A Body to die for

The Fully Naked City
     
     
     
    I was standing on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, peering at Manhattan’s famous skyline. It was hard not to be impressed with the view. Search beams streamed heavenward like Bat signals from the heliport on top of the World Trade Center. Bright tail-lights formed giant red snakes as traffic zipped across the Brooklyn Bridge and then up the FDR Drive. Strands of white and yellow bulbs hung from the masts on the tall ships docked at the South Street Seaport. Manhattan looked more like a floating carnival than the crime capital of the world.
    The sounds of waves and laughter drew my attention to the Booze Cruise churning up the East River. Drunk passengers danced on deck to a mariachi band. Above the tinkling of glasses and the tickling of guitars, I heard the high-pitched squeal of a woman being pinched on the ass. She didn’t seem to mind. After the boat chugalugged by, I returned my complete attention to the couple I’d been tailing. They held hands while leaning on the railing and pointinglike dorks at the Chrysler Building and the Empire State. The smells of sex and Brooklyn Queens Expressway exhaust filled the air.
    I took a hearty whiff and hid behind one of those owl-faced binocular machines otherwise found on the tip of the Grand Canyon. My luscious red curls were tucked into a black beret that made my ears look big. I wore a black jacket (lightweight, mid-length), black knee-highs pulled up to my thigh, but not quite reaching the bottom of my black bike shorts. I’d never worn the black tank top without a bra before. I made a mental note to unpack my underwear box. I felt a wave of self-consciousness, and pulled the jacket over my chest. The whole outfit was the result of my lazy unpacking practices. But the idea was not to dress like myself. Ordinarily, I’d never look like such a geek.
    I put a quarter in the owl-head, and turned the viewfinder toward the couple. He looked rugged-yet-sensitive in jeans and a Marlboro T-shirt. Not the kind of guy who’d ever fantasize about what life would be like on the wrong side of the law, but I was sure he had something of an indecent heart, at least when in the sack. He had long red hair, sparkly green eyes, good bones and big muscles. And tall—have I mentioned tall? Attractive though he may be, she was the one I wanted to examine closely. Her aerobics instructor body was not hidden in floral leggings and an orange tit shirt. I was happy to note that my breasts were significantly larger. But so was my ass. An overworked soulfulness filled her brown eyes. She clearly wanted something, a favor. Money. Sex, maybe. When the breeze blew off the river below, long strands of yellow hair swept across her throat like a com silk broom. The man, Max, my boyfriend, said something to make her laugh. The woman, Leeza, Max’s ex-girlfriend, cupped her hand shyly over her mouth like she was self-conscious of her breath.
    In an effort not to be too conspicuous, I scanned the rest of the Promenade. Another couple sat on a bench farther down the strip, smoking cigarettes and talking eagerly about something political no doubt. As soon as I saw the smoke, I desperately craved one. A few joggers blurred by and I made myself think about lung cancer. An old man with a white beard had climbed over the fence to the municipal playground. He pissed in the sandbox and went over to nap on the slide. I turned back toward Leeza, the aerobics goddess. Her back was to me now.
    I kept the line on Max’s face. He seemed uncomfortable, which made me happy. Leeza started waving her hands around, impassioned, making a point. He tried to calm her down and put his hands on her shoulders. She took the opportunity to slide her arms around his neck. My heart sank to my ankles as their heads inched toward each other. I heard a click. The viewfinder went black. And me, fresh out of quarters.
    I peered over the top of the binocular machine. They were walking again, this time toward me. They were still hand in hand. Damn, I cursed. I missed it. I turned toward the railing to avoid being noticed. They seemed to be pretty distracted by each other, so I felt enraged, but safe. Inches from me now, I’d practically leaned all the way over the railing so my head was completely in the shadows. When I turned to check if they’d passed by, a dust swirl from a speeding eighteen-wheeler on the BQE (which runs directly below the Promenade), blew the beret off my head. It floated