It’s Three in the morning
And my client’s mistress hasn’t left
The diplomat’s 65th Street townhouse.
The blonde wisp entered at One.
The upstairs lights were extinguished at One-fifteen.
I stand in the alley.
The night wind is a little cold.
No complaints.
My job is mostly to watch someone else’s life.
Not a spy.
Just a private eye.
Five days ago a rich Wall Street banker
Entered my Chinatown office.
He asked me to tail his mistress.
From Dusk to Dawn.
While he was uptown
With his loving wife and two children.
The banker wanted to know.
Was she messing around?
And with whom?
His shoes cost more than I earned in a month, s
So I doubled my rate plus expenses.
He said okay asked, “How long?”
“I never know,”
His mistress was easy to follow.
Her passage on the street was marked by the snap of men’s heads.
The banker’s instincts were on the money.
The mistress had other men.
Thursday night, a Lower East Side artist.
Friday night, a young lawyer with a bad left leg.
Saturday night, a hometown athlete,
Whose name never hit the headlines.
On Sunday night she stayed home.
A West Village apartment.
The only man to enter was the Chinese deliveryman.
He delivered moo shu pork and left five minutes later.
Sunday was her day of rest.
Monday night I picked up her trail
After the banker kissed her goodnight.
Ten minutes later he called to ask,
“You learn anything?”
“Nothing.” I couldn’t see behind walls. “But soon.”
Twenty minutes later his mistress returned to her apartment on 65th Street
I wait outside praying it doesn’t rain.
Two hours later the front door opens.
The mistress exits.
She pulls a fur coat tight to her neck.
Her golden hair falls over the black.
I lean back into the shadows.
She crosses the street.
Heels click on the asphalt.
I smell her perfume on the night air.
She stops in front on me.
“Are you cold?”
I don’t lie.
I don’t speak.
I step onto the sidewalk.
“Care to join me for a drink?” She smiles knowing the answer. “We can’t go to my place, so why don’t we go to yours.”
My cellphone rings.
“Is that him?”
I nod yes.
She reaches into my pocket and shuts off the phone.
“My name is Sybille. You pay for the taxi.”
I nodded yes again.
Taxis are part of my expenses
And padding the bill is important in my job.
Not a spy.
Just a private eye.
foto by anthony scibelli 1978