Children of Paranoia (15 page)

“When—?” I stood up and started to ask. I shouldn't have been doing this. It was unprofessional. It felt good, though. It felt good to put my life ahead of my job. I was tired of being lonely. I wanted to know what a real life felt like. I wanted to fall for you. Lucky for me, you made it easy.

“Meet me tomorrow night, eight o'clock, in front of the Paramount on St. Catherine Street.” You shot me one last smile and flew out the door. Then you were gone again. I knew a lot about you already, but I suddenly realized that I'd never asked you what your name was.

 

 

I spent that night alone at the safe house, heating up frozen food and poring over my notes from the past few days. I was about a day and a half behind on my surveillance but I'm not sure if the extra day and a half would've helped. There didn't appear to be any holes in my mark's routine. More surveillance would have just led to more frustration. Meanwhile, while trying to develop a plan that wasn't going to get me killed, I kept getting distracted thinking about you. I spent random moments trying to remember details from our conversation. I had to try to chase you from my mind because I was beginning to drive myself crazy. Eight o'clock tomorrow night, I'd remind myself. Then I'd tell myself to breathe.

I needed to do some more work before rushing in and trying to kill the professor if I was going to have any chance of walking away from the job alive. I started to devise the only plan that I could see working without getting me killed. It would require a full day of surveillance of my mark's house. I wanted to see when the maid came, when the maid left, the tasks that she did, and the order in which she did them. I needed to find out how much time she spent in each room and when. I needed to find out everything I could about the motion detecting cameras surrounding the house. I knew their brand and their model number. I knew that they were state of the art, attracted to both movement and heat. If there was one thing moving in the yard or one thing giving off heat, all the cameras would zoom in on that one thing. If there were multiple variances, like two moving bodies or a moving body and something giving off heat, the cameras would each zoom in on whatever was happening that was closest to it. It was an intricate system, but it was beatable.

I had to concentrate. It wasn't easy. Eight P.M. It was only about twenty hours away.

 

 

As planned, I spent the entire next day casing my mark's home. I noted when people came and went. I wrote down the exact times when the maid went from room to room and how much time she spent in each room. I created a chart noting how often the cameras moved as they picked up various random movements, such as squirrels or falling leaves. I began to develop a plan. I'd need to do another day of surveillance on Monday to confirm a few things. I assumed that the whole weekend was a lost cause. The weekend would likely be patternless and useless to me. I could do some research on these cameras and obtain the equipment that I needed but beyond that, I was going to have to give myself the weekend off. Normally, I'd dread the downtime. This time, there was at least some promise that I wouldn't spend the whole weekend alone.

It felt like the day would never end. At seven o'clock in the evening my mark came home. Only one bodyguard came in with him, the other being dismissed for the day at the front gate. Today's bodyguard was the American, who would be spending the night. It was Friday, they were right on schedule. That was the last note I needed. I marked that down and then I hauled ass back through the park. I needed to get ready to see you.

 

 

I got to the theater five minutes early. When I got there, you were already waiting in front of the theater. The sky had grown dark, a deep purple color, but the street and the sidewalk were bright from the lights of the surrounding shops and restaurants. You were standing in front of the theater, looking out at the faces of people as they passed you. I snuck up behind you. I stepped quietly toward your back until my mouth was just a few inches from your ear. “Anything good playing?” I whispered. You didn't jump. You barely reacted. It was as if you'd expected me to come up behind you like that. You simply stood there, your arms crossed, a smile radiating out from the edges of your lips.

“Hello, Perv,” you replied, without looking at me, speaking in a whisper, matching my volume and my tone.

“So, are we actually going to see a movie?” I whispered in your ear, not wanting to move my lips any farther from your face, not wanting to move away from the scent of your hair.

“That is why people go to the movies,” you responded.

“Okay, then, what are we going to see?”

You turned again and looked up at the marquee. There were about ten movies playing at the theater. The light from the marquee shone down on us. You were glowing in the light. “You pick,” you said, spreading your arms out as wide as you could and motioning to the marquee as if to embrace the possibilities.

“Why do I get to pick?”

Without removing your gaze from the listing of movies, you replied, “Because I've already seen them all,” as if I had just asked the silliest question in the world.

 

 

That night, after the movie, I walked you home. The night had grown cold and you walked with your hood pulled up around your face, just like the first two times that I saw you. It felt good, already having memories of you. It had only been three days and I knew that you would live in my mind forever. The cold didn't bother you much. You teased me about my thin American blood. You talked about the movie, about the things that you saw that you hadn't noticed the first time. You said you liked the movie more the second time. You nearly danced around me as we walked, moving in circles, light on your feet. I barely spoke, already dreading saying good-bye to you. When we finally got to the front of your apartment building, snow had begun to fall. You stepped inside the doorway and slipped your hands inside the back pockets of your jeans. You leaned back against the doorframe and smiled at me. I tried reading the signals. Then I leaned in to kiss you for the first time. We held the kiss for a moment, barely moving, and I lifted a hand and placed it against your cheek. The kiss was sweet and innocent but sensuous. It was an old Hollywood movie kiss. When our lips finally parted, I spoke. “By the way,” I said, “what's your name?” Maria. You told me your phone number. Despite the fact that you claimed to be quite fond of the nickname “Perv,” I told you my name. Then we said good-bye, seemingly for the night, although I'm not sure that either of us wanted to let the night go yet. I know that I didn't. I watched you until you were safely in your stairwell, moving my eyes away only after I couldn't see you anymore. Then I started the lonely walk home.

