This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine.
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“What are you wearing?”
“Not much,” Jan told the voice. He said his name was Ben, but she didn’t believe that. After all, she’d said her name was Melissa. “I have on hot pink socks and a thin white nightshirt which is practically see-through.”
“Oh, god,” Ben said, practically moaning. “Anything underneath?”
“Just my birthday suit,” Jen said. “I don’t have an air conditioner, and it’s awfully hot here.” She had to hold back a snicker. She liked being a tease. Now she understood what the pretty girls saw in it.
“How do you look?” He had trouble getting the words out.
Hell, she thought, he’ll never see me. Why ruin his fantasy? “I’m five foot six, one hundred and five pounds. I have a very tiny waist, but my breasts are C-cups, and at times I think I should be a D.” He groaned at that. “My finely-sculpted body is still a bit sticky from my two-hour gym workout earlier this evening.” Hey, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Ben muttered. Maybe she didn’t really look anything like that, but she sure did in Ben’s imagination. She hadn’t had such a nice ego boost in a long time. She’d have to make sure to write a nice thank-you note to 1-800-FUN-TALK.
“Is the nightshirt sticking to you?”
“Only in the right places,” she said.
Ben’s next sentence came out in a barely audible whisper. “Do you need someone to towel you off?”
“You offering, baby? Let me slip out of my nightie, then you can describe just how you’re drying me off. I know you’ll be oh-so-gentle.” She didn’t want a description of his fantasy self, as she already had one in her mind; she pictured him as a mix between Brad Pitt and a young Harrison Ford.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I was there?” His voice was an excited whisper.
She laughed. “Sure, honey, but that ain’t gonna happen, so let’s just keep going.” She moved back to her sexy-tease voice. “Now, where are you going to rub that soft towel first?”
“But I can be there real soon.”
Time to end this call. Weirdos always had to ruin a good thing. So much for 1-800-FUN-TALK being perfect.
“Melissa? Are you still there? I said I can be there soon. You’ll like that. Please don’t change out of that nightshirt. And leave the socks on. Very sexy.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t even know where I live.” She was in the process of slamming the phone down when she heard his voice, crystal-clear through the receiver.
“Sure I do. You live at 2732 Borland Street. Apartment 3418.”
Her heart missed a beat and she brought the phone back to her ear. “How do you know that? Who the hell are you?”
No answer, just dial tone.
Jan hung up and started to hyperventilate. How had he known? Was he actually coming over? She sat down in her easy chair and put her head between her knees. Or as close as her oversized belly would allow.
Cripes, get yourself under control, girl. She just needed to call the police and explain the situation. Then she’d call 1-800-FUN-TALK and find out what the hell they were doing giving out addresses.
The call to the police only took about a minute. Though they didn’t view her call as important, they did promise to run a police car through the area. She supposed that was as good as she could hope for at this point. With that call out of the way, she dialed 1-800-FUN-TALK.
At the beginning of her first call, before being connected to Ben, she’d gone through an automated menu. She hadn’t made it to the end, but she was sure if she waited through all the choices, there would be a chance to talk to a live operator. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to sue the company, maybe for millions.
The phone rang one and a half times. Instead of hearing the 1-800-FUN-TALK jingle, a recorded voice greeted her. “We’re sorry, but the number you have attempted to dial is incorrect. Please check the number and try again.”
Jan let out a nervous laugh. She must have hit a wrong button in her hurry. She dialed again and got the same message.
“What in the hell?” She took a deep breath and dialed the number a third time. The same recorded operator came on, but this time the message was different. “I’m sorry, but the phone number you are trying to reach no longer exists. It has served its purpose. Please make sure your front door is unlocked, you stupid slut. Enjoy your night.”
Jan slammed the phone down and started crying. What was happening? She noticed the sliding glass door to the balcony stood open. She raced over and latched it shut. Sure, she was on the third floor, but why take any chances? The front door was both dead bolted and latched shut with the chain, but she pushed an easy chair over in front of the door anyway. It made her feel a tiny bit better. She’d locked the window in her bedroom this morning, and she hadn’t opened it when she got home from work. She was locked in safe.
