I'll Be Watching You
After the judge left the courtroom, wealthy financier Nolan Perry rose from his seat and shook his attorney's outstretched hand.
"Congratulations," the lawyer, his long-time friend, said. "You're a free man."
"Free?" Nolan echoed with good-natured sarcasm. "I guess you failed to notice that my ex-wife got the house, all the furnishings and half my cash?"
"Cut me some slack, will you, buddy? At least I got your wife's ...."
"Ex-wife," Nolan laughingly corrected his former college roommate.
"... your ex-wife's attorney to drop the request for alimony."
"Yes, I suppose I should thank you for that. What do you say we go get a drink and celebrate?"
"Maybe some other time. I'm taking my son to a Celtics game tonight."
As Nolan turned to leave the courtroom, Samantha Perry, who for the past fifteen years had been his wife, stood in the aisle, blocking his way.
"Well, Nolan, you got what you wanted—as always."
"I'm not going to get into another argument with you, Sam. That's over and done with. As of today, you're out of my life for good."
Although her eyes were filled with tears, Samantha managed to smile, and for a brief moment her ex-husband saw a glimmer of the pretty girl he had fallen in love with nearly two decades earlier, but that sweet expression quickly turned to a smirk.
"If you think I'm out of your life, guess again, honey. 'For better or worse, till death do us part.' Remember?"
"I haven't got time for this," he said gruffly and pushed past her.
"I'll be watching you," she warned him, as the newly divorced man hurried out of the courthouse, eager to begin a new life.
* * *
Nolan raised his fluted champagne glass to Chantal Trico, a beautiful blond flight attendant for United Airlines, whom he had met three weeks before he walked out on Samantha.
"Here's to independence day!" he toasted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"It's not July yet. It's only March 12."
"No, my dear, for me, the twelfth of March means independence."
After taking a sip of Dom Pérignon from his glass, he removed his wedding band and tossed it into the fireplace.
"Now I have a good idea how the slaves must have felt when President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation."
"Since your divorce is final," Chantal said with an undisguised look of greed on her lovely face, "maybe now would be a good time for us to talk about where our relationship is headed. I'm not getting any younger, you know."
Nolan nearly choked on his champagne. Did she think now that he had finally shed the shackles of matrimony he would don them again so soon? He tactfully sidestepped the issue.
"We can talk about that later. First, I want to savor the sweet taste of freedom."
To silence Chantal's protests, Nolan reached into his jacket pocket and took out a blue velvet jeweler's box containing a diamond and ruby necklace. The flight attendant may have been expecting an engagement ring, but she was by no means disappointed with the necklace.
* * *
During the next several weeks, Nolan's happiness was spoiled only by the many unexpected appearances of Samantha. Since their last meeting at the courthouse, she had made good on her promise, or threat, to keep an eye on him. Nolan spied her silent, staring countenance across the street from his apartment, in the crowded elevator of his office building, outside his favorite restaurant and in dozens of other public places.
Yet regardless of when or where her ex-husband encountered her, Samantha made no attempt to speak to him. She seemed to be content to simply follow at a safe distance and watch his every move. Still, her odd behavior made Nolan decidedly uncomfortable. It reminded him of that old song by the Police:
Every breath you take,
every move you make,
every bond you break,
every step you take,
I'll be watching you.
Early one morning in late April, as he was leaving Chantal's apartment, he spied Samantha standing at a crowded bus stop on the opposite side of the street, staring above the traffic, watching him intently. Nolan had finally had enough of her childish games. He made his way across the busy thoroughfare, intent on confronting his ex-wife, but as he drew near to her, she disappeared into the crowd.
When he returned home later that evening, he called Samantha on the telephone. She wasn't home, so he left a message on her answering machine.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sam? Is this the way a mature woman handles a divorce, by acting like a jilted teenager? Stop following me; it won't do you any good. We're through. Got that? Through!"
