While I continued to observe her, I noticed that she and David had begun to fight on and off, quite regularly. I’d heard the slamming of their door, and the sound of a car screeching away in a hurry. I looked out of the window to see David driving away. Minutes later I heard a knock at my door. I answered it to see Layla standing there wearing a long white summer dress with her hair flirting with her shoulders “Hey Layla” I said. She barged past me heading to my living room. “I know you’ve been watching me…” my heart sank into my stomach. “We both know. At first we thought it was kinda funny, the creepy older man from across the street wanking over the younger married woman.” “I haven’t” I said, but It was obvious I was lying. “Don’t. I’ve seen you. David just left me because of it. He wanted to go to the police and report you, but I told him not to.” “Why? I said. “I married a bore. His idea of good sex is both of us climaxing together. I’ve always been different. I thought if I. Thinking it might be valuable, I fold it carefully before recovering my clothes, and helping Wendy retie her pareo. She trembles with almost orgasmic intensity every time my fingers graze her skin. “Holy, shit!” she exclaims, as if coming out of a trance. “I came so hard I blacked out. Is that what happened?” “Pretty much,” I say. “Wasn’t there someone else? Someone watching.” “Yes. A French girl and her boyfriend. They took off toward the beach when you passed out. Quite rude of them. These are their tracks,” I explain, pointing to the footprints in the sand.” “A beautiful girl. I remember a beautiful girl with dark eyes. So dark...” “Maybe we can catch up with them,” I suggest, taking Wendy’s hand and following the tracks through the forest of coconut trees until we emerge onto the beach. The tracks lead across the white strand and down to the water’s edge. The French girl and her friend must have followed the tideline one way or the other, but the lapping waves have erased any.
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