1. Stalker
The receptionist had propped the salon door open. A light breeze freshened the front area as I collected my client. Brooke was her name, and this was her first visit. She had an appealing triangular face, but her hair was dull and cold. She needed a color that would bring out the warmth of her eyes. But that was why she was here, even if she wasn't aware of the details.
Taking the navy client cape, I gestured to my chair, settling the cape around her with a flourish after she was seated. I glanced up in the mirror to find her studying my face with interest. I couldn't tell if her fascination was with my brilliant blue-violet balayage or my piercings, but it allowed me to use my frequent conversation starter.
"Don't worry, you won't leave here looking like this. Unless you want to, of course."
Brooke gave me a pleasant laugh. "No thanks, Sam, it's not for me, but I like it."
"Between you and me, this is Phil's work," I said, waving toward the medium-height bespectacled Black man with the neatly-trimmed beard behind the chair to my left. "Please don't praise it, or he'll be unbearable."
"The lady knows quality work," Phil interjected, his high-wattage smile focused on Brooke. "But Samara's almost as talented as me."
Giving the woman a quick grin in the mirror, I said, "And Phil is almost as talented as he thinks he is."
Brooke laughed again, her brown eyes merry. I got no sense of attraction from her. My gaydar was ping-free, and she wasn't one of those many straight women intrigued by her clearly gay stylist in the tight-fitting rainbow tee, but she was enjoying our banter. She seemed strangely familiar, too, though I would swear we'd never met before.
Her eyes flicked to Phil's in the mirror, then back to mine. "However good you both are, neither of you was my first choice," she said. "I just couldn't wait over six weeks for an appointment."
Elaine, on my right, raised a thumb to Brooke. "You tell them," she said.
"Ooh, that stings," I said. "Way to put us in our place. But honestly, Elaine's schedule is why my client list is growing. Same for Phil. And we do live up to her reputation."
"Samara," she mused.
"Hmm?"
"I assumed Sam was short for Samantha," she said, "but Phil called you Samara."
"Ah, yeah," I agreed. "Not after the movie, though. I was three when it came out to screw with my childhood."
"I like the name," Brooke said, "but I can see why you go by Sam."
After consulting Elaine's books, Brooke selected a dark cherry color with highlights, and a layered style that I thought would frame her face in a way that would knock her socks off.
Glancing in the mirror and studying her face directly as I spritzed and combed out her hair, I again felt that sense of familiarity. Brooke must have seen the puzzlement in my expression. "What is it?"
"Do you wear glasses?" I asked.
"Sometimes?" she replied. "Usually I wear contacts."
"Large, round, tortoiseshell, maybe?" I persisted.
"Uh, yeah?"
I spoke without thinking. "Oh my God, you're Delilah!"
She turned sharply to look at me, wincing as the tips of her hair caught in my fingers. "I'm who? Excuse me?"
Phil turned toward me at my outburst, while Elaine frowned as she worked. "I'm sorry," I said, holding up my hand in a placating gesture. "I recognize you, is all. At least, I think I do, but I guess I need to tell you the whole story."
She nodded uneasily, then relaxed as I resumed my work.
"Months back, I was looking for a way to kill time before my shift." I inclined my head toward Elaine. "Boss lady here decided Phil and I could work unsupervised, so we started keeping the salon open into the evening, and I came in later in the morning. I was browsing relaxing images online when I found this campus green webcam. There was a woman studying under a tree."
I recalled the feeling of that first viewing. The green had a peaceful air and immediately made my morning feel lighter, while the girl sitting beneath the largest tree had the most beautiful dark curls, and was raptly studying the book on her lap, book bag by her side.
"Of course, Samara had the hots for her," interjected Phil.
"Shaddup," I said, glaring at him. "This is my story. Though she was very cute. I did wonder if she might be gay."
"Would it have stopped you if she wasn't?" Phil asked.
"Eh, probably not. I can look. But she was. Is. I'm sure she is. She was there again on the next day, then a few days later she was there with her girlfriend. Ingrid. Blonde, buxom." I glared at Phil again, certain he'd interrupt me there. Wisely, he didn't. "I created my own soap opera. Those two were living their best lesbian life. I didn't see them together every day, but they were close. Juliet would read books or make notes, then Ingrid would show up and they'd work side-by-side under a big shade tree."
"Juliet?" Brooke asked.
"The first woman. She has these gorgeous long black ringlets and dark Mediterranean skin. I decided she was Italian, and I named her Juliet even before she starred in my love story. But I couldn't call the blonde Romeo, so she was Ingrid. Because, well, she is an Ingrid."
"Hmm," said Brooke, clearly amused by my tale.
"Though Juliet would work for a long time alone, when Ingrid appeared, they wouldn't stay long, and Juliet would leave with her. They were clearly on the same wavelength. I like to see a lesbian couple happy. But then the villain showed up and lured Juliet away."
