thirty-three to thirty-five.
I watched her cross the street, mount her lawn, then allow the dog a final piss. She lit another cigarette, took a couple of puffs, then, pulling at the dog, reentered the house.
Nothing happened for an hour. The sky darkened. I could see the flicker of TV sets through windows up and down the block. Finally a TV went on in the Amos house. I was getting pretty tired of sitting in my car, but decided to wait the situation out. My hope was that Kim would drive up just in time for dinner. If she did, I wasn't sure what I'd do. Probably nothing-but at least I'd know that she was there. I ended up waiting until 10:30 P.m. Very little happened. At 9:30 the woman came out again with the dog, waited just long enough for it to piss, then pulled it back inside the house. Lights went out in the downstairs rooms, and then finally in the bedroom on the second floor. I was hungry and tired, and everyone in the neighborhood seemed to be going to bed, so I found my way to Buckeye Road, then found a White Tower restaurant at the edge of a parking lot. I used the men's room, then ate alone at the counter, listening to the cook, thin and pasty-faced with bad skin and a broken nose, tell me how AA had saved his life.
I was exhausted when I arrived back at the Devora. The vacancy sign flashed vigorously on and off. My room smelled musty, and the air conditioning wasn't working as promised. I took a quick shower, crawled naked upon the upper sheet, then lay sweating in the hot night air asking myself what I was doing in this dreadful place.
I was back on the block at 7:00 A.M. It seemed a smart move to vary my routine, so I parked a little farther away this time, facing the house instead of setting myself up to watch it in the mirror. The woman emerged with her dog a little after nine, and this time I was able to see her face. She wasn't ugly, but wasn't handsome either. She had tough squat Slavic res that seemed to go with the tough tone she'd used with me on the phone. Still there was something attractive about her. I tried putting my finger on what it was. Perhaps it was 'presence.' She walked with confidence, like a woman at ease with herself. She was not at all sultry, nor in any other way did she resemble Kim. But still, in her moment of need, Kim had called her. I wanted to know why.
I also had the feeling she didn't care much for the dog. She handled it as if it were a nuisance. She always lit a cigarette when she exited the house. Then she stood taking deep draws while the dog took its pee, giving me the impression her thoughts were far away.
She came out again at 10:30, and this time she was dressed in a blouse and slacks. She seemed irritable as she gave the dog a quick perfunctory walk. Then she put it back in the house, shut the door, got into her car and drove off down the block.
No question in my mind that Kim wasn't living in the house, so there seemed little point in continuing to stake it out. When the woman left, I waited until she reached the corner. Then I started up and followed.
We drove for about ten minutes to a shopping mall not far from my motel.
She parked in the lot, walked to a building and entered a door between two shops. There was a big glass window on the second floor, and a sign that said SOUTH SIDE HEALTH CLUB. I parked, got out of my car, and walked to the door. It opened directly onto stairs that led up to the gym.
I went back to my car and repositioned it. I wanted to see what was happening on that upper floor. The light was perfect-the sun poured directly into the front part of the room. After a few minutes I saw Ms.
Amos, dressed in exercise clothes, working out on a Nautilus machine.
She must have done a standard Nautilus circuit, for she emerged, her hair wet from a shower, slightly more than an hour after she'd gone in.
She got back into her car and drove out of the mall. Again I waited, then followed.
This time the task was a little more difficult, for she turned onto a busy street, congested with buses and trucks. Soon we were out of the residential area, moving rapidly toward downtown Cleveland.
As I followed her I kept back as best I could: it would be better to lose her than have her recognize my car. But again I was fortunate.
When she drove into a parking lot on East Ninth, I found another lot directly across the street. The attendant at her lot greeted her like a regular customer. We both parked and emerged at the same time. She strode by me, then turned and started walking toward Euclid Avenue. I took off after her on foot.
She was walking fast, glancing occasionally at her watch, like a woman with an appointment to keep. It was nearly 12:30. The lunch-hour crowds, office workers and shoppers, thronged the broiling streets.
Catching up with her, trailing her by three strides, I could see that sweat now bound her blouse against her back.
She turned off Euclid, walked a block along a side street, then turned again onto a short sharply angled alley. There was a porno shop there, and, across and a little farther on, a lounge with a blue-and-white neon sign above the door that announced GIRLS'TOPLESS'GIRLS.
She paused outside the lounge, glanced at her watch, then took a final drag on her cigarette. Then she threw the butt on the sidewalk, crushed it with her heel, and entered.
I didn't want to follow her in, not until I knew if she was going to stay. I walked to the end of the block, turned, leaned against the building at the corner, and brought my Leica to my eye.
A deep shadow cast by an office building cut diagonally across the bend in the alley. I liked the composition; it was strong and architectural.
I took three shots, bracketing my exposures, then walked back toward the lounge.
Had she met someone there for lunch? The windows were blocked, I couldn't see inside, but it didn't look like a place that served food. I still had a problem about going in; if I ran into her face-to-face, a later approach could be difficult. I decided to wait inside the porno shop.
It was, I imagine, like most other sex shops around, not that I've visited all that many. Racks on the walls layed books and magazines, organized by proclivity. re was a small display of intimate items: dildoes, black silk panties, stuff like that. The cashier sat behind a register on a raised platform beside the door. Fat and bored, the butt of a dead cigar clenched between his teeth, he glanced at me, then turned his attention to a fish-eye security mirror mounted at the far end of the room.
There were half a dozen men in business suits breathing heavily, studying the merchandise. A black man wearing a coin apron stood before a darkened room in back. Behind him I could see a row of video booths.
Moans, issuing from the various sound tracks, merged into one miserable low-pitched sexual growl.
I walked back to the front of the store. I wanted to keep my eyes on the door to the lounge. I flipped through a couple of magazines. As always when I look at porn, I was struck by the poor quality of the photography.
The pictures said nothing, the models looked embarrassed, and their poses were awkward, as if the photographer had commanded them to freeze.
Occasionally I saw a pretty face, or an attempt to frame a scene, but there was always something wrong: the lighting was too harsh, the content too blatant, or there was no passion or feelhe shot. Porn is about skin, and yet, curiously, the ing in t skin in porn invariably looks bad.
I spent fifteen minutes in the store. Customers came and went, and several browsers moved to the video booths in back. Finally I went to the counter and looked up at the cashier. He slowly lowered his eyes.
'I'm from out of town,' I said.
'Do you have a local guide?'
'What kind of guide?'
'Guide to the action,' I said.
He rubbed his sleeve across his nose.
'Nothing like that here.' He looked at my camera.
'Like to take pictures? That what you like to do?'
'Yeah,' I said.
'I like to take pictures. Know where I can take a few?'
'Intimate poses?' I nodded.
'they got girls in the joint around the corner. They'll split their beavers for you, but they stay behind the glass.'
'What about that place across the street?' I asked.
He turned to look.
'Topless joint? So it's tittie you're after. Yeah, they probably let you shoot in there you tip lem well enough.'
At first, when I entered the lounge, I could barely see; the room was dark except for a small well-lit stage in
