Waiting for Jo (2 page)

Will bends down to set the glass of wine on
the table, but the foot catches on the edge of his tray. He tries
to grab it before it falls, but sadly, the glass lands on my chest,
then rolls down my lap, spilling its contents down the front of my
dress before crashing to the floor. I let out a surprised scream as
I jump to my feet and try to brush the excess liquid off of me.

Wills face turns bright red. “I’m sorry” he
says. “Um...” Will looks around for something to clean up the mess.
“Here use this,” he says grabbing a dry napkin from the other side
of the table.

I use the napkin to remove as much purple
liquid form my dress as possible, but it doesn’t do much good.

“Please ma’am...uh, I mean Jo. Let me get you
some seltzer.”

A look of disgust appears on my face. “Don’t
bother; it’s silk so it’s probably fucked. Seltzer won’t do
anything,” I say.

James watches the ordeal in silence, but I
can tell by his pursed lips that he’s angry. He turns to face Will.
“You should buy her a new dress,” he sneers.

“It’s not necessary,” I say, “I’ll just have
to save up and buy another one.” I’m not going to make someone who
lives off of tips buy me a new dress, but I can’t hide that I’m
angry. This is the first article of clothing that I’ve purchased in
a long time, and I was planning on wearing it all spring and
summer. Unfortunately, it only made it about an hour into the
season.

I grab my purse off of the table. “James, I’m
going to head out. I’ll give your proposition some thought and let
you know next week, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, babe. Let me walk you to your
car.”

Babe? Really? I roll my eyes. I don’t think
there’s any way that I’m going to be able to accept this job.

Chapter 2

I wake up in the middle of the night with
fragments of a dream running through my head. For some reason, I
dreamed of Will, the server from the Alcove. I was on a deserted
beach, and I swam out into the ocean. I find that I’m being pulled
by a rip tide. I struggle for what feels like an eternity. Just as
I’m about to give up and let the water take me, Will appears. He’s
strong enough to pull me from the rip tide and swim me back to
shore. He lays me down on the sand and stares down at me as I cough
and struggle to get the water out of my lungs. I finally close my
eyes and quietly thank him. When I open them back up moments later,
he’s gone. He never says a single word to me.

Why would I dream about the server? And why
would I dream about him saving me? The subconscious mind is a
strange thing. I drift back into a deep sleep for several hours
before finally waking up to Malcolm licking my hand. The bright
green, digital clock on my bedside table reads 10:08. Whoa! I never
sleep in this late, not even on Sundays.

“Do you need to go outside, pup? How about a
nice, long walk?” Malcolm’s eyes get really big and his tail wags
frantically. I get out of bed and walk through the kitchen to the
back door with Malcolm at my heels. He runs around the back yard
while I brush my teeth, put on my running shoes, and fill his water
and food bowls.

Several minutes later I hear Malcolm whining
at the back door and I let him back in.

“You ready for your walk, sweetie?” Malcolm
responds by grabbing his own leash and it makes me smile. He’s such
a smart dog. “Give me that leash, you silly pup.” I take the lead
from him and attach it to his collar. We head to the door and I
open it. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, and I‘m excited to get out
there and get some exercise.

But we don’t make it very far. There’s a
folded up piece of paper attached to a dead rose lying on my
welcome mat. Malcolm is pulling on his leash with all his might,
wondering why we’re not moving forward. I look back and forth to
see if there’s anyone close by who may have left the note. The
street is deserted except for my retired neighbor Dale, who spends
a lot of time outside flying his remote control helicopter.

Dale flashes a big smile and waves. “Hi,
Josephine,” he yells from across the street.

“Hey, Dale. Did you by any chance see someone
leave something on my doorstep?”

“No. I’ve been out here since 6:30 this
morning, and I’ve only seen the regulars.”

“Oh, Okay. Thanks Dale.”

“Sorry, Malcolm, we’re going to have to
reschedule our walk.” I pick up the note and flower and bring
Malcolm back inside.

***

Harley picks up the phone after one ring.
“Hello,” she says in a groggy voice.

“Are you seriously still sleeping? It’s like
10:45,” I say.

