Page 19 of Man Cuffed
Then I move to the one spot in the fence where a knothole leaves a peeping space in the fence, to see how I’ve done.
Success! The boxers have flown about eight feet through the air, and fluttered to a landing on the deck boards. Meanwhile, Maguire’s voice does not break rhythm. I’ve launched my attack undetected.
I’m just congratulating myself when I hear the enemy approaching. She announces herself with the tap tap tap of high heels crossing the floor.
Crap!
I hold my breath and continue to peer through the knothole. It’s a terrible view, but it’s enough to see a pair of pumps cross the deck. I hear a gasp. And then a hand plucks the boxers from where they landed.
There’s a flurry of movement. And that bitch chucks the boxers right off the railing. Then she leaves the deck.
A moment later, when I look over the railing, I see them on the ground, four flights down.
My first attack has failed. But this is far from over.
“See you at the shift meeting,” Maguire’s voice says. “Yeah, I’m on until four. Later.”
This isn’t over.
It’s time for coffee, and then I’ll plan the second wave of my attack.
* * *
“The boxers were too big.Too obvious,” I tell Cassidy. “But it’s fine, because he gets off work at four. And I have more props.”
“What now? Briefs? Tube socks? A used condom would really get the point across.”
“Ew! Cassidy. I’m running a classier operation here. The cufflinks are up next.”
“Wait, cufflinks? Really? So, in this scenario, she’s banging a seventy-year-old Frenchman. Or the best man at someone’s wedding.”
“Honey, you need to get out more. Plenty of men still wear cufflinks.” Don’t they? The romantic in me sure hopes they do. “Cufflinks are classy. And this is subtle. I have a good feeling about the cufflinks.”
“Go easy on the slingshot,” Cassidy advises. “If you’re not careful you could launch that sucker into next week.”
“I have a plan for that.”
“Of course you do. I’m going to need a full report.”
“You’ll get one.” Of course she will. This is more fun than I’ve had in ages.
My plan has to wait a couple of hours, though. There’s a guy mowing the lawn behind our building. He’s wearing earphones and chewing gum like maybe it’s his first day off cigarettes. He doesn’t glance up at me once.
But still, I have to be careful. Bystanders would consider my actions suspicious.
Because—fine—it’s not exactly normal behavior to push a stepladder up against the fence and study your neighbor’s deck table. And when the landscaper leaves, I do exactly this. With one of the cufflinks in my hand, I brace myself on the ladder, gripping the fence tightly. I take a deep breath. Then I extend my arm and use a low, underhand toss to send the cufflink toward the table.
Plink. It gives one heart-stopping bounce on the surface of the table before landing a few inches from the edge.
“Yes!” I squeal, admiring my work. It’s glinting in the sun. In a few hours, my guy will come home, get a beer out of his fridge, and come outside to enjoy it.
Then he’llknow.
My fantasy spools onward, and it goes like this: Hot Cop will confront his girlfriend tonight. She will tearfully confess. “I don’t deserve you,” she’ll weep.
“No, you don’t!” I’ll say to myself in the living room. Because surely I’ll be able to hear everything.
Maguire will do the chivalrous thing and pass her his handkerchief. Sure, handkerchiefs are even less common than cufflinks. But this is my fantasy, dammit. She’ll wipe her tears and promise to remember him always. And then she’ll take her things and leave.