Then he angrily slammed the receiver down without saying goodbye.
* * *
The joy Nolan felt when his marriage officially came to an end did not last long. Try as he might, with Samantha never far away, he could not get the disturbing song lyrics out of his head.
Every single day,
every word you say,
every game you play,
every night you stay,
I'll be watching you.
A day never went by when Sting's words failed to play over and over again in his mind like a broken record. Both his preoccupation with the old song and the continued harassment by his ex-wife were taking their toll on his professional as well as his personal life.
"What's wrong with you lately, Nolan?" Chantal whined. "You haven't listened to a word I've said."
She had invited him to her apartment where she cooked a surprisingly delicious meal. Apparently, the romantic candlelight dinner for two was her latest step in her long-range plan to become the next Mrs. Nolan Perry. Yet as much as she longed to stop flying the friendly skies and marry a man of means, Chantal was beginning to reconsider the object of her affections. Perhaps Nolan wasn't the right man for her, regardless of his substantial net worth.
"I'm sorry, dear," he replied. "My ex has been giving me a hard time lately."
"I thought your divorce was final. Surely she can't come back now and ask for alimony, can she?"
This was no idle question. The financial settlement of the split was crucial to Chantal's future. She had no intention of marrying a man whose income was to be shared with her predecessor.
"My problems with her have nothing to do with money. She's been—well, for want of a better word—stalking me."
Alarm bells pealed loudly in Chantal's head. She had seen the movie Fatal Attraction and did not want to risk introducing a crazed Glenn Close-like character to her life. After all, Nolan Perry was not the only well-to-do man who had a weakness for pretty, young blondes.
"Have you called the police?"
"No. I don't think that's necessary. Samantha may be annoying, but she's harmless enough."
The truth of the matter was that Nolan was too embarrassed to speak to the police. How did a man with any sense of pride tell a cop that he was being harassed by a hundred-and-ten-pound, forty-two-year-old woman? Police officers were often notoriously macho men who would no doubt view Nolan as lacking testosterone.
"You don't know that she's harmless. Call them right now and report her, for Christ's sake," she cried with annoyance. "You can never tell what she's liable to do."
Now it was Nolan's turn to hear warning bells. He didn't like the way Chantal was behaving one bit. What right did she have to make such demands?
"You know, I spent the last fifteen years with a woman who tried to run my life. I don't need another one to tell me what to do."
Nolan put on his jacket and left, not even bothering to finish his dinner.
As he stood outside Chantal's apartment building waiting for a taxi, his eyes scanned the face of every person who passed by. He knew that somewhere nearby Samantha was watching him.
Meanwhile, the Police song haunted his thoughts.
Oh, can't you see,
you belong to me?
My poor heart aches
with every step you take.
* * *
Elston J. Watters, Nolan Perry's business partner, was waiting in his office when he arrived at work the following morning.
"Did we have a meeting scheduled for today?" Nolan asked, looking at Elston apologetically.
Elston shook his head slowly.
"No, there isn't any meeting. I just wanted to talk to you. Have you got a minute?"
Watters scrutinized his partner's appearance. Nolan was unshaven, and his expensively tailored suit needed to be cleaned and pressed.
"Look, I'm sorry. I know I've been coming in late for the past few weeks," Nolan said. "I've been having difficulty sleeping at night, but I promise I'll get my act together."
"It's more than your just being late. Frankly, I'm worried about you. Your work has been slipping. Even when you're here, your brain seems to be a million miles away. I've tried to ignore the situation because you've just gone through a messy divorce, but I don't know how much longer I can carry the load for both of us."
"Please, Elston, I've been under a good deal of stress lately."
Watters nodded with both understanding and compassion, assuming the attractive but gold-digging flight attendant had a lot to do with his partner's unhappiness.
"Why don't you take some time off and relax?" he suggested. "Maybe you could do some sailing or play a little golf. I'll bet a few weeks of rest and relaxation will do you a world of good."
