You Seem Nice
I half-expect her to start spitting blackmail at me.
This is a chapter from I Hear You Watching, my novel based on my experience with hearing voices and paranoia.
But you can jump in here! The “previously on” will get you up to speed.
Previously on I Hear You Watching…
Alex joined an adult hookup site to meet people and get over his sexual hangups. A video chat with a user named “Vanessa” ended with her recording Alex and threatening to post the video on Facebook if Alex didn’t pay. He also turned down a proposition from an anonymous man.
Another message today.
The sender’s name is “PainterLi,” and the message says, Hey, you seem nice.
It doesn’t come on strong like “Vanessa’s” first message. There’s hesitation in the word seem, implying the sender might’ve been burned like I have, but the vagueness of the message feints from further scrutiny.
I look at the profile.
No picture, and it’s labeled female.
The bio says: 25. Doing some soul searching and looking for clean fun. Emphasis on clean. Geek at heart, corporate grunt by day.
Short and sweet. If it’s honest, we already have things in common.
I write back, You seem nice too. From what little I see here.
And I wait.
In the afternoon I’m smoking a bowl in my living room when I get a response: That’s it. / That’s all there is to know about me.
Green dot, ONLINE NOW.
I say, That can’t be everything.
They say, Well, I guess you’ve gotta dig a little deeper…
Okay, what’s your name?
Lili / Your turn.
Alex.
I wait, wondering where to go from names and half-expecting her to start spitting blackmail at me. I write, You say you’re a “corporate grunt.” What do you do?
Claims analyst / I always feel like that sounds like a compression of “anal cyst,” which is apt because it’s a pain in the ass. / What’s your job?
I do closed-captioning.
Like subtitles for TV? / The news and stuff?
Not live. It’s mostly reality shows.
bwahahaha / Oh, you poor bastard. / You’ve gotta also love it though, don’t you?
No, Lili. I do not love it.
Uh-oh, hit a nerve?
Let me put it this way. If I have to listen to one more Real Housewife equate shopping at De Beers with “stimulating the economy,” I’ll put a gun in my mouth. / I think I’d prefer your “claims anal cysts.”
Honestly, I think I would too!
We should trade jobs.
Nah, that’s cool. / No offense, haha / Plus I think our bosses would notice.
You don’t think we look enough alike?
Um, no.
I haven’t seen what you look like.
What do you mean? I’ve got a photo up.
I load the profile again. There’s no photo, just a gray silhouette.
Common mistake, that’s actually me.
Huh. If that’s true, your photo is all over this site.
I know. Everyone stole it from my profile. / Fucked up, isn’t it?
It is.
That makes it easy for me to blend in here. But the real problem is when I walk around outside. / Everyone stares…
An image forms in my mind, a piecemeal assemblage of girls with whom I’ve had similar flirty banter.
We say nothing for long enough that my image slips apart. The person on the other end could be anyone.
Then they say, Email?
I type the email address I created for signup on the site, which is a handful of letters and numbers.
Wow haha / Are you a part-time spammer or what?
No, that’s actually my email address. All the spammers copied me. ;)
Another long pause. They could be searching for a photo that fits the personality they’ve cultivated with me. A cute girl, glasses, snarky smile but not too severe. Maybe they use different photos with different people, pulled from a series of nesting folders labeled according to personality type. Now they’re navigating to profile_pics/humor/sardonic/mild.
I refresh my inbox. If it’s anything but a photo, I’ll know that this “Lili” isn’t who they claim to be.
Eventually an email appears from libsg2003@saymail.com with the subject: pic of Lili. I click, the photo loads.
There’s one person in the photo—a woman who looks about my age, with dark brown skin, tilting her head over a plate of nachos. She has a round face, dimples, and deep eyes that smile along with her mouth. Her hair sticks out in chunky springs long enough that one hangs just over her left eye.
A weird sense of pride moves through me. She’s Black. And she contacted me. Something in me is flattered to have received any attention from this woman, as if she’s crossed some imaginary aisle. To her I seem “approachable.”
Then a second feeling blooms, a nauseous recognition that my pride has nothing to do with her, only the “type” of woman she is compared to the “type” of man I am.
I feel a stir in my lap and wonder—moments ago, when my mind shape-shifted possible women for her to be, why were none of them Black?
The dot next to my name could turn orange any second. I’ve paused too long on her photo, which will give the wrong impression.
I quickly write, It’s nice to put a face to a name. / You’re very pretty, Lili.
Thank you.
We should meet up sometime, if you’re interested.
Good idea.
Next on I Hear You Watching…
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Nice one. Also, I like what's unsaid, what you've left for readers to possibly read between the lines: that if this woman is real, she's likely not used a clear photo because she knows that reduces her odds of getting initial engagement. Other potential explanation: this person isn't who they say they are and chose a black woman's photo because they sense distrust on the part of the main character - and they are trying to reassure him. I'm guessing it's the former - third time lucky (esp as this is the third scene of him trying for a hook-up). Good luck to him!
Are the chapters in the book this short, or have you segmented further for Substack? Asking, as I recognise 'lengths that work best on Substack' might be shorter than more typical chapter lengths that work in novels.