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 wasnโt wrong. I really didnโt notice she was there. Other than that our top-floor hallway suddenly started smelling like cat pee, which had to be that creepy Sphynx catโs 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 Iโd 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 didnโt know her name.
Sue and I always just called her Busty McGee. Which sounds terrible, now that I think about it. But Iโm telling you, most of her outfits were very โฆ cleavage-forward. We werenโt noticing something she didnโt want us to notice. Actually, sheโd make a great friend for me now, because she was highly recognizable, even without a face. Iโd know that chest anywhere.
And I very much admired her confidence. I, who hadnโt bought new bras in so long I couldnโt 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 โthe lady with the boobs,โ and youโd be set.
Not that you would say that. But you could.
Anyway, I hesitated on her nameโand then I made do with โHey.โ โHey!โ I called, catching up to them. โAre you okay?โ
Leaning against the Weasel, she stopped, turned in my direction, and said, โHeโs 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 apartmentโand he might be up to no good?
That wasnโt 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: โMake good choices!โ
They kept goingโno acknowledgment.
โBe sure to respect each otherโs humanity!โ
Not even a glance backward.
Then, โDonโt 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. McGeeโs apartment more often. Which made me think theyโd started dating. But get this: There were two other single women on our floorโnot counting Parker, who I would never count, on principleโand I saw him coming out of their apartments, too, often late at night. The glasses, the floppy hairโand always that bowling jacket. Unmistakable.
What was he doing in all these womenโs apartments? Something about it just bothered me.
Here I was, chastely facing all kinds of recovery and obstacles and time pressures โฆ 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 timeโand this guy Joe was just โฆ getting lucky?
I didnโt have time to obsess over what this dude was up to. And yet I was doing it anyway.
โI think heโs a gigolo,โ I said to Sue one night, FaceTiming while we both did our dishes. โI see him going in and out of womenโs apartments all the time.โ
โMultiple women?โ Sue asked. โMultiple women,โ I confirmed.
โThen heโs not a gigolo,โ Sue declared. โGigolos are typically kept by one older woman for eye candy and sexual favors.โ
I paused, like, Huh. โWhy do you know that?โ
โIf itโs multiple women,โ Sue went on, proud to be helpful, โheโs more likely a male prostitute.โ
I considered it. โWell, he must be very good. The penthouse apartments in this building arenโt cheap.โ
โMaybe thatโs what the videos are for. Maybe heโs extorting them so he can live in luxury.โ
I sighed. Maybe. โAnythingโs possible. People are so terrible.โ โItโs a shame, though. Heโs so cute.โ
โIs he cute?โ I asked.
โYou donโt think heโs cute?โ โSue, I canโt see his face.โ
Sue smacked her forehead. โForgot again.โ โWhy canโt you remember this?โ
โLet me be your eyes for you. Heโs super handsome. That floppy hair. The hipster glasses. Plump lips. Stellar jawline. And heโs very symmetrical.โ
She knew that would get me. I always gave extra points for symmetrical. Too many years of art classes.
โAnd,โ Sue went on, โheโs got my favorite kind of teeth. Perfect but not perfect.โ
โLike a rabbit.โ
โHe doesnโt look like a rabbit. Iโm telling you, heโs attractive. And heโs got a kind of bad-boy energy. You knowโโcause he rides that Vespa.โ
โIโm not sure a Vespa creates bad-boy energy.โ
โVespa โฆ Harley Hog โฆ whatever. The point is, heโs good looking.โ โI guess heโd have to beโif heโs thriving as a high-class prostitute.โ โHe could just be a playboy, though,โ Sue said next, thinking about it. This was high praise from Sue. โYou think heโs a playboy?โ
โI mean, who knows? Iโm just saying he could just be handsome as a hobby.โ
That was true. โJoe the man-whore,โ I said, trying on the idea for size. โI donโt like that word,โ Sue said, picking up her phone to pause our
FaceTime and research it. She loved looking things up midconversation. โThereโs got to be a better word.โ
โJoe the libertine?โ I offered.
But sheโd found a good website now. โHow about seducer?โ โNot harsh enough.โ
โPlayer?โ
โToo complimentary.โ
โIf we were in England, we could call him a shag bandit.โ I thought about that.
โOoh, hereโs an archaic one,โ Sue said. โMutton monger.โ
But I shook my head with a shiver. โThatโs the worst one so far.โ
โHow about just keep it simple and go with a classic? Womanizer.โ
I nodded. Donโt overthink it. โJoe the Womanizer.โ โI 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. โPlease donโt call the cops on that poor man,โ she responded after I spent a whole session telling her all about it.
โThe evidence is pretty damning,โ I said.
โWhat evidence? Thereโs no evidence. Youโre talking about one overheard phone call and a few sightings in the hallwayโsightings where you mostly darted into the shadows so he wouldnโt see you watching him.โ
I shrugged. โI know what I know. A lot of things donโt add up.โ โYes. But thatโs not him. Thatโs you.โ
โIโm not the person who filmed a sleeping woman in my bed and then made fun of her.โ
โBut you are the person who just had brain surgery.โ โAre you saying Iโm mentally defective?โ
โIโm saying youโre in an adjustment period.โ โWhat does that even mean?โ
โGo easy on poor Joe. And go easy on yourself. You canโt entirely trust yourself right now. Your senses are out of whack. Your brain has a lot going on.โ
โNo argument there.โ
โYouโre going to make mistakes for a while until you adjust.โ โWhat kinds of mistakes?โ
โThings like not recognizing your sisterโโ โStepsister,โ I corrected.
โAnd not knowing familiar voices. And falling in love at first sight with your veterinarian.โ
โI donโt 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? โBe 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 didnโt have that kind of time. I had to get my portrait painted for the show. I couldnโt 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. โThe point is,โ Dr. Nicole said, โyouโre still adjusting. You have to allow for confirmation bias.โ
โWhatโs confirmation bias?โ
Dr. Nicole paused for a good definition. โIt means that we tend to think what we think weโre going to think.โ
I added all those words up. โSo โฆ if you expect to think a thing is true, youโre more likely to think itโs true?โ
โExactly,โ she said, looking pleased. โBasically we tend to decide on what the world is and who people are and how things areโand then we look for evidence that supports what weโve already decided. And we ignore everything that doesnโt fit.โ
โThat doesnโt sound like me,โ I said.
โEverybody does it,โ Dr. Nicole said with a shrug. โItโs a normal human foible. But youโre doing it a little extra right now.โ
โI am?โ
She nodded. โBecause your senses are off. Itโs harder for you to collect solid information about the world around you. And because youโve experienced trauma, youโre on high alert for danger.โ
No argument there.
โSo,โ I said. โIf I think everything is terrible, then everything will be terrible?โ
She nodded, like, Bingo.
โBut I do think everything is terrible.โ
โIn the wake of a difficult time,โ Dr. Nicole said then, sounding more than ever like the calm voice of reason, โas you try to readjust to a new normalโโ
โI donโt want a new normal!โ I interrupted. โI want the old normal.โ
โThe trick,โ Dr. Nicole continued, not letting me throw her off, โis to look for the good stuff.โ
โFine,โ I said, thinking about it. โIโll try.โ Then I added, โAnd I wonโt call the cops on the Weasel. Yet.โ
โAnd maybe stop calling him the Weasel.โ โBut he is a weasel.โ
โYouโll definitely keep thinking that if you keep thinking that.โ
I sighed. Another gotcha moment. โConfirmation bias?โ I asked, already knowing the answer.
โThatโs my girl,โ she said.