CHAPTER FIVE
She moved out of her parents’ house and into her own apartment. She had a job lined up with the local newspaper, working as an investigative reporter.
One day, as she was typing in front of her monitor at her apartment, she looked up at the television and stopped. All the old feelings of her youth came flooding back as her jaw dropped open.
There, on the television screen, was Brendan Caldwell.
He was wearing a doctor’s coat, talking about aspirin.
Could it be? Leah had always known that Brendan was interested in acting, but even still, she was shocked to see his face and hear his voice.
She was shaken. Over the next few months, she saw him in several more commercials.
Soon, he was doing television shows.
A couple of years later, the headlines read, “Brendan Caldwell—The Next Big Thing.”
He was playing small parts in the movies. Leah felt small and insignificant. She was a small-time reporter for a small-town newspaper.
He was “the next big thing.”
She found out which movies he had parts in and went to the theaters by herself on her times off. She would sit in the stands, eating her buttery popcorn, her eyes transfixed at the paperboy #2.
She kept her eyes on him the whole time, and never let her gaze drift. She bought multiple tickets, intending to see the films more than once. Yet again, she became obsessed. She watched Brendan Caldwell rise to higher and higher fame. She rented the movies once they were out on DVD and played them and replayed them. One time, she stilled the frame and kissed the screen.
Did she love him or did she hate him? Part of her wanted to think of him as a pimple that she could have gotten rid of if she’d put the medicine on when it was small—but now it was out of control. The other part, the wilder part, passionately adored him.
That part, she kept hidden.
At work, she started saying less and less to her co-workers. She gained the reputation as a quiet, steady worker. She poured her life-blood into her writing, but kept her thoughts on the young star that was soon to make it big. She even thought about doing a story about him, but knew that her editor would turn it down.
She wore glasses now. Her eyesight had been steadily deteriorating since high school, and now she was farsighted with an astigmatism. She wore her black hair up, out of her face, and all the ladies at work said she looked like a librarian. It was echoes from the past. Leah ignored the teasing.
At night, she let her hair down, changed into some comfortable clothes and some warm socks, and watched her DVD’s in the darkness of her apartment. She would almost always be eating or chewing on something. Again, echoes from the past. She was using food to comfort her.
She started to gain weight. One afternoon, she stepped on the scale and gasped. She had gained forty pounds. With tears in her eyes, she balled up her fists and pounded them against the air. She felt like she was losing control. She had to do something to gain it back.
She made several calls, identifying herself as an investigative reporter. The closest she got to Brendan Caldwell was his agent’s voicemail, but weeks went by, and no response came. Because she came from a small paper, no one was willing to take her seriously.
She told herself that she wasn’t going to do this, but she found herself doing it anyway. With trembling fingers, she moved to dial the familiar digits, but stopped to first look around. She was alone in the office; it was late in the day.
She proceeded to make the long-distance call to Early Winter, shaking so horribly that she had to steady herself.
She disguised her voice. “Mrs. Caldwell?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Mr. or Mrs. Caldwell? I’m calling about Brendan, your son.”
A pause. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
So they had moved. Leah clamped her eyes shut, feeling the same acute anxiety that had plagued her when she was fourteen.
She never thought she would be doing this again. Not after so long. She was a grown woman now; shouldn’t she know better?
But she knew that she could not stop herself; to try would be like standing in front of a moving train. Once it has you, it has you. It was more tenacious than any addiction that she had ever had, and more sinister: this attacked not only the body, but also the heart.
She resorted to more barbaric tactics. She went on-line to one of those celebrity address directories and found a P.O. Box for him. She wrote it down and kept it in her briefcase.
Over the weekend, she took a road trip to Early Winter. Being back there for the first time in several years gave her such a sense of nostalgia that she wished she could stay longer.
Its wide streets, trees that bent over the road, and windy hills brought up deep memories and feelings that had not been touched in ages. To Leah, it was hauntingly beautiful, fraught with shadows of a past that could almost be rectified, ancient possibilities that whispered in the corners of its colorful streets.
Going by memory, she drove to the town’s post office and walked up to the front desk. “I’d like a post office box,” she requested.
“Certainly,” the woman answered.
On the car ride home, Leah was dreamy in her thoughts. Feeling fulfilled for having accomplished something, she went home and brushed open the door to her apartment. All was still inside.
She turned on a light next to the sofa and pulled out her freshman year yearbook.
Slowly thumbing through the delicate pages, pausing at interesting photographs, she then searched for the perfect candidate.
Of course, she couldn’t, by any means, remember who all of Brendan’s friends in high school were. But judging from his popularity, practically anyone would be a safe bet, especially if they were on a sports team. Besides, she could just pick a name from a hat and say, “I went to high school with you. You may not know me, but…” After all, he was an up-and-coming star. Anyone who went to high school with him would want to get in contact with him, right?
