The Old Neighbor Who Spied on Me in the Shower

It took me a couple of days to come to terms with it, but in the end I stopped obsessing over whether Don Faustino had seen me naked. What really kept me awake was something else: the doubt about whether he’d also seen me with Diego. That was no longer a matter of luck or of downplaying it. My husband, on the other hand, took the whole thing with a calm that drove me mad.

For those who don’t know me, my name is Carla. I’m thirty-four, I’m five foot four, and, though I may be speaking immodestly, I know people look at me on the beach. That summer I was still hurt by Diego. I hadn’t been at all pleased to find out he was seeing another woman, and even less that he was sleeping with her after having been with me. As if I weren’t enough.

On Wednesday afternoon Rubén came in saying he’d made plans with Diego for Friday. Out of pride, I told him I didn’t feel like it, that I’d rather go out with the people from the group. It bothered him more than it bothered me, and that was saying something, because lately I’d been the one complaining about not seeing him. But it was all too fresh.

Just then a trip to the apartment on the beach came up. My parents had been called because the neighbor upstairs had a problem and caused a leak in their ceiling. We arranged for my mother, my aunt, and me to go Thursday morning, at the same time as the insurance assessor, and stay until Tuesday.

While I was packing, Rubén showed up with a tiny bikini and the dress Diego had given me for the holidays.

—How am I supposed to take this with my mother and my aunt there? —I said.

—So the neighbors can finally get a move on. They’re dying for it.

There he goes again with the neighbors. What an obsession of his.

—That bikini looks like the kind of thing a slut would wear from a mile away —I complained.

—Well, that’s what you are —he replied, laughing.— And I like it that way.

Rubén got turned on by showing me off. He liked imagining other people’s eyes on my body, talking to me about it, recording me. The dress was the same thing: the neckline would gape when I bent over, and the back was bare all the way down to the top of my ass. I left both pieces inside the suitcase without really knowing why.

***

We got to the apartment at noon. The stain on the ceiling was considerable and some things had gotten wet. My mother and my aunt went up right away to greet the neighbor upstairs, and I stayed behind calling Rubén to tell him we’d arrived safely.

—Why don’t you go up too? —he teased.— He’d be so happy to see you.

According to him, the two old men in the building were both after me. The one upstairs was seventy-two; Don Faustino, the one on the landing, was seventy-six. A short man, barely taller than me, stocky and potbellied, with enormous hands and thick fingers. At the beach he looked like an old teddy bear stuffed into a swimsuit that was too big for him. We’d known each other for fifteen years, and he kept a key to my parents’ apartment for emergencies.

—They flirt because they’ve known us all our lives —I told him.— That doesn’t mean they’re trying anything.

—Right. Enjoy the weekend, slut. I’m staying home watching videos of how dirty my wife is.

I hung up with that line echoing in my head. We went out to dinner because my mother refused to cook those days, and while we were at it we booked a restaurant we like for Friday.

***

The next morning I went down to the beach alone while they tidied the apartment. It was a gorgeous day. I put on the bikini —not the slut one, a more discreet one—, a loose cover-up, and left my towel near some neighbors so they could keep an eye on my things. I rubbed on sunscreen, put my cap on, and spent a long while turning myself over in the sun until I decided to get in the water.

When I came out, chatting with everyone, I noticed Don Faustino giving me a blatant once-over from head to toe. He didn’t miss a thing. And that despite the fact that on that beach there were women in thongs, some of them topless, much more exposed than I was. But the man only had eyes for me.

The phone rang. Rubén, of course.

—Are you alone? —he asked.

—With the neighbors from the landing, they just came down.

—Then Don Faustino must be living it up. With how slutty you are, I bet you’re showing him your tits.

—How am I supposed to go topless in front of half the building? —I laughed.

—That old man’s already seen even your soul. He’s always smoking in his patio, and you never quite close the bathroom window when you shower.

—Liar. I always close it.

