Crooked Streets

That night, Saturday, the woman she loved to watch had another date with her blond friend. Ann taped it, hoping that her message would not simply cause her to put up shades. Sunday she was alone, and Ann taped her making love to her self. Ann knew that Monday was the earliest day that her tape could possibly arrive. But on Monday, the brunette just didn't come home.

Tuesday Ann slept late noting her own tension. Ann wanted a resolve to the situation, some conclusion that would either extend her viewing privileges or end them here and now. But the waiting for that resolve was the worst tension she had felt since she had started the reconstructive surgery. But the day wore on and Ann ate, and drank wine and exercised and read. She watched the videos over and over, giving herself as much bittersweet pleasure as she could stand, knowing it might easily end that same day.

The sun went down hazy and magenta over the river. Ann had not even gotten dressed beyond the turquoise robe. She was watching the sunset's progress when she noticed her bedroom light on, and saw her and the blond woman kissing, standing by the bed, the brunette holding a big bottle of wine and the blond holding some glasses. Both were wearing jeans and tee shirts, purses slung over their shoulders. They suddenly turned and walked out of view, and the light went out. Ann was still staring out the window minutes later when her doorbell rang. She hobbled to the intercom.

"Who is it?" she asked clearing her throat, catching on the tension.