by Del Howison
So the moment I opened my office door, I knew something wasn’t right. The air didn’t have the proper tightness or silence. Apparently I’d forgotten to shut a window.
For the past couple of weeks, I’d been opening all my office windows during the day to let the mild summer breezes drift through. At the end of each workday, I would shut and lock them. In Los Angeles, even on the west side, one can’t be too careful.
But one sometimes does make mistakes, become distracted and neglect a detail. I’d apparently shut all the windows except one.
From where I stood just inside the door, I knew exactly which window was open. While the rest of the office remained silent, sounds were coming from the direction of the back wall: leaves rubbing together in the breeze, cars and trucks on nearby streets, a helicopter somewhere far away—sounds of the outside world pouring in like water through one gaping hole in an otherwise tightly sealed boat.
In daylight hours, I might’ve welcomed it and opened the rest of the windows. But not at this hour of the night. I needed to be sealed in, snug and safe.
The window had to be shut.
Leaving the office lights off, I walked toward it. The horizontal blinds were not quite closed, so moonlight squeezed through spaces and painted faint gray stripes across the carpet, showing me the way.
The window was a sideways slider. I would’ve done better installing vertical blinds. If I’d had verticals, I might’ve simply reached through the slats and pulled the window shut. Horizontals, however, needed to be raised.
Standing at the window, I reached forward and tried to find the pull cord. I couldn’t see it at all, but I was fairly sure of its location. As I fingered the darkness—
Buh-whoom!
The sound came from somewhere outside my open window. Though it seemed familiar, I couldn’t place it.
Then came a heavy splash.
My fingers brushed a dangling cord. I grabbed it and pulled and the blinds skittered up to the top of the window. Suddenly I faced the L.A. night with its usual array of buildings and billboards and trees and lights and distant hills.
But there was also an area of light where I’d never noticed it before—off to the right, very nearby and very bright. It appeared to come from the backyard of a house directly behind my next-door neighbor’s property.
From my second-story window, I was high above the fence that enclosed the stranger’s yard. However, my angle was bad. Also, trees blocked much of the view. As a result, I could only see small segments of the house and none of the swimming pool at all.
There had to be a pool; I’d not only heard the sounds, but I could see the diving board.
The entire length of the springboard, the shiny chrome handrails at the top of the ladder, the upper reaches of the ladder itself were well lighted and nicely framed by the leafy branches of the very trees that blocked so much of my view.
I was only mildly surprised to find a swimming pool in such close proximity, this being Los Angeles. While pools aren’t as prevalent in my neighborhood as they are in wealthier areas such as Bel Air or in ungodly hot areas as the Valley, pools are hardly a rarity.
But I hadn’t known of this one.
It was not behind my house, after all, but behind the house and lawn and garage and fence of my next-door neighbor, with numerous bushes and trees and still another fence in the way. Also, my own house was only one story high. The pool might’ve existed for years without my knowledge. It might’ve remained unknown to me if I hadn’t come up to my new two-story garage to do some late-night work, and if I hadn’t neglected to shut the only window offering a view of it, and if I hadn’t been alerted by the sounds of someone diving.
Obviously, I’d looked out this window before.
Not often, however. And never before at such a late hour of the night. The times I had looked out, the high dive beyond the gap in the trees had escaped my notice.
It’s right there, I thought. How could I have missed it?
What is it, thirty feet away? Forty?
A pair of hands entered the view, reaching up and grabbing the ladder’s side rails. Then came bare arms, followed by a head with wet straw-colored hair.
A girl. A young woman.
Her hair was short and matted down. It stopped at the nape of her neck. Her shoulders were bare. Her back, too, was bare, except for the tied strings of her white bikini top.
She was slender, softly tanned, and shiny wet.
The way her arms were raised, I had a side view of her right breast in its thin pouch of bikini and how it went up and down with the motions of her climbing.
Her right hip was bare except for the tied strings of her bikini pants. Her right buttock was a glossy slope. Her legs were long and sleek.
Atop the high dive, she grabbed the curved rails and swung herself forward. Without a pause, she walked out on the springboard. It wobbled up and down. At the end of the board, she halted.
Waiting for the board to settle down, she took a deep breath. She reached back with one hand and plucked at the seat of her bikini pants. She adjusted her top. Then she lowered her arms to her sides, seemed to stiffen and arch her entire body, took a deep breath, let it out, and leaped forward. She came straight down, both feet hitting the board.
Buh-whoom!
Tossed by the board, she seemed to spring toward the sky, reaching high, gliding away … and disappearing behind the leaves and branches framing my view.
Moments later came the sound of her splash. Though I couldn’t see her with my eyes, my mind watched her plunge deep into the water of a large, well-lighted swimming pool. Near the bottom, she curved upward and kicked silently to the surface.
I listened for the sounds of her swimming toward a side of the pool, but the drone of an airliner ruined any chance of that.
No problem, I thought. Soon she’ll be up on the board again.
