Dating : Observation

FICTION

Frank stood behind the hotel desk, waiting to check out his first guests. He had counted the drawer so, since the lobby was empty, he decided to check the orange juice and the milk. The night auditor, Bob, had told him to fill the orange juice. “They’re being pigs this morning,” Bob said as he left. But it was the milk that was usually in the most danger of being empty. Bob and, subsequently, Frank, only kept the milk container a quarter full, to keep the milk from going bad. Something Bob said about the bacteria in the milk growing exponentially every hour it sat out.

The juice was still half full and no one had touched the milk, so Frank decided they could wait. The donuts were fine, too. He felt an urge for a chocolate cruller, but he knew somebody would be watching him. At nine, he cleaned up breakfast and, by ten, most of the guests were gone, leaving Frank watching TV. At no one, the phone rang. It was Brenda, home on her lunch break.

“You coming over after work?” she asked.

“I suppose Marlo will be there. How about we eat out?”

Marlo was Brenda’s roommate.

“No, listen,” she said. “Got a pencil? Check out this URL.”

Frank took the address, username, and password, then asked, “What is it?”

“Go there now, OK? Before I have to go back to work. Can you use the computer there? Maybe I’ll see you later.” She kissed him over the phone and hung up.

Frank studied the hotel’s security cameras in either corner behind the desk. They were trained on the desk, not the lobby, so the hotel owner, who lived in an apartment upstairs, could keep an eye on the staff. He was an old Chinese guy. Once, he’d called down to get Frank to face the camera so his niece, Ling, could take a look. Frank thought that was kind of cute — until Ling came down to see him. She was definitely not cute. Frank hadn’t thought that possible — an ugly Asian. She needed an arranged marriage. Of was that Indians? Did they still do that? He could not remember. He had not taken Geography or Anthropology or whatever class it was you would have to take to learn that sort of thing. He was not even certain where the hotel’s owners were front. He just assumed they were Chinese. They might be Malaysian. Malaysia was in Asia somewhere. All he knew was that they looked Asian. He thought maybe Malaysia was a bunch of islands, but the owners didn’t look like they were from a bunch if islands. They looked Chinese to him. Either way, Frank did not like the camera, whether it was Malaysians, Indians, Chinese, or Americans who were staring at him. They made him feel guilty.

* * * * *

Frank knew the owner was out to lunch, so he logged on to the Net and typed in the URL. The screen was black with a little box in the center. In the box was Brenda, grinning. It was still with a link to download the RealPlayer. He hit the link and waited. Some people came in and he talked to them about a baseball game the guy was interested in. he wanted to know where the “park” was. You could see it through the front door, so Frank showed the guy.

He installed the RealPlayer when the download was done, then clicked on the streaming video link. There were Brenda and Marlo, moving pictures. They were in Marlo’s room at her computer, and they mugged it up for the camera like two kids. They’d point at the screen and laugh, then shove each other and laugh some more. Frank wished the crappy hotel computer had a sound card. The girls did something like introduce themselves, and Marlo flipped up her blouse. You couldn’t really see anything, just a flash of black bra.

Frank grabbed the phone, took an outside line, and dialed Brenda’s number. On the screen, Brenda went out of frame for a second while Marlo fiddled with the camera, adjusting it, then held a picture of herself as a teenager in a swimsuit up to the camera.

“Hello?” It was Brenda.

“What is this?” Frank asked.

She was excited. On the monitor he saw her rush into the frame and stare at the camera.

“You watching this? Can you see me? Am I jerky?”

“I see you,” he said. “And Marlo’s chest, as usual.”

“Did not,” she said, shoving Marlo’s shoulder. Marlo looked at her for a minute as Brenda covered the mouthpiece then turned and waved at the camera. “Marlo says hi. So, how do you like it so far?”

He frowned. Too bad there wasn’t a camera for her to see that. “I don’t.”

“Why? It’s fun,” Brenda said.

“Yeah, but, you know — everybody can see you.”

