Animate Me / Chapter Nineteen / Stalking 101

“Look Mack, just what’s going on around here?” ~Daffy Duck

Is five a.m. too early to call? That seems like a perfectly respectable time to call, even if it’s still dark out. I pace back and forth in my kitchen, glancing at my watch every minute or so. I picture Brooke curled up asleep like an angel, and it’s the only thing keeping me from hitting the send button on my cell phone.

At six a.m., after choking down a Pop Tart and my second cup of coffee, my resistance finally fails. With my hands shaking I text her:

Hi Brooke, can I take you to breakfast? I’m craving pancakes. How about you?

Yeah, that sounds good…kind of casual…not like I’m foaming at the mouth from the idea that she may be with Arnold making wedding plans. Maybe they’re online right now setting up one of those gift registry things. Yeah, sure, at six in the morning…maybe I’m losing my mind.

I set my phone in the middle of the kitchen table, and proceed to stare at it for fifteen minutes. There’s no response.

By eight-fifteen I’m dressed for work but a little edgy. Yeah, just a bit. I’ve already worn a path in the rug that runs down my hallway. It occurs to me that maybe she’s lost her phone. I’ve never heard of Brooke losing anything, but it could’ve happened. It’s not impossible. Before I get in the car I call her, reminding myself that if she’s lost her phone, she won’t answer.

“Hey Brooke, are you free for lunch? There’s this great little place in Toluca Lake I’d like to take you to. How’s noon, or even better eleven-thirty?”

Good, that was direct. Now I better figure out a great little place. It sure as hell can’t be Taco Bell. It occurs to me that she usually doesn’t eat until one p.m. but I’ll go stark raving mad if I have to wait that long to see her.

When I pull into the parking garage, Mojo’s car’s there, but not Brooke’s. Did she ride in with him? Or does he have her tied down, drugged up and locked in his attic so she can’t return my calls? I consider knocking on the lid of his trunk to make sure she isn’t in there. I don’t find my fears unfounded considering the last time she didn’t return a call, the monkey had kidnapped her, forced her to go to Santa Barbara, and proceeded to brainwash her.

Upstairs, before I’ve unloaded my workbag, I pick up the office phone and dial.

“Hi Morgan.”

“Hey, Nathan. What’s up?”

“Hey, thanks again for your help on Saturday. I really appreciated it.”

“Glad to do it,” she replies. “So, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. But I’m wondering is Brooke in yet? I wanted to ask her something.”

“No, she’s not in yet…but it’s still a bit early for her. You want me to tell her that you called?”

“Yes, please do…as soon as you see her.”

At nine thirty I sneak out the front and check the parking lot again. Her car still isn’t there. Nine forty-five I text her:

Hey Brooke, are you having car problems? Do you need a ride?

Nothing.

At ten twenty Morgan calls me.

“I just heard from her. She’s not coming in.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, and she sounded really stressed out. Did you talk to her yesterday?”

“No we texted, but she was busy with Arnold, so we couldn’t talk.”

“Weird…I wonder what’s going on,” Morgan says.

Her tone makes me even more nervous.

I’m not sure exactly when I lose all semblance of rational thought and control, but the texts start flying fast and furious. Her phone must be on fire with all my attempts to reach her, each text about fifteen minutes apart.

Hey Brooke, how about a late lunch? In-N-Out? I know you can’t turn that down.

Are you feeling okay? Did Arnold feed you some bad fish or something?

Can I bring you some chicken soup? How about some nachos?

Have I done something wrong? Is this some kind of weird test?

Is there a reason you’re avoiding me? Am I in the doghouse?

I’m freaking out. Can you please text me back?

I’m about to follow that one up with an even more desperate text when I hear someone clear their throat. I look up and see Nick watching me.

“What’s up, dude? You’re suddenly a texting fiend. I’ve been hearing that little beep, beep, beep all morning.”

Defeated, I lay the phone down on my drawing table and hang my head. “I’ve been trying to reach Brooke.”

“I see. Well…has it occurred to you that maybe she doesn’t want to be reached?”

“But I haven’t done anything to her,” I point out. “I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe she’s avoiding everyone, not just you. That was quite a scene at the club on Saturday.”

I just nod my head.

“Was that for real?” Nick asks. “Is she going to marry him? I mean I just can’t see it…he seems so completely wrong for her.”

“I haven’t been able to talk to her to find out.” I rub my hands over my face.

“No wonder you’ve been texting so much. I’d be going nuts too.”

“I don’t want to lose her, Nick,” The despair weighs heavy in my voice.