The front door rattled. Coincidence? She doubted that. Who was this guy, and what the hell was 1-800-FUN-TALK? Not an entertainment party line, at least not on her end.
Someone rapped loudly on the door. “Melissa, I’m here to towel you off. Open the door, baby.”
She bit into her palm to keep from making a sound. Maybe if she just stayed still he’d go away.
He knocked louder. Would he break the door down?
“Melissa! You put me in this state, and you’re going to get me out of it!”
She bit harder into her palm. Just go away, she kept saying in her mind. Just go away, just go away, just go away.
The knocking ceased. She ran to the door and glanced through the peep hole. When she saw the area in front of her door empty, she let out a huge sigh and crumpled to the carpet. It’s over, all over, an irrational part of her mind said.
She turned and looked at the sliding glass door. A man, about six-and-a-half feet tall and 200-plus pounds, wearing a paper bag complete with two eye-holes cut into it, stood staring at her. The sight of such a large man wearing a paper bag might have been funny had it been under different circumstances. But it wasn’t, and Jan screamed at the top of her lungs.
The bag-man tried to open the sliding glass door, and Jan thanked every holy being she could think of that she’d thought to lock it. How had he gotten up there so fast? There was a fire escape ladder, but it wasn’t accessible from the ground. Besides, hardly any time had passed from when he was at the front door to now. Were there two of them, or was this guy more agile than he was big? Both were scary thoughts.
She reached for the phone to call 9-1-1, but there was no dial tone. Dead. Not surprising. Maybe she should arm herself. She didn’t have a great knife set, but what she had would hurt someone if she stabbed them. She scrambled into the kitchen and grabbed the largest of the set. Back at the sliding glass door, the balcony was empty. Again, hope flowed through her veins. Those were the only two realistic entrances to her apartment, and since neither was open, he’d given up to go harass an easier victim. Or maybe someone in her building had heard her scream and chased the bad guy or guys away. Or maybe the cops had driven by as they’d promised and scared them off.
Then, through the bedroom, the small bathroom window broke, followed by a loud crash that was probably everything on the sink being knocked to the ground. There was no way he should have been able to get to that window, and no way a man of his size could fit through it. There had to be more than one of them.
Jan stood, shaking in the middle of her living room, listening for any more sounds. She debated whether she should stand here and wait, or take her knife and investigate. This was her place, though, and she had to defend it. Maybe she’d even get the drop on him. Hell, stranger things had happened.
When she reached the bedroom door, she took a deep breath. What the hell was he doing in there? He’d moved so fast so far, why hadn’t he attacked her yet? She reached her hand around the corner and flicked on the light, then rushed in. Before she could focus on anything, a sharp pain hit the top of her head, and she fell into the dark cave of unconsciousness.
#
Jan opened her eyes. The world swirled around her in blurs. Her head felt like it had been slammed with a sledgehammer. She jammed her eyes shut for a few seconds and then opened them again. It helped, and she found herself lying on her bed. Everything rolled back into her consciousness, and she sat bolt upright, looking for her stalker. He stood at the edge of the bed.
“You’re a liar, Melissa,” he said through his paper bag mask. “Or should I say Jan. I told you my real name, and if you would have asked me to describe myself, I’d have told the truth.”
She swallowed hard, which made her head feel like it was going to explode. “So why did you bust in here, and why are you wearing the mask?”
“I’m just following procedure. If you had been telling the truth, I’d have taken off the mask when I first saw you. But you weren’t, so I didn’t.”
Jan scoffed. “Like I want to see what you look like. Why don’t you just leave?”
“No problem. I’d have left while you were asleep, but I needed you to know how disappointed I was with you.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” Jan said. She wanted him out of here. He was obviously a few cards short of a full deck, but she had to know. “How did you get in here? For that matter, how did you know where I lived? How did you get from my front door to my balcony so quick?”
He hesitated, then removed the bag. He was a mix of Brad Pitt and a young Harrison Ford, just as she’d imagined. “We at 1-800-FUN-TALK make dreams come true. Do you think we care that you’re overweight? Or that you might not be beauty pageant material? No. You cared enough to pick us, so we chose to pick you. But you messed it up. Don’t bother calling us again; the line won’t work for you.” With that, he turned and walked out of her life. She was sorry to see him go.