But when I hung up, I got to thinking. The glass in that window wasn’t opaque: it was translucent white glass, and with the light on you could make something out. I only opened the window after finishing my shower, so the steam could get out while I dried off and put the bathroom away. Naked. And every time I opened it, I smelled Don Faustino’s cigarette smoke rising from his patio.

Fuck. Rubén the bastard was right.

I counted the times I’d gone out to the laundry room wearing nothing but a towel, or the mornings I’d left the dirty clothes down there with my hair still dripping, and he was always there, leaning on the low wall, cigarette in hand, like it was a coincidence. Fifteen years of cigarettes put to good use. The old bastard had seen me naked a thousand times and I hadn’t even realized it.

***

We went upstairs to change for lunch and I decided to check it out. I finished my shower, opened the window all the way, and as soon as I caught the smell of tobacco I did what I always did: dried myself slowly, tidied the bathroom, walked naked from one side to the other. This time knowing he was watching me. I didn’t turn my head toward the glass even once, but I felt his presence on the other side like heat at the nape of my neck.

It really pissed me off that Rubén was right, but I wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. And, no point denying it, it pissed me off even more to discover that I wasn’t as outraged by it as I should have been. When I went down to drop off the clothes in the laundry room, with the towel tied above my chest, Don Faustino was already leaning on his low wall.

—I see you’re getting ready already —he said, barely lifting his eyes.— Your mother told me you’re going to the paella place.

—Yes, we booked it last night —I replied, trying not to show anything.

—Good for you. Enjoy these days; they fly by.

Same as you, old man. You enjoy yourself too.

***

That afternoon I napped and then went back down to the beach alone. There was no one I knew there, so I took off my top to sunbathe. After a while I turned over and pulled the bottom of my bikini between my buttocks like it was a thong. I was comfortable, relaxed, until my mother and my aunt showed up and I had to rush to cover myself.

—Girl, what are you doing half naked? —my mother scolded me.— Aren’t you ashamed? If any neighbor sees you…

If only you knew, Mother. If only you knew how many men have already seen me completely because of your son-in-law.

My aunt, who always rescues me, brushed it off:

—Leave her be, woman, don’t be so old-fashioned. Half the beach is the same.

The three of us went for a swim and then headed upstairs to shower before dinner. I didn’t know what to do about Don Faustino. Another session? What really intrigued me was how he knew, from his patio, that the silhouette behind the glass was me and not my mother or my aunt. In the end I repeated the routine: shower, window wide open, a good long while walking naked around the bathroom. The smell of tobacco confirmed he was there. But when I went out to the laundry room, the patio was empty.

***

On Saturday we went shopping at a big mall in the neighboring city. I bought several things, among them a long dress with buttons down the front that left a generous neckline and tied at the neck, with my entire back bare down to the top of my ass. The neckline could be fastened with a little bow to make it more modest in front of my mother.

We got back around seven, tired from all the walking, and I told them I’d rather stay in the apartment and order something in. I called Rubén to tell him about the dress.

—I’m sure it looks filthy good on you for the old man —he shot back.— Be careful, old folks can get you pregnant too.

—Well, if he’s going to take care of giving me the sunscreen, we’ll have to make it up to him —I went along with the joke in a serious voice.

That set him off. He started calling me a whore, saying that with my mother there I was letting the neighbor grope me, that was why I hadn’t wanted him to come. The more worked up he got on the other end of the phone, the more I started to laugh.

—I showed Diego the holiday videos —he said then.— He’s dying to see some new ones.

—You showed him what? —my laughter stopped dead.

—You heard me. And I told him you brought the dress so the neighbors could enjoy themselves just like the old guys at the hotel.

I was stunned. The fact that he’d put that on display with Diego, with Diego of all people, after the other woman, churned me up inside. I hung up without denying anything about the neighbors, leaving him with his doubts, thinking about the best way to get back at him.

And then it came to me. It was easy, almost natural. I put on the new dress, with the neckline tie loose, nothing underneath, and started fussing around the kitchen making noise, leaving the window ajar. Waiting, heart racing, to hear the flick of Don Faustino’s lighter and the first curl of cigarette smoke rising from the patio.