The corners of Brooke's lips had turned upward into a grin. "Let me guess. Delilah is a villain's name, and you're convinced she's me."
"Delilah was a brunette with round glasses," I said. I wasn't looking at her in the mirror, now. I was focused on her hair, scissors in hand, evening out her tips. "And yes, I called her Delilah because she's a temptress, prying Juliet from her One True Love." I was certain she'd hear the capital letters. "This is all at a hundred feet or more. I never saw anyone up close, but I'm certain she's you."
Brooke laughed. "So my secret identity as a seductress of lesbians and destroyer of their relationships is revealed," she said. "There are just a couple of problems with your theory. One, I'm straight, and two, Juliet has been my best friend since tenth grade."
"It really was you?" I asked, glancing into the mirror again, more excited than I should have been for the woman to out herself as my imagined demon. "You're not just playing along with my story?"
"Nope," Brooke said. "It's quite a coincidence, since the campus is on the other side of the state, but I recognize the situation. My best friend Alicia invited me to stay." She pronounced the name Ah-lee-see-ya, emphasis on the second syllable. I didn't think it was an Italian name, though of course she could be Nth generation. "Aubrey - she's your Ingrid - is a clingy bitch who threw a tantrum when she found out I was going to stay with her. Me, the not gay friend. The not gay living with a boyfriend best friend."
"So Ingrid broke up with Juliet just because you stayed over?" I asked. My full attention was back on my work now, the regular soft rasp of the scissors quiet beneath the buzzing of Phil's trimmer.
"They'd already been having problems with Aubrey's possessiveness," Brooke said. "Cici wanted me there to talk things over, because she was increasingly uncomfortable with Aubrey trying to control her. But me staying in Cici's apartment allowed Aubrey to claim that Cici had been cheating, and she threw a hissy fit. I don't think she'd have broken up with Cici, because the whole point of a meltdown is to control the person on the receiving end, but Cici had had enough, and dumped her. Cici initiated the breakup, and I'm proud of her for it. Past time, IMO."
"That makes sense," I said, sadly. "She showed up to scream at Juliet a couple of times after Delilah left. Juliet looked upset, but she was the one shaking her head. Of course, there's no audio feed, so I couldn't tell what Ingrid was screaming about."
"I think it's great that you've invented this drama," Brooke said. She grinned at me in the mirror. "And you got very close to the truth, though I guess 'Ingrid's' bitchiness didn't come across. I never liked her, but you can't second-guess young love."
"I tuned out of the series a little after that." I said. "I don't know if Juliet found a new partner. I was so disappointed that my gay silent movie didn't have a happy ending."
I gave Brooke a card when she left, which had my cell number as well as the office number. I hadn't expected to hear from her until she needed another hair appointment, but a few weeks later my phone pinged with a text. I was lying on my back on my couch, legs draped over the end, re-reading N.K. Jemisin's "The Stone Sky," and had no inclination to move from the comfortable position, so it was an hour or more before I checked my phone.
The text was from an unknown number.
???: "Samara, this is 'Delilah'."
It took me a minute before I made the connection.
Me: "Oh hey! Hi, Brooke."
Brooke's reply wasn't immediate, which was only fair, given how long I'd made her wait. I'd just brewed myself an orange peach tea when my phone pinged again.
Brooke: "Hey! 'Juliet' will be home this coming weekend. Would you like a backstage pass to meet the star of your show? I think she'd find your story amusing."
Me: "Sure! Where and when were you thinking?"
She suggested Friday at O'Neill's, a local bar that wasn't bad for conversations. It was a good place, but without the noise and distraction of live music or dancing. The TV would be tuned to a sportsball game, but was usually kept muted.
Me: "I can find my way there. Can I bring Phil? I think he'd like to see *how the drama unfolds*. Don't worry, he won't be hitting on any of you"
Me: "Well, I can't promise that, is your boyfriend cute?"
Brooke: "Hell yes, but he can look after himself"
Since Phil and I were working until quite late I'd brought casual clothes to change into, so after my last walk-in I changed into my crop hoodie. It had long thumb-hole sleeves, was black with green trim and embroidery, and hung several inches above the black aurora teardrop in my navel piercing. The matching loose cotton pants were of a wide layered construction, making a high split, almost like a heavy skirt. They were also black trimmed with green, with embroidery behind usable pockets. I wore comfortable black ankle boots to work, so I had no need to change them. My blue-violet hair cascaded out from the base of the hood.
We locked up and took a Lyft directly to the bar. We'd take one home, and Phil would insist - as he always did - that the ride drop me first so he could see I arrived back at my apartment.
Phil and I had been friends since high school, both of us being outside the student norms. He could be overprotective, though he knew I could kick his ass, and he'd back off if I asked. And it was true that even in our area it was less safe for a woman alone than a man, so I didn't mind the arrangement.
