Blog #49 – The Sterling Stalker…

In 1989, I’d grown weary of the brutally COLD winters in NYC, so I decided to move to Los Angeles with my boyfriend, Ashe, a sound engineer, when he got a job on the Rolling Stones tour.

Unfortunately, four months later, Ashe brought home a new BFF, her majesty cocaine. Our relationship imploded, and I was a single Mom again with a 3-year-old Tim in tow. Sigh…

Shortly after, I started working as an admin assistant at a computer sales company. While attending a trade show in Santa Monica, a handsome man swaggered over to my table at lunch. “I’ll trade you a bit for your byte?” He asked with a beguiling grin.

I stared at him, confused. Then, I noticed the trade show badge pinned to his shirt, and it hit me — a joke about the PC BIZ…how charming. However, since he was a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed BABE, I laughed…while admiring his thick-muscled arms…

“Hi, I’m Sterling,” Mr. Hottie said, extending his hand. “I’m at IBM.”

With a polite handshake and cool smile, I replied, “Kennedy, Kennedy Smith.”

After an awkward pause, the usual pleasantries evolved into a conversation revealing a union of like souls. We both liked cooking ethnic meals from scratch, sci-fi books and movies, and both of us wanted to own motorcycles.  But neither of us had the cash to satisfy that yearning at the time.

A dozen dates later, I started to feel that FLUTTER preceding those three little words that will kill or cement any liaison, but QUICK. However, since Sterling was likely a rebound beau, I refrained from verbalizing said “L” word. Thank GOD because…

Five minutes after our first blissful romp between the sheets, Sterling had a lengthy discourse with someone named Clair on the phone. I was half asleep, and even though his timing was odd, I assumed by his verbiage, he was chatting with his assistant…or maybe, his sister until…

“Love you, too.” And the soft timbre of THAT phrase was definitely NOT the way one speaks to a sibling…

“Who was that?” I snapped.

“My wife,” he said.

“WHAT? I’m sorry. Did you say WIFE?”

“Yes, Clair, my wife of six years.”

“You goddamned piece of shit!” I yelled, wanting to kick the short and curlies right off his fucking balls. “You’re  married, you filthy bag of dick?”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Oh, right, so THAT makes it okay. How could you call your wife, five seconds after you fucked another woman?”

A wide grin slithered across his face, “Cuz, it turns me on,” he said, rolling over on me and planting a succulent kiss on my neck.

“Get off me, you low-life asshole!” I hollered, shoving him sideways. I leapt out of bed and slipped into my robe. “And get the fuck out of my house!”

“Come on, you knew.”

“How could I KNOW? You never mentioned a WIFE, you lame-assed cock!”

“A guy like me, single at 30? C’mon?? What’re the odds?” he scoffed.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, so relieved that Tim (my son) was asleep at the neighbor’s next door – because he’d taken a liking to Sterling, the wanking PRICK.

But Sterling didn’t move. “C’mon, this is 1989. Monogamy’s dead, especially in Hollywood.”

“We live in the VALLEY and work for computer companies, you arrogant bastard-” I shouted while dialing the phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Only 911,” I said with a snicker. Finally, that prompted his departure, but not without trying to kiss me goodbye. Instead, I gave him a sweet caress of very sharp, red nails…even drew a little blood.

The next day, Sterling called me at work. I immediately hung up on him, but that didn’t deter the cheating LOUT. Not two hours later, Kiki, the receptionist, strutted over with a dozen roses in a crystal vase.

“Wow, someone’s got a sweetie,” said the dull-eyed Kiki, setting the flowers on my desk.

FUCK! I glanced at the card:

I dumped the roses in my trashcan, and I wanted to throw the vase at the wall, but I couldn’t exactly afford to lose my job.

And just when I started to relax a few days later, my hands turned COLD, and my heart dashed about painfully in my chest…when a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared on my kitchen counter. A card bearing my name beside it.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Tim asked, tugging at my quivering hand.

“Nothing, honey,” I said with a weak smile, trying desperately to shield him from the terror evoked by this seemingly innocent bottle of bubbly. “You go on and watch cartoons while I, uh, make dinner. Okay?”

“Okay.”

My beautiful blue-eyed boy toddled into the living room as I tried to tether enough courage to open the card taped to the champagne. It was a lovely white card with a red heart on the front. No Hallmark verse inside, just a few words in Sterling’s impeccable scrawl:

“Oh, shit…” I mumbled laying my hand on the counter to steady myself. I raced to the front door and dropped to my knees. I didn’t see any marks on the door or the doorknob, and that was the only entrance to my tiny one-bedroom apartment. I checked all the windows, which were still locked.

I called the police, and two patrolmen showed up an hour later. Tim, of course, was fascinated by their badges and their guns.

“Please, can I see it, Officer, your -?” Tim pleaded from the doorway, pointing to the shorter Officer’s pistol.

“No, Tim,” I scolded. “Go watch TV in the bedroom, please.”

Frowning, he slumped away.

“I’m sorry, but,” said Officer Denton, the older of the two lawmen, “There’s really nothing we can do.”

“But he broke in!”

“There’s no sign of forced entry, and that card isn’t…it doesn’t constitute a threat-”

“I don’t understand! He doesn’t have a key!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I suggest you move.”

“But my lease isn’t up for seven months.”

And with that, the nightmare with the STERLING STALKER was just beginning…

Stay TUNED, BOYS and GIRLS…cuz it’s gonna get a little ROUGH going forward …

KS/TenaciousBITCH