When I got back to the safe house, I climbed into bed and, as usual, couldn't sleep. It wasn't anxiety or guilt keeping me awake this time. It was loneliness. I missed you already. Only moments after seeing you disappear behind your apartment door, I missed you. After an agonizing hour or two, armed with your name and your phone number, I picked up the phone and dialed. You answered after only a ring and a half. You weren't sleeping either.

“Maria,” I said. It wasn't a question. I knew it was you. I just wanted to say your name.

“Joseph,” you replied, saying my whole name.

“Come over,” I requested.

“Now?” you asked.

“Now.”

“It's too late.” You laughed.

“It's never too late,” I replied. There was optimism in my voice. I wasn't used to that. I repeated the words just so that I could hear them again, just to make sure I had actually spoken them. “It's never too late.”

“We already said good night, Joe. I don't want to ruin a perfect evening.” There was something in your voice—a blend of fear and excitement.

“But it wasn't perfect,” I replied.

“It wasn't?” You sounded disappointed.

“No,” I said again.

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because I'm here and you're there,” I answered.

There was a pause on the line. I heard everything I needed to hear in that pause. “I'm afraid, Joe. This is going too fast.” I should have told you that I was afraid too. I was afraid that if it didn't go fast enough, I'd lose my chance. Days would go by and I would be gone. I wanted at least this moment—at least this night. Good things can't happen too fast where I come from. They can only happen too slowly, and if they happen too slowly, they are lost.

“Well, if you don't come over here, then I am coming back there.”

“You can't come here. I have a roommate.”

“Then come here. Be with me. Don't be afraid. Life's too short to be afraid.”

Another pause. “Okay,” you finally said. “Where are you?” I told you the address of my apartment. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

I dressed again. Then I sat on the sofa and waited. Despite the cold, I opened a window, hoping that I could hear you as you approached the building. Fifteen minutes went by. I spent those fifteen minutes watching the clock tick time away. Then the buzzer rang. I didn't stop to ask who it was. It had to be you. I pressed the button to let you in. I stood by the door listening to the footsteps in the stairwell as you bounded up the stairs. You moved quickly until you were right outside the apartment door. Then there was that moment. It was that moment when anticipation and reality caught up to each other. It felt like a cosmic event. I could feel you on the other side of the door. You hesitated before knocking. I decided not to wait for you to knock. I wasn't going to give you a moment to doubt yourself. I opened the door and there you were in front of me. You looked scared but excited, excited that you were ignoring your fears, and scared about how excited you were. I waited a moment. Then I grabbed you by the hood of your jacket and pulled you close to me. I kissed you hard on the lips. I still remember how you tasted. You tasted different than you had just hours before. There was a musky flavor on top of the sweetness that I had tasted before. It was the flavor of whiskey. You must have downed a shot before getting the courage up to venture out of your apartment. The flavor was enticing. We moved together as we kissed. You took the lead. Without our lips separating, you led me slowly into the bedroom. You kept your eyes open. We fell onto the bed, clutching each other. I reached down between your legs and pressed my hand into you. You gasped, slightly, quietly. Then you pushed me away from you for a moment.

“It's freezing in here,” you said to me. Until that moment, I hadn't even noticed. I had forgotten to close the window.

“Wait here,” I said. I looked down at you lying on the bed. Your lips were red and glistening. I could see your chest rise and fall with each hard breath. “Don't move.” I ran into the living room to shut the open window. I was back in the bedroom in a moment. You had moved. I should have known better than to believe you'd wait passively. I returned to see that you'd already ventured under the covers. My eyes drifted to the small pile of your clothes sitting next to the bed. I stood in the doorway for a second, dumbstruck, watching the covers move on top of you as you slowly pulled off your final piece of clothing. With that, you dropped a tiny pair of pink underwear on top of the pile of discarded clothing.

Then you smiled. The fear was gone. It had been murdered by excitement and whiskey. “So, you going to come under here and keep me warm or what?” I stepped to the side of the doorway and turned off the bedroom lights. Only the illumination from the window, a mix of soft blue light coming from the moon and the distant streetlights, was left. The soft light made everything glow. It was like a dream. I slowly slipped off my clothes as you watched me. Then I joined you under the covers.

 

 

We woke up the next morning curled up in each others' arms. I felt hungover, like I had just awoken from a long slumber, confused as to what had happened the night before. The sun was shining brightly in the window. Your hair was disheveled, your eyes sleepy, but you looked beautiful. I woke up before you. While you were asleep, I lay there, gazing down at you. I wasn't sure what to make of what had happened. You opened your eyes and caught me staring at you. You smiled. I could feel my life changing. For a moment, I was torn. I knew that I couldn't be good for you. I should have chased you from my life right then. It would have been the right thing to do. I should have protected you from me. Instead, looking at you in the bright morning sun, I began to believe that maybe you could save me. I just didn't know what from.

Give it the weekend
,
I thought.

We each had things to do that day. You had a paper to write. I had a gun to purchase. I think we were both relieved to be apart for a little while, to take stock of things, to try to understand what was happening, but we didn't dare be apart for too long. We agreed to meet again for dinner, near the apartment. It was the first time that I had ever really felt at home in a safe house.

After you left, I went out in search of a pay phone. I could have called from the landline at the safe house, but knowing that you'd be spending more time there, I decided not to take any more chances. I didn't want anyone to be able to trace anything back to you. Finding a working pay phone was a major pain in the ass. I was on a short list of people whose job was made more difficult by the fact that everyone was getting cell phones. Eventually, I found a pay phone. I dialed. After a few rings a woman answered. “Global Solutions. How can I help you?”

“Victor Erickson, please,” I replied and was transferred. Leonard Jones, Elizabeth Weissman, and I was finally patched through.