Brooke had texted that they'd be sitting outside, so we walked straight through the bar to the fenced in area. Early evening air was warm and fragrant. Brooke and her friends were sitting at a table for six, but had moved a circular table to join it. They'd saved us two seats at the main table, so there were four of them, and three at the overflow table. Brooke sat in the center of one side of the main table. On her right was a guy who looked a little older, and on her left was Juliet.
Alicia, also known as Juliet, was bewitching. I hadn't realized how lovely she was in the webcam view. The dark ringlets were glossy, her eyes almost black behind thin metal-frame hexagonal glasses, yet the brightest dark eyes I could recall seeing, glittering with intelligence. Her skin was darker than I'd thought, a deep bronze rather than a Mediterranean hue.
The seats across from Brooke and Alicia were the ones they'd reserved for us, so I marched up to the one in front of Alicia and pulled it out for myself, leaving Phil the center chair.
"Nice haircut," I said, giving Brooke a half-smile. "Great color, too."
Brooke smirked. "Glad you think so," she said. "I'll give you my stylist's name, if you like, since you seem determined to hide your own hair."
"Touché," I said. Then I sighed and pulled back my hood and shook out my hair. I'd been expecting to be in the air-conditioned indoors. Outside was too warm for my hoodie.
She introduced us to everyone, starting with Jayden, her boyfriend, on her right. Across from him, beside Phil, was a tall girl with pale brown hair named Hunter. I waved a greeting to them, then clasped hands with the three on the round table - Owen, who was seated on my side, Ashley in the center, and Bryan on the far side, beside Alicia.
Finally she introduced her best friend as "Juliet", making me grin and the girl roll her eyes, her cheeks darkening with a slight blush. "So you're Alicia," I said, taking her hand.
"That's my name," she said, her bright-dark eyes intense as they held mine, "but apparently I'm Juliet in your telenovela?" I thought I detected the smallest trace of an accent, until she pronounced the final word with a pure Spanish accent that removed all doubt. "And please call me Cici."
"You have three names now," I said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm Samara."
"Samara," she said, with a smile, then glanced down. I realized I was still holding her hand, so I released it, hoping that no one else had noticed. "But you also have multiple names, since you go by Sam. Samara is a nice name," she said.
"Mmm," I said, "though it made my teens awkward."
Cici frowned. "Why's that?"
"You never saw The Ring?"
She shook her head.
"It's a horror movie," I said. "Samara is a demon ghost murderer."
As Cici scowled, I leaned to my left, bumping Phil's shoulder with mine. "Isn't it the man's job to get the first round in?"
"How come you can be a sexist ass, but I'm not allowed?" he asked.
"Lady's privilege, obv," I responded instantly. "Venmo request me for half."
He sighed, but he was grinning. "Okay."
I selected one of the craft beers on the menu, while the drinks others chose were varied enough that he started keying them into his phone, but a waitress stepped outside while he was halfway through and took our orders. To my surprise, Cici ordered a Coke.
"Not a big drinker?" I asked her.
"I'm twenty," she said, pouting. "I'm younger than everyone else."
"Wow," I said. "That sucks."
"Tell me about it." She shrugged. "So, tell me what's the story behind you stalking me?" Her cheeks had colored again, due either to reserve or indignation. I couldn't tell which her expression implied, but her manner showed annoyance.
"Stalking's such an ugly word," I drawled. "I prefer one-way observation."
The waitress was returning with our drinks. She had a remarkable recall of what belonged to whom. Our conversation was interrupted for a minute while she travelled around the joined tables distributing glasses. Cici's eyes flicked over me, as if trying to take in my appearance while we were distracted, and I thought maybe her outraged act was to try to hide shyness. After landing on each of my facial piercings, her eyes fell to the dark CZ stone in my navel, her eyebrows rising slightly.
Her gaze moved to her Coke until the waitress left, then she feigned haughtiness again, staring at me. "You were going to tell me about stalking?"
"Ah, yes," I said. "Right, my telenovela." I tried to pronounce the word as she had, and a grin briefly crossed her lips. "So, I'll have to tell the whole story. Even if Brooke has already told you."
"She hasn't," said Cici, with a shake of her head. "She told me I was starring in a webcam play, but I should hear it first-hand."
Nodding, I began to speak. I embellished the story much more than I had for Brooke, since for her I'd just been trying to get to the reason I recognized her. I painted buxom Aubrey as the voluptuous Ingrid, heaping superlatives on her worthy of Homer, claiming Juliet had found love at first sight with the model-perfect Scandinavian. I told of the arrival of Delilah the temptress, played by Brooke, and how Juliet had been beguiled by her charms, as at the casting of a magic spell or the consumption of a love potion fashioned by Aphrodite, and how she had broken the Scandinavian beauty's heart.
