Stalker

by Dave Dykema

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. See you then.” He almost hung up, but then remembered something else. “I’m just finishing Jerry’s piece. It airs in a few minutes. You should watch it. It’s pretty good.”

  She hung up the phone, fixed herself a cup of coffee and turned on WKBC just as they were introducing Jerry’s feature, which usually was the last thing in the newscast. Taking a sip, she settled into her chair to watch Jerry’s report. She almost always enjoyed them.

  It started strangely. He sat at his desk in the newsroom, tie loose, papers scattered about. He addressed the camera directly.

  “Today was one of those days when I couldn’t come up with anything to do a piece on. Which trivial part of Americana could I isolate and pick on this time?

  “Then I realized: why be trivial?

  “I’ve been doing this for the last five years. Granted, occasionally I’ll tackle a serious subject. I’ve always tried to mix things up, keep them interesting, perhaps even educate…

  “But today I thought I’d try to get a little more personal, show you another side of Jerry Stevens.”

  He stood up, motioned the camera to follow him, and walked to one of the edit bays. Images flickered on a television monitor. The camera zoomed into the pictures on the screen, looking harsh and washed out. A matching dissolve later, and Janet was no longer looking at video on a monitor, but the actual video. Jerry stopped his voiceover and let the tape speak for itself.

  Her eyes grew wide. She recognized some of this. It was blooper scenes of Jerry in the field that Dan shot. They often showed it to her when she visited the station. Dan even burned a copy on DVD.

  Jerry was walking across a frozen lake, talking to some ice fishermen, concern in his expression as he warned of the dangers of melting ice, when suddenly he slipped and fell down, out of frame. The camera shook violently as Dan laughed, unable to hold it still. Through the magic of editing, Jerry was suddenly riding a merry-go-round at a county fair with a young lad on the horse next to him. As Jerry droned on about the fair, the boy’s face turned various shades of green. Janet covered her mouth, laughing, remembering what happened next. Everyone saw it coming except Jerry, who was so engrossed in his monologue—until the boy threw up in his lap. This was followed by the time he did a standup at the zoo, and the gorillas kept reaching through the bars and hitting him on the head, not letting him finish a single take. Finally, on the fifth try, he made it, but just as he finished saying “Jerry Stevens, Eyewitness News,” one of the gorillas came up from behind and threw poop at him. Hysterical laughter could be heard as the camera once again shook.

  The picture dissolved back to the monitor in the edit bay, the camera zooming out to include Jerry.

  “Well, I didn’t say it would be a pretty side of me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Jerry Stevens, Eyewitness News.”

  The picture dissolved to a shot of all the anchors on the set, yucking it up over Jerry’s piece. What a bizarre feature, Janet thought, flipping through the channels with a remote until she landed on VH-1. Must’ve have been a slow news day.

  That Night (I)

  *1*

  “There you go, boys.”

  Samantha set down their second round of drinks, smiled, and then returned behind the bar of The Norseman’s. Jerry watched her saunter off, hips swaying.

  “I see that,” Dan said.

  “What?”

  “You looking at Sam. I always knew you had the hots for her.”

  Jerry appraised her full figure and long hair. “Well, I always did have a thing for blondes. What do you think of that one?” He pointed off toward a group of young women engaged in a wild bachelorette party, snapping photos.

  “The bride?”

  “No. She’s cute, but I’m talking about the one on the left.”

  Dan looked at the girl in the blue dress. “Nice, but I’m still attached, you know.”

  Jerry did his shot, shuddering as it went down. “You called Janet then? How’d it go?”

  Dan drank his Jack Daniel’s and shrugged. “Could’ve been better. She’s meeting me for dinner after this. She thinks she’s getting steak, but I’m afraid she may end up with peanut butter and jelly.” He laughed.

  Jerry looked Dan firmly in the eyes, getting serious. “Now listen to me. I want you to work out your problems with that lady, understood? She’s much too special to let out of your life so easily.”

  “I know. I’ll try. Thanks.”

  “You better get moving. You’ve got a hot date and all.” When Dan didn’t move immediately, he added, “If you don’t, I will. I’ve always loved peanut butter and jelly in the company of a beautiful woman.”

  “Take a cold shower, I’m going.”

  They laughed uneasily, and Dan stood, putting a hand on Jerry’s shoulder.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow it is,” Jerry replied.

  Saying “tomorrow” seemed strange to Dan, taking on a whole new meaning, knowing they were now talking in finite terms.

  *2*

  Janet sat on a stool in her bedroom, slowly combing her long brown hair and thinking about her life. It seemed to be one long cycle, awash in fads and surface congeniality. She was popular in school, supplying money to her friends to buy drugs—marijuana in high school, cocaine in college—though she didn’t use them herself. After graduation, her friends moved on, leaving her behind. That taught her a sorry lesson about herself: she was becoming a clone of her parents, buying people’s attention with money, not love. She vowed to change her ways, but had only marginal success. She continued to fall back to her old ways when things weren’t going as she’d like them to, like a junkie returning to the cold, rusty needle, knowing that each injection might bring death but tying on the tourniquet anyway, hoping for one more high.

