The Man on the Balcony

Chapter 2-2

Austin wrapped his jacket tightly around him as he stood on his balcony, enjoying the cold air and the occasional brisk breeze which caused the snow to move almost sideways at times. He’d been cooped up indoors most of the day, doing edits on a manuscript from an author who was with one of the small, online publishing companies Austin freelanced for. He’d sent the edited manuscript back to her, hoping it wouldn’t take the lady forever to deal with the changes before returning it to him for his final read through. After putting his computer in sleep mode, since he had another manuscript to start on that evening, he’d made dinner.

If it were summer, I’d have eaten on the balcony, but it’s not. He brushed some snow off the railing, resting his gloved hands on it as he looked at the apartment building across the street. He didn’t consider himself a voyeur, far from it, but he did enjoy making up stories about the people he saw through the windows of their apartments.

The lady on the corner, hmm. Last week she had blue hair. Her husband had a cow, so now, she’s back to her natural, well, I suppose it’s natural, auburn. God only knows I would have blown a fuse, if I were him. He’d seen them arguing and had imagined her hair was why. Not that he’d ever find out.

His gaze moved past the next two windows, because their curtains were drawn. That led him to the window directly opposite him. I wonder what his story is. He rarely has any company, but when he does it’s the same man who, from what I can tell, spends the night, or a couple of nights sometimes. They’ve eaten dinner together, without the visitor leaving any time soon afterward. So, let’s see, fantasizing here, the visitor is his on-again, off-again lover. I have seen them kissing, more than once, when Mr. Cute forgot to close the drapes, so that works. Austin had tagged him as Mr. Cute because he was cute, but not handsome. In Austin’s opinion, he also didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d spend his time going to clubs—based on the fact that most nights he was home by six-thirty and didn’t leave again—that Austin had seen. And they ate breakfast together last time I saw the other guy there, before he took off. He tapped a finger on the railing. Let’s expand the scenario. The visitor lives out of town. No. He’s married and tells his wife he’s going out of town on business, then comes by Mr. Cute’s place instead. I feel sorry for Mr. Cute if that’s the case. Never hook up with a married man. They’ll promise the world, then go home to the wife after screwing the lover—literally and figuratively.

At the moment, Mr. Cute was staring at his dining table. Then, with a nod, he moved the chairs to the middle of the room, forming a semi-circle around the coffee table, facing the sofa and armchair. Don’t tell me he’s planning a party. Austin chuckled. Either that or a séance.

He shivered, realizing it was way too cold to keep standing on the balcony, and went back inside.