The whole table was listening. Cici had her chin resting on her fist, elbow on the table. When I was done, she said, "That's not quite how I remember it." Everyone laughed.
"Yeah," I said, with a sigh almost as dramatic as my story rendering. "Brooke has told me that Aubrey was an ass, and you're well out of that situation. You looked very upset when she badgered you. I felt sad for you and stopped watching the feed."
"Ay, you would not have seen much if you had reconnected," she said. "Brooke helped me see that it was for the best, but I kept my head down until the end of the quarter. I didn't spend much time on the green. I knew I was happier without her, but it took time until I believed that. We were never the great lesbian romance you were imagining. She was demanding and maybe abusive."
"No maybe about it, sweetie." That was Brooke, defender of her best friend. "You try to see the best in everyone, Aubrey wasn't worth the benefit of the doubt."
Cici gave a sigh, and a resigned look toward her friend. "I know," she said. "How do I avoid trusting someone like her again? Dating is hard, chica."
"It will get easier," Brooke replied, confidently. "Date more, keep it casual, so you don't get entrapped, and talk to me! If you're nervous about what a date wants from you, give me a call. You know I'll always be there for you."
Cici nodded, then pulled Brooke in for an awkward sideways hug. Their voices had dropped, and the whole table wasn't paying as close attention now that I'd ended my story, but I felt a little guilty for intruding. I took a long pull of my beer before speaking again.
"How old are you, Brooke?" I asked.
She narrowed her eyes. "Twenty-three," she said. "Why?"
"Cici's only twenty. I was just wondering how you became so close. You must have been in very different years at school."
Brooke's expression cleared. "I was Elián's friend first," she said. She pronounced the name with the stress on the final syllable. "He's Cici's older brother. He would often bring Cici out with him, and of course I got to know her at their house."
"Were you dating?" I asked.
She put her right hand against her mouth, blocking her boyfriend, then stage whispered, "I wish!" Jayden wasn't paying attention, but she clearly didn't care if he heard her.
"Elián is gay," Cici said, losing her lighthearted tone. "Which is why I rarely see him, and why I have not dated often."
Sometimes I can be slow on the uptake. I didn't see a connection between the two facts. I looked between the two friends, puzzled, until I figured it out. "Ah. Your parents are homophobic?"
Cici's eyes were on the table. She nodded sadly. "They both are. Papá is more passive, but Mamá will not have anything to do with Elián. When he tried to come out, she threw him out of the house. He wasn't able to go to college. He's working as a mechanic on the coast. I miss him."
"So I guess you're not out to her," I said.
Cici shook her head. "I will have to tell her one day, but I need to make it through school. I'll have to be ready to move out. In fact I'll probably need to move everything I want out of her house first, because she'll cut me off."
"Elián still visits Cici at college," Brooke said, her expression more serious than her tone. "Maybe you'll see him on your private pay-per-view."
"I don't know if I should watch now that I've been outed as a stalker," I said, my eyes on Cici.
"You're not a stalker," said Cici. She tried to pass it off as nonchalant, but her cheeks glowed. "And maybe I like being stalked by una chica hermosa. I can always avoid the green if I'm having a bad hair day, or if I'm hungover."
I frowned at her words. "She called you a beautiful girl," Brooke said, in another stage whisper.
My cheeks warmed. "I'm happy to stalk anyone who finds me attractive," I said, "but you lied to me! You said you don't drink!"
"I don't drink here," she corrected. "I don't drink at bars. I do go to parties. I do other things that I won't tell Mamá. And if you ever tell her what you see on your web-viewer-thing, I will withdraw your right to stalk."
I grinned at her. "Even if I knew who she was, do you think she'd take me seriously?" I made a quick gesture to take in my face, clothing, and navel piercing.
Cici smiled for the first time since Brooke mentioned her brother. "Probably not," she agreed. She frowned at me. I knew what was coming next. "Why do you have so much metalwork?"
"I like the way it looks," I said, which was the answer I always give.
"I do too," Cici said, "but why? It must be uncomfortable."
"That's a harder question," I agreed. "Why do I like the way my piercings look? I was a raven in a former life, so I like shiny things, maybe? Decoration? Why does a room look better with paintings? I have kind of a square face, and I think my adornments make it more interesting. Does that mean I'm hiding my face because I think it's bland?" Cici gave me a horrified look, but I shrugged. "I've wondered that occasionally. I don't think I do, but if I ever decide to take out my jewelry, it will be because I've decided that I'm trying to hide my face, and I don't want to do that anymore."
Cici lifted her head to see over the table. "That last reason couldn't account for non-facial piercings," she said, looking down at my navel.
"I guess I just like the freedom to decorate my body as I choose," I said. "I think that's the only answer. Will it ever make sense to anyone else? I don't know."
