The Follower

by Jason Starr

  Overall, he was happy with how the conversation had gone. He didn’t think she was suspicious of anything and he was glad that she seemed excited about him calling and about their date tomorrow. Still, he wished he didn’t have to be on eggshells with her, watching every word he said. He wanted to let loose, be natural. He knew that once she got to know the real Peter Wells, she’d never even think about another guy again.

  SIX

  Michigan was beating the hell out of Michigan State, 17-zip midway through the second quarter, and Andy, Scott, and Scott’s work buddy Dan were on their second pitcher of Heineken. When they arrived at the bar, Andy had noticed a girl with long dark hair and bangs sitting at a table in the corner with two other girls. She’d looked cute, but too old, about an hour ago, but now, with a few beers in him, she looked a lot younger and a lot cuter.

  “Stop staring,” Scott said.

  “I wasn’t staring,” Andy said, but he knew he was.

  “You practically had your tongue hanging out of your mouth, dude.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Andy said. “Whenever a girl walks into a bar you’re like…” Andy made an exaggerated, deer-in-headlights expression.

  “I saw her checking you out before,” Dan said to Andy.

  “Bullshit,” Andy said.

  “I’m serious. When Michigan scored that last TD and you cheered, she was looking over at you.”

  “Yeah,” Scott joked. “Probably wondering, Who’s that idiot with his tongue hanging out?”

  “She’s not bad-looking, dude,” Scott said. “Got some big tits going on there.”

  “Age guesses?” Andy asked.

  “Twenty-six,” Dan said.

  “How drunk are you?” Scott said. “Twenty-eight, easy.”

  “Too old,” Andy said.

  “She’s not exactly your grandmother,” Scott said.

  Andy looked at her. She was smiling, listening to something one of her friends was saying. She looked pretty good.

  “You’re staring again,” Scott said.

  “What do you want me to do?” Andy said. “I have my back to her.”

  “Why don’t you just go talk to her?” Dan said.

  “Yeah, what’s the matter?” Scott said. “Afraid what your fiancée might say?”

  “Fuck you,” Andy said.

  “Then go over there. She’s looking at you again right now…Don’t turn your head…She really wants you, dude. It’s like she’s in heat or something.”

  “She’s with friends,” Andy said.

  “So?”

  “So why don’t you guys come with me?”

  “In case you didn’t notice, the friends are pigs,” Scott said.

  “The short one’s not bad,” Dan said.

  “Yeah, if you like ’em shaped like the friggin’ Liberty Bell,” Scott said. “Her face is cute, but I saw her go to the bathroom before and there were big problems below the waist, dude. Besides, there’s nothing stupider than three guys going over to three girls.”

  “Yeah, you’re right; that never works,” Dan said and gulped his beer.

  “Come on, just go for it, dude,” Scott said to Andy.

  “Whatever,” Andy said, and got up casually. He figured he’d head toward the bathroom and look in the girls’ direction—if the cute chick made eye contact with him, he’d go over there; if not, he’d keep going. As he strode by the bar, he realized he was drunker than he’d thought and tried his hardest to keep his balance and seem sober. Passing the girls’ table he glanced at the girl with the bangs, and sure enough, she was looking at him, smiling. It was a definite green light.

  Weaving by a couple of tables, he headed over there. There was big trouble up close. She was at least twenty-eight, maybe even thirty. There was no way he could ever date an old lady like that—his friends and roommates would never stop making fun of him—but she did seem to have a nice body. He figured he’d work toward getting her number and then decide if he really wanted to call her or not. If he did go out with her, though, she would definitely be one-night-stand material.

  “Hey, ladies,” he said. “Enjoying the game?”

  “Not really,” the girl with the bangs said, pointing to the Michigan State logo on her sweatshirt.

  “Oh, well, there’s always next year,” Andy said. “I’m a Michigan man.”

  The girls moaned.

