by Joy Mosenfelder

Created on: March 10, 2008

"You were watching me."

"What? No, not me, you must be mistaking me for someone else, or maybe you caught me looking at the clock or out the window, or something"

"No. You were watching me. I'm sure of it. What do you know?"

"I don't know anything! I don't even know who you are. Why would I be watching you?"
"Oh, your good, you're very good. But I'm on to you."

. . .
"The man over there is watching you. Are you here with him?"

"Shh. No. But please don't do anything that might draw his attention, he was just over here asking me questions and I don't want him noticing me again."

"What kind of questions?"

"I'd rather not say. Why don't we get some punch? Enjoy the party. Come on, I'll show you around."

. . .

"I saw you watching me again."

"What!? Oh, it's you again. I wasn't watching you, I was talking to my friend here."

"Hello."

"I see, clever cover. Could you kindly excuse us, sir? I have some business with the lady."

"I'm sorry John, it's been lovely. I'll catch up with you in a few. Sir, I'll here you out but I assure you I am not who you think I am."

"Enough lies. I know who you are. Who do you work for?"

"Who do I work for? I'm an English teacher. I work for a school."

"Sure you do. I've never seen an English teacher who could dress like that. Who do you really work for?"

"I just told you. I don't understand why you keep bothering me."

"You're a clever girl, don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about, now fess up."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if I left now."

"Oh, no you don't. You're not going anywhere. I want you right where I can see you traitor."

"Let go of me, please, you'll make a scene. Perhaps it would be best if we went somewhere more private to discuss this."

"You'd like that wouldn't you? Get me alone so your cohorts can make their move. Tell them for me I'm on to them. I'm no fool."

"Then you'll let me go?"

The party would have been a smash, a black tie dinner with all the trimmings. But the hostess spent the better part of the evening engaged in an attempt to free herself from rigorous investigation by an intense young man convinced she was a Russian spy. There wasn't much she could do, she knew his family but was flustered by his behavior. It hadn't been discovered yet that the poor boy suffered from paranoid schizophrenia.

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