"A vacation! That's exactly what I need. A nice long vacation, somewhere far away from everything and everyone."
"That's the spirit!" Elston said, patting his partner on the back. "You get some rest and come back in top form."
That same afternoon Nolan had his secretary book him a flight to London. From there, he would travel to the Scottish highlands and hopefully lose himself in some Brigadoon-like town where Samantha would never find him.
* * *
It was the first decent night's sleep Nolan had in months. His suitcases were packed and waiting in the hall for the limousine that would pick him up in the morning and take him to the airport. He woke at 6:00, and after a freshly brewed cup of coffee and a hot shower, he dressed for his trip. Promptly at 7:30, the hired limousine arrived.
The traffic to the airport was heavy, which was normal for a weekday morning. Nolan sat in the back seat of the limo, drinking a second cup of coffee and staring out the tinted window, his mind wandering.
All morning Sting's lyrics played in his head, only now they were accompanied by the mournful sound of bagpipes.
Since you've gone
I been lost without a trace.
I dream at night;
I can only see your face.
I look around,
but it's you I can't replace.
I feel so cold,
and I long for your embrace.
I keep crying baby, baby, please.
Nolan had always wanted to visit Scotland, to see its ancient castles and its scenic countryside, but he never found the time before. Perhaps now that he was free of both Samantha and Chantal, he would spend more time traveling. It would be nice to go on vacation and see something other than expensive restaurants and shopping districts.
As Nolan idly daydreamed about seeing the famous sea monster of Loch Ness, a Greyhound bus passed by in the HOV lane. The bus was traveling much faster than the limo, but Nolan still had a clear view of the woman sitting in one of the rear seats: it was either Samantha or some long-lost twin of hers. The euphoria he had been feeling suddenly vanished. Why was Samantha headed in the direction of the airport? Was she aware of his plans, and did she intend to follow him across the Atlantic and stalk him through Scotland?
Ten minutes later the limo pulled up to the international terminal's white zone, and a skycap appeared to help with the luggage. As Nolan walked through the busy airport toward the British Airways check-in desk, his head turned from side to side, craning to see the faces of the people in the crowd.
"Expecting to meet someone here, sir?" the skycap asked politely.
"God, I hope not," Nolan replied cryptically.
The young man smiled, misunderstanding Nolan's unease.
"There's nothing to fear, sir. The security at this airport is excellent. You don't have to worry about some damned terrorist sitting next to you with a box cutter tucked in his pants leg."
"That's comforting to know," Nolan chuckled.
It was not, however, one of Osama's band of merry men that he dreaded seeing, but a former history teacher from Boston. Thankfully, Nolan checked his bags and went through the exhaustive security check without spotting his ex-wife.
As he was boarding the plane with the rest of the first-class passengers, he looked back over his shoulder at the people waiting in the terminal. Was that Samantha? He had only seen a quick profile, but it might have been hers.
The flight attendant, who was neither as young nor as beautiful as Chantal, hurried him along, anxious to board the remaining passengers.
Nolan was on edge during the entire transatlantic flight. His fellow passengers, who were probably praying that their flight would not be hijacked and flown into the White House, failed to notice his discomfort or the fact that he had ordered a number of drinks.
When the plane landed at Heathrow, the first-class passengers deplaned first. Nolan walked slowly down the jetway and lingered in the waiting area until the rest of the passengers got off the plane.
Samantha wasn't there! None of the women that he saw leaving the British Airways flight even remotely resembled his ex-wife.
With a renewed sense of freedom, Nolan collected his luggage and took a cab to the hotel. There he would have a fine meal and a good night's sleep before heading to Scotland in the morning. While he was eating in the hotel's dining room, he again saw a woman that looked like Samantha, but when the stranger and her companion got up and passed his table, Nolan realized the woman looked nothing like his ex-wife after all.