  “Hey, don’t hold it against me,” Andy said, holding up his hands in a joking way.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” the girl with the bangs said and, the way she was looking at him, Andy could tell he was in like Flynn.

  “I’m Andy.”

  “Janet.”

  “Nice to meet you, Janet,” Andy said and shook her hand and held it a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

  “So when did you graduate?” Janet asked.

  “Four years ago,” Andy lied, figuring she might get freaked out if she thought he was too young. He could tell she was doing the math in her head, and then he said, “How about you?”

  “A lot longer than that,” she said.

  “How much longer?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Eight years ago.”

  Andy figured she’d probably shaved two years off, meaning she was about thirty-two—way too old to be seen with on a date.

  They continued talking and they actually had a lot in common. She worked in bonds at Morgan Stanley, so they discussed stocks and interest rates and the economy—serious shit like that. He didn’t want to tell her he hadn’t gone to grad school yet, so he lied and told her he was finishing up his MBA at NYU. He thought he was going to get busted when she said she knew one of the economics professors in the grad program there, but he lucked out when Michigan State scored a touchdown on a punt return and everyone at the table started cheering. Janet got distracted and didn’t bring up the subject again.

  At one point, Andy looked over at his friends at the bar and Scott was smiling, giving Andy the thumbs-up signal. Andy decided it was time to make his move. He knew that one of the tricks for getting girls’ numbers at bars was to never give the conversation a chance to get stale. If things were going well—if the girl was laughing and seemed into him—it was time to get the digits and get the hell out of there before something went wrong.

  So Andy said, “I really should get back to my buddies over there at the bar but, hey, you wanna hang out sometime?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Actually, I’m having a party tonight if you wanna come.”

  This was even better—no phone calls at all. He could go to the party, fuck her, and be done with it.

  “That sounds really cool.”

  She gave him her address—she lived in a high-rise on Eighty-fifth and Lex—and he said he’d swing by at around nine o’clock.

  Andy said bye to Janet and her friends and went back to the bar.

  “Way to work it, dude,” Scott said.

  “Yeah, nice,” Dan said. “She seemed totally into you.”

  “She invited me to a party tonight,” Andy said.

  “Sweet,” Scott said.

  Andy hung out for a while longer, finishing his beer with his friends, then he announced he was going to take off. Before he left the bar, he went over to Janet and told her how stoked he was about tonight.

  On his way home, Andy remembered that he was supposed to go out with Katie later. He figured he’d call her and make up some excuse, tell her he was sick or something, because although he liked her a lot and everything, she was starting to bum him out. It was weird because he usually didn’t start getting tired of girls until he’d had sex with them at least ten times, but this morning he’d already started having that this-is-getting-old feeling. Maybe it was because the sex last night was only so-so. Yeah, it was their first time, and first-time sex always sucked, but it bummed him out the way Katie just seemed to lie there, not making noise or getting into it. She said she’d come, but he wasn’t sure he believed her, and if she did come, that was even worse beca
use it meant that she’d always suck in bed. Then, in the morning, she didn’t want to do it again and she was acting like something was wrong, like he’d pissed her off somehow, but she wouldn’t talk about it at all. Andy had no idea what was going on and didn’t want to try to figure it out, either. He’d learned a long time ago, back in college, that it was impossible to figure out what was going on in chicks’ heads, so there was no use trying.

  As Andy entered his building he started to call Katie on his cell. But then he decided to text-message her instead so he wouldn’t have to speak to her.

  “It definitely wasn’t rape,” Amanda said to Katie.

  They were sitting across from each other at Saigon Grill, at a table near the window facing Second Avenue. Katie had decided to talk to Amanda after all, to get her advice, because she couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to.

  “Really?” Katie said. “I was, like, so convinced you would think it was.”

