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 Subterranean Heartbeats (Book Excerpt)by Diana Kemp-Jones The Alternate Universe of Diana Kemp-Jones Page 1 of 2 VoyeurShuffling toward the window, the cheap battery wall clock relentlessly kept pace as he crossed the darkened room. He hesitated before peering through the blinds, his fingers imprinting the caked dust. Almost on cue, the sweeping floor to ceiling windows of the sixth floor condominium across the street dimly lit up. Graceful Art Deco chandeliers starkly contrasted the elegant, tastefully furnished rooms. He inhaled sharply as a woman entered with her guests, a cherubic blonde nymphet and a beefy steroid jock. She smiled and petted the pair as though they were family pets. Tall, brunette and striking, the woman sauntered to the illuminated mirrored bar and prepared a shaker of cocktails for her guests, now openly fondling each other on a white leather couch. Pouring the pale green liquid into three salt-rimmed glasses, she provocatively licked the rim before taking a sip from her glass. A pair of shapely legs crossed carelessly as she sat at the bar, her tight black PVC dress creeping to unladylike height. Floyd stared entranced as she tapped the heel of her strappy stiletto shoe against the barstool footrest, her smile teasing as she watched the nymphet's antics. He gasped at the growing pressure in his crotch, his burgeoning erection straining against the threadbare fabric of his jeans. He set the beer can down on the edge of a nearby credenza. It toppled, the remaining contents spilling to the soiled carpet. With trembling hands, he pushed his glasses to the top of his head and reached for a pair of powerful binoculars nestled among a pile of X-rated videos and porno magazines. Wiping the lenses on his crumpled white t-shirt, he shoved them through the gap in the blinds, the flimsy metal strips bent from constant displacement. It took a moment before he could focus despite the nightly ritual that had consumed the past three months of his life. No porno flick or sleazy magazine could capture the real-life drama playing in the adjacent building. He smiled fleetingly. The memory of that fateful, sleepless night during the first of several record-breaking heatwaves had ushered an episode in his life he could have only previously imagined. Unable to afford the cost of running the air-conditioning, he had spent the freakishly muggy spring evenings catnapping, the stifling apartment no cooler at night than the smoggy, sweltering days. He was uncertain how long the woman had lived in the condo across the street, his usual observations of the outside world limited to the occasional disinterested glance out the window. It had started during a particularly blistering heatwave in May. A craving for ice water had prompted him out of bed during the early hours of a Saturday morning. By chance, he had left the living room blinds raised, the open window a dark, gaping void. Restless, unable to sleep, he idly stared at the quiet street. A few moments later, a gleaming black stretch limo swept past his building, the tinted windows lowered. Laughter trickled from the dark interior; a young girl's high pitched titter mocking as it echoed in the cloistered silence of the high rise canyon. The automatic gates of the condo across the street silently slid opened to admit the limo, its brake lights winking as it descended with a gentle purr into the subterranean parking lot. Floyd's breath quickened as the gates closed. Glancing toward a pedestrian access to the side, he impassively watched a swarthy, black-clad driver emerge a few moments later. Apparently unimpeded by his mirrored sunglasses, the heavy-set man carefully surveyed the street before heading to an upscale coffee bar on the corner. Copyright© 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002 Diana Kemp-Jones, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. |
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