"How many are there?" Cici asked.
"There's one hoop on my lip," I said, pointing to it. It was a small tungsten vertical hoop on the right side of my upper lip. "Two here," I added, pointing to my nose, where two small hoops graced my left nostril. "Two on each eyebrow." These were tungsten spikes, two together on the outside of each eyebrow. "Five in my left ear, and earrings." I'd been counting on my fingers. "That makes fourteen."
"Do you have tattoos, too?" Cici asked.
I shook my head. "Just one, not in public view."
"I'd think if you were so into adorning your body, tattoos would be less painful," she said.
"Maybe," I said, "but I don't like the permanence. I won't remove my jewelry, but I could, and that's important to me. I've seen too many tattoos that the owners regret. Or should."
She nodded, but I don't know if she understood. I don't know if I fully understood. "Can we see your ears?"
I held my hair back to expose them. The left had two rings up high, then three plain studs. Below them a chain suspending a black aurora CZ stone. A matching chain adorned my right ear, with no other decorations. A mix of symmetry and imbalance, like most of my choices.
Cici stared at the stones on the chains, then down at the one in my navel, apparently noticing that they matched. Then she seemed to realize that she was staring at my exposed midriff, and a slight flush shaded her cheeks as she looked back up. "Uh," she said, "I guess that makes fifteen."
"Oh, yeah, I was only counting the ones on my face," I said. "Well, my head. If I add in others, there's... an undisclosed number. If you're a very lucky girl," I added, with a sly grin, "maybe you can count them for yourself one day. You could even see my tattoo."
Cici's face took on the hue of a beet.
"Sam..." The warning voice was Brooke's.
"I'm sorry, was that too much?" I said, contritely. "I'm only teasing."
"I don't know of others," interjected Phil.
I grinned at him. "Babe, if you and I were just a little less gay, you'd know for sure."
He laughed, then turned to Cici. "If you ever do find out, let me know."
Brooke's disapproving glare extended to Phil. "I think we're embarrassing our Juliet," I said, then smiled at Cici. "Perhaps we'll see a replacement for Ingrid under the spreading boughs of the campus courtyard?"
"My first class is earlier this semester," said Cici. "I will have to move from my tree before nine-thirty. But I may be under my tree with coffee and the day's notes before then. Until the weather turns cold."
Cici had given me permission to resume watching her, so I did. At least, I kept the feed on while I readied myself for work, though I didn't watch closely. Sometimes I thought I'd seen her raise a hand to the camera, but then she'd look away in embarrassment.
One morning she was sitting with another girl, skin darker than hers, with short hair. They seemed very comfortable together. They were together again on two more occasions. I was pleased that she seemed to have found someone. But it only lasted about a week, then she was alone again. Maybe the other girl didn't like the cold. Autumn was passing. I was fairly sure my Juliet would be staying indoors soon.
In late September, my phone rang. Brooke's name appeared on the display.
"Hey, Brooke!" I was still changing for work and eating a hard-boiled egg, but I could continue doing both of those things while taking a call from a friend.
"Hi, Sam. I just heard from Cici."
"Oh? Is she coming back into town?"
"No, she isn't," Brooke's voice returned. "She wants to know if I can give her your number. She wants to text you about your stalking."
"Awww, is she going to withdraw permission?" I whined. "Sure, though, it's on my card. I'm not keeping it private."
"I don't think that's it," Brooke said. "She was complaining that without feedback she doesn't know if it's worth chilling her ass on the green every morning."
"Then yeah, please tell her, I won't ask for hers. If she texts or calls I'll have it."
"I'll send it now," Brooke said. She sounded a little uncertain. "Hey, Sam?"
"Yes, Delilah?"
Brooke snorted, then continued. "I need to warn you about something. Cici has... well, she seems to have a crush on you."
"What? She doesn't even know me," I objected.
"She always wants to talk to me about you, even though I have nothing to add to the conversation. Please don't hurt her."
"Oh, wow," I said. "I don't know what to say. We had fun at O'Neill's, but I didn't mean to imply anything."
"She thinks you're hot. And cool. And you flirted with her. And she likes your imagination. And I might have said that you seem to be a good person. But you have to know that she can't date anyone. She doesn't let anyone get close. That's why Aubrey started getting jealous, though it would have happened eventually. She was a... she wasn't a good person."
"Why can't she date?" I asked. "Because of her mother's homophobia?"
"Yeah," Brooke replied. "There comes a point where Cici starts to think... if this is going anywhere, she'll have to hide it from her mother or come out to her. So she pulls back."
"There was a girl with her a couple of weeks ago," I said. "And then there wasn't, again."
"Exactly," said Brooke. "So, for your sake, don't get attached, and for Cici's sake, well, don't get attached."
"Thanks for the warning, Brooke," I said, cautiously. "I'm guessing we'll be okay since there's almost three hundred miles between us, but I'll be very careful."