  In her quest to rid herself of her parents and their influence she moved west, eventually becoming a Realtor. But problems still followed her. She tried crystals, yoga, and many Eastern teachings. Her latest religion was the New Age movement, but that didn’t quite offer what she was looking for either. She searched for something to fill the void in her empty soul, trying to fit in when she felt like an outsider. And her choices were becoming more extreme.

  As she sat at her bureau, pursing her lips and applying lipstick, she reflected on Dan Freeman. His simple ways and boyish innocence were a refreshing change for her. The odds were against their meeting: they didn’t go to the same school, work at the same place, live in the same neighborhood, go to the same church, or move in the same circle of people. Their backgrounds were completely different: she from affluent snobs in Connecticut, he from good folks in Indiana. She had been walking in the park when a Frisbee nearly took her head off. A man came running over, apologizing profusely. She laughed it off, and tossed the disk back to him. That man was Jerry Stevens.

  She wanted a good look at the person whom had thrown the Frisbee so off course—Jerry had been a good twenty yards off to one side. What she saw pleased her. Dan was dressed in soccer shorts and a white tank top, his sandy brown hair slightly damp with perspiration. He appeared to be athletic, his leg muscles rippling as he chased after the Frisbee. She spread her blanket on the soft grass near them and watched.

  The Frisbee kept coming her way. She thought it highly suspicious—there was no wind to speak of. Every time that Jerry ran over to get it, Dan would have a big grin spreading out over his face. Either he had a terrible arm, or was trying to set Jerry up. After it landed by her the sixth or seventh time, she set down her diet soda, aimed, and with a strong snap of her wrist sent it sailing toward Dan’s crotch. His eyes grew wide, and he caught it just in time. She tried to conceal her laughter when he came running over.

  “That’s quite an arm you’ve got,” he said, looking her over. “Why don’t you join us? We’ll form a triangle.”

  “Well…I don’t usually…” Yet she had intended to all the time.

  “C’mon. Toss it around
with us. It’ll be fun.”

  And so she did.

  The three of them spent a good deal of the day throwing the Frisbee back and forth, feeding the birds, or just lying on the grass, people watching. It was an enjoyable Sunday. Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted a better scene.

  Later they went out for drinks. She felt a little foolish wearing a pair of shorts, bikini top, and sandals, but Dan and Jerry made her feel so comfortable that she didn’t care. They were crazy and spontaneous, composed of a refreshing blend of zaniness and intelligence. Within the course of the day they had her laughing hysterically and engaged in hot political debate.

  Occasionally she noticed Dan stealing a glance her way. She wondered if he knew she was doing the same thing to him. Meanwhile, Jerry tripped over himself trying to get to know her. She recognized him from TV, and the old Janet would have gone for him, but the new Janet preferred Dan’s quiet gentleness—his cool blue eyes didn’t hurt either. They didn’t say much—but much was understood. When she finally went to leave they all exchanged phone numbers.

  The next day she called Dan at work, her finger trembling slightly as she dialed the number. To her delight she found that she could talk to him easily and openly. She invited him to dinner at her place, and that had been the start of it. Over the past year they had grown closer, and Jerry, who was such a Don Juan that first day, had become one of her close friends.

  If only the past were gone, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror, averting her gaze away from the eyes that judged her.

  *3*

  Dan took a shower and got dressed fast, taking a brief moment to consider his appearance in a mirror.

  “What do you think?” he said vainly to a poster of Elvira, mistress of evil and late-night horror movie hostess. “Will I knock her dead, or what?”

  Elvira had no reply. Dan didn’t have time for conversation anyway, since he had to rush out and check the food again. Janet could be coming at any moment. He quickly kissed his hand and laid it against Elvira’s cheek. He made a mental note to try and get a Stalker poster from Mr. Peters down at the Triplex.

  God, that was a scary movie, wasn’t it?

  *4*

  Janet arrived a few minutes later. They were polite to each other, but nothing more. Dan suggested they eat right away while the food was still hot.

  Dinner conversation was sparse, as each avoided the subject they had agreed to discuss. Instead they spoke of the weather, an episode of a sitcom they had both seen, and their gripes at work. Janet seemed to perk up when told of Jerry’s imminent departure.

  “He’ll make a fine teacher,” she said, folding her napkin over her plate, “and if you ever need a second career, you should consider becoming a chef. The steak was excellent.”

  She began to gather up her dishes to take them to the sink. Dan laid his hand over hers.

  “I’ll take care of that later. Why don’t we move to the living room? It’s more comfortable there.”

  The touch of his hand sent an unexpected jolt of electricity through her. They had been apart so long. His overture to move to the other room was a sophomoric attempt at getting physical, and although she had enjoyed his boyish ways in the past, she was unwilling to give in so easily now. Even so, she went over and sat on the sofa. In Dan’s apartment, the “living room” meant the sofa. After refilling their wineglasses, Dan joined her. He lifted his glass in a toast. Hesitating slightly, Janet followed his lead.

  “I’ve been doing more of this than I should today,” he said with a smile, “and I’m going to pay for it tomorrow, but I’d like to propose a toast anyway. To us: may we have many more evenings like this.”

