What Lies Beneath Page #2

A TAN, SINEWY ARM encircles Claire's waist. She lets out a

small gasp as a hand closes on her breast. It's Claire's

husband, DR. NORMAN SPENCER, nibbling gently at her neck.

He's older than she, pushing fifty, with silver streaks

beginning to permeate the shaggy mop of hair that makes him

look more like a preppy rocker or a lacrosse coach than the

prominent academic that he is. Claire, however, can't take

her eyes off the scene below.

NORMAN:

They at it again?

Claire nods.

NORMAN:

Christ, that's twice in... When did

they move in?

CLAIRE:

I think three...

NORMAN:

Three weeks.

She continues to gaze downward. The man leans over the hood,

murmuring darkly at his wife, though for Claire and Norman

the scene is entirely silent.

CLAIRE:

What's their name?

NORMAN:

Feur, I think. Psych department.

Figures. They're all psychotic.

Outside, Mr. Feur turns and walks toward his house. Norman

begins, once again, to nuzzle Claire. Her eyes close, but

then she gently demurs.

CLAIRE:

She's awake.

NORMAN:

We'll be quiet. Quick and quiet.

She turns to him.

CLAIRE:

I don't want to be either.

He smiles. A really good smile. The lips and tongue on his

faded T-shirt mark him as a 'Stones fan.

NORMAN:

When's she out of here?

CLAIRE:

Norman Spencer.

Norman gives up. He busses her cheek.

NORMAN:

(moving toward the

stairs)

Alright. I can't take the rejection.

I'm going to class.

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