THE WOMAN WHO WATCHEDInspired by Real EventsIn This Office, Compliance Isn't EnoughYou Have to Survive

For Christine,

For The Girl with the Chair,

For The Guys with the Car,

and

For Call Center Agents Everywhere

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The following is a true story. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. And the innocent. It turns out that when a system is thoroughly broken, villains and victims share the exact same desire for total anonymity.             

****

Gwenn Curran watched people.  She watched them from behind her supervisor's desk at the Federal Revenue Bureau’s call center, where hundreds of employees spent their days in headsets, answering questions from the public.  She watched who laughed with whom, who received flowers, who wore new clothes, who lost weight, who gained it, who got engaged, married or divorced, who got pregnant, who bought a new car.

Most of all, Gwenn watched the women.  Pretty women made something sinister stir inside her.  A woman with beautiful hair caught her eye.  A woman with a slim waist irritated her.  A woman whose desk was surrounded by laughing men could ruin Gwenn's entire day without saying a word.



She punished these women by monitoring calls unnecessarily.   And by routinely following them, snooping to see what they did on breaks, at lunch, and even in the restroom.  She interfered with schedules so the women wouldn't get a requested day off.  She diabolically singled out the women she considered attractive.  She thought each incident was too small to matter, but together, they painted a picture.

 ****

 

Loren Leslie was a pretty woman with thick hair that she wore straight.  She was built like a brick house, and that attracted the men in the office like flies to honey.  They clustered around her cubicle for reasons that rarely had anything to do with work.

"Hey, Loren, you got a minute?"

"Did you see what happened at the Bulls game?"

"You want some coffee?"

Sometimes a man would stand beside her desk laughing for ten minutes about nothing at all.

Gwenn watched from across the room, her mouth tightening.  She could hear Loren's laughter floating over the partitions.  It became a sound Gwenn hated.  Loren never seemed to notice Gwenn's resentment.  And That.  That made Gwenn really hate her.  But Loren simply smiled at everyone, answered questions, and returned to her calls.

****

At home, Gwenn's husband,  Paul, noticed her mood. 

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You're fuming."

"I'm not fuming!  Nothing happened!"

But something had happened.   Loren had smiled.  And three men had smiled back.   Gwenn had begun keeping mental records.  She knew when Loren arrived.   She knew if she was late returning from lunch and breaks.  

She knew how often she visited the restroom.  She knew which men stopped at her desk and how long they stayed.  Gwenn told herself she was supervising.  But supervision had become surveillance.  And surveillance had become obsession.

A few months ago at the Christmas party, her husband, Paul Martel, watched Loren all evening, even asking her to dance—twice.  In turn, Gwenn watched them.  Watched them talk, laugh, and dance.  She could see the admiration on Paul’s face.  Later, at home, she accused him.

"You like her."

"Gwenn..."

"You do."

“For once in your life, don’t be a ballbuster.  For once, try to be reasonable.”

But his reasonableness pushed her over the edge.  She charged him, slapping, punching him, and scratching his face.  Paul held her off.  Turning her around with her back to him, he caught her in a crushing bear hug and pinned her arms to her sides.

 

“Get ahold of yourself!”

But Gwenn violently twisted herself out of his grip and lunged again.  He caught her wrists this time, pinning them down firmly and holding her still despite her frantic struggles.  Only when her energy finally snapped, and she choked out a plea for him to stop, did Paul let go.  Then, picking up his jacket, he left without a word.  

In a fit of fury, Gwenn tore every stitch of Paul's clothes to shreds, even his underwear.  When he returned a few days later, he moved out for good.  A month later, he filed for divorce.  When Gwenn was served with the divorce papers, she sat for a long time, crying, stewing in anger and recriminations, all of which she directed at Loren Leslie.

****

But beneath Gwenn’s jealousy was another wound, one that had been festering for years.  She wanted children more than anything in the world.  She'd become pregnant several times, but each time she lost the baby.  And with each miscarriage, she grew more bitter.  

After the last one, she returned to work with a hollow expression and such obvious emotional pain that it seemed like a hump on her back.  The stress of the ordeal prematurely aged her, and she now looked years older than her husband.  And this added to her bitterness.  When other supervisors approached her to offer sympathy, she turned cold and refused to discuss it.

 

People whispered behind her back.

“She’s so abusive, so mean-spirited that this is probably the Universe’s way of punishing her like she punishes other people.”

“Can you imagine having Gwenn for a mother?  The poor child’s life would be miserable.  She’d damage any child for life.”

