I had just move in less than a month ago. My apartment was in a nicer part of town. Across the street, there was another apartment complex, identical to mine. The street had a kind of an eerie look to it. Both sides identical. Street lights placed far apart, forming shadows in the corners and alley ways. I liked it. Maybe because it was mine, maybe because of the fantasies I played out in those dark alleys. Whatever the case, to this day, I still don’t regret moving out of the condo I shared with three friends on the other side of the tracks.
The move had been prompted by a new job offer. Making more money, I felt important. I felt maybe it was time I had something of my own to show off. So I packed up and moved out.
I still hadn’t put curtains up. I noticed a lot of windows without curtains. The apartments weren’t the permanent type. They were ones people moved into on their way up, stopping by to visit while they waited for that perfect house, that perfect home to find them.
I worked at a bar. More specifically I worked in the room above the bar. The Grotto Lounge was a popular place. Dark, with fluorescent hot pink lights, a nice wooden bar, a juke box on the wall opposite. The tables were placed far enough apart; they offered privacy but not isolation. The room above the bar was often used for poetry readings or up and coming wanna be bands to play, charging $5 a head to get in, minimum two drink requirement.
I first went there to celebrate. Or maybe it was to mourn. The ending of an era. I was free, I was devastated, I was independent, I was alone. My fiancé had left me for a younger woman, one with bigger tits and an even bigger trust fund. My friends idea of cheering me up, was parading me around like bait, luring younger guys into their trap. One night stands and plenty of them they reasoned. Guys dumb, young, naive, trainable.
They saw raw meat that night, lots of it. I saw opportunity.
Long story short, I convinced the owner to let me turn the upstairs room into a club of sorts. Not a dance club, like the ones lining the main strip of the down town area, but a hip, sexy place where people could lounge out and watch the acts. He agreed on a trial basis. After a few months, he gave me my own office and a permanent place to host shows.
That’s when I decided to move. Not only was it closer to the Grotto, but it was a place I could bring whomever I wanted home without having to worry about disturbing my roommates. That was an important factor now that I was getting over the pig I wasted the last few years with. Men were starting to look attractive again.
I came home one night, exhausted from a show. It was a hot one, even though it was a Thursday night, the place was packed. I had bought curtains earlier that day. Despite the late hour, I decided now was as good as any time to hang them. I moved my dresser in front of my windows so I could reach, clumsily clambering up, hanging the first curtain. Nothing fancy, nothing impressive, just curtains.
I stood back, admiring my work, looking out the window to the dark street across the way. Looking at the dark windows opposite mine. I finished in my bedroom and moved to the living room. I looked out the windows again, taking in the view. Nothing. No one on the street, no movement. I looked in the windows across from mine, I noticed light. I looked again, I noticed a man, standing in his living room, looking at me. I started back for an eternity, annoyed now by this brash invasion of privacy. I put my hands on my hips, showing my annoyance. He mimicked my movement. I folded my arms across my chest, He followed. Heated, frustrated, I thought about this for a minute. Who was this man? What did he think he was doing? How many times has he spied on me? I looked out at the other windows, dark. I wondered why he was up at this hour. What did he do? Testing him, I removed my shirt, holding it out in front of me for a few seconds before dropping it to the ground. He repeated my actions, dropping his to the floor as well. I stood there for a minute, wondering how far our little game would go. I removed my bra, smiling to myself, wondering how he was going to follow suit. He didn’t. He just stood there. Suddenly embarrassed, I dropped to the floor, out of view to the peeping Tom who lived across from me. I crawled over the light switch and switched off the lights, sitting there in the darkness, knees curled up to my bare chest, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. Finally I stood up, glancing out the window; I noticed his light was now off too. Smiling, I wondered if he was still there looking, hoping for any movement in my window. I quickly hung the rest of the curtains up, cloaked by the darkness. I stepped back, admiring my work, grateful for the privacy after what just happened.
The phone rang. I looked at the clock, 4:42 AM. No one I know should be calling this late. I let the machine pick up.
“Hi Beth. What are you doing? Are you fantasizing about me? Wondering where this would lead? I must admit I like the new view. If you’re interested in putting on that little show for me again in person, give me a call back. I’m sure you’re resourceful enough to get my number.”
I stared at the answering machine, a million thoughts running through my head. Who was he? How did he get my number? Paranoia set in. Then the voice of reason. My picture is all over town, with flyers advertising for the club, Book an Act, Call Beth Today at…. But they only offered my work number. I rushed to the phone picking it up, dialing *69. Writing down his number, wondering if I should call. I walked into the bedroom, number still in hand, laid down on the bed. I thought about calling him, I thought about just hanging up. But he’d know it was me, even if I blocked my number. I fell asleep, to thoughts of this stranger, to thoughts of us together.
A few days went by and nothing from him. No movement in his windows, no late night phone calls. I found myself disappointed. I played his message over and over again, his rough masculine voice turning me on. His crudeness, his assumption that I wanted him exciting me. My fingers leisurely working their way down between my legs. His voice sending me over the edge numerous times during those few days.
It was a Friday night, over a week since our window exchange. The club was packed, we were celebrating. My old roommates came out to help bask in the success. Drinks were poured and passed around a little too freely. At the end of the night, I stumbled home, alone.
I walked into my flat, leaving the lights off. I liked it better this way. Kept him guessing, wondering if I was home. In my head, he was curious. In my head, he watched for a chance to call again, waited for me to be home. In my head, he wanted me more than anything. Feeling the heat starting to grow between my legs, I reached over to the end table for his number. The alcohol gave me the courage I needed. I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Um, hi, this is Beth, I live across from you.” I stuttered nervously, unsure as to what I was doing.
“Hi Beth, I’ve been waiting for your call,” he replied calmly.
“How did you get my number,” I asked shyly, slurring a little more than I wanted to.
“I looked it up in the phone book, when I called, your roommates told me you moved and gave me this number.”
Making a mental note to myself to lecture my roommates on giving my number to strange men, I continued, unsure how to make conversation.
“Why did you call me?” I asked.
“Well Beth, it’s not everyday a woman strips for you in her window, not caring who sees, I bet you were hoping someone else saw, weren’t you Beth? I bet you got off on the idea of your body being showed off for anyone to see. Tell me Beth, what do you want?’
