I closed my flip phone, turned up the radio and continued down the road until I reached my street. I turned left. As I approached my parking garage I almost didn’t notice the Silver 6-series BMW parked across the street from my building. But it caught the corner of my eye as I turned into the garage. My foot instinctively slammed on the breaks and I jerked forward in my seat and then back again
I stared at it, my heartbeat getting faster. The driver’s seat was empty and my eyes immediately darted up and down the quiet street. It seemed relatively empty on this usual Wednesday afternoon in Brentwood. I pulled into my garage and watched in my rearview mirror as the automatic door closed behind me, making sure no one had slipped in underneath the closing gate.
I parked in my assigned spot and sat behind the wheel, the engine still running, my hand on the gear shift, my breath quickening, my body temperature rising. I tried to relax and gather my thoughts. Should I go inside? Should I leave? Should I drive to John’s work? Should I drive to the police station? My mind raced.
There’s plenty of Silver 6-series BMW’s in this city, I told myself. This is L.A.
But I suddenly realized I had never seen any Silver 6-series BMW’s on my street before. Or was it that I just had never noticed them before? Until one tried to follow me home the other night. Kind of similar to how when you like a new guy suddenly his name is everywhere, when you never even saw it before…or so I’ve been told.
I assured myself I was being ridiculous and I couldn’t live the rest of my life being afraid of Silver BMWs. I would never be able to go out in this city. Especially to any of the nice places.
I cautiously climbed out of my Range Rover and moved rather quickly to the elevator in the garage. I rode it up to the 2nd floor and when the doors open I sprinted to my front door, praying that none of my neighbors came out of their condos to witness me dashing through the hallways like an undercover cop checking out a suspect’s empty apartment. All I needed was a gun raised in the air and to suddenly shout out words like, “Clear!”
I fumbled with my keys until the door was unlocked and I was safely behind it, with the dead bolts bolted. It was the now the fourth day in a row that I had made use of my dead bolt locks. I had barely even noticed them before.
There suddenly seemed to be a lot of things I hadn’t noticed before.
I let out a loud sigh of release and exhaustion. Being an undercover cop in your own building is draining.
And just as I set my bag down on my glass dining room table I heard a rustling of something coming from the other room. My ears perked up and my heartbeat raced again. All of these ups and downs couldn’t have been good for my blood pressure.
I knew it couldn't have been my housekeeper, Marta. She came yesterday. Sophie was the only person who had a spare key to my apartment and she always calls if she’s going to use it. She never just enters.
I quickly looked to the kitchen for some type of weapon. I had taken many self-defense classes, a must in a job where you’re dealing with disgruntled soon-to-be ex husbands, but I knew I would feel safer with something in my hands. Something like…
A frying pan!
I gently pulled one of the pans down from the hooks hanging over the center island of the kitchen, trying desperately not to let the metal bang against any of the other hanging pots or pans.
I hoisted up my weapon of choice, bit my lip and slowly started tiptoeing towards the bedrooms.
As I approached I heard another strange sound. If I had to describe it, I would say it sounded like a soft whimpering, followed by a definite male voice saying, “Shhh.”
It was coming from my bedroom.
What the hell was going on in there? Had my stalker broken into my house and brought a hostage with him? What kind of sick person was this?
I heard the quiet whimper again and then the soft cooing of the same male voice, “Shhh…ah, baby, it’s alright. Don’t cry.”
My face scrunched up in confusion as I slowly started to recognize the voice.
“John?” I called out.
John’s face appeared in my bedroom doorway. “Jen!!” I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“How did you get in here?” I asked.
“I borrowed Sophie’s spare key.”
“You scared me to death!” I scolded him.
He eyed the frying pan with a curious expression. “Thought I was the stalker, huh?”
“Yes!” I said, holding it up and pretending to wack him on the head with it. “Damn you!”
“Yeah, a frying pan…good one,” John said sarcastically.
“Hey! What else was I gonna use?”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” he said confidently.
I put my free hand on my hip and looked at him with doubt. “Oh yeah, why’s that? What’d did you buy me a semi-automatic?”
“No,” he began. “But I did get you another form of, well, ‘protection’.”
“Condoms?” I asked with annoyance. “Did Zoë put you up to this? It’s a first date! And I think I can buy my own condoms. I know it’s a been a long time but…”
“Shush,” John said, placing his hand over my mouth and grabbing my elbow with his other hand.
He pulled me into the bedroom and upon seeing what was on the bed, I gasped loudly. “Oh my God!”
John looked at me with pride. “Do you like it?”
I placed the frying pan down on my dresser and approached the bed slowly. Sitting on my immaculate, white comforter was a small black and brown puppy with large dark eyes and a huge yellow ribbon around his neck.
“He’s so cute!” I squealed with delight.
John seemed relieved. “He’s a Rottweiler. He’s tiny now, because he’s only 10 weeks old, but he’s going to be really big and mean…well, only to sketchy men in Silver 6-series BMWs.”
“John? You bought me a dog?”
He nodded with excitement.
I sat on the corner of the bed as the small puppy happily walked over to me and started licking my outstretched hand. I pulled him onto my lap and stroked the top of his head.
“I can’t have a dog,” I said regretfully.
“Why not? He’ll protect you. He’s guaranteed by his breeder to be distrustful of all men…except me, of course…Just like you.”
I laughed and held the puppy up to my face. He smelled so good, like doggy shampoo and puppy breath.
“Oh, he’s so cute!” I cuddled him closely against my chest.
“Then keep him,” John said, coming over to the bed and sitting down next to us.
“I can’t,” I began. “I’ve never had a dog before. And look at this place!” I motioned around the apartment. “This is not a dog-friendly habitat.”
“Ah,” John said shrewdly. “You said it wasn’t ‘kid-friendly’. You never said anything about dog-friendly,”
“Yeah, but…”
“And you seem to be very dog friendly,” John pointed out. “Look how much you two have bonded in only three minutes.”
I looked down at the preciously irresistible face staring back at me. There was no way I could have possibly said no. And maybe it was my vulnerability at the time, or maybe it was the general direction of my life, but I knew I didn’t want to.
“Does he have a name?” I asked.
“No. That’s your job. But if you’re looking for suggestions. I personally like, ‘John’.”
I laughed and slugged him in the arm. “You can’t name a dog, John!”
“Why not”?” he said, offended.
“Because it’s not a dog’s name.” I turned and looked at my friend. His thoughtfulness and generosity at that moment was overwhelming. “And besides, he could never live up to the name.”
John put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “That’s true. It’s quite a shoe to fill. What’s his name gonna be then?”
I looked down at the tiny body sitting rather cluelessly on my lap. I studied him, tilting my head to the side. “What about Winston?”
“Like Churchill or the Cigarettes?”
“Like neither. Like my Winston.”
John nodded purposefully. “Yes, Winston is perfect. And he’ll make you feel safer, I promise.”
We both looked down at little Winston curled up on my lap, barely the size of a football.
“Well, once he gets a little bigger,” John added.
I leaned down and kissed the top of Winston’s head.
Bigger or not…I felt safer already.
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