"Thanks, Sam," she said. "I mean it, I think you are a good person. I trust you."
The text arrived half an hour later. I was already at work, so I could only reply between clients.
Cici: "Hello, Samara! I twisted Brooke's arm to get your number!"
Me: "Oh, she and I are going to have to have words about that. How are you, Juliet?"
Cici: "LOL. Do you still watch the show?"
Me: "Usually. I think I've seen you wave."
Me: "I don't see you when it rains there, and it has been raining lately."
Cici: "I usually wave. I thought you probably were done watching."
I figured that the best way to show her I wasn't done was to mention the event that would be the most significant to her.
Me: "I saw you with a girl a couple of weeks back."
Cici: "*sigh* She was nice but we're not together."
Me: "*sadpanda*"
Cici: "I'll meet the right one someday. This is my final year. Anyone I find would be short term anyway."
Me: "You said you were 20. How can you be a senior?"
Cici: "Because I'm a SUPERGENIUS! LOL I started at 17."
Me: "You're too smart! I barely finished HS."
Cici: "You're smart too and funny. I don't care if you don't have a degree."
This was veering toward letting Cici admit to a crush. Probably time to move on.
Me: "So now I have your number are you expecting me to text whenever I stalk?"
Cici: "You don't have to, but it would be nice to know."
Me: "Tomorrow, then."
Me: "If you're bored on a rainy morning you could call, too."
Cici: "I might."
Me: "*wave*"
Cici was already under her tree when I texted. I saw her open her purse, then take out her phone. As soon as she'd checked it, she grinned toward the camera and waved. She didn't return my text, but that was fine. Her side of the communication was visual.
The same happened the following day, except she didn't check for her phone. I figured she assumed the text was from me, because no one else would text her. Later, at work, I realized she'd probably assigned me a different text sound.
A few days later, the weather on the other side of the mountains must have been unseasonably warm, because Cici was sitting in her usual spot in a tee shirt. There was a jacket on the ground beside her, but she wasn't wearing it. When I texted her, she checked her phone, which she hadn't done since the first day. Then she looked around her, before pointing to the camera with both hands, then to her eyes, then the camera again.
Me: "Watch? OK, I'm watching..."
A couple of seconds later, she checked the phone again, and nodded decisively. Again, she looked around her. Then, facing the camera, she grabbed the front of her tee shirt and lifted it to her chin.
She was wearing a bra, of course. It was full coverage, not one that would be sold as sexy. Its color was probably named "nude" or "flesh toned," and was several shades paler than her skin. So it hadn't been especially exhibitionistic, just a little racy, and just for me. It gave me a warm feeling toward her. I liked that she had a crush on me. It felt harmless, and I liked her, too.
When I got home from work I started the web viewer. It was dark, with only a few lights visible among tree leaves, but I didn't need it to show anything useful.
After some poking around on the web, I had a screen capture utility working. The next time she did anything like today I'd record it and send it to her for extra embarrassment.
A few days later, she called for the first time. I was surprised to hear my phone ringing. I set it down on speaker after I answered, to continue getting dressed.
"Hey, Cici!"
"Hi, Sam," she said. "Is this a good time?"
"I'm only halfway dressed, but I won't be leaving for work for an hour. It's a great time. Is something up?"
"¡Chin! I should have FaceTimed! Nothing is up. It's raining. I wanted to wave to you on the camera."
I could hear the tiny trace of accent that I'd noticed at O'Neill's. It brought to mind her ringlets, her rich skin tone and her glittering eyes. Her voice, and knowing that she was thinking about me, brought a warmth to my chest. Maybe Cici wasn't the only one with a crush.
"I'm sorry you can't," I said. "Why today?"
"It's my sister's birthday in a few days. Seventeen. I wish I was there for her, but I can't be, so I'm feeling sad."
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Inés. She has grown so much while I've been away. She was hardly a teen and now she's nearly an adult. She's had to deal with Mamá for all this time, and I can't help her."
"Your mother's hard to deal with besides the homophobia?" I asked.
"I had to look after Inés and Tomas until I left for college. I'm sure Inés was pushed into the parent role for Tomas as soon as I moved away. She always tells me how much she loves and misses me, but I'm sure she resents me, too, because I went from being her safe person to being invisible."
"Will you call her on her birthday?"
"Yeah," she said.
"I'd offer to take her out for ice cream on your behalf," I said, "but I think that would be a bad idea for so many reasons."
After that first conversation, she started calling on other rainy schooldays. She also called on her sister's birthday, after speaking to her. She seemed weighed down by Inés's plight. At least, she said, Inés didn't seem to be heading down the same path her brother Elián and she had taken. Her mother had no reason to hate Inés for her sexuality.
October 30th was particularly wet, according to my weather app, so I anticipated Cici's call.
