An original short story: The Stalker

 This is a new one. I wrote it last week. Hope you enjoy!

The Stalker by Patty Panni

Don’t get me wrong, I liked Jeff. I did. He kind of reminded me of a big goofy puppy, wanting more and more of your attention. One pat on the head and he thinks you’re his best friend.

Jeff and I were both on the expansion team for a renovation of a historic building in city center. Spider-web-cracked floors had been replaced by gleaming white marble with inlaid blue and gold designs. Interior moldings were rebuilt to original specs and missing or drafty windows had been replaced with updated double-paned versions. On the outside, white Corinthian columns and dentil moldings completed the look of a grand centuries-old building.

Our job was finding new tenants for the building. We had pitched the building to law firms, design companies, and architects, along with other businesses. Sometimes the pitch was done over drinks or dinner, and yes, Jeff and I carpooled more than once to these meetings. With occupancy near capacity, we were all assigned other projects. I thought that was that until Jeff stopped by my desk late in the day.

“Hey Chelsea. How about dinner tonight?”

I looked up in surprise. “No, thanks. I’m kind of in the middle of something, so I’ll be here another hour or two.” Now I ask you, wouldn’t a normal person take this as a no and be on his way? I know I would.

Jeff, however, sat in front of my desk. “I could help you, Chels. That way we’d still be able to have dinner together.”

I lower my eyebrows. “No, Jeff. Thanks. Another time.”

He smiled his goofy puppy smile and said, “Oh sure, another time.” He left and I went back to work. It was about an hour later when I was interrupted again. Jeff carried a big bag from Russo’s, my favorite Italian place.

He looked really pleased with himself. “Since the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, I brought Mohammed to the mountain! Now we can still have dinner together.”

So, first of all, what an idiotic use of that statement. Second, I don’t react well to manipulation. And that’s what that was, right? Clear manipulation. I decided to make myself clearer. I stood and grabbed my purse.

“Jeff, it’s been a long day. I’m just not interested, okay? Now, I’m heading home.” There was a big glass of Merlot with my name on it waiting for me.

“But Chelsea…” His voice trailed off as I walked away.

And I thought that was the end of it. I really did.

But of course, it wasn’t. By the time I reached my car in the parking garage, Jeff was following me, carrying the stupid Russo’s bag like a puppy carrying a squeaky toy. The garage was eerily empty, with only one car parked close to my silver Prius – a black Ford F150. Jeff’s.

“Chels, wait up!” Jeff called. I was honestly beginning to feel a little threatened; I really was. And can I just say that I hate being called Chels? Just for the record?

So I charged him. He was so startled he dropped the Russo bag and tomato sauce spilled out of some container. It looked like blood, which kind of freaked me out.

“Back. Off!” I spoke forcefully enough to get my point across. I glared at Jeff, until he took a step back.

I reached my car, beeped it open, got in and put the car in gear. I opened my window just enough for him to hear me as I drove past him. “You stay away from me, Jeff. I mean it.”

When I got home, I checked every door and window lock and armed the alarm system. Honestly, isn’t it enough we’ve had to live through a worldwide pandemic without me gaining a stalker? I have to admit, I was rattled. I poured a large glass of Merlot, lit candles, and took a bath with a Zen bath bomb. I had my hair wrapped up in a towel and was wearing my favorite Nickelback tee shirt when my phone rang. Feeling relaxed from the wine and bath, I didn’t check to see who it was before I answered.

“Hello.”

“Chelsea, I don’t understand what I’ve done that is so wrong.”

“Jeff—”

“—No, don’t hang up. I just need to understand. We’ve gotten so close. I’ve never had someone like you in my life. Beautiful, smart, a good kisser—”

“—Kisser? We’ve never kissed, Jeff.”

“But we have. Remember the night I drove you home and you fell asleep in the car?”

I didn’t say anything. I vaguely remembered it. It had been a grueling day of back-to-back meetings. We had carpooled because Jeff said it would be simpler that way.

“When we got to your place, you were so relaxed, with your head tilted toward me. I knew you wanted me to kiss you. So I did. And Chelsea, it was magical. I’ve never had a kiss mean so much.”

This guy was nuts. I spoke through gritted teeth. “I was asleep, Jeff. If you kissed me then, that’s an assault. I mean it, you stay away from me. Don’t make me go to the cops, because I will.”

I put the phone down then and went to bed. Of course I tossed and turned all night. I mean, life with a stalker, right?

I almost called out of work the next day, but I decided he was not going to keep me from doing my job. If he so much as looked my way I was going to HR with the whole story. Thankfully, Jeff wasn’t there. Apparently he called out sick. Good. It turned out to be a pretty good day. My “work bestie” Sara and I decided to hit a Happy Hour on the way home for nachos and margaritas.

On my second margarita, I leaned close to Sara and said, “So, did I tell you I have a stalker at work?”

“Oh my God. Tell me it isn’t Jeff.”

I stared at her. “How the hell did you know?”

“Oh God, Chelsea! He did it to me last year! We were both on the Benfield project, and when it ended, he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept calling and coming by my house. 

“No way!?”

“Oh yeah. I finally sicced Mr. Pauling on him, and whatever he said did the trick because he hasn’t even looked my way since.”

Mr. Pauling is our executive director. My boss’s boss.

“Oh wow. Maybe I should talk to him.”

“I would if I were you. Because Jeff will just keep coming until somebody stops him. Guy doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no.’ Who knows…maybe Mr. Pauling will fire him.”

I looked at a mural on the wall across from us while I pondered that statement. It was of a Day of the Dead motif with bright reds and oranges. The dead were all playing the guitar, tambourine, and saxophone. They seemed to be in high spirits for dead souls. It’s not that I wanted Jeff fired; I didn’t. I just wanted him to leave me alone. I decided I’d see what the next day brought before I made a decision.