He studies me for a moment, with a concerned expression. “Hey, come to lunch with me and Dani,” he says, waving his hand in a motion to follow him as he takes a step out of the cubicle. “We’ll go to Tin Horn Flats and get beers with our burgers.”

It almost sounds good, but I shake my head. “You guys just got back together. You need to be alone, not with me tagging along.”

“Come on, I insist,” he says, grabbing my arm. “Besides you and your antics are responsible for getting us back together.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “She told you?”

“Sure, we told each other everything. You know that was a really stupid idea, Nathan.”

“Yeah? Well, it worked out for you.”

“Yes, it did.” He smiles and steps behind me and gently pushes me forward. “Now let’s get your shit figured out too.”

Over my second beer, I watch Dani get a faraway look in her eyes while she drums her fingers on the weathered wood tabletop.

“I know, I know…he has that excess hair problem right? My brother’s a genius with equipment. Why don’t we get him to jerry-rig the electrolysis machine at the place Arnauld goes to so that they fry the fucker next time he gets his fur removed!”

I almost spit up my beer. “Ha! That’s brilliant!” But then my smile falls. “Only that won’t work because he gets the fur waxed.”

“Waxed?” Nick asks, horrified.

“Even better, we will give new meaning to hot wax!” Dani exclaims.

“Isn’t her devious mind a wondrous thing,” Nick says as he gazes at her lovingly.

Dani’s face lights up again with a new idea.

“I know! Remember that shit he said to Brooke about her figure? Let’s hire some skinny bitch actress with ginormous silicone tits to interrupt an important board meeting and accuse Arnauld of giving her VD.”

“Yeah! And we’ll dress her in a stripper outfit with her huge tits hanging out!” Nick chimes in.

Dani gives him the look, the one with one eyebrow cocked. I guess girls can suggest stuff like that, but not boyfriends unless they want to get into big trouble.

“I don’t know you two,” I respond. “That would reflect poorly on Brooke too since she’s been involved with him. So that’s not such a good idea.”

“I guess you’re right,” Dani agrees. “Okay, give me a little time. I’ll come up with some other ideas.”

“That’s my girl,” Nick says proudly.

Back from our rowdy lunch, the beer buzz and lingering humor holds me over for almost an hour before the panic sets in again. Like a drug addict fresh out of rehab, I weaken and surrender to my next hit. I pull my phone out of my pocket with shaky hands.

Three twenty-two pm:

Hey Brooke, I just wanted you to know that I’m not going to text anymore. So you can have all the space you need today.

Three thirty-eight:

Unless of course you actually want some company, but are afraid to ask for it. Then I’d be happy to text you.

Four-o-two:

I know I said I wouldn’t text, but we’re gathering to go to Starbucks. Are you sure I can’t bring you one?”

Four thirty-seven:

I bought your drink just in case, and I just did the best drawing ever. You want to see it?

Five fifteen:

This cup should go in the Starbucks hall of fame. Seriously. You’re missing out Brooke.

Five seventeen:

Nick just came over and said he’s going to break my fingers if I text you again.

Five fifty-nine (texted from the parking garage)

Leaving work now—I’ll be home soon if you want to talk.

• • •

The crazed beating on my front door is the first indication that this won’t be a pleasant visit.

“What’s wrong with you?” Brooke screeches, waving her hands dramatically as soon as I pull open the door. “Have you lost your mind? Why did you call or text me every fifteen minutes today? Aren’t I under enough stress without you stalking me?”

I step back stunned.

Great…I used to be attentive and caring…now I’m a stalker.

I’ve never seen this side of Brooke and it scares me. With her hands jammed on her hips as she lingers on my doorstep, she looks kind of wild. Despite this, I still feel relief to see her. Angry Brooke is better than no Brooke.

Is this our first fight?

“But, I needed to talk to you right away,” I implore.

“Right. I think I got that. But did you take your head out of Toon Town for just a minute to think what I’ve been going through since Saturday? That maybe I needed some space and silent support, not more pressure?”

Yup, I’m sure of it. This is our first fight. Her face is really red. This must be the Buttercup side to her personality she warned me about.

I take a moment to think about what she’s trying to say.

Toon Town? Been going through? Silent support? Is this that cryptic girl talk I’ve heard they revert to when they’re angry?

I’ve never had a girl be this angry with me before. I’m compelled to defend myself. “What about what I’ve been going through since Saturday night? Have you considered that? You could’ve just responded to any one of the texts and told me that you needed some time,” I explain carefully. “Then I wouldn’t have gone crazy with worry.”

