They come to Miami, he told me, because flights are cheap and the locals mind their own business. Same here, I told them, plus the women are drop-dead knockouts! I raised my glass and reached it past him in his wife’s direction; we all clinked glasses and I ordered a round. Where I come from, that’s a contract. I followed them to their motel and parked without knowing my role but eager to start whatever she had in mind. Plate glass windows faced the parking lot. They sat me where the trash was piled and told me to watch their room. She staggered while he swiped his keycard and fell inside when he opened the door. I watched him place her on the bed. He came to the window and looked at me as he pulled the curtain closed. I took cover behind the trash and kept watch. As the curtain opened, I saw her bare feet widely parted and shoes on the bed, the strong lines of her shins, then just above the knees her panties stretched like a rope, tan thighs and midriff, blouse undone and pleated plaid skirt carefully disheveled at her waist, her head turned out and convincingly propped on the pillow. One hand rested on an open book, the other nestled with purpose between her legs. He joined me at my vantage and we waited. I looked from him to her to the family approaching the window. Mother and daughter passed by chatting but father held back and gaped at the scene without turning his head. I felt the husband breathing at my elbow. I watched the father fumble with his shoestrings and heard him send his family on. I saw the wife’s eye open and find me. She watched me watch it all.

Copyright © November 19, 2007 David Hodges

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