THE ‘SHE’ CHRONICLES

Episode Four – Summer 1971

It started innocently enough. Well, not exactly innocent in the strictest sense. 

She was grieving the tragic death of her ex-boyfriend and looking for a little diversion.

Into the bar walked a swarthy apparition. They locked eyes immediately as if drawn by magnetic force…

This place was not a  traditional bar; no alcohol was served here, except surreptitiously. Owned by Italians, its focal point was a giant espresso machine.

There was a back room with pool tables, foosball and pinball machines. The local men’s soccer team and their fans hung out here.

The mysterious stranger dropped his gaze to greet someone. Who was he? She had never seen him here before, but he knew the regulars.

For the next hour, while chatting with friends, she kept him in her peripheral vision. His alluring image was impossible to ignore! Jet black, shaggy hair, olive complexion and a sleek leather jacket stoked her basest desires.

She and her friend headed home on foot, parting ways a few blocks later. Immersed in thought about the raven-haired man, she didn’t notice the square black Fiat, until it pulled up beside her.

Who could this possibly be? Most people she knew drove brightly-coloured “muscle cars”. Strange men often tried to pick her up, so she wasn’t fazed; merely curious.

“Ciao, Bella!
Would you like a ride?”

These lines, delivered in a smoky, heavily-accented voice sent pleasurable shockwaves through her body. Then she saw the driver’s face. It was the very man she had been obsessing over!

Should she get in? Pheromones running rife, the combined scents of Old Spice aftershave and leather seats proved irresistible. Never one to shy away from new adventures, she opened the door.

Thus began a heady series of lust-filled backseat trysts.  He offered only a first name, Gianni, and always picked her up en route to or from the bar, never in it.

They did not exchange phone numbers, addresses or other intimate details of their lives. She didn’t care; it was all about the excitement and gratification. At least he drove her home, afterwards.

One of the first things he said was: “At the bar, don’t tell the guys you know me. They would give me a hard time.” True to his word, on the rare occasions they were both there, he barely acknowledged her.

Mostly, he pretended not to see her at all. She honoured his request and responded in kind, but it made her uncomfortable.

One day, while watching a foosball match, her friend, Charlie, sidled up.

“I saw you in Gianni’s car the other day.

What are you doing with that guy? You know he’s married, right?”

Those words, although whispered, roiled her brain like a sudden thunderclap.

Everything made sense now. The secrecy was all for the bastard’s self-preservation! And she, like some naive little twit, went along with it. Her anger at Gianni was minor, compared to that directed inward. Damn those irresistible impulses!

When next they met, she laid it out for him, point-blank:

“I know you’re married. Why are you spending time with me?

Go back to your wife! I want no part of this.”

He pleaded with her, saying he couldn’t help it; she was too beautiful, too unique, too whatever. Blah, blah, blah; she didn’t want to hear it and got out of the car. Before slamming the door, she snapped:

“Don’t ever talk to me again!

I’m walking home.”

A few weeks passed, and she didn’t see him anywhere, not even the bar.

Her bedroom window looked out on the high school parking lot, right across the street. When she first spotted the black Fiat on a Sunday afternoon, she wondered if it was his, but put it down to coincidence.

Surely there was more than one such car in town? Still, why was it parked there? The area was otherwise deserted. She closed the curtains.

The car showed up again the following week and the one after that.  It was Gianni!  One day, she caught him tailing her when she walked to the bar. A profound unease set in, but oddly enough, she was more annoyed than afraid.

As far as she knew, their affair was not public knowledge. She had sworn Charlie to secrecy and he could be trusted. Gianni wouldn’t do anything to call attention to it since he had much to lose. Or, so she hoped!

The Fiat appeared on different days now and more places she frequented, like the neighbourhood doughnut shop.

Time to stop this nonsense! 

When he next appeared in the school’s parking lot, she strode over, yanked open the passenger door and sat down. His broad smile quickly faded as she spoke:

“What the hell are you doing?

If you don’t stop stalking me, I’m going to find out where you live and tell your wife about us!

Go home and don’t come back here!”

Her anger startled Gianni and left him speechless for a moment. He tried to grab her hand, but she recoiled. Tears welled up in his dark eyes.

“Mi dispiace, Bella. 
[Italian for “I’m sorry”]
You are so perfect for me, and I need you too much!
But, I will stop. Please, don’t make trouble with my wife!”

His broken English was almost endearing, and flashes of the initial attraction returned.  She quashed the temptation, as it could only lead to chaos! Besides, she was young and had her whole life to look forward to.

“Okay, Gianni. Let’s pretend this never happened.

Don’t worry; I won’t say anything.”

She got out of the car and didn’t look back. He drove off for the last time. When she saw him next, at the bar, he gazed at her for a beat too long, then turned away.

Nobody was the wiser, and they went on with their lives. A few months later, she had a date with a platonic friend who turned out to be her one true love.

A stalker experience with a benign ending. How lucky could she be?

The aromas of Old Spice and leather still linger…

It started innocently enough...THE STALKER #memoir #dogladysden Share on X

Have you ever been stalked?

Looking forward to your comments!

First Fiat photo credit: Michelecarlucci [CC BY-SA 4.0], from Wikimedia Commons
Second Fiat photo credit:  Giuliogigante [CC BY-SA 2.0], from Flickr

All episodes of The “She” Chronicles are jagged fragments of my life. They are told in the third person by a nameless protagonist to allow for some emotional detachment. See below for more installments:

“MOMMY! MAKE IT STOP!”

WHAT IF…

THE VISITATION

THE STALKER

AS SHE LAY DYING

THE LETTER

MORE FROM THE BLOG:

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