She just stares at me dumbfounded, like I have three heads.

“Right. And you would have given me that time?”

“Maybe not,” I admit. Damn. I am a stalker.

“Exactly! Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I’m over the edge here. Everything I’ve worked for is ruined. I’m a joke to everyone.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask baffled.

“Saturday…Saturday! I mean for fuck’s sake, my boss and quasi-boyfriend announced to the entire company that he was marrying me like I’m some idiot mail order bride. No conversation ahead of time, no warning…just parading me around like some damn door prize. I’m so humiliated. I don’t know how I can show my face there again.”

“People don’t think of you like that, Brooke,” I say softly.

“You have no idea, Nathan…no idea. I’ve been busting my ass trying to find another job, so I could finally get out from under him, and every opportunity mysteriously vanishes before the deal is struck. Well, now I’m the laughing stock of our industry. Look at all the fucking emails I’ve already gotten wishing us the best.”

She holds up her blackberry.

“I’d rather not,” I whisper.

My mind is reeling…another job…out from under him? What have I been missing?

“And you!” She pushes me on the chest.

Uh oh, she’s getting physical. Wow, it’s kind of hot. I try to focus so I don’t get aroused. That would be really awkward and weird right about now.

“You’re the one who’s stirred everything up. You and your damn pedestal, treating me like I’m sooo perfect…like I deserve more. You don’t realize what that does to me.”

“I thought it’s good to be admired,” I say, trying not to feel bad.

“But don’t you see…I’m always worried that I’m going to let you down. All along you’ve thought you weren’t good enough for me. When will you figure out that it’s me who’s not good enough for you?”

“How can you say that?” I ask, baffled.

“I’m a mess, Nathan. I don’t even know who I am anymore. The sooner you figure out what a sorry mess I am, and that I’m not anywhere close to perfect, the better off you’ll be. You can go find the girl who really deserves you.”

I realize there are tears steaming down her face. Confused, I hold my hands out, palms facing up. “Find the girl, what girl?”

“The girl,” she says, her voice breaking. “You should go find her.”

“What makes you think she couldn’t be you?” I ask.

There are little sobs now in between the crying. It’s breaking my heart.

“No, not me,” she cries.

I never would imagine she could be like this. She always seems so powerful, so sure of herself. I’m seeing another side of her and it’s a revelation. I realize it’s my turn to be strong. I clear my throat so my voice will be sure and steady.

“I’m not going anywhere, so stop saying that Brooke.” I pull her into my arms. She feels so fragile, and it makes me want to protect her.

“Besides, even if you are a mess, you’re my perfect mess.”

She bucks and fights my embrace. “Quit saying that! I’m not perfect Nathan…not even close.”

I decide to try a new tactic. “Oh, I know that… believe me!” I tease.

“You do?” She sniffles, the crying slowing down.

“Sure. What you don’t understand is that despite the fact that your coffee drinks are disgustingly sweet, you like Strawberry Shortcake, and that you have questionable taste in men, you’re still perfect to me.”

She sniffles against my chest, and I feel her relax a tiny bit into me. I rub my hand over her back slowly.

“You think my coffee drinks are too sweet?” She asks quietly, sniffle-free.

“Oh yeah! When I order them my teeth hurt.”

“Then why do you get them for me? You could try to get me to order something less sweet?”

“I wouldn’t do that, Brooke. I don’t want to change you. I just want to make you happy.”

She takes a deep breath that shivers from the leftover tears.

“Oh, Nathan. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want to,” I reply.

She pulls away just enough to look up at me and smile.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“For what?”

“I actually feel a little bit better.”

I smile back. “Good. See if you’d let me take you to breakfast at six this morning, you could have avoided all this heartache,” I tease.

“Yeah, six in the morning. If you could see me at six in the morning on a work day you’d know that would never happen.”

“See, yet another way you aren’t perfect…the list is getting long now.” I give her a crooked smile.

She grins, and then looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“And pushed me,” I remind her.

“Yes,” she agrees, looking down ashamed.

“I’m not. I think you needed that. I think we both did. Besides, I’m just really, really glad you’re here. Are you going to be sweet to me now?” I ask, half teasing, half not.

She smiles softly. “Yes, I’m going to be very sweet with you.” She studies me for a moment, and then wipes the tears off her cheek. “Ugh, I’m a mess. I need to wash off my face. Where’s the bathroom?”

“First door on the right, in the hallway.”

“Okay, I’ll just be a sec.”