  They clanked glasses and drank. Janet felt the pleasant warming effects produced by the alcohol. Dan must have to as he put an arm around her shoulder, his hand drooping over her chest, brushing against her right breast. She shrugged away from his traipsing hand, letting it perch on her shoulder instead.

  Dan sensed the coolness from her. “I thought that making up after a fight was supposed to be the best part.”

  “I’m not convinced that we’ve made up. We’ve barely discussed our problem.”

  Dan began to kiss her softly along her cheek and neck. “What problem?”

  The brush of his lips brought the electricity back, this time flowing at a higher current. Janet tilted her head back, allowing him better access, her eyes closed. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Dan mumbled an unintelligible response. His lips found hers, and kissed them softly. Her lips were tight, pursed. He persisted, and she warmed up, parting her lips and thrusting her probing tongue into his. They mingled and intertwined with a hunger. His hand returned to her breast. This time she let it stay there, enjoying the slight bounce as he explored.

  Janet ran her hands along the insides of his thighs. It filled him with a tingling sensation that drove him to the edge. He willed her hands upward until one bumped into the bulge of his crotch. There she ground her palm down and kneaded him roughly, her thumb tracing the length of the growing rigid form she felt there, her other fingers tickling his balls through the fabric of his pants.

  Dan pulled back and took off his shirt, his skin covered with a thin layer of perspiration. In an instant, he reached for her blouse, undoing the buttons. As he brushed her necklace she suddenly grabbed his hand and held it firmly. He noticed her hands were cool and trembling.

  “No. We can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” Dan asked, still in a heightened state.

  “Because I’m not going to be used this way. I’m not a whore,” she said, hanging her head low and holding her collar tight. “I don’t know what possessed me to do that. It must have been the wine.”

  Anger now replaced his excitement. “What’s the matter with you? You’re a walking contradiction! Ten seconds ago you were jerking my balls and tonguing me. It’s not like that would have been the first time we made love.”

  “Made love? That wouldn’t have been making love. We were going to fuck.”

  Dan reeled incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look at us. We were writhing around like a couple of animals. Listen to the way you talk about it: ‘jerking my balls.’ You were using me to get off, and I won’t let you.”

  “That’s not true, Janet. I love you. Whatever’s going on here, we can work it out.” He looked at her pleadingly. Janet said nothing. Disdainful, Dan paced the room. He put an arm around his Freddy Krueger standup and spoke directly to it. “I can’t believe this is happening, can you?”

  “Believe it,” Janet said, behind him. “And while we’re at it,” she gestured at all the movie memorabilia in a sweeping motion, “grow up. What is all this? Monsters and ghouls and freaks…”

  “It’s a hobby, nothing more,” Dan said defensively.

  “This is for children. There are far worse horrors lingering within man. I suggest you try tapping into those. Maybe then you’ll know the power of real fear.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She tucked in a loose corner of her blouse. “I have somewhere to go,” she stated firmly, ignoring his question.

  “You’re going to leave? You don’t want to stay and talk this out?”

  “From my point of view I don’t see much to talk about.”

  Dan was stunned. “I can’t believe you’re going to throw away what we have.”

  She said nothing as she walked past him—only sparing him a pitying look.

  “Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, unthinking.

  “You can call. I can’t guarantee that I’ll answer.”

  She slammed the door shut behind her, its echo ringing loudly in Dan’s ears. He turned away from the door and stood in the middle of the room, alone.

  That Night (II)

  *1*

  Dan parted the kitchen curtain with one hand and watched as Janet went to her car. He was tempted to yell something obscene out the screen but thought better of i
t. His mind still didn’t believe the pictures his eyes were sending it.

  Why did she leave? Was it for good?

  She wasn’t at all herself tonight. She seemed conflicted, torn. If she wanted to pull that kind of crap with him it was fine. He didn’t care a bit.

  But he did care. He realized that as he watched her red Ferrari drive out of sight. Part of him wanted to run wildly out, hop into his Chevy, and pursue her. But what good would that do? They’d just have another scene like before.

  Was it another man?

  That seemed a strong possibility. If so, how long had it been going on? Wonderful memories of loving her became dirty, soiled. The thought of another man making love to (or, to use her word, fucking) Janet in the same months that he had made his skin crawl.

  He released the curtains and let them fall back into place. For the second night in a row he needed to get out. He quickly changed out of his dress clothes and pulled on jeans and tennis shoes. He locked the door behind him.

  The balmy air felt good on his face. For a hundred yards or so he just walked, concentrating on the air and nothing else. The cracks in the sidewalk moved swiftly under his feet, one after another in a blur. He was careful never to step on one—

  (step on a crack, break your mother’s back)

  —not because he necessarily believed that, only because it was a habit he picked up as a child.

  He took a right turn on Division Street, moving away from the commercial sector where his apartment building was toward a more residential zone. He had only gone a few blocks but felt miles away once the sodium lights of gas stations and Quick Marts faded from sight. Though it was dusk out, it was dark here, like nighttime was supposed to be, the shade of trees blanketing the street.