I stared at the high dive.
Any moment, the girl’s reaching hands would appear at the lowest place visible on the ladder and she would climb up into full view.
Seconds passed. Minutes passed.
Perhaps she had decided to swim some laps before returning to the board. Or maybe she was taking a little rest by the pool.
Give her a few more minutes, I thought, and she’ll be back up the ladder.
I gave her more than a few minutes.
Had I looked out my office window just in time to witness her very last dive of the night?
I considered quitting my watch and trying to do the work for which I’d come up to my office. A story needed to be written. I had no prayer of concentrating on it, however, with my mind full of the diving girl.
Beside, I knew better than to turn on any lights. No matter how well I might close the blinds, light would leak out between the slats and around the edges. If the girl should happen to climb the high dive again and notice my lights, she would certainly realize that the window offered a view of her.
And that might ruin it all.
I watched for a while longer. At last, I gave up. Though I left the window open, I slowly and silently shut the blinds before returning to my house and going to bed.
* * *
The next morning, back in my office, I opened the blinds very slightly and peered out between a couple of slats at the high dive. Nobody was on it. Nor did any sounds come from that direction.
I watched for a few minutes longer, then opened all the other windows and sat at my desk and tried to work. For a while, I found myself unable to concentrate. I kept looking toward the window, imagining the girl, and frequently hurrying to the window to make sure I wasn’t missing her. Each time, the high dive stood deserted in its framework of branches.
She probably doesn’t dive during the day, I told myself.
Though my office was fairly new, I’d been working in it daily for more than a month … often with the windows open. If anyone had been using the pool, I would’ve heard the splashes, voices, something long before last night.
&nb
sp; The girl probably works during the day, I thought.
There was no reason at all to think she might appear during my own work hours. With that in mind, I put her out of my mind and set to work with nearly as much concentration as usual. At least for brief periods of time.
Every so often, I went to the window and peered out.
No sign of her. Of course not.
In spite of the interruptions, I managed to finish writing the short story before returning to the house for lunch. After lunch, things didn’t go nearly so well. I struggled with my novel, but couldn’t focus on it for more than a few minutes before my mind wandered off to dwell on the girl.
I kept going to the window and peering out.
I fully understood that I was being ridiculous.
* * *
Down in my house, I had a cocktail, and then cooked up a lasagna dinner in the microwave. I watched the news on television while I ate. Then I tried to read a mystery, but my mind kept wandering.
I took a shower.
Afterward, I tried to find other ways to pass the time. It wasn’t even dark yet.
Maybe she would be earlier tonight.
What if I’m missing her?
Binoculars hanging from my neck, I hurried out to the garage. I let myself in, locked the door behind me, and hurried upstairs to my office.
At the back window, I peered through the slats of my horizontal blinds. Not very far away, framed by the leafy branches, was the top of the high dive. I watched it for a while. Nobody appeared. Nor did I hear any sounds from the swimming pool. At length, I went over to my desk. I reclined on my swivel chair to wait.
I considered taking care of some e-mail, but had no interest in it. I had no interest in accomplishing anything. I simply sat there, thinking about the girl and staring across my office. Darkness slowly came. I welcomed it as I had never before welcomed nightfall.
Afraid I might miss the girl’s first dive, I didn’t wait to be alerted by sounds. I crossed my dark office to the window, raised the blinds, and looked out.
Where there had been such bright light last night, there was only darkness. I couldn’t see the diving board at all.
It’s still early, I told myself. Wait. Just wait. She’ll come.
So I waited. And waited. The minutes crept by.
Though the hour was still early, I began to doubt whether she would show up at all. Perhaps she had other plans for tonight. After all, this was Friday. Such a lovely young woman might very well have a boyfriend, a lover. Maybe she’d gone away to be with him.
Worse, perhaps last night had been a complete fluke—the one and only time all summer that she had used the pool, or would.
For that matter, maybe she’d only been at the house for a visit. Perhaps she lives in another city, even in another state. Last night when she used the pool, she was staying with a relative or an old friend—for one night only.
No, I thought. It can’t be that. I have to see her again. One more time, at least. Please, please.
She has to come, I thought. I’d hardly seen her at all last night. A mere glimpse as she prepared for her final dive. It just wouldn’t be fair to be allowed such brief moments with her, and then have her taken away forever.
Not fair at all, but since when did fairness apply?
Never count on fairness. Count only on irony.
More often than not, it seems that God is a joker with a mean streak.
I’ll never see her again, I thought.
And then the pool lights came on.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
I raised the blinds. Then I rested my elbows on the windowsill and put the binoculars to my eyes. Fingering the little wheel, I brought into focus the gleaming chrome handrails at the top of the high dive. They came in sharply.
I might’ve been standing only six feet away when the girl climbed into view.
She stole my breath away. I trembled.