She stopped at a particularly pretty face. She had known the girl, and she also remembered seeing the two talk on occasion. Heck, it was worth a try.
She scribbled the name down. Juliet Faulkner. If she was lucky, the two weren’t still in contact.
She typed up a beautiful, short letter. In it, she briefly stated that they had gone to school together, she was highly impressed with his recent career advancements, and was wondering if they could start a correspondence. Before sealing it, Leah stared at it. She hoped this would work. If it didn’t, it might all blow up in her face, and she didn’t want that.
She gave it a meaningful stroke, then slowly kissed it. Then she went about her regular day as though nothing had changed.
Three months later, a letter arrived in her post office box in Early Winter. It was the self-addressed stamped envelope she had included in her letter. It was from Brendan Caldwell.
She read it in her car with her sunglasses over her head. It read:
Dear Juliet,
Thank you for writing me a letter. I do remember you! I would be happy to start a correspondence. My address is:
She sucked in a breath as she read his address. She got it!
He was living in Los Angeles in a ritzy apartment. All Leah had to do was find her way there, and she would be able to see him again. This knowledge brought color to her cheeks and made her skin tingle.
She went home, and collapsed onto the sofa in exhaustion.
She bought a plane ticket the next week. She was going to go in May. She waited eagerly, constantly preoccupied with dreams and fantasies about what she would do, what she would say if she ever faced him again.
When time came, she packed her bags, preparing to leave three hours ahead of time.
While sitting on the plane, she ate from a giant bag of jelly beans and read a Mary Higgins Clark novel. She looked around and several people had brought their laptops. She had forgotten to bring hers. No matter: work was the furthest thing from her mind at this point.
As they approached Los Angeles, she felt her ears popping. She chewed on a few more jelly beans and the pain lessened.
She had brought only a carry-on; she didn’t want to risk the airport losing her luggage.
She walked outside, and hired a cab. The air was so hot that her skin almost immediately dampened with sweat, her shirt clinging to her back.
He took her to the nicest hotel that she could afford. It was relatively close to Brendan’s apartment, but not right next door. After checking in at the front desk and finding her room, she sank into the bed. It was comfy.
Before she fell asleep, she jolted herself awake. She still had to locate his apartment on the map, and besides, she was famished. She turned on the light beside the bed and decided to order room service.
When it came, she gobbled it down. The food was delicious in her starving mouth. She pinpointed Brendan’s location on the map, and decided that the best way to go would be to walk.
She turned out the light, and went to sleep.
In the morning, broad daylight greeted her. She had slept for nearly twelve hours. Tonight was the night, she thought. She would get to see him tonight.
She shivered in her short-sleeved blouse and decided to put on a sweater. It was summer in Los Angeles, but inside the rooms of the hotel, it was refrigerator-cold.
She picked up her map and examined it. She didn’t have far to go, and besides, she wanted to wait for the protection of the dark. But then again, it couldn’t hurt to scope the place out before she made her move.
She bounded her way down the steps.
Outside, the streets of Los Angeles were buzzing with activity. She blended in with the crowds easily, rapidly making her way towards Brendan’s neighborhood. The sun was hot and burned scorching on top of her dark head. Tycoons in suits, homeless in rags, shoppers in t-shirts and shorts, all mingled in what looked like a choreographed flow down and across the busy streets. Leah held up her map, trying to shield her head from the powerful rays.
Smoke from car exhausts nearly made her cough. She stepped into the street, about to cross, when a driver blared his horn at her. Scared, she jumped back, nearly falling over into a man wearing a fancy three-piece suit. “Watch out where you’re going,” he said, then walked off. Leah regained her balance, then continued forward.
She was nearing the apartment complex. She could see it in the distance, rising dramatically as part of the whole Los Angeles skyline.
Her emotions were swarming at this point. She debated with herself about whether to go the whole distance. It had been a long time since she had seen Brendan face-to-face; would it really be so hard to wait just another few hours?
And then a frightening thought occurred to her: What if Brendan wasn’t even home? What if he only lived in this apartment some of the time, and somewhere else the rest of the time?
She shook the thought out of her mind. She was thinking worst-case scenario. And even if that were the case, would that really be so awful? Some day, some time, she would see him again. Of that, there was no doubt in her mind.
Cool wind whipped her black hair upwards. Her heart pounded like thunder as she made swift strides in steady determination.
She stopped herself. The apartment building was two blocks away. Brendan’s was the penthouse. How was she going to get inside? Her odds of spotting him without going inside were minimal, she knew.
And besides, she wanted to wait until the darkness hid her. Then, at least, she would have a better chance of not being seen by either him or the police.
But the possibility of being in such close proximity to him gave her an ecstatic joy that could not be matched by any feeling she could imagine.
She had started out with a fierce determination to hate him, she mused, but ended up in quite a different game. No; not simply hate; not simply obsession; but something more pervasive and encompassing—as tenacious as it was glorious.
