best counter
Search
Report & Feedback

Chapter no 11

Hello Stranger

PERFECT. BETWEEN JOE the Weasel and Parker, I pretty much had to dread every single elevator ride.

Another reason to never leave the rooftop.

And yet Parker wasnโ€™t wrong. I really didnโ€™t notice she was there. Other than that our top-floor hallway suddenly started smelling like cat pee, which had to be that creepy Sphynx catโ€™s fault. Maybe she worked all the timeโ€” what kind of terrible job would a person like Parker even have?

Or maybe she was moving around me all the time, unseen, like a ghost. Either way, she was surprisingly forgettable.

The Weasel, however, was the opposite.

That red-and-white bowling jacket was as hard to miss as a stop sign. And he wore it all the time. Other people changed their clothes, their shoes, their hair. Sometimes they wore workout gear. Sometimes a suit for work. Sometimes jeans. It was normal human behavior to wear different clothes for different occasions and I applauded it. Of course, it made it almost impossible for me to know who was who, but at least the world was still lumbering along much as it always had.

Anyway. Not this guy.

He really must have loved that jacket.

I saw him in it almost every evening. Getting coffee at Bean Street from Hazel One or Two. Locking his Vespa at the bike rack. Crossing that same crosswalk where Iโ€™d almost been flattened by a VW Beetle. Doing normal things, mostly. But with a spotlight on him because of that jacket.

Just my luck.

Everybody looked the same except for the last guy I wanted to see.

Noticing him like that did, however, confirm my initial diagnosis: he was definitely some kind of epic player.

My first confirmation came when I saw him stumbling drunk down the hallway with the sexiest woman in our building. I was waiting to step into the elevator as they lumbered out, arms pretzeled around each other, after what had clearly been a wild night of drinking. She looked worse than he did, for sure, and as they lurched past me, I wondered if she might be in danger.

Had he roofied her? That was the first question that came to mind. Just how terrible was this guy? Was he just a douche, or was he a monster?

I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but I didnโ€™t know her name.

Sue and I always just called her Busty McGee. Which sounds terrible, now that I think about it. But Iโ€™m telling you, most of her outfits were very โ€ฆ cleavage-forward. We werenโ€™t noticing something she didnโ€™t want us to notice. Actually, sheโ€™d make a great friend for me now, because she was highly recognizable, even without a face. Iโ€™d know that chest anywhere.

And I very much admired her confidence. I, who hadnโ€™t bought new bras in so long I couldnโ€™t even tell you how long it had been.

But look, as identifiers went, those were hers. If you needed to mention her to anyone in this building, all you had to say was โ€œthe lady with the boobs,โ€ and youโ€™d be set.

Not that you would say that. But you could.

Anyway, I hesitated on her nameโ€”and then I made do with โ€œHey.โ€ โ€œHey!โ€ I called, catching up to them. โ€œAre you okay?โ€

Leaning against the Weasel, she stopped, turned in my direction, and said, โ€œHeโ€™s got me.โ€

At that, Joe un-paused them and they continued on toward her apartment door. Should I stop them? Should I call the police? What would I even say? A fat-shaming jerk is taking a very sexy neighbor of mine back to her apartmentโ€”and he might be up to no good?

That wasnโ€™t a 911 call. People got up to no good all the time.

In the end, all I could think to do was shout after them: โ€œMake good choices!โ€

They kept goingโ€”no acknowledgment.

โ€œBe sure to respect each otherโ€™s humanity!โ€

Not even a glance backward.

Then, โ€œDonโ€™t make me hear about this in the elevator in the morning!โ€ As they disappeared into her apartment and left me standing there.

After that, I started noticing Joe coming out of Ms. McGeeโ€™s apartment more often. Which made me think theyโ€™d started dating. But get this: There were two other single women on our floorโ€”not counting Parker, who I would never count, on principleโ€”and I saw him coming out of their apartments, too, often late at night. The glasses, the floppy hairโ€”and always that bowling jacket. Unmistakable.

What was he doing in all these womenโ€™s apartments? Something about it just bothered me.

Here I was, chastely facing all kinds of recovery and obstacles and time pressures โ€ฆ and there he was, just having his way with the entire building.