"FaceTime would have hit the jackpot today," I said, as soon as I swiped to answer the phone.
"Uh, hi, Sam? Uh, what?"
"I didn't decide what to wear yet," I said, "so I'm wandering around the bedroom in my underwear." I set the phone on my dresser.
"Oh, um. Did I call too early?"
"No, it's fine," I said. "I know it's raining there. 'Course, it dropped almost to freezing here. You wouldn't be sitting out under a tree here, either."
"Well, I will tomorrow," Cici said. "That's why I'm calling. Even if I have to carry an umbrella. You will be watching, won't you?"
"As long as I don't oversleep," I said.
"Don't oversleep," Cici said. "Remember what day it is."
Ah, right. Tomorrow would be Halloween. Cici was probably planning to spend the day in costume. I had to believe that I wasn't quite awake enough to remember, since I would be costumed at the salon.
In the morning, I clicked the webcam bookmark to see a woman in a long bright red coat and matching red hat with a yellow band sitting under Cici's tree. The sky was dull, but there was no rain.
The woman's hair wasn't as dark as Cici's regular color, more a red-brown, and Cici's beautiful ringlets had been combed out and probably sprayed. I started my video capture immediately. I'd definitely send her this file.
Me: "Good morning, Carmen! What a fetching coat you're wearing!"
I saw Cici smile up at the camera, then take her phone out of her purse.
Cici: "I'm glad you like my coat. I hope you like what's inside it."
Me: "Since you're inside it, I think that's a given."
She grinned at my reply, then waved to the camera. She unfastened the coat, letting it slide to the ground, revealing a short red skirt and red strapless corset - or something that looked very much like a corset from the webcam's distance. It wasn't excessively revealing, but much more so than the bra she'd flashed me with a couple of weeks earlier. The look was both cute and sexy and she was totally hot.
Me: "Sometimes I hate that the webcam is so far away. Also, I know it's not warm enough to be outside in that."
Cici: "I think the distance problem isn't the hundred and fifty feet to the camera, it's the two hundred seventy miles between us. If you were coming to the Halloween party you could see the costume up close."
Me: "I'll content myself with being jealous of your fellow partygoers. Now cover up before you freeze!"
Cici: "Sec."
She held the camera out, arm raised. She tossed the hat aside, pushed buttons on her phone, then put on a long yellow tee shirt she'd taken from her notebook bag. The shirt was tight, showing the contours of her corset.
The selfie she'd taken arrived when she was fastening her coat around her. It was a great shot, her eyes sparkling from beneath the brim of the red hat, her smile warm, and her cleavage tight.
Me: "This is going on your contact so I'll see it every time you call. I have something for you, too, but it might take me a moment to figure out how to send, and I need to get into my costume for work."
Cici: "Looking forward to it. Guess you have a party tonight, too?"
Me: "I'm going to the Cowardly Lion with Phil."
Cici: "Jelly! Also, selfies!"
Me: "I'll consider it. Have a great party, Ms. Sandiego!"
I ended the capture. The file was large and I didn't have Cici's email address, so I'd have to text it, which meant sending it to my phone first. I emailed it to myself, then finished dressing.
I'd made the vest and shorts for my Faye Valentine costume a couple of months earlier. Other than hemming the latex-looking bright yellow fabric, and adding the black trim, which took a long time, the effort had been fairly low, since Faye wears so little. Adding a zipper to the front of the vest had also not been easy, but it was short. I was wearing a strapless bra beneath it. I trusted my work. Mostly.
There was a red shirt to tie beneath the vest, which I'd probably not be able to wear at work, because it would restrict my movement, long white stockings and short boots. My purple hair was a little too long to be Faye, but not bad for color, and I guess my piercings made me punk Faye. It was the hair color that inspired me to dress as her.
I sent the video to Cici, then took a selfie and texted it to her.
Me: "Our color schemes complement. You're yellow on red, I'm red on yellow."
Arriving at the salon, I found a couple of messages from her.
Cici: "You've graduated from stalking to surveillance?"
Cici: "That selfie! ❤️🔥❤️🔥😻. But who is that?"
Cici: "And why did you send me a video of me?"
Me: "Faye Valentine. Have you never seen Cowboy Bebop? You sweet summer child. We have to fix your education!"
Me: "Because I wanted to warn you that the next time you flash me I'll have the video forever! And I thought you'd like it. I do."
Later in the day I had Phil, who made a great Spike Spiegel, take a photo of me working in costume, and Elaine took another of the two of us, resulting in more heart emojis when I sent them to Cici.
When Elaine left, Phil and I dealt with the last few appointments, though we turned the sign to CLOSED to avoid walk-ins. Then we helped each other straighten costumes and makeup, donned our heavy coats - it wasn't Faye Valentine weather outside, and could drop to freezing again tonight - and Ubered to the Lion.
