I was slipping. I could feel it. I was starting to romanticize. The dress was obviously not from Gloria, and I was suddenly glad I hadn’t seen her the past few days and embarrassed myself by offering my thanks for gifts she hadn’t sent. She must be away or something because I knocked on her door yesterday to thank her and there was no answer. Glenn Maxwell was in the hall and informed me that he was collecting her mail for the next week. He cast his eyes up and down my body when he spoke to me. Ew. Just ew. Even someone as love starved as me found him creepy. Surely he wasn’t the anonymous gift sender?
I didn’t think he was. The gifts didn’t creep me out. They made me feel cherished. Someone cared enough to send me things to brighten my day. My life. I felt warm inside and a little thrilled by the mystery of it all. I wanted to reciprocate but I had no idea who this person was. I should tell Dr. Warren about the dress, but I hadn’t even told her about the drink bottle. She would read something into my reaction. This wasn’t a delusion though. Someone else was initiating. Someone was seeking out my attention.
If it turned out the gifts were from Glenn Maxwell, I’d vomit, but that didn’t seem likely. This man was more likely to send a vibrator than the beautiful gifts I’d received. Actually, he was more likely to not spend a cent and instead just lick his lips at me or something. No. This definitely wasn’t a Glenn thing.
As I took a late afternoon jog, I got the sense that I was being watched. I looked around. Nothing but parked cars and some kids hanging around outside a nearby takeaway place. Could someone be watching me from the car? I dismissed the thought. Paranoia had never been a thing for me, and I wasn’t about to make it one now. But still, I could almost feel eyes on me. It was a strange feeling. A gut feeling.
I did a few stretches and went inside for a shower and a cool drink from my new drink bottle. I must tell Ace that it doesn’t leak.
Chapter 11: The Hound—Covert surveillance
I watched my Zahra enter the building. She often jogged in the late afternoon, but she was really pushing it tonight. It was getting dark. It wasn’t safe for her to run around this neighborhood so late. I’d have to keep watching her if she put herself at risk like this.
I checked the time on my phone. Turns out that Glenn Maxwell was not only bribable, but he had also bargain basement prices. It was concerning that he’d risk his tenants’ security for $20 and a six pack of beer. I knew I posed no danger, but what if some random pervert gained access to the building? What if Rose ever had a real stalker?
As planned, he opened the underground parking lot at 6:20 pm. I drove in confidently, knowing he’d also disabled the video surveillance. From my research, I knew Rose drove a small red Honda with the number plate JD 235. It was parked in the corner, in front of a wall painted with her apartment number. Pulling into the empty space two parks away, I quickly exited my car. No doubt she’d be showering after her jog. She didn’t go out much, but I didn’t want to risk her coming down to her car for a quick shopping trip or something. I also couldn’t risk pondering the image of her showering. Soaping herself, running her hands down … no. No time for that.
Taking the yellow flower and note from my passenger seat, I slipped it under the wipers of her windscreen. I also took the tracking device and placed it under her car. She had no reason to think her car was being tracked. In her mind, she was the stalker. She was the threat. I just wanted to make sure she was safe. If I knew where she was, I knew she’d be safe. We had a meeting tomorrow and I knew she wouldn’t be happy with the news, so I’d asked permission to visit her at home and deliver it there.She’d reluctantly accepted, but her reluctance seemed more to do with the prospect of bad news rather than a genuine desire to keep me out of her home.
I quickly returned to my car and drove from the apartment building. My Zahra would feel safe and loved. This was nothing like I’d felt for Evangeline. I’d survived Evangeline’s rejection easily. Could I survive rejection from my Zahra? I knew I was past just wanting to make her smile.
__________________
The next afternoon, I knocked on Rose’s door. It was 4 pm, which had given her time to get home and prepare herself for the update. She answered the door in her jogging gear, obviously intending to go for a run after our chat. I wished she’d kept her workwear on. She wore plain clothes to work, often baggy jeans and a large sweater. This tight gym gear was distracting. She had high, firm breasts and a sweet little rounded belly. Her hips were slight, but wide enough to grab firmly to allow for greater control when I—
Shit, where was I?
“Hi Rose, may I come in please?”
She ushered me in and offered me a coffee, which I accepted. A coffee would buy me more time here. My update would only take a few minutes to deliver, with some extra time to allow for her reactions. But I could drag out a coffee for longer.
A few minutes later, we sat on her sofa with a seat between us. She had only one sofa, positioned in front of her television. Her studio apartment was tiny. She had a neatly made bed in one corner and the whole place had a minimalist vibe. There were no photographs displayed. No art or prints on the walls. This wasn’t unusual for someone who had spent time in an institution. Many people who’d spent years in prison or a psychiatric facility lived simply, unable or unwilling to shift their mindset from their previous simple existence. For Rose, I sensed she didn’t want tofeel “at home” anywhere for fear that home may disappear. My research showed she had moved many times, attending at least ten elementary schools in the space of six years. She was used to moving around. Nothing had been permanent for her.
I sipped my coffee before placing it on the stark white coffee table. It had no drawers, no ornaments or candles on the top. Empty. Simple. I had to stop drinking my coffee if I wanted to stay in her home for longer than 10 minutes.
“Rose, my friend Henry reached out to Lou in the nursing home. He was mentally competent and more than willing to discuss your mother. He said Loretta had been a regular at that time and had enjoyed ... um, short-term relationships with many regulars. Unfortunately, Lou had a vasectomy years before your mother began attending the bar. He admitted to a short-lived relationship with her but said you couldn’t possibly be his daughter.”
She put her head down, moving her hands quickly up and down her thighs. I reached out and placed my hand on hers, stopping the motion.
“It’s okay though; it’s not the end of the road. He said his memory is sketchy, but his son took over the bar. He began working there when he was 18. I guess adherence to liquor laws wasn’t really monitored that well back then.” I gave a short laugh.
“Anyway, his son still owns the bar, and Lou believes he’ll have a clearer memory of the men who visited the bar in that time. I’m planning to go down tomorrow to chat with Paul, his son. This is good news, Rose. There’s still hope.”
She took a deep breath and stared up at me across the distance of the sofa. I was still holding her hand, but it felt awkward because I had to stretch my arm across the empty sofa cushion. I shifted into the empty seat to be closer to her.
“Are you okay?” I asked when she still hadn’t said anything.
She gave a sad smile. “Yeah, I am. I’m preparing myself for a dead end, so I won’t be disappointed, but I’m so grateful to you for looking into this.”
“I’m known for not giving up, Rose,” I said. I had a soft look on my face, but I injected a firmness into my tone and used a deep voice. It was true.I didn’t give up.
A flicker of confusion passed over her face and she removed her hands from under mine. I went to withdraw my hand but instead of pulling away, she replaced her hands on top of mine.
“Thank you. I appreciate it Ace.”
Ace. I was Ace again.
My Zahra did want me. I wondered if she’d tried on the dress, or if Big Salad Gloria was still the assumed sender.
