The apartment had its advantages, but amenities weren't among them. "Air conditioning? Forget it. With all the old wiring in this building, it'd probably start half a dozen fires."
"But the nights are too damn hot for sleeping, even with all the windows wide open and three box fans running full tilt."
"You'll get used to it."
Jack lay on an old mattress on the tarpaper roof -- under the stars and with the night breeze to cool him. There were footsteps behind him.
"*What? Who is it?*"
"Not to worry, young fellow. I am not going to rape you. I heard noises up here and wanted to make certain everything was in order." The voice had a slight, lilting accent. Swedish?
It was a woman, a gray-haired woman. She must have been in her fifties, at least. She squatted down at his side.
"Lived in this neighborhood since I was a girl. Never thought I would see unrenovated tenement apartments rent for such ridiculous money. It is crazy."
"Have I seen you before, lady? I moved into 21A last week and I hardly know anyone around here."
"Just down the hall from you. 29B. You know, had I children, they would all be older than you now."
Her hand was resting on his thigh. They sat in silence. The moon had risen.
"Sometimes I wish I could step off the edge over there and just float like a leaf to the bottom."
"A poetic image, lady."
She looked down into his eyes and smiled sadly. "It is much too late for poetry."
She stood up and walked away. At the parapet, a low ceramic tile-topped wall circling the edge of the roof, she stopped. "It has been a long time since I have had a man," she said.
He looked up. She was bending forward over the top of the parapet. The hem of her skirt was flipped up over her waist in back. Her bare buttocks were gleaming in the moonlight.
"You do not have to do this," she said.
She was warm and moist inside. He held on to her hips and moved forward and back in a slow, measured rhythm. She reached backward to grab his hand and pulled it around her breasts. They were soft and yielding. When he had finished, she manipulated herself until her eyes clenched shut and she gasped.
"You were a virgin, correct?"
"How did you know?"
She smiled.
No one was answering in 29B. Jack had a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand. Gray morning light was filtering through the dirty hall windows.
"What're you pounding on that door for?"
It was the building manager.
"I'd like to show my appreciation to the lady who lives there. She's been very helpful."
"You're kidding. Nobody's lived in that apartment for months. Can't keep it rented, even with the housing shortage in this damn town. Tenants always move out after the first week or two. Claim the place is haunted."
"Haunted? What do you mean? And what about the lady I'm looking for? Gray hair, maybe 50, round face, full figure. Has kind of a foreign accent."
"You're pulling my leg, Jack. If you know about the woman, then you've already heard the story."
"Story? What story? I'm new here, remember?"
"All right, all right. I'll start from the beginning.
"Round about thirty years back, way before my time, there was this dame who lived right here, in 29B. Nice, respectable lady -- everybody thought she worked in an office uptown. Karina van der Hals, her name was. Came over as a girl with her parents from Holland.
"So she takes up with a boyfriend. Young kid, maybe half her age. They were going at it hot and heavy for a while, and the guy starts cheating on her with another woman. She goes crazy and cuts his throad in a fit of jealousy. Then she ups and jumps off the roof, the roof of this here building.
"You see, Jack, she's a kind of legend around here. The Flying Dutchwoman they call her. Yeah, sure, flying -- then splat. Every once in a while somebody says they see her wandering these halls here. Or up on the roof. Or inside that damned apartment. Sure wish I could rent the place."
"But I saw her, I tell you. She talked to me and -- "
"Better lay off whatever it is you're smoking, fella. Other guys seen her too. Only thing is, if they see too much of her, funny things start to happen to 'em. Like they end doing away with themselves. Dead, with their throats slashed. Just like her boyfriend."
"Maybe you're right. Must have been a case of mistaken identity."
"New York has some characters, don't it? Say, what's that mark on your throat, Jack?"
"Must have cut myself shaving this morning."