What started out as a love for her friend had turned out as a quest to conquer her enemy, and in the process, her quest had conquered her.
She knew she was powerless to follow him. Since the moment she had seen him on the small screen, her feelings of desire and need reawakened and returned in full force.
Every step she took towards his apartment, the more control she felt.
But she knew that she could not go all the way; at least, not yet. That would have to wait for the night. She stood, chest heaving with gigantic breaths, looking up at the massive, stone structure that was his home. Her limbs felt warm and alive, and her body was loose, as though relaxed. She didn’t even notice that it was ninety degrees outside, that her skin was pouring with sweat.
But a cold front was coming in. It was blowing in even as she stood there. The cool breezes were like kisses of consolation, whispering soft words of comfort as though they knew what pain she was about to endure.
She didn’t know how long she stood there. The only thing that managed to tear her away was the angry grumble of her stomach, reminding her it was time to eat.
Reluctantly, she left. She found a café nearby and ordered a latte and a warm croissant. Putting generous amounts of butter on the fresh bread, she ate quickly, then lingered over the coffee until the skies became dark from sunset and she could see her reflection in the front window.
Her pulse speeded up. Her veins constricted, her pupils dilated.
She drank the last bit of coffee, then returned her cup to the counter. Her knees felt wobbly from anticipation and nerves, but she knew that nothing was going to stop her from what she was about to do.
She was practically blind; seeing stars. She didn’t know how she managed to walk five blocks without falling, but her ample strides carried her the distance quickly and perfectly.
The night air was considerably cooler than the daytime. Goose pimples arose on the flesh of her arms as she made a move to replace her sweater. Great gusts of wind swept through the packed streets, howling above the sound of traffic.
Leah looked up at the moon, which was now visible, and saw that it was blood-red.
She hid behind a corner, her hair being swept up with the wind, as she approached the building. No one was around.
Her lips felt chapped and bleeding as she ran a dry tongue over them. Her skin felt flushed; she felt weak. She waited nervously and eagerly as the minutes slowly went by, as nothing happened.
A half hour later a woman wearing a purple dress entered the building. Leah’s heartbeat exploded. Quickly, she rushed to the door before it swung closed. With one pale, shaky hand on the partially opened door, the other balled tightly into a fist at her side, she gathered together her composure. She was halfway inside.
Looking around nervously, she slipped into the dark, front corridor.
The lights were dim and blinked intermittently. There was a low, grumbling noise that Leah couldn’t determine the origin or meaning of; it seemed that this hall went on forever.
When it finally did stop, she found herself at a pair of elevators.
“If I do this, it will change my life forever,” she breathed out loud.
She punched the “up” button. The elevator doors rumbled open. She walked inside, wondering if this was all a dream.
She tapped the top floor. The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise.
It opened to a hallway. At the end was a door.
She stopped before it. A heavy, invisible hand was holding her in place, preventing her from going any further. She heard soft music coming from inside and leaned forward to hear more clearly.
But she could not step forward. She could not raise her fist, which was now cold and clammy from sweat, and knock on the door. A force more powerful than herself was acting in one glorious, dramatic sweep right here, right now. A force that had never intervened in her life before this moment, but now furiously taking what belonged to it.
She turned around silently, calmly, and left.
But she didn’t leave without a thrust to the calf. Outside, in the blackness of a star-strewn night, she went straight for the dumpster. Violently, passionately, she tore through the garbage as though she were a heroin addict looking for her fix.
As fiendishly as she was going through the trash, it was amazing she didn’t eat it. But the glare of a flashlight interrupted her.
“You, there!”
Leah looked up. She knew that her clothes were soiled. Her hands were covered in muck. The beam from the flashlight bounced as the man came closer.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
Leah may have been crying, but she didn’t know because her face was already wet from dumpster slime.
As the police grabbed her arms, Brendan appeared in the mist. Leah’s face was dripping and her hair was matted down.
She thrashed against the police officers’ grips. “Brendan!” she screamed. “Brendan, I love you!”
But he stood by and did nothing.
They put handcuffs on her. They pushed her head down as they shoved her in the back of the car. Leah was clawing against the window, screaming, “I love you! I love you!”
But he just stood there, wearing a long overcoat with the shadows masking his expression. The sheriff was standing next to him, smoking a cigar.
Leah wept as the car started. “No!” she screamed. “Take me back, I need him!”
“Lady, you’ve got to be quiet,” said the younger male officer in the passenger seat.
As they were driving, Leah wept. People on the side of the road and in their cars stared at her and she closed her eyes, wishing that this day could disappear.
They took her directly to the station. Pushing her indoors, all the hookers and drunk drivers wrinkled their noses at her because of the smell.
The next morning, a story was put out into the mass media about Brendan Caldwell and his stalker.
Leah went home a public outcast.