I wouldn’t describe Christy as a stalker, but she knew a lot about me before I knew anything about her. She was friendly with Vickie, a wine distributor and worked in a wine store. Apparently she was good at her job and earned the title “wine whisperer” for her wine pairing skills. I visited the store on occasion and she was always engaging. I construed her demeanor as professional and friendly and never assumed that she might be flirting with me.

She was an attractive woman. Imagine a slimmer version of Kirsty Alley combined with Amy Adams; shiny black hair, soft grey eyes, pert nose, a glowing complexion and an electric smile. She wasn’t slim, but she carried herself well and seemed comfortable in her skin.


I had a fairly senior position at work, I was featured in an article on the front page of the business section. I learned later that she’d clipped the article with my photo on her refrigerator. For a while, she housesat for Vickie and confessed later that she’d watch me walking my dog, Jake every day.

A year later I was retrenched, I did my best to find work and eventually reconciled myself that I was going to have to sell my apartment. This would have to happen over a period of months and I started packing my books and any articles that would fit in my car. I needed boxes and knew where I’d find them. I went to the wine store and Christy greeted me with her usual bubbly brio.

When I told her I was in the process of vacating my apartment, she seemed concerned and said. ” We can’t have someone like you leaving town.” It didn’t occur to me to ask what she meant by that. I hardly knew her. We chatted briefly and on the spur of the moment, I invited her to dinner at my apartment.

“I’m not trying to get into your pants or anything” I said, “It’s just dinner.” She laughed. I think she found my directness amusing. I invited a neighbor who lived next door and she brought a friend. The dinner was great, as was the company and conversation.” Upon reflection, I was pleased to have an uncomplicated platonic relationship with a woman and felt safe around her.

Christy was born again and I assumed that abstinence and piety came with the package. She would often talk about her relationship with HIM. I made the mistake of playfully suggesting that HE might be a SHE. “HIM” she said, “It’s HIM”.