“You’re right, because Gwenn has no idea what love is.  All she knows is hate.”  

"And venom.  Don't forget venom" 

In her misery, Gwenn wanted someone else to suffer too.  Loren was an easy choice.  One day, just before lunch, Loren finished a call and placed her phone into wrap-up mode.  She had a few notes to complete before leaving.  She reached for her purse.  The phone beeped its low chime, signaling another call coming through.  Loren stared at it.

"That's strange."

She answered.  "Thank you for calling the FRB.  How may I help you?"

When the call ended, another came immediately.   Then another.   Then another.  Loren looked at the clock.  Her lunch break had already begun.  Across the room, Gwenn was watching her.  After the fourth call, Loren stopped.  She stared at the telephone.  

Then she looked across the room.  Gwenn was sitting perfectly still.  A tiny smile touched her lips. Loren suddenly understood.  She reached beneath her desk and pulled the phone cord from the wall.

Silence.

 

She looked up.  Gwenn was smiling.  Not a warm smile.  A vicious, victorious one.  The smile of someone who had gotten exactly what she wanted.  Loren felt a chill.  

Gwenn turned back toward her computer.  She never said a word.  That was Gwenn's specialty.  She preferred cruelty she could deny.  And she was good at it.

 

If Loren went to the restroom, Gwenn eventually appeared behind her in the hallway.  If Loren went to the break room, Gwenn always needed something from the vending machines.  If Loren left the building during a break, Gwenn somehow knew.  

One afternoon, Loren ran to a nearby store.  When she returned, Gwenn called her into her glass-enclosed office.

"Where did you go?"

"To the store."

"You left the building."

"I was on my break."

"Someone reported seeing you."

"Who?"

Gwenn's expression hardened.

"That's not your concern."

Loren stared at her.  "Then whose concern is it?"

Gwenn leaned forward.  "Just remember that people are watching."

Loren walked away.  But she knew.  It wasn't 'people.'  It was Gwenn.

 

Gwenn Curran’s countdown to ruin began the day Erin Marlowe got hired.  Gwenn sensed trouble the first day she saw her.  From day one, she presented as a professional.  The call center was simply her foot in the door.  She'd move up quickly.  She wore the same headset and sat in the same row as the other agents, but her queue was different.  

Her callers were the legal teams and gatekeepers calling on behalf of the rich and powerful.  Titans of finance, congressmen, governors, mayors, CEOs, professional athletes, famous actors and singers.  

These people needed to contact the FRB like everyone else, but they didn't deign to do it themselves; they had people to do it for them.  No one knew how she'd landed that plum placement, and she didn't elaborate.

Erin quickly became known as the unit's quiet brainiac.  She was cordial and got along well with the other agents.  But she gave off a vibe: 'I don't bother anyone, and I don't tolerate being bothered.'  The other agents respected that.

Gwenn dismissed it.  Something told her Erin was dangerous, but she brushed it aside because she was in charge and called the shots.  Erin had everything she’d always wanted:  looks, charm, brains, men's attention, a college degree, and she was well liked. 

And she hated her for it.   She and Loren were the type who didn't stay in the call center for long.  The agency promoted them to supervisor or to other divisions.  But not on my watch!  She thought to herself.  

She began playing with Erin as a cat plays with a mouse before killing it.  She constantly hovered over her desk, slipped in regular calls- the worst ones she could find- to add to Erin's VIP calls, and she criticized every little thing Erin did.  Erin tolerated it for months.

Then one morning, Gwenn appeared beside Erin's desk.

"Why were you away from your station?" 

"I was getting a document from the copy machine."

"You don't need to wander around the floor."

"I wasn't wandering."

"Don't argue with me."

Erin slowly removed her headset.

"Then stop giving me reasons to argue."

Gwenn visibly bucked.

"Excuse me?"

Erin stood.

"I said, stop.  You sit up there in your glass cage every day, poisoning this entire unit.  We all see what you do to the women here the second you feel even slightly threatened by them.  The petty punishments, the freezes.  You aren't managing us; you're hunting us.  And it stops today."

Something snapped in Gwenn’s mind, and she raised her hand and reared back as if to slap Erin.  Erin quickly grabbed the wooden chair beside her desk and lifted it just enough to make the threat clear.  Gwenn’s eyes widened.

“If you hit me, so help me God, I will put you in traction,” she said calmly.

“Erin!” Gwenn yelled.  Backing away, she stumbled and fell, hitting the floor hard.

