I don’t believe in coincidence. So, when three related
events occur on the same day, I get suspicious, although in this case, I wasn’t
aware they were connected at the time.
First, she posts a poem on her webpage clearly aimed at me;
secondly, I get an email from a former cop (who I learn later is secretly her
boyfriends) seeking to help me with a story; thirdly, she began texting me on
my phone.
I was the man with that “clandestine one-eyed four-dimensional
stare into what it is we both need” seeing beginning and ending, what it always
was and what it could be,” but a poem with a warn I should have heeded from the
start “Don’t fucking rescue me.”
The ex-cop’s email was a surprise with its offer to help me get
a scoop of what he said were dirty cops in my neighborhood, but not nearly as
big a surprise as the texts that started to appear on my phone later that
night.
Her text popped up on my phone saying, “Hi.”
I later learned all her texts tended to start with a single
word.
I responded.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Finishing my column,” I responded. “And you?”
“Waiting to get out of here,” she said. “This bites!”
She was apparently still in the office.
“Waiting is a pain.”
“I need a drink. You want to get one with me?”
“I can’t I have a meeting.”
“Council?”
“No, Freeholder”
“What’s that?”
“A kind of council of commissioners for the county.”
“Oh.”
After a few minutes, another text appeared.
“I’m bored.”
“You’ll be out of there soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
“Will you be going for a drink anyway?”
“Maybe – Maybe I’ll just drink at home.”
Another pause, then another text.
“Do you think drinking alone is bad?”
“No,” I texted back. “What do you drink?”
“White wine. I always drink wine.”
“That doesn’t sound bad to me.”
“Do you drink?”
“Occasionally?”
“Will you have a drink we me sometime?”
“Sure.”
“When?”
“Sometime.”
“How about Friday?”
“Let me think about it.”
“Call me. I want to hear your voice.”
“My phone doesn’t work well here.”
“You need a better phone.”
“I can’t afford one.”
“Call me.”
I called her, struggling to make out what was said with the
poor connection, even though the conversation lasted for more than an hour,
often answering questions to what she thought she asked, she trying to remain casual
in the confusion, finally ending up with me saying, “I got to go now.”
A few minutes after I hung up, she texted me back, “Nice
talking with you.”
“Same here,” I texted back, later learning that this was a
primary means of contacting me, and later became filled with strange inuendo
that after a time ceased being subtle as she began to make more and more bizarre
requests.
In one sequence later, I made reference to “a lot of holes”
meaning something innocent and she responded, “I’m the one full of holes, all
in the right places.”
I was drawn into her world, knowing she was grooming me for
something.
She insisted we meet, and finally settled for a meeting on
Sunday for breakfast at a local diner.
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