knows…you might have woken up with weird drawings on your face or worse, missing your eyebrows.”

      “I’ll bet that kind of thing happens all the time. The eyebrows, huh? That’s rough.” He says rubbing his, ensuring they’re still in place.

      I feel myself soften toward his boyish nature.

      “It happened to a friend of mine in college. Eyebrows take an eternity to grow back. Poor guy. For months he wore this constant look of surprise.”

      “Well, I’ll let you get back to reading…that must be some amazing article for you to doze off like that. Take care.”

      “Sports section, not very exciting. You do the same.”

      I don’t look but I can feel him watching me leave. He calls after me.

      “It was really great to see you, Scarlet.”

      I turn, smile, then continue on my route to the bistro feeling triumphant about the exchange. Score one for me, leaving the cowboy guessing.

      The Baltic Bistro is busier than the Un Pub. Still, I find a cozy chair next to the gas fireplace. After ordering tea and the house special, pumpkin soup with homemade sunflower bread. I snatch a book of poetry from a nearby bookshelf settling down to read. Unexpectedly Scott enters. He makes a beeline for me. I feel myself go limp with his approach.

      “You seem like you know your way around pretty well. I’ve tried everything on the Un Pub menu. I have to confess I followed you here to ask for some pointers.”

      “Very direct, not to mention honest. So, you’re a respectable stalker then?”

      “Guilty. Do you mind if I sit?”

      “Be my guest. Since you were so honest, I imagine it’s my civic duty to help someone who’s new in town.”

      “That’s exactly right. Can you recommend any good restaurants for dinner? I’ve exhausted all of the options in the vending machine along with the sandwich shop next to my hotel. I eat every other meal at the Un Pub. Plus, Corky had me delivering drinks the other night. It may be getting a touch too familiar.”

      “Oh, you definitely need to expand your food horizons. Rhode Island, Providence in particular, has some fantastic restaurants, thanks to Johnson & Wales. It’s the top culinary school in the nation. Students fall in love with the ocean state and stay here to open restaurants, or work in the existing ones. Excellent food possibilities are endless here.”

      “See that? I knew you would have the inside scoop. You’re saving my life here.”

      The server brings my lunch to the table, eyeing Scott like a piece of chocolate cake. He seems oblivious.

      “Just one more question, then I’ll leave you to your lunch. Since you’re a native and I really hate getting lost, would you mind personally showing me one of these restaurants next Saturday night?”

      “Wow! I just walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

      “Yes, you did.”

      “Okay, well, since I left myself open, I’ll chance it. Besides, I’m afraid if I say no, you might stalk me again.”

      “It gets easier over time.”

      “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make the reservation. How’s eight o’clock?”

      “Sounds good to me.”

      “Great. Let’s meet at The Un Pub then, to be safe.”

      “You’re smart to play it cautious with us stalker types. I respect that. I’ll see you then.”

      I can’t help watching him go.

      Walking the block home after lunch, I call Maggie to tell her the story.

      “So, you’re going out with this guy who you know nothing about. You have no idea what he does for a living, who he hangs out with, why he’s here, or if he’s a psycho? Right? Just that you want to do the nasty with him. That sound about, right?” 

      I can hear her chewing on something.

      “Maggie, you have the crassest way of stating things. I’m not planning on sleeping with him. Let’s make that distinction right now. How else do you get to know someone? I’m having dinner with the guy. So what? I have no expectations, whatsoever.”

      “Riiiight. Every time I hear a girl say, I’m definitely not sleeping with him, she ends up sleeping with the guy. It’s ironic. You’ve been a hermit for months. Admit you want Hot Scott!” Maggie snorts, crunching even louder.

      “Like I said, CRASS! What on earth are you munching on in my ear?”

      “Celery with peanut butter. I’m doing the organic veggie natural protein diet. Crass, but true. I know you.”

      “I will not sleep with him. I’m taking into account all of the unsolicited advice that I’m bombarded with every day. I’m taking a gamble for once. I thought you’d be happy. Stop harassing me. Help me decide on something to wear, will you?”

      “Have you told Corky yet?”

      “No, I haven’t seen her.”

      “I would go with sexy but not too slutty. Something that says, I want you, but on my terms. You know what I’m saying?”

      “Ignore, ignore! I do have this cute navy pantsuit.”

      “No! A pants suit! Pants say no entry. Is that the message you want to send? Craf! I haf peanut bubber stuck to the woof of my mouff.”

      “Perfect, pants send a clear sign that he’s not getting into mine. It’s just dinner. Then again maybe a skirt.”

      “Sure, sure, a skirt says come get me, if you dare. Undies, or no undies?”

      “Maggie! Would you quit it? Oh, God. What am I doing? Why am I giving in to societal pressure? It’s so primal. I can’t go through with it. I’m canceling. Except I don’t have his number.”

      “Scar, listen up, and shut up. You know I’m kidding, right? Primal is good. It proves you’re human. This is the first time I’ve spoken to the real Scarlet, the old Scarlet, in months. It’s time. Whatever happens, happens. Who cares? Have fun. Remember fun? Stay safe. If you feel like you want to jump his bones…just go for it. I would.”