I watch her walk away, and although I’m still worried about her, I’m so glad she came over. I step to the window and gaze out to the back garden and think about all the things she’s revealed to me.

She’s been trying to leave Arnold, she wants a new job, she thinks she’s a mess…wait…wait!…oh God, no!

It all hits me like an icy wave, and a panic shoots through me that I’ve never known. The time I almost got hit by a minivan when I was riding my new bike Christmas day doesn’t even compare.

Because at this moment Brooke is in my bathroom…the bathroom where the instructions on How to Woo A Girl and all my note cards are posted. My emasculation will be so profound if she reads that stuff, I’ll never recover.

I want to die.

I rush to the door and knock. “Brooke, Brooke. I need to get in there.”

Silence.

I try to turn the knob, but it’s locked. I rattle the handle in frustration.

“Brooke. Please, please let me in.”

Silence.

I press my hands and forehead to the door, and say a prayer that she’ll let me in.

Please Brooke.

My humiliation is so big I can’t wrap my arms around it. There’s no way she will ever be able to see me as anything but a loser idiot. I have lost every bit of gain I ever made with her with one simple mistake.

It was bad enough when I thought I was losing her to Arnold, but this…

“Please, Brooke. Please.”

Her silence tells me everything.

It’s done. It’s over. I might as well put the polo shirt with the bow tie and pocket protector back on. My heart feels like it’s melting right out of my chest.

I turn and walk back to the kitchen and straight out the back door. I need the sun and air of the backyard, because if I stay in that house another moment I think I will climb the walls.

I pace across the grass, thinking of what I will say. I’m sorry I’m such a loser? There are no elegant words to explain how much I want her, and the lengths I’ll go to be the best man I can be for her. How can I explain that I needed a jumble of inkjet printouts and note cards to give me a glimmer of hope.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been outside mumbling to myself, but I finally get the balls to go inside and get her out of the bathroom. It’s time to face the music. But once inside, I see that the bathroom door’s wide open. I warily approach the doorway and peek in, confirming that my guide to avoid being a loner pathetic idiot is still plastered all over the mirror, and Brooke is no where to be seen.

“Brooke?” I call out panicked. I can’t believe she just left without saying goodbye. The loser manifesto must have really freaked her out.

“In here,” she calls out weakly. It sounds like she’s in the bedroom. I look inside and see that she’s lying on my bed, white as a ghost.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she offers. “You don’t have a couch, and I got dizzy and needed to lie down.”

“Oh no. Are you sick?” I ask concerned, stepping closer.

“No, and don’t worry — I’m not pregnant.”

Not pregnant? Oh, but can you imagine how beautiful a baby Brooke would be? I try to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head while she continues.

“It’s stupid, really. I’m so freaking stressed out that I didn’t sleep last night, and I haven’t eaten either…so it all caught up with me. I think I’m dehydrated too. Would you mind getting me some water? “

“Of course.” I quickly head to the kitchen, relieved for the distraction. I quickly grab some stuff and head back.

I watch her push herself up into a sitting position as I unscrew the cap for her.

“Here, drink up.”

She takes a sip and then looks at the plate I set on the nightstand. “What’s that?”

“Crackers with Cheese Whiz and a little box of raisins. I think you should eat something.”

“Cheese Whiz?” The edges of her mouth turn up. “I didn’t think they made that anymore.”

“Oh sure. I get mine at Seven-Eleven.” I watch her eat a few raisins and take a tiny bite off a cracker. I can tell she’s tentative about the Cheese Whiz. “Don’t worry, it’s still good. That stuff never expires.”

“Precisely,” she says, wrinkling her nose. When she finishes most of the water she lays back on the bed. “I’m so tired,” she says softly.

“Why don’t you nap?” I suggest, desperately hoping she’ll stay.

“Okay, but only if you lie with me,” she says, her voice already fading.

I kick off my shoes and crawl up on the bed, settling in on my side facing her.

“I didn’t sleep either. Maybe I’ll nap too.”

She reaches over and our hands link. My heart surges somehow sensing that despite whatever she learned during her visit to my bathroom, that she still accepts me. She isn’t going to cast me out.

I take a deep grateful breath. I feel so much calmer with her here next to me, her hand tethering me to her. I start to surrender to the exhaustion.

Right before I close my eyes and fall away from the waking world, I say a silent prayer of thanks. There must be a geek-loving angel with a tender heart looking over me and my girl.

I blink slowly, taking in the lavender light. Brooke is nestled under my arm and I sense her stirring. What time is it? How long have we been asleep?

“Nathan?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“You’re awake.”