I was frantically trying to relearn how to paint. I was staying up late and getting up early and painting back over canvases. I was falling asleep at my own worktable, leaving paint and brushes out to dry and get ruined.

I was hustling like crazy all the damn timeโ€”and this guy Joe was just โ€ฆ getting lucky?

I didnโ€™t have time to obsess over what this dude was up to. And yet I was doing it anyway.

โ€œI think heโ€™s a gigolo,โ€ I said to Sue one night, FaceTiming while we both did our dishes. โ€œI see him going in and out of womenโ€™s apartments all the time.โ€

โ€œMultiple women?โ€ Sue asked. โ€œMultiple women,โ€ I confirmed.

โ€œThen heโ€™s not a gigolo,โ€ Sue declared. โ€œGigolos are typically kept by one older woman for eye candy and sexual favors.โ€

I paused, like, Huh. โ€œWhy do you know that?โ€

โ€œIf itโ€™s multiple women,โ€ Sue went on, proud to be helpful, โ€œheโ€™s more likely a male prostitute.โ€

I considered it. โ€œWell, he must be very good. The penthouse apartments in this building arenโ€™t cheap.โ€

โ€œMaybe thatโ€™s what the videos are for. Maybe heโ€™s extorting them so he can live in luxury.โ€

I sighed. Maybe. โ€œAnythingโ€™s possible. People are so terrible.โ€ โ€œItโ€™s a shame, though. Heโ€™s so cute.โ€

โ€œIs he cute?โ€ I asked.

โ€œYou donโ€™t think heโ€™s cute?โ€ โ€œSue, I canโ€™t see his face.โ€

Sue smacked her forehead. โ€œForgot again.โ€ โ€œWhy canโ€™t you remember this?โ€

โ€œLet me be your eyes for you. Heโ€™s super handsome. That floppy hair. The hipster glasses. Plump lips. Stellar jawline. And heโ€™s very symmetrical.โ€

She knew that would get me. I always gave extra points for symmetrical. Too many years of art classes.

โ€œAnd,โ€ Sue went on, โ€œheโ€™s got my favorite kind of teeth. Perfect but not perfect.โ€

โ€œLike a rabbit.โ€

โ€œHe doesnโ€™t look like a rabbit. Iโ€™m telling you, heโ€™s attractive. And heโ€™s got a kind of bad-boy energy. You knowโ€”โ€™cause he rides that Vespa.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m not sure a Vespa creates bad-boy energy.โ€

โ€œVespa โ€ฆ Harley Hog โ€ฆ whatever. The point is, heโ€™s good looking.โ€ โ€œI guess heโ€™d have to beโ€”if heโ€™s thriving as a high-class prostitute.โ€ โ€œHe could just be a playboy, though,โ€ Sue said next, thinking about it. This was high praise from Sue. โ€œYou think heโ€™s a playboy?โ€

โ€œI mean, who knows? Iโ€™m just saying he could just be handsome as a hobby.โ€

That was true. โ€œJoe the man-whore,โ€ I said, trying on the idea for size. โ€œI donโ€™t like that word,โ€ Sue said, picking up her phone to pause our

FaceTime and research it. She loved looking things up midconversation. โ€œThereโ€™s got to be a better word.โ€

โ€œJoe the libertine?โ€ I offered.

But sheโ€™d found a good website now. โ€œHow about seducer?โ€ โ€œNot harsh enough.โ€

โ€œPlayer?โ€

โ€œToo complimentary.โ€

โ€œIf we were in England, we could call him a shag bandit.โ€ I thought about that.

โ€œOoh, hereโ€™s an archaic one,โ€ Sue said. โ€œMutton monger.โ€

But I shook my head with a shiver. โ€œThatโ€™s the worst one so far.โ€

โ€œHow about just keep it simple and go with a classic? Womanizer.โ€

I nodded. Donโ€™t overthink it. โ€œJoe the Womanizer.โ€ โ€œI like it,โ€ Sue said.

And with that, it was settled. Joe of the bowling jacket was sleeping with half the women in my building, mocking them in elevators the next day, and possibly extorting them for money.

What other explanation could there be?

 

 

 

DR. NICOLE, HOWEVER, did not agree. โ€œPlease donโ€™t call the cops on that poor man,โ€ she responded after I spent a whole session telling her all about it.

