Genuine Lies

the fridge, he’d be able to admire his body when he passed the mirror. He was damn proud of his build, and had a particular fondness for his penis—which he’d been told by a number of lucky females was a sight to behold.
    All in all, Lyle was satisfied with his life. He got to drive the big bitching limo for a movie star. Maybe Eve Benedict wasn’t Michelle Pfeiffer or Kim Basinger, but for an old broad, she was put together fine. In fact, Lyle would have been willing to share his amazing, world-renowned penis with her. But the lady was strictly business.
    Still, he had it pretty good. His apartment over the garage was bigger and better than the dump in Bakersfield where he’d spend his childhood and dissatisfied adolescence. He had a microwave, cable TV, and someone to change the sheets and dig the place out once a week.
    The snotty little maid, CeeCee, had turned down a trip to paradise on those nice fresh sheets. Didn’t know what she was missing. Her loss was someone else’s gain as far as Lyle was concerned. He’d been able to talk plenty of other, more friendly, ladies into his bed.
    Still, it pissed him off that she’d threatened to go to Miss B. if he’d copped another feel.
    Lyle settled on MTV, and since he was bored brainless, decided to get up and sneak a joint out of his stash. He had his ten neatly rolled buddies wrapped in plastic and hidden in a box of Quaker Oats. Miss B. had a strict policy on drugs. Youuse, you lose. She didn’t mean just the hard stuff either, and had made that perfectly clear when she’d hired him.
    Since the night was mild, he decided to do one better. Pulling on a pair of sweats, he gathered up the beer, the joint, and a pair of binoculars. At the last minute he turned the sound on the TV up so he could hear it on the roof.
    With the binoks slung around his neck, the joint clamped in his mouth, and the beer hooked in two fingers, he made the climb easily enough.
    Settled on his perch, he lit up. From there he could see most of the estate. Overhead was a canopy of stars and a sliver of moon. The mild breeze carried the mixture of scents from the garden, and the summery tang of grass mown by the gardener just that afternoon.
    The old girl lived high, and he respected that. She had it all—the pool, the tennis courts, all the fancy trees. Lyle had fond memories of the putting green Miss B. no longer had any interest in. He’d snuck a waitress onto the estate one eventful evening and had fucked her brains out on the cool, clipped grass. What had she said her name was? he wondered as he held marijuana smoke in his lungs. Terri, Sherri? Shit, whatever it had been, she’d had a mouth like a suction cup. Maybe he should look her up again.
    Idly, he swiveled the binoculars toward the guest house. Now, that was one fine piece of work in there. Real quality. Too bad that cute little ass of hers was so tight. She was cold as a witch’s tit too.
    And careful. He hadn’t once been able to catch her doing anything interesting with the shades up. He’d been able to spot her going past a lighted window, bundled in a robe, or covered in a baggy sweatshirt. But when she undressed, down came the shades. Since Lyle had been playing peek-a-boo for weeks, he was wondering if Miss Julia Summers ever took off her clothes at all.
    Now, Miss B. wasn’t so particular. Lyle had seen her strip down to the skin before, and he’d be the first to compliment her on how well preserved she was.
    Tonight there were lights on in the guest house. A guycould hope. Anyway, Lyle was looking at this Peeping Tom business as a job. A man in his position, with his ambitions, could always use some extra cash. Maybe if Julia had been friendlier he would have turned down the proposition that he spy on her. He laughed to himself as he began to cruise on the combo of Bud and grass. And maybe not. The pay was good; the work was a breeze.
    All he had to do was pass along the comings and goings in the guest house, write down Julia’s routine, and keep a record of her outside appointments. Even that wasn’t hard. The woman was so tied up in her kid, she never left the estate without leaving word where she’d be.
    Easy work. Good pay. What else could you ask for?
    Lyle perked up when her bedroom light came on. He caught a glimpse of her. She was still dressed in a sweater and slacks. She was pacing, distracted. Hope bloomed in horny Lyle’s chest. Maybe she was distracted enough to forget to close the