She never learned his name, so she gave him one. He looked like a Leif.
He lived in the apartment across the courtyard, on the fourth floor, in the window with the green lamp. Odette had first noticed him a month ago. She had forgotten to close her curtain that night. She looked up from her book and found a still, dark shape at the glass.
She should have felt alarmed, and for a moment she did. She pulled the curtain shut at once.
The next evening, a sheet of paper appeared in his window, in thick black marker. SORRY ABOUT LAST NIGHT. MY CURTAIN WILL STAY CLOSED.
She read it three times. Then she made her own sign and held it to the glass. DON’T.
You May Watch If You Like. Only If You Like. I Close My Curtain When I’M Done, And So Can You.
A long pause. Then the green lamp winked on, off, on. Yes.
They had never spoken. There was only the lit window, and the dark one, and the courtyard between them, and an agreement written in marker. Every night at ten o’clock she turned on the lamp and became someone else. If either of them ever closed a curtain, that was the end of the show, with no questions asked.
Tonight she wore a black lace bodysuit she had bought for no one. She stood in the amber glow with the curtain wide. She felt the air on her skin like a hand.
She began to dance, slowly, with no music except the one in her head. She rolled her shoulders and let one strap fall. She ran her palms down her ribs, over her hips, and around the curve of her ass. Across the glass she saw the shape lean in, and her heart hammered.
She had thought she would feel foolish. She felt like a goddess. She felt like a lit match.
She turned her back and looked over her shoulder. She drew the lace down, an inch, then another, and gave him the long line of her spine. She turned again and let her own hands wander, over her breasts, down her belly, and between her thighs.
She heard herself breathe out, loud in the empty room. The wetness there was so thick and slippery that she had to close her eyes.
She opened them. The shape had not moved. She could feel his attention like sunlight. It carried her, lifted her, and pushed her toward the edge.
She let her head fall back and her fingers circle her button, slowly, slowly. She gave a little more each night than the night before. The pleasure rose in her in great hot swells.
She came with her palm pressed flat against the cold glass, her mouth open, her whole body shining. A man whose name she did not know watched her. He had said yes in marker and lamplight, and he never looked away.
She could stand again after a while. She lifted a hand and blew a kiss across the dark.
Across the courtyard, the green lamp winked out. A minute later, it winked back on.
She laughed until she cried. Then she closed the curtain and slept like a child.
Tomorrow at ten, she thought. Same window.