The scariest thing that happened to me, other than receiving my first student loan statement, happened over the summer.
Even though I live in a rather down trodden and thoroughly working class neighborhood I still like to walk everywhere I can. I am constantly warned about walking to and from the neighborhood during the day light hours and even more so at night. There are two crack houses on my street alone, not to mention the myriad other ones I walk by on my way to and from work or Common Market or Snug Harbor.
But I will not be forced to drive when I can walk because of perceived fear. I can defend myself. Anyone who messes with a crazy girl is...well...crazy...
Or so I thought.
He approached me innocently enough. In fact, he didn't even approach me. He was standing with a very attractive young woman on his balcony in the small apartment complex a block away from my house. He shouted at me. They both did. They said they loved my style. To say he was dressed in a flashy manner is an understatement. Black fitted pants, a red long sleeve button down, black vest, something like a bolo tie around his neck, topped off with a red felt fedora with large rhinestones circling the brim. It was downright garish. She had short hair and looked like Rhianna, but was prettier because she wasn't so utterly thin like Rhianna is.
I was walking up the street with Lenny, who was just a small puppy then. I had on a short empire waist sleeveless black dress, boots, and a black derby hat complete with feather.
He shouted at me that he liked my style. I accepted his compliment and hers as well and said, 'thank you!'
They were both wearing sun glasses. I couldn't see their eyes.
They asked me wear I worked. I lied and said I didn't have a job at the moment.
He said that he worked as a stylist and wanted me to model for him.
I was gracious with his offer but declined. "I used to model," I said. "I don't anymore." Then I made a joke about being too old and liking food too much. He asked for my number. I gave him my facebook instead. I let his friend request sit for a while.
I thought that was the end of that. I continued on my way so I could meet up with friends. As far as cat calls went, that was the most polite, least threatening, and earnest one yet.
A few weeks later there was a knock at my door. Forrest and I were in the bedroom getting the laundry together. "Who the fuck is that?" he asked. We were no longer used to random people knocking on our door ever since our drug dealing former room mate moved out. We stopped for a moment hoping the person would give up and walk away. We're not the type of people to answer calls from unknown numbers, let alone answer the door for strangers. Also, as I mentioned previously, there are several known drug houses on our street and sometimes we get addicts knocking on our door or asking us when we're outside for money.
We hoped that they'd go away. They only knocked slower, louder, and longer. Forrest went an answered the door. I stayed behind in the bedroom, but the house is small and I could hear their conversation.
"Hey, is your lady home? I know she lives here. I've seen you guys hanging out outside. I've been trying to get in contact with her." I knew the voice. It was the man with the fedora from a few weeks prior. I never told him where I lived. In fact, I had never even seen him walk by our house while I was outside. And trust me, he was someone you would remember if you saw him walk by. The day he knocked on our door he was wearing a black fedora complete with rhinestones, purple button down, black pants. "I have a business proposition for her."
Forrest never said I was home. He never called my name. I took it upon myself to walk out to the door and greet the man. No longer above me on the balcony I could now tell that he was around 45 and roughly about my height.
He still had his sunglasses on. Parked outside was a still running newer model Honda with all the bells and whistles.
"Hey man, what's up? Sorry I haven't approved your request on FB yet. I've been busy. " I lied like my pants were already on fire. I wasn't busy.
"I hear ya, I hear ya," he said. "You know, I work with a local NFL team. I'm working on getting something new together. I'm looking for massage therapists, you know?" He stammered on not because he was shy or in the middle of thinking but because he was high. He turned to Forrest, "I'm not trying to hit on your girl. I have my own girl. She's seen her," he pointed to me. I nodded.
And all the while I wondered how long he'd been watching me at my own house.
"I'm not a licensed massage therapist," I said, trying to keep my cool.
"Oh, that don't matter," he said. "I want you to come work for me." He smiled a sly smile. I saw his eyes peak out over the top of his black sunglasses. The whites of his eyes were more alabaster than anything.
"Thank you but I've got a lot going on!!" I said to him. I've found the key to avoiding dangerous confrontation with sketchy people is to be as courteous but wary as possible.
"You'll the center of attention, I promise you!" he said. "You can make you and your man a lot of money!"
I still declined. Forrest said we had a lot of errands to run. He walked to the running Honda, got in, and drove away.
That was when I told Forrest about the incident a few weeks prior. we shrugged our shoulders and went about our day.
A few weeks after that Forrest was at work and I was home alone cleaning the house and generally just hanging out and relaxing. Then there was a knock at my door. I froze. I always freeze up when anyone knocked on the door unless I was expecting someone. I stayed still for a few moments and didn't make a sound. The knocking continued and each knock became louder and more intense. I heard a man calling my name. It was the man in the sunglasses and hat.
"Mary! Hey Mary!!" I heard him call me. I tell people I'm not sure of that my name is 'Mary' and not my whole name.
Under duress, I answered the door. I was afraid that I had I kept ignoring him the neighbors would have heard him.
"I'm glad you answered. I need you tonight. Everyone will love you." He went on again about how he knows some of NFL players. He alluded to some clandestine event that he was putting together involving some of the members of local team. Again, I politely declined. He remained on my porch for a few moments trying to engage me in conversation.
"Well, I have to get ready to leave," I said. "I'm sorry I can't help you." I politely forced him from my porch and watched him walk away, towards where his house is.
After I shut the door I locked it. This is not a normal behavior for me. I hardly lock the doors when I am home unless I am going to sleep. I thought about everything he said and read between all the lines. He wanted to me to work for him. He was a pimp.
I called Forrest to let him know what had transpired. He asked me if the man knew that I was alone and then advised me to leave the house for the night. My boyfriend is usually laid back and thinks the best of everyone, so for him to say all of this was a bit of a red flag. I imagined myself being kidnapped and drugged and sold against my will. I don't know who this man thought I was, but I think he was way off whatever he thought. He probably saw the black clothes and tattoos and assumed I didn't have too much self worth. He probably thought I was much younger than I am, seeing as how most people think I'm 22 when they meet me.
He's stopped by a few times since. Thankfully, Forrest has been here each time and told him that I wasn't home. I still wonder how much he much have been watching me and following me to find out where I live.
It's only been a few months, so now when there's a knock at the door I'm even more apprehensive and unwilling to answer more than I was before. I'm afraid that it's going to be him with his huge toothy grin, the alabaster part of his eyes shining in the sun, making his brown eyes even darker and more sinister.
I still walk to work and to see friends. I won't let fear run my life. But now I take a different route that avoids the peripheral of his balcony so that he will not have the chance to notice me.
I know this doesn't sound as scary as living in a haunted house or being a car driving down a sinister and dark winding road. But the idea that he's still around the corner and that he knows where I live is frightening enough. If he wanted to, he could watch me leave to take Forrest to work and see me arrive at home alone. I'm tough. I can defend myself. But malevolent people want what they want. They don't respect the boundaries of others, especially women.
When I'm home alone now I keep the doors locked. I don't answer if there's a knock. I keep the lights turned down low. I don't want to end up another statistic.