“Duh,” she said. “They can also subscribe. Twenty-two have already signed up. You want to?”

“What? Pay to watch you and Marlo jerk around on a computer screen? Why would I want to do that?”

“Never know what might happen,” Brenda said. At this, Marlo leaned back from the camera, smiled, and raised her eyebrows in a parody of suggestion.

“You’d think you’d let your boyfriend watch for free…”

Frank had some new arrivals and had to get off the telephone and the Net.

“Look,” Frank said, “I’ll call you back in a bit. Keep your clothes on, will you?”

“Well, since I do have to get back to work…” Brenda said. “But as for later, I do have my fans to think of…”

Frank got busy at the desk and could not get back on the web before Brenda left for work. The way Brenda had been acting bothered him. He began to wonder if that was the way she acted all the time when she was either alone or when it was just her and Marlo. She was usually shy — even around him — though on the web she was obviously more open, having fun, talking with Marlo about Lord-knows-what. Maybe it was the camera making her open up. Or maybe it was his absence. He liked the woman he saw. And he didn’t like her, too. Why couldn’t she act that way around him? Why didn’t she trust herself around him? Why didn’t she trust him enough to be herself? Was he going to need cameras in his house so she could see who he was, see he could be trusted? Why could no one trust him? Parents. Employees. His girlfriend. She sometimes accused him of being unable to trust her, but that wasn’t true. Especially now that her life was on constant display. He had to go see her.

* * * * *

Brenda lived in a high-security apartment complex, and cameras watched Frank the minute he turned into the drive and pulled up to the guard. Frank smiled and waved as the guard waved him through. He wondered how the guard explained waving him through every day to his superiors — or maybe they recognized him, too, and gave the guard permission to let him pass.

Frank parked his car in a visitor space. The path to Brenda’s apartment snaked between the buildings, trees planted in the curves. It was pretty, but impractical, having to weave back and forth as you walked to your apartment every day. Moving furniture down it had to be a nightmare. He looked up at the apartments’ facades. Cameras were positioned in the center of each apartment, pointing at the door opposite, through the trees, far enough apart to allow a clear view. He had not paid them any attention before.

Marlo answered the door on his second knock. She was wearing a kimono, red and dragon-y. “Frank! Brenda’s in the bathroom. Come in. Check it out.” Frank came in, happy to get away from the cameras outside. She led him to the TV. There, on top of the TV, in the shadows created between it and the stand, was a tiny digital camera. “We have these little cameras everywhere.”

“I know. When did you decide to do this?” Frank asked.

“Last week. She bought the cameras and I set up the web sites. We’ve only had it on since seven this morning.”

“I suppose this is your way of paying rent. You planning to give them a show?” Frank was getting concerned, upset.

“Not if you behave yourself.”

“I don’t want to behave myself…”

“Hey, Frank. Isn’t this the coolest thing?”

Frank turned to Brenda coming out of the bathroom. She was wearing a half-top and shorts, typical dress that now upset him.

“No,” he said.

“We’re just having a little fun.” She walked up to Frank and kissed him. He accepted it, but then pulled back.

“You set up for sound?” Frank asked. He began looking for a microphone near the camera. It was small and hidden in the shadows.

“You couldn’t hear us?”

“No sound card at work on that ancient computer,” Frank said.

“Too bad. I wanted to know how we sounded,” Brenda said.

Frank walked up to the camera and leaned in close.

“You’re all sick fucks!” he yelled.

“Frank! Stop! What are you doing?” Brenda grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Stop fooling around.”

“Who’s fooling around? I don’t want my life on camera all the time.” He really did not want her life on camera. He could have cared less about himself — until now. He could not stand seeing her without him.

“If it bothers you, I’ll just come over your place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marlo said. “That will give me and Rob more camera time.” She winked at them, then, running her hand mock-sensuously across the back of the couch, she turned to go to her room. “I’m going to work on the computer and leave you two alone.” Marlo vanished into her room, shutting the door to let them have their privacy.