She hadn’t yet been in the water. As she climbed off the ladder and stood up straight on the board, the breeze ruffled her short blond hair. Her skin looked dusky and smooth. She wore what appeared to be the same white bikini as last night. Dry, it wasn’t clinging to her body and seemed loose.
She stepped to the end of the board and halted.
My view was so fine that I might’ve been standing on the board with her.
Now if you’ll just turn around. Show me your face. Show me your front all the way up and down.
She didn’t.
She jumped, came down, and sprang upward. Buh-whoom! She vanished, hidden by the branches. Moments later came the splash.
I waited.
Let’s not have it like last night, I thought. Let’s have this be the first of many dives. Please.
What’s taking her so long?
Maybe she dives only every once in a while. Goes off the board, spends some time swimming around, and maybe rests on a lounge before making another trip up the high dive.
Be patient, I told myself. It takes time to climb out of the pool, walk back to the ladder….
She climbed into sight. Now, she was wet. Hair matted to her scalp. Skin shiny. Bikini clinging. With binoculars, I could see water dripping off the lobe of her right ear, dribbles sliding down her back and right side and down the backs of her legs.
She walked to the end of the board, stopped, and turned around.
Yes!
More often than not, women who look wonderful from behind are best seen only from the rear. Their faces don’t measure up. Their faces ruin it all.
Not this time.
Oh, not this time at all. My diver’s face was the sort that you hope to see, but almost never do, when someone so spectacular from behind turns around.
That’s not true. It was better than you hope for.
It made my heart thud fast. It took my breath away. It gave me a thick feeling in my throat.
As she took a deep breath, getting ready for the dive, I looked through the binoculars at her long, slender neck, her smooth chest, and how her breasts filled the small, flimsy pouches of her bikini top. Her nipples were stiff and I could see their darkness through the white of the fabric.
Lower, her belly was smooth and flat.
Lower still, the front of her bikini pants was a meager white triangle held in place by strings that were tied at her hips.
I moaned.
As my gaze roamed upward again, I wondered why she continued to stand there. Could she be nervous about doing a backward dive? Maybe reconsidering?
Take all the time you want, I told her in my mind. Stand like this all night.
I lingered for a few more seconds on her breasts, then eased my view higher, relishing the smoothness of her upper chest, the curves of her collarbones, the dip at the base of her throat, her slender neck, her soft chin, her lips and her nose and her astonishing blue eyes….
Blue eyes aimed at me.
My heart slammed. No! She just happens to be looking in this direction! She doesn’t see me! Impossible. I was behind the window of a completely dark room, so she couldn’t possibly …
She smiled, raised a hand, and waved.
At me?
“Oh, my God!” I muttered and jerked the binoculars down below the windowsill.
A little late for that, I thought. She’s already seen me spying on her like a pervert.
Doesn’t seem angry, though. Not at all.
She almost seemed glad to see me.
Can’t be, I thought.
She turned her hand, showing me the back of it, and beckoned me to come.
Me?
I looked over my shoulder, idiotically making sure her signal wasn’t meant for someone behind me in my office. When I looked at the girl again, she was mouthing words in my direction. Even without binoculars, I could read her lips: Come on over.
She can’t possibly mean it, I thought.
I stared out at her, stunned and amazed and wondering … Prufrock and a mermaid.
They do not sing to me.
> This one does.
Impossible.
Frowning slightly but also looking amused, she called out, “Hey! You in the window! Come on over! The water’s fine!”
I murmured again, “Oh, my God.”
* * *
I took the direct route: down the stairs and out the garage door, then straight to my back fence. I climbed over it and dropped to the other side, then made my way to the right through a narrow wilderness of bushes and trees. It was tough going. A little scary, too: no telling what might be lurking in this dark, strange region between the properties.
But I could hear the girl diving.
Buh-whoom!
Splash!
She was still there, diving while she waited for me.
I could hardly believe that I was going to her. Or that she had invited me. Such things just don’t happen. Not to me.
Too good to be real.
If it’s too good to be real, they say, it usually is.
I wasn’t dreaming, though. (I’m almost positive of that.) She’d caught me spying on her with binoculars and she’d asked me to come over.
Doesn’t make sensei
Oh, yes it does, I thought as I struggled closer to the last fence. Makes perfect sense.
She wants to get back at me. Wants revenge.
Maybe she has someone with her—a tough guy all set to beat the crap out of me the minute I show up.
It must be something like that, I thought. Something sinister. Nothing else makes sense.
Unless she’s just lonely.
Fat chance.
I stopped at the redwood fence. Through the cracks between its boards, I could see the lights of the swimming pool.
Buh-whoom!
Splash.
I was close enough to hear the water sprinkle down after the splash. Close enough to hear the girl swimming. Close enough to smell the chlorine of the pool.
This side of the fence had support posts and crossbeams. They would make the climb fairly easy.
Don’t do it, I thought. She’s probably got a nasty surprise waiting on the other side. Just go home and forget the whole thing.
Sure.
Well, at least take a look around before you jump.
