This is my entry for the Halloween contest. For those bothered by such, it contains a strong element of voyeurism. Have a spooky, scary and above all sexy Halloween!
* * *
"It would appear that the new tenants are moving in," Miranda said, looking out of the tall window at the street and sidewalk three floors below.
"Seedy-looking customer," James remarked from beside her, looking at a young man getting out from behind the wheel of a rental truck, dressed in jeans and t-shirt.
"They all are, these days." Her voice always sounded faint in this upper room.
"And here's a second load," he said. An attractive young woman emerged from a second vehicle and propped open the front door with a box. She was dressed in cut-offs and a tank top which left little to the imagination. Even from the third-floor window, one could see her nipples through the fabric.
She heard James sigh faintly. "This used to be such a proper street - good, decent people, people who knew their manners."
She looked up at him. "And the cherry trees! Do you remember the cherry trees on either side of the road back then? I did so like those, before they were ripped out. How long ago was that?"
"Too long ago," he said softly. "They
were
pretty."
The couple below carried a steady stream of belongings up the sidewalk. James and Miranda could hear laden footsteps in the bottom hallway. On one trip, a large flatscreen television was carried in.
"No doubt we'll have to listen to TSN and raucous music blaring at all hours," he pronounced gloomily.
"Now, James, be charitable. After all, it's not like you never enjoyed sports. And we did meet at a concert."
"Both of us were properly dressed," he said. "And we were married before..."
"Times change," she said, cutting him off. "Everything changes."
"Except you," he smiled, backing away from his sour mood. "You haven't changed since when we were first married."
"Mama always warned me to beware of charmers," she laughed.
"Did she? But your father was nonetheless gracious enough to grant me your hand in marriage," he smiled.
"Oh," she laughed, "Mama could be convinced; Papa was a charmer himself." She paused for a moment. Her head tilted to one shoulder. "What did
your
mother warn you of?" she asked impishly.
He thought for a moment. "Flirtatious young women," he pronounced solemnly.
"Oh! Surely not!"
"She was quite serious about it. But it helped that she knew your mother; she was willing to make allowances."
"She actually called me a flirt?"
"Of course not. Well, not in so many words. She did however make some pointed remarks to my father about... what was it? Oh yes, a tennis costume you wore the first time you and I played doubles with them."
"Oh? I remember that dress. I didn't think it was all that daring -- it, it was well below my knees!"
"Apparently, Mother said, it caused me to spend a lot of time looking at your ankles."
"Really? I thought you were a perfect gentleman."
"I was. And I had been -- looking, I mean. Still do, truth be told."
Miranda smiled delightedly at him, pale eyes beaming. Her silver hair gleamed in the late afternoon light. "You old devil!"
"I throw myself on the mercy of the court, madam."
Down below, the portage of possessions into the old brownstone continued. The late-September afternoon had begun to turn windy and bits of paper and other refuse began blowing about the street. The next time the young woman appeared from below, she was wearing a hoodie. Despite his earlier remarks, James looked a little disappointed.
Eventually, the move seemed to be complete. As the older pair watched, the new couple reappeared hand in hand, kissed at the curb. The girl locked the small car where it was parked while the boy drove away in the van. She waved as he pulled out, returned inside. From below, they could hear water running.
James and Miranda quietly made their way down to the first floor. The young woman, apparently waiting for the apartment bath to fill, was inserting a small piece of paper into a label holder in the building mail box. Not seeing them, she stepped back, smiled and went back into her apartment. The sign read, "Tom and Sasha McKinley."
"See?" she smirked. "Married."
"Yes, dear."
"You and your old-fashioned morality."
"Yes, dear."
"Don't you 'Yes, dear' me, James!" She paused, almost blushed, then whispered ever so softly, "Despite your stick-in-the-mud attitudes, sir, you were a good husband. And..." she hesitated for a moment, "... a very good lover. Momma never told me how much fun 'conjugal relations' could be."
He turned to see her smiling at him. It was a loving smile, one he knew and treasured.
"Legend has it that anyone can play a Stradivarius well, my love."
She dimpled at the complement, gave a short curtsey in his direction.
He was silent for a moment, then asked, "Out of idle curiosity, Miranda, what
did
your mother tell you about 'conjugal relations'?"
Her voice was dry, but not entirely lacking in humour. "Mama made known to me that women had a duty to their husbands and that I should be thinking of the privilege of bringing your sons into the world for you."
"Ouch! I hope..."
"It was something I was prepared for, dear; I am not complaining. Society was much about duty then, you will recall." Her loving smile grew, became almost lustrous. "And then you taught me something very different! Poor Mama."
Their love flowed from smile to smile.
The two stood inside the main doors for a while, watching the street. They had turned to go back upstairs again when the door opened and the young man returned. Combing his tousled hair back with his fingers, he whistled as he strode hurriedly down the hall, noticing neither of them. There was a bottle of wine under one arm, a bunch of roses in his hand and a large smile on his face.