“What kind of site is this?”

“She’s just being silly.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“She thought with the camera, it would help me feel better about myself. You know I don’t like the way I look…”

Frank stared at her a moment, then sighed. They had had this argument before. “Honey, I’ve always wondered where you were finding that fat to despise. I think you look fine. Isn’t that enough?” Frank was telling the truth. She had a thin waist, washboard abs, wide hips, -sized breasts. Still, she was constantly complaining about her ass and thighs.

Brenda grabbed her inner thigh and said, “Right here. I’m tired of having gigantic thighs. I want to look nice.”

“You do look nice. You have big thighs because you jog all the time. That’s muscle. And it’s proportional to the rest of you.”

“I want to feel good about myself.”

“You need camera to feel good about yourself?” He sat on the couch, sinking into the old, soft cushions, then looked up at her, the back of his head resting on the top of the couch. “Why can’t you go to therapy like everyone else?”

“This is cheaper. Who knows, we might even make enough to pay for all the equipment.” She smiled, sat next to him. She ran her hand across his stomach, moved to kiss his cheek.

Frank moved away from her. “I still don’t like it. I don’t like my life being on camera twenty-four hours a day. I can’t have any privacy here.”

“What do you do over here that you need all this privacy?” Brenda asked, standing to face him.

“I just don’t want to be on display. We won’t be able to spend any time alone with all this.” He stood and gestured blindly at the room with his hand.

“I can still come over your place,” Brenda said.

“I’d rather you got rid of the cameras.”

“No. I need them”

Frank shook his head. “You’re wrong. But I’m not going to put up with this. If you keep these cameras up, I’m not coming over.” He began to move toward the door.

“I said I could come over your place. What’s the big deal?”

He stopped, faced her squarely, eyes wide, jaw set. His hands were out like he was grabbing an invisible watermelon, his shoulders up. “There’s fucking cameras everywhere!”

“So?”

His hands flew upward, gesturing at the air. “For nineteen ninety-five a month, you can see every moment of my life…”

Brenda smiled. “We’re doing a public service. We’re keeping the voyeurs off the streets.”

Frank dropped his hands and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I’m getting out of here. I can’t stand this anymore.”

Brenda watched him turn and walk toward the door.

“You want me to call you later?” she asked.

Frank faced her and said, “I thought you were coming over.”

“I need to help Marlo with the website tonight. You mind if I come over tomorrow after work?”

“Whatever. Fine with me. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk about it then.”

Frank shut the door. He stared across the walk. The camera stared back. He blinked first. He had an urge to throw a rock at it. But then, if he did that, it would provide the evidence. He turned and walked as quickly toward his car as the curvy sidewalk would let him.

* * * * *

Brenda called Frank an hour after he got home.

“I think you’ll change your mind if you’ll just look at the site again,” Brenda said.

“Looking at it’s what made me hate it in the first place,” Frank said.

“You know as well as I do you’ll get on and check it out again. If you still don’t like it, maybe after a few days… We’ll see. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

She was right. He did have to watch again. His computer was on within minutes. After an hour he watched Brenda grow tired of helping Marlo and go into her bedroom. He clicked on her bedroom icon. She grabbed her book from off the nightstand. Lying on the bed, her feet up over her bottom, she began reading, ignoring the camera in her room, watching her. Frank watched her for a long time, watched her turn the pages, a simple action. He leaned forward in his black computer chair, toward the computer screen, as if that could make him more intimate with her. He wanted that intimacy, that closeness, that person he saw through the camera. He had a sudden urge to be with her, to hold her, to tell her he trusted her. To tell her he loved her. Instead, he turned off the computer. It was getting late. He had to go to work in the morning. Maybe he would watch her some more in the morning, before he went to work. And if she didn’t call, if she didn’t come over, he would nevertheless spend time with her at home, watching her on the screen. He had never felt closer to her than he did while watching her through the camera eye. He was already addicted.

— 30 —