Either I drank too much on the plane, or I didn't drink enough, he thought. Or perhaps all this stalker nonsense is affecting my mind.
For the first time, he wondered on just how many occasions Samantha had actually been watching him. Perhaps more than once he had been mistaken about seeing her face in the crowds, or maybe, he considered in a moment of profound introspection, it was his own conscience that had caused his brain to play tricks on him. After all, he had been a terrible husband whereas Samantha, to her credit, had been a good wife.
Regardless of the actual reason behind them, the hallucinations continued during his stay in Scotland. Ironically, it was not a sea monster he saw in the murky waters of Loch Ness, but the image of Samantha floating on the waves like a middle-aged mermaid.
* * *
Nolan Perry returned to the United States no more rested or relaxed than when he had left. In fact, his nervous condition was far worse. He had even been forced to visit a doctor in London and get prescriptions for tranquilizers and sleeping pills.
When the airport limo dropped him off at his home, Nolan wearily searched for his house key and opened the door. He suddenly realized he was exhausted. Without bothering to swallow the sleeping pills, he pulled his clothes off, left them lying on the bathroom floor and headed toward his bed.
As he passed by the window, he saw Samantha standing across the street in the glare of the street light. It was no hallucination, no trick of his overwrought mind. She clearly stood there staring up at him.
"Sam," he yelled through the open window. "It was you in Scotland, wasn't it?"
He wasn't crazy. He was the victim of a spurned woman who was trying to drive him insane. The old saying was true: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Nolan was not going to take it anymore, though. Enough was enough. Tomorrow he would go to the police.
Tired, though he was, when he laid his head on the pillow, he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind conjuring the song he knew so well.
Every move you make,
every vow you break,
every smile you fake,
every claim you stake,
I'll be watching you.
Ten o'clock the following morning, Nolan went to the police station where he spoke with Sgt. Enis Sanford. As he suspected, the police officer was not eager to charge a middle-aged woman with such a serious crime.
"If you just ignore her, maybe she'll get tired of following you around," Sgt. Sanford suggested.
"I've tried ignoring her, sergeant. Not only did she not tire of harassing me, but she also followed me all the way to Scotland in order to do so. Now, I want the police to put an end to this stalking."
"Stalking? Isn't that a bit strong?"
"What would you call it then?"
"Why don't you give me her name and address? I'll go have a talk with her and warn her of the possible legal ramifications of her actions."
"All right," Nolan agreed, "but if that doesn't work, I intend to pursue the matter further."
Sgt. Sanford took out a pad and pen, ready to take down the pertinent information.
"Her name is Samantha Perry, and she lives at 16 Chestnut Street. Her phone number ...."
The sergeant was not writing down the information. Instead, he appeared to be deep in thought as though he were trying to remember something.
"Samantha Perry," he muttered to himself. "Now where did I hear ...? One minute, Mr. Perry."
The sergeant turned toward his computer terminal, typed in Samantha's name and address and read the information that appeared on the screen. Then he printed out the report that was on file.
"Samantha Perry, born September 3, 1960, in East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania," Sanford read from the paper. "Is that the woman you claim is following you?"
"Yes. That's her. That's my ex-wife."
"If you're seeing this woman, then it isn't our help you need."
Sgt. Sanford handed the printout to Nolan. According to the police report, the body of forty-two-year-old Samantha Perry had been found in her home on the evening of March 12, the day the Perry divorce became final. According to the medical examiner's autopsy notes, the cause of death had been a lethal overdose of sleeping pills.
Nolan handed the printout back to Sgt. Sanford. Then he stood up and, without another word, headed toward the door. On his way out of the police station, he saw a young civilian receptionist sitting behind a desk. The woman looked at him and smiled. It did not surprise Nolan that she bore an uncanny resemblance to his late ex-wife.
Samantha, apparently, was still watching.
Don't be nervous; it's not a stalker. It's only Salem looking for my secret stash of Godiva chocolate.
