Three posts ago I mentioned that the Bob Hope classic was happening in Palm Desert (La Quinta to be exact) this past weekend and pro golfer Chez Reavie was staying in the condo above us.
I only knew this because my brother-in-law was outside one morning (before I arrived) when Chez was loading his clubs in a car that had some official PGA sticker on it. And being a golfing enthusiast he struck up a who-are-you convo with Chez and wished him luck on his round that day. On top of that, my eighteen year old niece had also seen him and freely let me know (more than once) that she thought he was hot.
In order to to mention him in the other post I did a little research in order to spell his name correctly, how much money he made last year, and how he was doing in the Bob Hope Classic. He was 6 under the first two days, 4 under on the third day and 3 under on Saturday, the day I arrived and did the post. As I was working on the post, my niece joked about knocking on his door and hooking up with him. Ha. Ha. Then she went in her room and changed into her jammie bottoms (tight stretchy short shorts) and that was that.
By this time, it was around ten o'clock and the sister and the bro-in-law were already on the other side of the sandman. And I was so internet involved I barely noticed when my niece slipped out the front door 15 minutes later. Until I heard a light knocking. Nah, it can't be. Then quiet. Then more knocking, a bit harder this time. No way, it can't be. Then a harder and much longer knocking. Then nothing. A few minutes later my niece marched into the condo and mumbled a few words on her way down the hall to her room. I left it at that. Maybe I didn't want to know.
Early the next morning, the guys from upstairs were in and out carting their clubs and luggage to the car...right outside my open window so I could hear everything. My bro-in-law was also outside, waiting by the car for the sister and the niece to go to the horse grounds for her 8am class. The bro-in-law wished Chez luck on his last game of the tourney, and I was hoping that he would get in his car and drive away before my niece left our condo. I didn't know what happened, if anything, the night before - for all I knew he wasn't even home - but if something did...well, I didn't want any confrontation before she had to go and jump a bunch of fences on a thousand pound horse.
My prayers were answered...sort of. He didn't drive off, but he did go back in the condo and didn't come out again until the niece was long gone. How do I know this? I decided I would try to snap a stalker picture of the guy coming out his condo. I had already opened the shutters on the window and loved the lighting and the framing. The picture was really for the art of the shot...not the art of the stalk. Really. And I was pretty sure it was impossible to get the timing right and catch him in the frame, especially since I was shooting it on my phone.
A few minutes later, I heard him bounding down the stairs. He was fast. My heart raced. I clicked. Hoping he couldn't hear it through the window. Hoping I got the shot since there are no second chances in covert stalker photography. The result? Well, I think I brought 'the art' into the art of stalker photography. I not only caught the subject...I think the framing and lighting is stellar. I like that you can't see his face. I like that he's in motion. I think it looks like a painting.
I must admit part of my motivation to shoot the picture was my curiosity of what happened the night before. Did the niece talk to him? Did he answer the door? (See, if I was really a stalker I would have spied on the niece from my room as soon as she slipped out the door...but I didn't). I decided I would show the picture to my niece as a way to find out what happened...but I had to wait until after she finished her classes.
Drat...and now that it's 11:30pm, you're going to have to wait until tomorrow to read the rest of the story. That wasn't my plan but since I droned on and on instead of telling the whole thing succinctly in a few paragraphs and don't have time to edit, that's the way it's gotta be.