Nicholas glanced up and did a double take.  He removed his headset.

"What the F—."  Then he started applauding.  Soon everyone joined him.

For once, the woman who spent her days making other people afraid was terrified herself.  Erin sat down, but she didn't take another call until she picked up the phone to report Gwenn to headquarters in Pittsburgh; she followed that up with an email.  Then, she called her union rep.

The walls began closing in.  A man from headquarters arrived and started asking questions.  At first, people were hesitant.  Then those who had been silent began talking.  Nicco came first.

"My daughter has been kicked out of daycare because every day, right before it's time for me to clock out, Gwenn routes the most complicated call in the system to my phone.  Those calls take between thirty and forty minutes to resolve, and I'm late picking up my daughter.  

When I brought it up, she said, "If you don't like it—quit."  Now the center has asked me not to bring my daughter back."  

Then Cynthia spoke.  Gwenn had punished her for leaving her desk to inject herself with her diabetes medication.   "She acted like I was stealing company time."

Brooke came next.  Gwenn had blocked her from getting a job she was qualified for.  Brooke produced an email from human resources at the Social Services Board saying that, despite her glowing credentials and references, Gwenn had refused to recommend her.

"She hates the attention I get from the men," Brooke said.  "She never said that was why.  She didn't have to.  But everyone knows.  She's motivated by jealousy.  And she uses her power to punish anyone she's jealous of.  And she's jealous of everyone and everything."

"I got married and turned in the paperwork to Gwenn to have my wife added to my insurance.  That was six months ago, and she still hasn't submitted the forms to OPM.  Now my wife is pregnant, and we need that coverage."  Said LaVell.

Then Erin delivered a blow that made the man from Pittsburgh freeze and focus completely on her.

 

"Gwen has created a hostile work environment here for the women...' Erin spoke without notes, but her mind ordered the facts like a legal brief.  She knew the exact HR metrics required to force an investigation, and she dropped them deliberately. '...Any reasonable person would consider this environment intimidating."

The investigator opened his mouth to reply, but Erin cut him off with the data.

"And before you ask if this is just a personality clash, check the HR portal.  The last three women to leave this unit had to apply for hardship transfers just to escape her.  Headquarters approved all three, and our sick-leave usage has spiked by forty percent."

The list kept growing.  

Then the strangest thing happened.  Gwenn's car disappeared.  She had parked her sparrow-egg-blue VW Bug in her usual parking space that morning.  At lunch, LaVell led several of the men from the call center outside.  

When they came back, they were trying not to laugh.  They looked at each other, their shoulders shaking with silent mirth.

"You think she'll see it?"

"Oh, she'll see it."

 

The men slipped back into their cubicles, whispering the news to the rest of the agents.  Within minutes, the entire unit was engulfed in a tense, buzzing energy.  

Everyone was waiting for the clock to run down, suffocating their laughter every time Gwenn walked past.  Now, the whole unit was a powder keg, just waiting for someone to spark it.

 

LaVell, the architect of the plot, was the undisputed office clown, keeping everyone in stitches—though Gwenn, true to form, begrudged him every single laugh.  

 

The atmosphere finally broke when Erin took a call from an English assistant to a famous actor who claimed she couldn't understand Erin's American accent.  Erin patiently tried to enunciate to convey the word 'payee.'  

But no matter how clear she made it, the caller kept hitting a wall.  Erin started cycling through phonetic hooks, her voice tightening with every repetition: “P as in Papa... P as in Peter… P as in Pain… P as in People… P as in Party…”

 

LaVell was standing at Mia's desk, and they both caught Erin's eye.  Mia quickly wrote something down.  Looking at it, LaVell laughed out loud, then picked up the crudely scrawled sign: P as in Pussy.

 

The entire unit erupted.  Everyone who caught sight of the sign screamed with laughter.  Even Erin, usually the epitome of cool, controlled professionalism, completely lost it—she ripped off her headset, doubled over her desk, and cracked up.

Mia was a small, petite, innocent-looking redhead and the unit's sweetheart.  She was the last person any of them would have suspected of making such a sign.  When Erin looked at her, she flushed as pink as bubble gum, and they both collapsed into helpless laughter again.

 

Gwenn, glaring from her supervisor's desk, assumed they were just losing their minds over the phone call.  She had no idea the laughter was fueled by the secret waiting for her outside.

 

When Gwenn finally left for the day, she walked outside and stopped dead. Her parking space was empty.   She spun around, searching wildly for her car.  Then she saw it.  It now sat on the building's lawn.  She stared at it.

