Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

The Masturbator

It was a rainy night in Los Angeles, 1984.  My co-worker “Judy” had managed to snag a couple of tickets to see Hall and Oats at the Forum.  Front row seats.  She had a contact at the Geffen studios and didn’t even have to pay for them.  What a treat!  We were so close to the stars we could practically count their nose hairs.  I’m partial to Daryl, actually.  Tall, handsome, long blond hair and a voice to die for.

They served alcohol at the Forum, and Judy managed to knock back about ten scotch-and-sodas.  She passed out and missed almost the entire second half of the concert.  What a waste.  I had to practically drag her to my car when it was over…in the pouring rain.  The parking lot was jammed, so it took what seemed like hours to get out.  I put in a Hall and Oats tape and re-lived the concert as we plodded along at three miles-per-hour, while Judy slumped in her seat and snored.

The doorman at Judy’s high-rise dutifully carried her out of my car and took her into the building, and I drove on home.  It was almost midnight as I fumbled inside my purse for keys.  My little girl Farrah, eight years old at the time, was spending the night with one of her friends, so I was looking forward to having the place to myself and sleeping in on Saturday morning.  

Happily whistling “You Make My Dreams Come True,” I slid the key into the back-door deadbolt and noticed again the torn screen on the top of the door, and the rotted wood at the bottom.  Damn.  I’d have to call the landlord again.  Poor old Mr. Markowitz.  He was teetering on the edge of his grave and wasn’t much good at getting things repaired.

As I went in and closed the door behind me, Reggie-the-cat purred her greeting and rubbed her body against my leg.  I picked her up and kissed her loudly on the mouth.  “I LOVE my furry baby,” I crooned.  I put her down on the kitchen counter and hurried up the stairs, shedding my clothes at the same time.  I couldn’t wait to get into a hot shower and then crawl into bed with my book.

I pulled back the shower curtain to turn on the water.  That’s when I noticed little mounds of a white, powdery substance dotted all over the bottom of the bathtub.  I leaned over and rubbed some of it between my fingers.  Instinct told me to look up at the ceiling, where I saw a series of perfectly round holes about the size of a penny.

With my heart suddenly banging, I grabbed my robe off the door hook and covered myself with it, pulling the sash tightly around my waste.  Then I saw a track of dust on the floor.  Moving like a zombie, I followed it.  The path led from the bathroom to Farrah’s room, stopped, then continued into my bedroom.  I looked up, and sure enough, there were those holes again, making trails all over the ceiling, with most of them forming a large circle above my bed.

Panic-stricken, I tore down the stairs, grabbed the receiver on the kitchen wall phone and called 911.  I picked up Reggie, went into the living room, and sat rigid and trembling on the couch to wait for the police.

Stay tuned for Part Two.

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January 11, 2011 - Posted by | Stalkers | , ,

3 Comments »

  1. No Fair! Have to wait for next week…….

    Comment by Barb | January 11, 2011 | Reply

  2. Easier to wait for next week than to wait for the police.

    Comment by Virtual Sinner | January 17, 2011 | Reply


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