The Cowardly Lion was a LGBTQ+-friendly nightclub. It was open Thursday to Sunday, and since Halloween fell on a Thursday it was hosting a costume party.
Bass rattled the windows as Phil and I approached. As soon as we entered, the curtain of sound, heat, and scent rippled before us, requiring an effort of will to penetrate. Only when we'd pushed through did the atmosphere feel normal. I couldn't get out of my coat quickly enough.
Though we entered the bar as Spike and Faye in coordinated costumes, I lost track of Phil not long after buying us both our first drink. Though he must have kept a closer eye on me, since he texted me a photo of me dancing with a buxom, blonde Tinkerbell. She was all in green, but not much of it. I sent it to Cici with a suggestion to find herself a pixie. A scowly face told me she wasn't thrilled with that idea.
Though smoking or vaping were strictly illegal in a public bar like the Lion, there was a distinct odor of mariajuana on the air, along with the traditional bar aromas of spirits, mixers and beer.
Heading to the bar for my second drink, I caught my friend Cade. She and I had had a casual thing a couple of years earlier, and, stereotypically, we'd drifted into friendship after we'd decided to stop sleeping together. Cade had dark skin and gold-dyed hair that stood out in individual curls. Not my work. I'd love to be able to style hair like that, but it was a skill I wasn't likely to learn. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to take the work from Black stylists who had a much rougher time in the industry.
I told her about my stalking and the cute girl I'd been following. I showed her the Carmen Sandiego outfit. She beamed at the phone, then gave me a speculative look, eyebrow raised.
Cade was only a few weeks out of a short-term relationship that hadn't ended as well as our fling, and she was hoping to hook up. Not with me, obviously, but she was happy to tell me her woes.
"There's a very cute Tinkerbell out there. I got the impression that she might have flexible relationship goals, and just plenty of flexibility in general," I said, then dug my phone out and showed her the photo.
"Maybe I'll look out for her," Cade replied. "Yeah, that level of flexibility might be just what I need. You weren't interested?"
"Don't want the headache," I said.
Cade shrugged, then grinned at me. "Just don't send that photo to your friend in the red coat."
"Oh, I, uh, I did already," I said, scowling. "I wanted to show her I was having a good time, since she was asking me about my party plans."
"OMG, you moron!" Cade said. "I can't believe you'd be so clueless! What would you think if she sent you a photo like that?"
"I'd be happy for her! We're not dating or anything. We're not involved at all." But I realized I really wouldn't want to see her so close to a near-naked woman, whether pixie or human. I hadn't had those feelings about "Ingrid" or the other girl Cici had been seeing for a few days. But those situations had been before we'd traded flirtatious texts, or talked about our lives on rainy mornings. Before I'd realized that I might be reciprocating her crush.
Cade sighed. "I hope you haven't set fire to your friendship. You should call her. But that's your problem to solve. You wanna meet up tomorrow? We should catch up."
"Here?"
"Sure. Post-Halloween drag," Cade said. "You still have my number?"
"Yeah, I'll text you tomorrow."
"Cool," Cade said. "You'll have to excuse me now, I'm going pixie hunting."
I picked up another drink. I wasn't going to call Cici, because I wouldn't find anywhere quiet without leaving. I decided to text now, though, not leave her to let resentment brew.
Me: "How's the party, Carmen?"
Her reply didn't arrive for over fifteen minutes. I'd given up waiting and stuffed the phone into the back pocket of the yellow shorts, which was so small the phone was only held against my ass by tension. At least it was easy to feel the buzz when she did reply.
Cici: "Not as much fun as yours, but don't let me distract you from the green bikini."
Well, shit, Cade had nailed it.
Me: "Nah, I'm just here to dance. I think she's looking for a more particular kind of fun."
Cici: "You're not?"
Me: "Not like that. I arrived with Phil and I'll be going home alone. How's the reaction to the coat?"
Cici: "Good and bad. Send another selfie."
Me: "Okay, but you too. How good and bad?"
I turned to put the crowd behind me and snapped a selfie, where she could see the activity behind me.
Her selfie arrived just after I'd sent mine. She'd taken the yellow tee off and the coat hung open, leaving the corset visible. I'd be saving this image, too.
Cici: "Are you smoking?"
Me: "Prop cigarette. Realistic. Ash and everything. Part of Faye's look. Good and bad?"
Cici: "Getting hit on a lot, and not by girls. Some creeps. One's watching me now. Good party, though. Group of us looking out for each other. Wait."
A moment later another selfie arrived, this time with five girls behind her making a mixed collection of gestures.
Cici: "I should probably pay more attention to them. Green tomorrow?"
For a moment I thought she was referring to Tinkerbell's thin strips of green cloth, then realized she meant the webcam.
Me: "I'll be there."