“I was sleeping. Now I’m awake talking to
you,” she says, pretending to be irritated.

Harley has been my best friend since college.
I double majored in visual arts and legal studies, and Harley and I
met in our first photography class. She went on to pursue a career
in photography and started her own business shooting weddings and
engagement photos. I decided to get my paralegal certificate after
graduation.

“Harley, I got another note. This time it has
a dead rose attached to it. And it was sitting right on my front
stoop.”

“Shit! This guy is getting bold. What does
the note say?”

“I haven’t read it yet. After the last note,
I don’t know if I even want to know what it says.”

“Just read it, Jo,” she says. I could tell
that she’s irritated with me. She tried to get me to call the
police after I received the last note from this creep. That night I
had hung out at the Alcove until it was pretty late. Scotty offered
to walk me to my car, and just as I was getting in he noticed a
piece of paper tucked under my windshield wiper. The note was
short, but it said something about how he watches me constantly,
and how I don’t notice him. It also said that he was considering
doing something “big” to get my attention. I was so scared that
night that I made Scotty check my entire car. He even followed me
home and made sure that I got in the house alright. It wasn’t
exactly threatening, so I didn’t want to call the police, but it
was enough to put me on alert.

I carefully untie the red satin ribbon that’s
holding the dead flower to the note, and I unfold the perfectly
creased piece of paper. My voice quivers as I read the note aloud:
“This same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.”

“Sick, fuck!” Harley says. “That sounds like
a threat to me.”

“I actually recognize that line. It’s from a
poem called To the Virgins, I believe. It’s been interpreted by
some as a warning to not squander your youth. Others have
interpreted it as a warning to young women to marry early. But
you’re right. In this context, it feels threatening,” I say.

“Jo, it’s time to go to the police. I’m
serious! What are you waiting for?” Harley says.

I don’t want to have this argument with her
again. “Harley, let me call you back. I’m going to check the locks
on my windows. Bye.” I hang up the phone before she can
protest.

I make sure my front and back doors are
locked, and I check my windows. Not knowing what else to do with
myself, I start pacing back and forth in my living room. Maybe
Harley is right. Perhaps I should call the police. But it seems
like the police never take these things seriously. I’ve watched
plenty of “Dateline.” The story is always the same. A woman is
being stalked by some crazy dude. She reports it to the police.
They do nothing. The crazy dude hurts or kills the woman. End of
story. I shudder at the thoughts that are going through my
head.

I grab the old wooden cigar box that holds
the collection of creepy notes that I’ve received over the last six
months. I pick up the first note that I ever received and read it -
Your sea green eyes are like pools of love that I want to drown
myself in. When it arrived, I wasn’t at all scared by it. In fact,
I was flattered. It was definitely a bit cheesy, but I can be a
sucker for romance. James and I had just started dating, but he
denied sending the letter. So, I put it in the cigar box and
quickly forgot about it. Two weeks later, I received another note.
Then the notes started arriving once a week. They were pretty
innocent for the most part. That is until recently. Any feelings of
flattery that I once had, have vanished and have been completely
replaced with fear.

I check all of my locks again and make sure
my cell phone is in sight. I take a deep breath and try and push
the note out of my mind. I decide to focus on doing some stuff
around the house and getting ready for the work week.

Chapter 3

I wake up feeling uneasy as I check the
clock. It’s 6:22 a.m., just eight minutes before the alarm is set
to go off. That night I dreamed of Will again, and again he came to
my rescue. I was frantically searching for something in my kitchen.
I don’t remember what, but I do remember that it was something very
important. Will appeared in the kitchen and simply pointed to the
top of a shelf. I knew immediately that my treasured item was
there, and I reached up to retrieve it. When I looked back to thank
him, he was gone.

I lie in bed for a few minutes and think
about the dream. Why did I dream about that server again? Is it
because I feel guilty about yelling at him? I feel a bit of shame
and embarrassment as I think about how I acted on Saturday night. I
should go to the Alcove after work and apologize to him. I’m sure
it will make me feel better, and it will also give me a chance to
see Scotty and update him on the stalker front. I could also use a
nice glass of wine after the weekend that I’ve had. I throw off my
gray and white damask comforter and slip my feet into my Ugg
slippers. It’s time to face the day.