โ€œThe evidence is pretty damning,โ€ I said.

โ€œWhat evidence? Thereโ€™s no evidence. Youโ€™re talking about one overheard phone call and a few sightings in the hallwayโ€”sightings where you mostly darted into the shadows so he wouldnโ€™t see you watching him.โ€

I shrugged. โ€œI know what I know. A lot of things donโ€™t add up.โ€ โ€œYes. But thatโ€™s not him. Thatโ€™s you.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m not the person who filmed a sleeping woman in my bed and then made fun of her.โ€

โ€œBut you are the person who just had brain surgery.โ€ โ€œAre you saying Iโ€™m mentally defective?โ€

โ€œIโ€™m saying youโ€™re in an adjustment period.โ€ โ€œWhat does that even mean?โ€

โ€œGo easy on poor Joe. And go easy on yourself. You canโ€™t entirely trust yourself right now. Your senses are out of whack. Your brain has a lot going on.โ€

โ€œNo argument there.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re going to make mistakes for a while until you adjust.โ€ โ€œWhat kinds of mistakes?โ€

โ€œThings like not recognizing your sisterโ€”โ€ โ€œStepsister,โ€ I corrected.

โ€œAnd not knowing familiar voices. And falling in love at first sight with your veterinarian.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t think we can call meeting the love of my life a mistake, but okay.โ€

But I wondered.

Was Dr. Nicole right? Could I not trust myself?

It was a strange thought. Who on earth could you trust if not yourself? โ€œBe patient with yourself,โ€ she kept saying.

What did that even mean?

Everybody kept telling me to wait, let the edema resolve, get some rest, see what happened. But I didnโ€™t have that kind of time. I had to get my portrait painted for the show. I couldnโ€™t just watch my whole life fall apart and not try to do something about it.

Then she glanced at her watch, so I glanced at my phone. We had two minutes left in the session. Time to wrap it up. โ€œThe point is,โ€ Dr. Nicole said, โ€œyouโ€™re still adjusting. You have to allow for confirmation bias.โ€

โ€œWhatโ€™s confirmation bias?โ€

Dr. Nicole paused for a good definition. โ€œIt means that we tend to think what we think weโ€™re going to think.โ€

I added all those words up. โ€œSo โ€ฆ if you expect to think a thing is true, youโ€™re more likely to think itโ€™s true?โ€

โ€œExactly,โ€ she said, looking pleased. โ€œBasically we tend to decide on what the world is and who people are and how things areโ€”and then we look for evidence that supports what weโ€™ve already decided. And we ignore everything that doesnโ€™t fit.โ€

โ€œThat doesnโ€™t sound like me,โ€ I said.

โ€œEverybody does it,โ€ Dr. Nicole said with a shrug. โ€œItโ€™s a normal human foible. But youโ€™re doing it a little extra right now.โ€

โ€œI am?โ€

She nodded. โ€œBecause your senses are off. Itโ€™s harder for you to collect solid information about the world around you. And because youโ€™ve experienced trauma, youโ€™re on high alert for danger.โ€

No argument there.

โ€œSo,โ€ I said. โ€œIf I think everything is terrible, then everything will be terrible?โ€

She nodded, like, Bingo.

โ€œBut I do think everything is terrible.โ€

โ€œIn the wake of a difficult time,โ€ Dr. Nicole said then, sounding more than ever like the calm voice of reason, โ€œas you try to readjust to a new normalโ€”โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t want a new normal!โ€ I interrupted. โ€œI want the old normal.โ€

โ€œThe trick,โ€ Dr. Nicole continued, not letting me throw her off, โ€œis to look for the good stuff.โ€

โ€œFine,โ€ I said, thinking about it. โ€œIโ€™ll try.โ€ Then I added, โ€œAnd I wonโ€™t call the cops on the Weasel. Yet.โ€

โ€œAnd maybe stop calling him the Weasel.โ€ โ€œBut he is a weasel.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™ll definitely keep thinking that if you keep thinking that.โ€

I sighed. Another gotcha moment. โ€œConfirmation bias?โ€ I asked, already knowing the answer.

โ€œThatโ€™s my girl,โ€ she said.

You'll Also Like