Voyeur Extraordinaire(8)

“I’m sorry, but I think you had enough,” I said, trying to sound as civil as humanly possible after five hours in this hellhole. The lights were dimmed as always and the smell of alcohol, stale smoke and sweat was heavy in the air. “Should I call a cab for you?”

The face of the man scrunched up. “I don’t want a fucking cab. I want a drink.”

I took a step back, away from his anger. “I’m sorry--” I began again but the man gripped my wrist, surprisingly steady for someone as drunk as him. Leon was already coming around the bar – he was our barkeeper and his talent was totally wasted in this place. But I shook Ass-slappers grip off and he half-fell forward, body convulsing and a wave of vomit spewed out of him and all over my legs and shoes.

“Oh fuck!” I stumbled back, fighting the sickness that shot through my body at the feeling of the hot vomit on my body. Leon appeared at my side and put a hand on my shoulder. His black brows drew together in concern when he looked into my face. His hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and he was wearing a shirt with palm trees that made him look like a member of the Beach Boys.

“Why don’t you leave early? I take care of the asshole, and Mona and I finish the shift without you.”

I gave him a shaky smile. “Thanks, but Jack will have my head if I take off.” Leon lifted Ass-slapper to his feet and half-carried him to the entrance. I hurried through the backdoor and into the staff bathroom. I snatched out several paper towels and wetted them before rubbing them over my calves and shoes, but the vomit stuck to my tights and shoes. It stank of rancid cheese and alcohol, and made me gag. I threw the stained towels to the ground and gripped the wash basin, tears rising into my eyes. Why was my life such a mess?

The door opened and Mona came in, wearing the same ridiculously short skirt and too tight white blouse. “Leon told me what happened.” Her blue eyes took in my ruined clothes. “I have extra tights in my purse. And maybe you could wash your shoes.”

“Thanks,” I said, accepting the packet of tights she was holding out to me.

“Are you okay?”

“Hard day,” I said simply. No use in telling her I was fine when it was so obvious that I wasn’t.

She rubbed my shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest. You look pale.” Mona and I weren’t exactly friends. She’d always been determined to keep me at arms length. Leon once mentioned that she saw me as a competitor for tips. Though she had to be blind if she didn’t realize that she, with her wide, womanly hips and D-cup, made much more money than I did. Most of the middle-aged customers preferred her looks – except for the few guys who liked their women tall and skinny. The Twiggy type, how Amy once put it. And yet Mona’s concern stirred something in me, because I could see in her face that she meant it. At home, in my shabby apartment nobody would be waiting for me, nobody would take care of me. “No. I want to work.” She stared at me for a moment before she left.

I slipped out of my shoes and peeled my stained tights off. My eyes were still burning but I wasn’t going to cry. I used a wet paper towel to clean my calves, though I knew it wouldn’t help with the smell. That had to wait until later. After that I threw the towels and my stained tights into the garbage bin, put on Mona’s tights and washed my shoes under streaming water, glad that they were fake patent leather. Plastering a smile on my face, I returned into the bar where I wouldn’t be alone and where the constant buzz of conversation and laughter kept the nagging voice in my head at bay. The voice that demanded I needed to do something, change something.

***

When I came home that night, even Bruno’s yapping couldn’t disperse the silence in my apartment. My eyes were drawn to my window. A tiny glimpse wouldn’t hurt, would it? It could be my reward for my discipline from the night before and for surviving being vomited on. This time I probably wouldn't see anything exciting anyway and then I would finally be able to live my life in peace without recurring dreams of hot blond guys. ‘Well, as if that’s your biggest problem’, my nasty voice whispered in my mind.

I hastily switched off the light and took the binoculars from my top drawer before I walked toward the window and brought the binoculars to my eyes.

Within a few seconds I found the window I was searching for and my breath caught in my throat. There he stood in black boxers and was running his hand through his blond hair. How I envied the red-haired girl for being able to run her hands through his mane. The lucky girl!

Only tonight the lucky girl wasn't a redhead. I frowned. This girl had straight, dark-blond hair and looked rather ordinary. Her best features were probably her breasts, which were quite big for her small frame. She was the perfect hourglass body. She smiled, without showing her teeth. Somehow it looked fake. I didn't like her.