She gently squeezes my arm and then rolls over and grabs the water bottle. I get up to use the restroom, and when I’m done I carefully pull all the papers off the mirror and shove them in the bottom drawer.

When I return I see she’s eaten several of the crackers and the rest of the raisins.

“Feeling better?” I crawl back up on the bed and study her face.

“Yeah.” She rolls over to face me. “Hey Nathan? Can we talk about something?”

“Sure,” I respond, immediately nervous.

There’s a silent minute where she seems to be considering her words. She looks troubled, and I try to steel myself for whatever she’s about to say. Finally she smoothes out a wrinkle on the bedspread and looks up at me.

“There’s stuff we’ve been keeping from each other, isn’t there?”

I nod slowly. Oh no, where’s she going with this?

“I’ve known for a while that there was something up with your thing with Dani, but I didn’t want to say anything. I guess it sort of gave us a buffer, a comfort zone. You know what I mean?”

I just nod and look down, afraid to admit any specifics yet. I need to tell her I love her, but it hasn’t felt like the right time. I’m not sure I’m ready for all of this.

“And I know there’s something about your comic book that you don’t want me to see. You’re afraid I’m not going to like something, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “You could say that.”

“And there’s a lot I haven’t told you about my situation with Arnauld. I’ve only told you parts because…well, I guess because I needed a buffer too.”

“Yeah,” I guess so. “So you’re really not going to marry him?”

“No.” She smiles. “I never would’ve married him. Even if I’d never met you. I wouldn’t have married him, I swear.”

I nod, taking a deep breath and letting the relief seep through me.

“This is the deal,” she explains. “I’ve been so stressed, so worried…I mean you have no idea of the hell that it’s been inside my head.”

Her face twists up in pain and she runs her hand across her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly as I inch closer to her. “Can I do anything?”

She lies still for moment thinking, and then her expression fixes somewhere between hope and fear. “You know what I need? I need a week of no worries, just fun, just happy. Yeah that’s what I need…happy twenty-four, seven.”

“Okay,” I stammer, having no idea how I can facilitate that.

“Here’s the thing. Arnauld is leaving for New York tonight. He has meetings there all week that he couldn’t get out of. I told him last night that I wouldn’t marry him, and he insisted that I take the week to think it over. We are meeting the night he gets back.”

“So you’re going to think about it this week?”

“No, like I said, I have no intention of marrying him, but I agreed to talk again because it was the only way he’d get off my back. We rehashed everything last night for hours. He just wore me the fuck out.”

I can see the price she’s paid by the exhaustion in her expression.

“And that’s my point…I don’t want to think about anything for a while. I need a goddamn break from agonizing over how to get out of this mess, the things he’s doing to sabotage my job search, and how to salvage my career. The worst part though is my guilt from pulling you into this disaster, then worrying about how I can protect you from him.”

She looks up at me, the concern and care she feels so evident in her expression as she continues. “It’s just all too much. So I just want to be free from any heavy thoughts for a few days.

“Okay, so what can I do to help?” I ask hopeful.

“I want to have fun….fun with you. I’m always happy when I’m with you. You make me feel special and appreciated.”

I smile widely. “I’m so glad, Brooke.” I guess I’ve done a few things right.

“And I want to make you feel the same,” she says softly.

Wow.

She runs her fingers up my chest and looks up at me. “You know what I really want from you?” She gives me the sweetest smile. “…I want to be wooed.”

My breath catches. She didn’t just say that.

“You want me to woo you?”

“Yes, but for the record, I don’t want to meet any small relatives yet, and I’d like to take the ballroom dancing lesson with you. I don’t want you dancing with some middle aged woman in Lycra.”

I grin. She wants me to woo her. “So a week of woo…I think that can be arranged.”

“Good, and woo week starts now. I want just happy times—no heavy conversations. We can have those talks next week. Just fun for now, okay?”

I nod enthusiastically despite my anxiety of the looming Arnold and B-Girl reveal. This isn’t the time to worry about worst-case scenarios.

I reflect back over all she’s said and I can’t believe it…she wants to be with me.

“So to start, can you read this to me?” She has a coy smile as she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out something folded up. I watch her beautiful fingers pull the folds apart and press it out against the bedspread. When it’s as smooth as possible she hands it to me.

I hold it up in the dim light, and recognize my writing. It’s the note card I wrote and taped on the mirror, just after I called her this morning. It’s written in bold letters, all in caps.

TODAY IS THE DAY I WILL TELL BROOKE THAT I’M IN LOVE WITH HER

Oh, my. Here we go…