“Why are you dressed like that?” she inquired through the intercom.
He laughed a little. “Fair question,” he conceded.
He was a burglar. He was dressed in a black and white striped shirt, black pants, and a Lone Ranger mask.
She was dressed in her pajamas. I’ll let you decide what her pajamas looked like. It may change as the story proceeds.
“You have to admit… it’s a little weird to actually dress as a cliché. I mean, I would understand a black ski mask to hide who you are, but why the Lone Ranger mask?”
“It’s interesting that you call it a Lone Ranger mask as opposed to just a mask,” he said. Now I’m interested too as I did the exact same thing.
He continued. “Being a burglar is a lonely profession, so the term Lone Ranger has a couple of different connotations.”
“Why are you still here?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you leave now that you have all of my valuables? Are you waiting to kill me?”
“Oh, no. Quite the contrary, in fact.” He paused and then walked to the front of the locked panic room she had fled into.
“I had the opportunity to review your CD collection and your video collection and take in all the posters and artwork on your walls,” he said as he sat and looked into the small camera over the giant iron door. “I think I’d like to ask you out on a date.”
Silence.
He wished there was a camera on her side so he could see her reaction. Trust me though; he would not have been encouraged.
“You’re very pretty,” he added. “I’ve been admiring some of your pictures. You seem nice.”
Now be honest, the fact that you now know she is attractive has totally changed your opinion of her pajamas. I bet she’s probably wearing a skimpy nightie now, isn’t she?
She is in my story, I’ll tell you that much.
“So… what do you think?” he asked, looking hopefully up at the camera.
“I think you’re a lunatic who wants me to open the door so he can murder me because he wore a fucking Lone Ranger mask instead of a real one and he knows I can probably identify him in a court of law.”
Not the answer he was hoping for. He tried to look more sincere and gave it another try.
“What if I tie up my hands? Would you come out then?”
More silence. More wishing he could see her reaction. More of him being happy he couldn’t.
She had a gun in her safe room. She was loading it.
“I mean,” he continued, “love is a strange thing. You never know when you’re going to meet ‘the One,’ right?”
“I’ve called the police, burglar guy. You and your bad Lone Ranger mask should go. Try and find a costume party,” she said coldly. Love was definitely not in the air.
“I don’t want to be the Lone Ranger anymore,” he offered up.
“Tonto then?” she said tentatively, not sure that Tonto wore a mask. She wasn’t sure if one was necessary in the role of Kemo Sabe. Then she was worried that the Lone Ranger was the Kemo Sabe and if that was the case, what did that make Tonto? Relationships and roles therein can be tricky.
“I’ll be your Tonto if you agree to be my kemo sabe,” he replied.
“Well, that answers that,” she thought to herself, although she could tell by the way he said it that he didn’t capitalize kemo sabe.
He felt like it was time to try and close her.
“I went through your purse and I know your name is Sandy. I don’t want to be too familiar though. Is it ok if I call you Sandy?”
“I’m going to come out and shoot you now,” was her reply.
“I’m Brad,” he countered.
“Ok. I’m going to come out and shoot you now, Brad.”
He smiled. She called him Brad.
He heard a rustling behind the door. She was opening it.
“I know it takes a lot of trust for a relationship to work, Sandy. I love your musical tastes and your taste in art. I see all the pictures of you with other men. Boyfriends, I assume. I appreciate you might have trust issues. You might not want to feel vulnerable. You’re in your safe place now. I get it. I think if you get to know me, we could be wonderful together. Will you give me a shot?”
It was a tremendously poor choice of words.
The door opened and Sandy shot him right through his Lone Ranger mask.
Women… am I right?