      “It’s only a date, Maggie don’t get your hopes up. I still have a week to change my mind.”

      “You do know that’s the Saturday before Valentine’s Day when everyone celebrates. That’s not just a date.”

      “Oh, no! I’m sure he has no idea. I know I completely forgot.”

      “Not surprised.”

      “What are you and Joe doing?”

      “Joe planned a little hotel getaway for the two of us. We leave Friday after work. I can’t wait! Someplace with a giant red, heart-shaped Jacuzzi tub. I’m bringing lots of candles. I look thinner in candlelight.”

      “You look great in any light. Stop obsessing. I’m so excited for you! You’ll have a fantastic time.”

      “Now I’m more excited about your Valentine’s than my own. You better call me.”

      “I think you’ll be too busy. Good night, Maggie.”

     Back-to-back meetings with the potential inventors help to make the week whizz by. I’m always amazed how some people are born with exceptional creativity. By the end of the week, we have set up second meetings with the most promising inventors to meet with Frank and I. The spring in my step is undercut by continuing calls from the heavy breather. I call Gary again.

     “Being serious, is there anyone you can think of who might have a reason to be angry with you? Enemies? Disgruntled employees? Ex-boyfriends?”

      I’m silent.

      “Sorry.”

      “It’s okay. There is an inventor who’s been calling. I’m not taking his calls. But he wouldn’t have my cell phone number or my direct line.”

      “Give me his name and details. I’ll check him out. In the meantime, try to be more cautious. Exit the building with other co-workers. Lock doors immediately after entering your car or your apartment. Be aware of anyone or anything that appears suspicious.”

      I promise to be vigilant. Unfortunately, I waited until the close of business to call him. Now the office is completely empty. I lock up quickly in hopes of catching Martin before he leaves for the night. When I reach the security desk, he’s gone, a new night guard is on duty. I’m a big girl. Do I really need an escort? I’m overdue at Catherine’s for our usual Friday night dinner and running late again.

      The street is abandoned. I walk as hastily as I can in high heels toward the parking garage. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. Great, I’m scaring the crap out of myself now. This is silly. This morning, I parked close to the entrance. As I walk toward my car, I dig in my purse for the keys. A quick flash of my auto unlock illuminates a figure. I draw in a breath, stifling a scream.

      “Oh!”

      “Sorry Scarlet, I didn’t mean to scare you. Still the model employee, I see. I thought you’d never leave the office. I’ve been waiting for over an hour. It’s freezing out here.”

      He takes a step toward me away from the nearby parked car he was leaning against. The voice is familiar, but his hair is longer, in need of washing. His face is thinner than I remember. It takes me a few beats to recognize him as our former employee.

      “Curt, what are you doing here?”

      I take a step backward, wishing I thought to buy pepper spray. I remember that I do have a mini hair spray in my purse. I discreetly reach in my bag, feeling around for the small cylinder.

      “Well, I’m not getting anywhere with my unemployment claim. Martin won’t let me in the building anymore. This seemed like a good way to plead my case.”

      He shifts his weight.

      “Curt, it’s my understanding the case has already been closed. The company made their decision. You know why we let you go.”

      There are still a few scattered cars on the main level. I’m hoping someone, anyone will walk into the garage.

      “Sure, it’s easy for you. You still have a job. You know, people used to say how hard core you were Scarlet, but I always stood up for you.”

      I stand frozen, afraid to move or to say the wrong thing.

      ‘Thank you.”

      “I’m not asking for my job back. I know that won’t happen. Do you know what it’s like to find a job after you get fired?”

      A few months ago, another customer service representative caught Curt snorting cocaine in the men’s room. We fired him immediately. Martin escorted him from the building. I haven’t seen him since. I take a small step backward. I have the hair spray tight in my grip. I don’t have an answer.

      “It sucks!” He shouts.

      I attempt to take a small step toward my car.

      “Look, I just want you to talk to Frank. All I need is some time on unemployment to get myself back on my feet.”

      “Curt, I would really like to help you. I’m not just saying that.”

      I tuck the hairspray into my coat pocket. With the other hand I’m rifling through my purse. I pull out some cash. I’m thinking that speaking in a calm voice will help diffuse the situation.

      “Look, Curt, I have some money on me. Why don’t you take this? I’ll try to get you some help.”

      “What? I’m not some bum on the street you can throw money at to make go away!”

      Tears well in his eyes.

      “I know that, Curt. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. Just helping out a friend, okay?”

      “I’m not a loser,” he says, snatching the money.

      “No, of course not.”

      “I’ll pay you back. Talk to Frank, okay?” He turns, gets in his car and tears out of the garage, leaving me immobilized there, shaking.

      On the drive to Catherine’s, I’m still jittery. Originally, I was so excited to talk to Catherine about my upcoming date. Now all I want to do is go home, bolt the door, hide under the covers and never resurface. Although, I may feel safer at her house. Gary has a gun. 