  “You didn’t say no and you weren’t even sure you wanted to say no. Yeah, he should’ve communicated with you better, but you never said no, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you couldn’t expect him to read your mind. I mean, yeah, it’s a kind of gray area, but I don’t think you can say it was date rape. I mean, what happened to me in college was totally different. Brad, that fucking prick, wouldn’t stop even though I said no like twenty fucking times. Did you ever say no?”

  “No, it was just the opposite. I told him it felt great.”

  “Yeah, then I don’t think you can call it date rape. I mean, what happened definitely wasn’t good, because you’re not supposed to have negative feelings the next day. That’s definitely an indication something’s wrong. You should talk to him about it, let him know how you feel.”

  “I wanted to talk to him about it,” Katie said. “I mean, in the morning, but I wasn’t sure how to. What was I supposed to say, ‘Good morning, I think you date-raped me last night, you son of a bitch’?”

  “You could just tell him you felt uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah,” Katie said. “I guess you’re right.”

  Amanda took a bite of her beef cube steak and Katie had some of her spicy green papaya salad. But she couldn’t enjoy the food because as she swallowed she started thinking about all the nuoc cham sauce bloating her, and how she could barely fit into her jeans yesterday.

  She put her chopsticks down, deciding she’d had enough even though the dish was half full, then said, “Oh, something really weird happened at the gym this morning. I walked in and this guy at the desk goes, ‘Katie?’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah?’ It turns out the guy’s this guy Peter who grew up with me.”

  “That’s so funny.”

  “I know. I mean, I didn’t grow up with him. He was my sister’s age, but I used to see him around all the time and everything. Isn’t that unbelievable? I mean, I haven’t seen the guy in, like, nine years.”

  “So is he cute?”

  “Very,” Katie said. “I mean, I never thought of him that way, because he was older, and back then he was kind of goofy-looking with these bangs in his face all the time. But, yeah, he’s very good-looking now. He’s tall, has short hair, dimples, nice eyes. Hey, I should set you guys up.”

  “But you said he works at the desk, right?” Amanda looked disgusted.

  “Yeah,” Katie said, “but it’s not like that. He just moved to New York. He said he wants to be a trainer.”

  “That’s better,” Amanda said, though still not enthused. “How old is he?”

  “He must be twenty-seven. He didn’t mention a girlfriend and I definitely got a single-guy vibe from him.”

  “He hit on you?”

  “No, he was totally cool. I just didn’t get the impression he was with anybody, that’s all. But I’ll ask him if you want me to—we’re supposed to meet for coffee tomorrow afternoon.”

  Amanda took another bite of the cube steak with some rice and said, “I don’t know—a blind date. I hate blind dates.”

  “Come on, you’ve met guys online.”

  “That’s different. I mean I, like, e-mail with those guys first.”

  “It’s just one date. If you hate him, don’t go out with him again. I mean, it’s not like I’m friends with this guy. It’d be no big deal.”

  “What’s he like? I mean, he wants to be a trainer. Is he, like, some jerky musclehead guy?”

  “No, he’s thin. I mean, he has nice shoulders and arms, but he isn’t, like, some steroids guy. He seems really nice, too. I think his parents moved when he was seventeen, right after high school. I couldn’t believe he recognized me. I mean, when I saw him, I thought he was somebody I knew from college. You know, maybe an RA or something. But I don’t want to, like, put pressure on you or anything. I mean, if you don’t want me to ask him—”

  “No, go ahead,” Amanda said. “I mean, why not, right?”

  After lunch, they decided to go to Sephora on Third Avenue. In the cab, Katie got a text message from Andy:

  hey had really great time last night just back from watching the game with my buddies am feeling kind of sick right now maybe its the flu i think im gonna stay in today but will cal later hope u r having great day bye

  Katie read the message to Amanda, then Amanda said, “God, what an asshole.”

  “What?” Katie said. “You don’t believe he’s sick?”

  “No, but he’s still an asshole. I mean, he spends the night with you for the first time and he can’t even call you the next day? He has to, like, text-message you?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “You guess? I mean, it’s not like he can’t get in touch with you. You know, I think you’re giving him way too much credit. Maybe he didn’t date-rape you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a total dick.”