For several seconds, she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing.  Then her face twisted with rage.

"Who did this?"  She shouted.

She heard snickers from the people milling around, but no one uttered a word.   She looked toward the windows.  Faces were pressed against the glass.  Somebody laughed.  Gwenn marched to the window.

"You put my car there!" She shouted up at the faces staring down at her.

LaVell's voice floated down.  "Looks better there!"

Laughter erupted.  Gwenn stood beside her car, trembling.  She looked up at all those faces.  For the first time, she understood what it felt like to be watched.  She hated it.  The incident frightened her.  Not because of the car.  

Because she realized she was losing control.

The Pittsburgh investigator eventually summoned her.  He placed a thick leather folder on the desk.  

"Gwenn, do you understand why we're here?"

Gwenn crossed her arms.

"Because people don't like me."

"No."

He opened the folder.

"We're here because there is a documented pattern of harassment and abuse of authority."

Gwenn had nothing to say.  But if looks could kill, his wife would have been planning his funeral, and he knew it.

"You've been given considerable authority here."

 Gwenn stared at him.

 "I've done my job."

 "You've abused your position."

 "Who says?"

 "Nearly everyone we've interviewed."

 Her eyes darted toward the folder.

 “Who?”

The investigator looked at her with soft pity.

"Several of the people under your supervision, and even three of your peers on the management team."

Gwenn looked down.  For once, there was no clever response. 

The decision was not termination.  Gwenn Curran was stripped of her management position and demoted to a call-center agent. 

 

On her first morning on the floor, Gwenn walked past rows of cubicles.  No one greeted her.  She reached her assigned desk.  Loren was only a few desks away.  Their eyes met. Loren said nothing. 

 

Gwenn sat down.  A headset waited for her.  She put it on.  The phone beeped.  She stared at it.  Then she answered.

 "Thank you for calling the FRB.  How may I help you?"

 

Across the room, Loren was taking calls too.  Gwenn could hear the soft murmur of her voice.  And somewhere inside Gwenn Curran, something broke.  She imagined what Loren must have said to the investigator.  In Gwenn's mind, Loren's testimony had brought her down.  

Everyone on the floor who looked her way or walked past her desk could see her trembling.  She would have been stunned to learn that Loren was one of the few people who didn't complain about her.

For the first time, Gwenn could not reach across the room and ruin Loren's day.  She couldn't change her phone status.   She couldn't follow her to the restroom.  She couldn't question where she went on her break.   She couldn't punish her.  

She sat there, realizing that everyone around her was relishing her downfall.  She swiveled her chair around.  "Thank you for calling the FRB.  How may I help you?"

Six months later, Loren Leslie was promoted.  Because he sympathized with her, the investigator from headquarters threw Gwenn what he thought was a lifeline.  Ms. Leslie was one of the few people in Ms. Curran's old unit who hadn't complained about her.  Rather than let Gwenn keep sitting among her old supervisees, he assigned her to Ms. Leslie’s new unit.

 

And consistent with her nature, Loren was an empathetic supervisor.  She left Gwenn alone.  And this did more to unnerve Gwenn than anything else.  From across the room, she caught Loren looking at her with pity.  And she hated her for it.  She didn’t want pity; she didn’t want kindness; she wanted to hold the whip hand again.

 ****

The following year, Loren Leslie married a man named Paul Martel.  On hearing this, Gwenn rushed headlong from her desk to the restroom.  Inside, she was violently sick.  When she came out, she signed out and left for the day without informing Loren.  She didn't return to work for nearly three weeks.

Two years later, Loren became pregnant with twins.  Gwen sat at her cubicle, ignoring her ringing phone.  Twins.  She thought about the babies she had lost.  She thought about Paul’s smile the night he’d met Loren at the Christmas party.  

She imagined the two of them discussing her.  She felt bile rising in her throat.  Taking a deep breath, she forced it back down.   She thought about her car on the lawn.  Erin lifting that chair.  The man from headquarters looking at her like she was a criminal.  Getting demoted.

Gwenn closed her eyes.  The phone rang again.  “Thank you for calling the FRB.  How may I help you?” 

****

EPILOGUE 

Gwenn Curran applied to be transferred from Loren's unit immediately after Loren became supervisor.  It was granted three years later, after Loren became pregnant.

 

The Payback—James Brown 1973

"Had me down and that's a fact, but get ready you motha for the big payback"

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© 2026 Jade Love

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