     Hand shaking, I call Gary to relay what happened. Gary moves Curt Walsh to the top of his potential suspect list, saying he’ll pay him a visit. He suggests I buy some pepper spray, then take a self-defense class right away.

      “Scarlet, advice only works if you follow it.”

      Emotionally drained when I arrive at Catherine’s, the initial shock has worn off. I guess I do have some enemies. I downplay the incident in my retelling to Catherine. Gary won’t be home until later that night, but I’m sure he’ll tell her. She just put the kids to bed.

      “I don’t like the sound of that. What if he’s the breather?”

      She had given up on me for dinner, eating earlier with the kids. Rooting through the refrigerator for leftovers, I emerge with a dinner plate covered in aluminum foil.

      “Is this for Gary?”

      “He always gets takeout when he works late. Go for it.”

      “Thanks. I don’t think it’s him. He’s a druggie, not a stalker. It’s probably just a coincidence.”

      “I hope you’ll take this as a warning to listen to what Gary recommends you do.”

      “I intend to. I’ve been so on edge with all of this. I may have made more of the incident than it was. Can we please talk about something else now?”

      After a glass of wine, Catherine is on a rant about surviving the stay-at-home mom culture.

      “I was listening to these women go on about kitchen renovations. Or which store has the best price on children’s shoes. I mean is that all there is? The final straw was when they started complaining about their non-existent sex lives.”

      “I would have been in danger of dozing off, but I don’t see the horror in it all.”

      I’m shoveling meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas into my mouth.

      “This is fabulous. Sure, beats last night’s dinner. I ate pickles and olives straight from the jars.”

      “You know you can come to dinner whenever you want. I always make enough for a small army. Maybe I don’t fit in anywhere. What am I doing wrong?”

      “Nothing, that’s it. Was the judgmental one there? Who always shows up unannounced, then looks around commenting on your housekeeping?”

      Catherine nods.

      “She’s your friend?”

      “More like an acquaintance. One of the lesser evils.”

      “Don’t let these women get to you. Drop these broads, as Dad would say. I go through the same crap at work.”

      I pour more Merlot, while Catherine further explains her predicament.

      “When I elected to stay home, I expected to have this great group of supportive female friends. In reality, most of these women talk badly about one another as soon as their backs are turned. Gossip is their favorite sport.”

      “It sounds like the 1950’s all over again. I thought we were past all this. You should start talking about politics to see what happens.”

      “I’d only be more of an outcast than I already am. It’s this crew, or the ones who all want to be ‘Stupendous Mom’. That group is all about logging volunteer hour and back-to-back sports activities for already exhausted children. They’re all well-coiffed in perfect shape. Good grades aren’t enough anymore, they start talking about college scholarships when their kids are in preschool. I think I’d welcome the 1950’s back. Expectations were more reasonable. Now, it’s all a big, ugly competition.”

      “So, what’s changed? I don’t remember you going through all of this when you had Michael.”

      “With Michael it was different. I had friends who were having babies at the same time. They all went back to work. I’m still here.”

      “What about working part time? Best of both worlds?”

      “Funny you say that because after that last play date, I reworked my resume and sent a few copies to local law offices. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even finish Law School. Although, I’m not sure how I’ll find time.”

      “See? That’s great Catherine! Once you find something to get you started, you can take on more hours when Charlotte goes to kindergarten.”

      “Part time would be ideal, but it’s hard to find. I could get a sitter for a few hours a day, it’s better than being a burned-out Mom. I’m sure I’ll feel guilty if Charlotte has to be in pre-school more days. Where does all the guilt come from?”

      “You have to ask? One word. Mom. Too bad you can’t remove that horrific emotion from your body like you clean old data off your computer. Press click to recycle it.”

      “To deleting guilt!” Catherine says, raising her wine glass to mine.

      “We say as we drink wine.”

      “See, you didn’t even last one minute!” 

     “You know what really helps my stress level while keeping me sane?” 

     “I know, I know, running, right? I can’t run.”

      “You don’t have to. You’re always saying you want to lose weight. Join the gym. They all have daycare now. Charlotte could go play with the other kids while you work out. You’d meet other moms like you.”

      “All the moms like me went back to their careers already, remember? There is that new gym. But do you think I’ll be surrounded by women who all look great in spandex?”

      “No one looks great in spandex, truth be told. It leaves too little to the imagination. You’ll be fine. Trust me. There’s all shapes and sizes there. Some people go strictly for the social aspects.”

      “I’ll go first thing Monday. I can reclaim my body, maybe even my identity, before I completely forget who I am. Maybe Gary will even start to hear me when I talk.”

      “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

      “Brat!” Catherine says, tossing a throw pillow at me.

      “Hey, watch the wine! To the new, improved you, the guilt-free spandex queen with a part time job!”

     “Cheers! Once again, I’ve prattled on all night. How are you coping with Sean?  You said you had something to tell me.”            

“I’m doing okay. I’m even thinking about putting myself out there again. I’ll let you know how it goes.”