The rain is pouring outside like mad. The street is empty of walking pedestrians except for moving automobiles. Claps of thunder echo across the dark underbelly of the sky. It’s been pouring like this since the new week began.
It is past eight in the evening. Soft music is coming off the little radio by the head of my bed but my mind is barely hearing it. I am at my usual position by my bedroom window with a tall glass of Johnny Walker in my hand waiting for her to arrive. A month has almost gone by since I started watching her, through this same window, of course. I don’t even bother going out on a lonely female hunting night with my work pals anymore. What the hell, I doubt if they’d understand why.
Already my body nerves are up and wired. You’d think I’m under the influence of a narcotic if you see me right now, but it’s not like that – I don’t even drink much and I’ve always been scared of a needle – but anytime I see that lady doing her thing …
She lives in the twin apartment complex across the street from mine.
It is a three-storey cream-coloured building and we both live on the top floor (the top floor with a best view, as the Building Manager calls it) with our room facing each other. Well-trimmed elm trees like transit soldiers on leave stand in front of the sidewalk of both buildings with their branches nearly over-shrouding the road, giving the avenue a sort of distinguished aplomb. Though the rent is staggering, but I still love the place. I sip my drink and continue to wait.
Several cars have long driven past and some have stopped in front of the building but neither of them carried the lady I seek. For a second I begin to contemplate failure: perhaps she isn’t coming back this night … or maybe she already has sneaked into the building without me noticing. Still her room is dark; there is no one there, I’m sure of it. I continue my watch.
A car has just stopped father down the street. A taxicab. I can’t see the person coming down from it because of the beam of its bright lights, but I’m very much patient. Once more my heart begins to beat when my eyes fall on a pair of red high-hilled sandals partly covered by a yellow rain slicker jacket. The taxi soon moves further down the street away from the avenue, and then I get a good picture of the visitor.
It’s her!
I can barely control my happiness; feverish excitement courses all through my veins. It is really she. Her hair is hidden beneath the hood of the rain slicker and though I can barely make out her face from over here, I can still very much tell that it is her.
I watch her look down both sides of the street before she walks hurriedly towards her building’s entrance. Her handbag, also a matching colour as her sandals hangs across her right shoulder. She says something to the young man outside manning the door entrance (probably wishing him goodnight) and pushes through the revolving glass doors and enters the warmth of the building away from the annoying rain.
I quickly gulp down the last of my drink and hurry over to the small bar in the sitting room to get a refill. I’m so excited I have trouble steadying my hands. I succeed in spilling part of the drink on the carpet before going back into the room.
I switch off the bedroom lights and go back to my former position by the window. Not more than two minutes have gone since I left the room, for that I am glad. I don’t want to miss seeing her entrance. I sip my drink, feeling the liquor swirl in my mouth before sinking down into my throat. Intoxicated I now am. But is it from the drink or from the rising anticipation of waiting for the lady, I don’t know.
A few minutes pass by before I notice a thin appearance of light appear by the edge of the lady’s door and continue to widen till her dark silhouette shape stands between the room and the passageway behind her from where the light comes from. She closes the door behind her and switches on the lights (for the hundredth time I’m glad she never draws her curtains before leaving) and goes into her room to switch on the lights there as well.
I watch her stand beside her bed – just like before – and take off her rain slicker and the rest of her dress. She is nimble and delicate like a nun taking off her habit. She’s wearing lacy lingerie inside. Black and sexy – it matches entirely with her sultry figure. My eyes are as wide and sharp as an owl as I watch her raise her leg on the edge of the bed and unclasp her knee-high stocking. I watch as she unrolls it down her thigh till it comes off her feet. She does the same to the other one as well before taking off the entire lingerie outfit.