  “Whatever,” Katie said, changing the subject. “I guess I’ll talk to him later.”

  At Sephora, Amanda sampled bronzers and eyeshadows, and Katie looked for a new mascara. Katie was trying to relax and have a good time, but she couldn’t get Andy and last night out of her head. She was convinced that he had just wanted to have sex with her and now was blowing her off like the typical guy. He probably wouldn’t call her tomorrow, or the next day, and then finally she’d have to call him. Then he’d blow her off again, with some other excuse, and she’d never hear from him again.

  Katie didn’t buy anything, but Amanda spent about a hundred dollars. When they left, Amanda said, “Hey, you want to go to Urban Outfitters?” and Katie said, “Yeah, if you want to.”

  As they walked downtown, Amanda could tell something was bothering Katie and said, “You have to just forget about that loser.”

  “It’s not that,” Katie lied. “I’m just feeling kind of out of it, that’s all.”

  The rest of the afternoon, Katie couldn’t stop thinking about how Andy had used her for sex and was dumping her and what an idiot she was. She hoped she never had to see his stupid, lying face again.

  SEVEN

  Peter’s goal was to make the perfect second impression. He knew he’d already made the perfect first impression, but the second impression was even more important. When someone meets someone for the second time, they either confirm the positive impression that they already have of the person, or realize that their first impression was wrong and they form a new impression. In some ways, the second impression is even more crucial than the first. If you make a bad first impression, you have a chance to redeem yourself, but if you make a bad second impression, you’re screwed.

  Since Peter was going to meet Katie at the health club at the end of his shift, he knew he couldn’t get too dressed up or it would look weird, like he was trying too hard to impress. Still, this would be the first time he’d spent any serious time with her, and he didn’t want to look like a slob, either. He put on several outfits and decided to go with jeans, a black T-shirt, and a thin black leather jacket. He’d seen Katie wear a black leather jacket before, and he knew that this would
create an instant, subconscious connection with her.

  He took a cab uptown and arrived at the health club at Ninety-second Street. All morning he couldn’t stop thinking about Katie and he knew exactly what would happen. She’d show up at two o’clock, looking beautiful, and he would tell her how great it was to see her. She would be shy, blushing, and then he’d say, “I thought maybe we could grab some lunch.” He’d keep it casual like that, not wanting to seem like he was trying too hard to upgrade the date from coffee to lunch. She’d say, “Yeah, that sounds great,” and they’d go to a nearby Japanese restaurant. He would’ve loved to take her to someplace fancier, but once again it was all about perception, playing his cards right. He didn’t want to seem like he was going overboard to win her over; he wanted to keep things cool, relaxed. At the restaurant, they’d hit it off, laughing, having a blast, then, at the appropriate time, they’d hold hands. It would be a beautiful moment, one they’d remember forever, and he’d savor it, gazing into her eyes longingly, but not too longingly, just longingly enough. After lunch, they’d take a walk in the park, holding hands, and then they’d have their first kiss on the platform overlooking the duck pond near Belvedere Castle. Then he’d walk her home, to her apartment building, and they’d kiss and tell each other what a perfect day they’d had and how they couldn’t wait to see each other again. And then he’d say, “How about we have dinner tonight?” and she’d say, “That sounds like a great idea.” Then he’d return to his hotel and, after he showered and changed, he’d pick her up at her place at around eight o’clock. They’d go out to dinner at a nice restaurant; not too nice, but nice enough to show her how much he liked her. Then, after dinner, they’d take a walk and wind up back near the park. He’d suggest taking a horse and buggy ride and she’d say, “I always wanted to do that.” Then they’d ride around the park, covered by a fuzzy red blanket, and it would be corny, but good corny, and they’d kiss some more, and by the end of the night, when he dropped her off at her apartment, they’d already be in love.