***

“Jo...Jo!” says the partner that I work for,
in an exasperated tone. I look up from the memo I’m working on to
see Demanding Dan’s angry face staring back at me. “Did you finish
putting those exhibits together? I need them in twenty
minutes.”

“They should be ready, Dan. I’ll go down to
document production to check on them.” I’m annoyed at myself for
forgetting to go grab the exhibits first thing this morning, and
I’m annoyed that I have to interact with Richard, or Dickey as most
people call him. He’s the only one currently working in document
production, so if you need something done, you have to go through
him.

Everything about Dickey is strange. He’s tall
and skinny and has the palest skin I’ve ever seen. He stares people
down with his beady eyes, and he barely speaks. His main form of
communication is grunting. I used to go out of my way to be nice to
him because everyone else in the office was so mean. However, last
year, while collecting a print job from document production, Dickey
asked me if I wanted to go with him to the movies. I lied and told
him that I had a boyfriend and couldn’t go. He gave me the coldest
look I’ve ever seen and slammed the copies down on the counter.
Since then, he’s never spoken to me; he refuses to even acknowledge
my existence.

I run downstairs to grab the exhibits. The
thick pile of documents is stacked on the counter with my name on
it. Dickey is sitting at his desk shuffling papers and refuses to
look up at me.

“Hi, Dickey,” I say. He doesn’t respond, just
as I expected. I shrug. “Thanks, Dickey.”

Demanding Dan comes by my office just as I’m
getting back from document production.

“Here are the exhibits, Dan,” I say.

“Thanks, Jo,” he says, using a nicer than
usual tone. He actually looks pleased for once which is nice.
Lately, he’s seemed to find something wrong with everything I do,
and I’m really starting to get burned out. I sometimes wonder how I
even got here. A few years ago I was sure that I’d be a
professional photographer, but as graduation approached, and I
seriously had to think about how I’d pay my bills, I decided to get
my paralegal certificate. My plan was to do the law thing for money
and build up my photography portfolio, but I can’t even remember
the last time I shot anything. It’s not that I’m totally
uninterested in law. It just turns out that the legal issues you
deal with while working at a large law firm are not nearly as
interesting as the legal issues in books like Race, Crime, and the
Law or Debating the Death Penalty.

I continue working on the memo until the
clock in my office reads 5:30 p.m. I grab my briefcase and speedily
make my way to the elevators. I can’t wait to get to the Alcove,
see Scotty, and enjoy a nice glass of wine.

***

When I show up, the Alcove is fairly empty,
and Scotty is arranging bottles on a shelf behind the bar. He takes
a step back and runs his fingers through his thick, dark brown
hair, while taking in the shelf arrangement. I steal a few moments
to look at him. With his strong jaw and kind eyes, Scotty is quite
handsome. I sometimes wonder why he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend
in the two years that I’ve known him.

“Hi, Scotty,” I say as I make my way to the
bar. Scotty turns around and flashes me his big, toothy smile.

“Hey, Doll,” he says. “Have a seat.”

I situate myself on a stool, and Scotty leans
over the bar and kisses me on the cheek, his short beard tickles me
a bit. It’s so nice to see Scotty. He’s a good friend, he’s easy to
talk to, and he always makes me feel at home when I come here.

“I was thinking about you the other day,” he
says.

“Is that so?” I bring my hand to my chest.
“Well, I’m flattered!”

“Yes. That is so.” Scotty’s eyes light up a
bit with excitement. “One of my distributors had me taste this
Malbec, and it was amazing. I know you like Malbecs, and I know
you’ll like this one.” He steps out from behind the bar and pulls
an interesting looking bottle off of the massive wine rack that
encompasses the entire wall. The bottle says 2010 Achával Ferrer
"Finca Bella Vista" Malbec Mendoza. He pulls the cork and pours me
a generous serving. I swirl the dark liquid in my glass and let the
earthy aromas fill my nostrils before taking a sip.