It was late and everyone had gone home for the evening. The restaurant doors were closed. The staff had clocked out and disappeared, each one heading out to do their own thing. I was left alone to close out the books, shut off the lights and make my way upstairs to my apartment above the diner. With each step I told myself I would simply go upstairs, take a hot bath, enjoy a late night movie and fall asleep on the couch. My night would be easy, relaxing, and boring. There was nothing wrong with boring, was there?
When I got to my apartment door and I stepped inside, I closed it behind me, locked the deadbolts and kicked off my skid-resistant shoes. They sailed across the room, landing somewhere in the dark. I flicked on the light and the small studio apartment was immediately flooded with the soft globe of the 60 watt bulbs.
I headed to the bathroom, took care of business including the shower that my body so desperately craved. When I felt cleansed of the grease of the fryer and grime and sweat the comes with dealing with flattop grills and dirty dishes. I opened a can of chicken vegetable soup, poured it into a microwave bowl and warmed it up. Eventually I settled down on the couch exactly as I had planned. My movie played and for the first several minutes I was quite content. That contentment fled when the lights from the apartment across from mine came on.
My gaze drifted lazily toward the curtains and like clockwork they parted and Weston Sheets walked out onto his balcony. I felt my pulse race and my heart skip a beat as I watched the lights of the city and the ones coming from his rooms caste an ethereal glow around him. He wore a white dress shirt, partially unbuttoned, a pair of black trousers with a silver buckled belt. Dark shoes and I can only assume black socks. I tried to look away. I tried to force my attentions back to the movie. I tried desperately to not pick up my mini-binoculars and point them in the direction of Weston's apartment -- I failed miserably.
With the black binoculars pressed against my eyes and perfectly focused on Weston I watched him roll his shoulders and stretch his back. I was curious as to who would be with him tonight. Weston had not yet settled down, nor had he ever brought back the same woman twice to his apartment. The curtain moved and I watched a tall, trim brunette step onto the balcony.
Her dress sparkled and the light glimmered off the sequins and jewels that lay scattered throughout the fabric. She wore a row of diamonds on her neck and teardrop earrings swayed from her perfectly formed ear lobes. She was beautiful, but then again all of Weston's women were beautiful.
I watched as she walked over and placed her hand on his chest. He picked it up, brought it to his lips and kissed the palm before sliding his lips down to her wrist and leaving a long kiss upon her flesh. I could almost feel his lips touching me in the exact same spot, but I knew it wasn't real. I had never been to Weston's apartment, nor had he been to mine. I only knew of him because he came in every morning into the diner and had coffee before leaving for work downtown. He smelled wonderful, looked delicious, and had always shown me and the staff nothing but respect.
