LONG, LEAN AND LETHAL

The shower scene . . .

The shower scene, oh, yes, it had been on his mind forever!

He loved film of all kinds, but most of all, he loved suspense-when the slightest look could signal fear, aggression.

Or terror.

He was a student par excellence of the genre. He knew the names of all the actors, the directors. He especially loved the 'master', the one man he considered to be the best of all time: Alfred Hitchcock.

He knew how the shower scene should be done. He had learned by studying the master. Angle by angle. Each movement of the camera. He had been so close to seeing it done right again… so close. There were so many times when he had known just how a similar scene should go.

Close . . . never quite there.

The original shower scene, as known by the move going public, had been made famous by Alfred Hitchcock's cinematic triumph in the celluloid murder of beautiful, young--not entirely innocent-Janet Leigh. Yes--as known to any who studied the art--it had been in the master's classic movie Psycho, a film now part of popular culture, taught in every film school, shown in every history about Hollywood., further exhibited in theme parks on both coasts.

Ah, yes . . . the shower scene, His favorite of all time.

Such genius.

Filmed in black and white, the classic scene had elicited a gripping terror unlike any awakened before. Taking a shower had never been the same. Following the original release of the movie, hundreds of thousands of women who lived alone or traveled on their own had been driven to taking cautious sponge baths-with the doors to their bathrooms open, their eyes peeled on the point of entry.

She stood in the shower. Just like Janet Leigh in the movie, she was a vulnerable beauty, a stunning young woman. She was tall, lithe, supple, both sensually lean and curved. Her hair, freshly washed, was darkened by the water to a deep blond; wet and clean, it gleamed down the length of her back. Eyes closed, she tilted her face to the spray of the water, and with her head thus thrown back, the length of her hair waved just over the curve of her buttocks.

The water pelted her, washing away all dirt, all guilt.

The shower curtain was nearly transparent. It enhanced each movement she made. To the beauty bathing, there was no sense of imminent danger. Just the feel of a cool shower on a hot day, cleansing water after the wear and tear of the road, a delicious feel, the simple goodness of being clean.

The killer moved closer.

The audience would know. An audience would want to shout out. Warn her.

If there was an audience.

Naturally, the killer wielded a knife. A knife was necessary for a shower scene. Death was not so simple, so sudden, so clean, with a knife. It glittered, even in shadow, catching what light could be found. It drew the eye, caused the heart to stop. It gave so much pain. . .and yet a hint of hope. If one could escape the blade . . . if the knife struck the wrong places ...

Then there was the sound of a knife. Yes, the sound itself was enough to create a sense of gnawing, nails-on-a-chalkboard terror.

There she was, so beautiful behind the transparent curtain. Head tilted, form perfect, lush. Like the Janet Leigh character, she wasn't at all innocent, But an audience would care. Because she was so vulnerable,

'Now!"

Was the whisper real? A director's softly spoken command. Did it hover on the air? All that could be heard was the pelting of the water. A good director knew exactly when the moment came to strike, when the knowing, and the anticipation had been drawn out just long enough ...

Did she know yet? Did she sense the coming danger?

The stalker moved in silence against that pounding spray of water.

Closer, closer . . . approaching the shower, the transparent curtain. The curtain that gave away so much of the beauty and vulnerability of the victim ...

Then suddenly, forcefully, the curtain was wrenched back.

Water, dripping down her body. Sleek, sensual.

The victim . . .

At last ... knowing.

She screamed as her eyes flew open and she spun toward the intruder. They were huge eyes, wide, the color deep and lustrous. They were purely beautiful, glorious, stunned, disbelieving, shocked.

Terrified!

Oh, yes, terrified!

She knew, of course.

Now, she knew.

Because she was aware of the shower scene. She knew, she had seen, and of course, anticipation was half of fear.

Anticipation...

And she saw...

The knife . . .

She screamed again. What could she do against the horror of the knife? The wicked blade, long and gleaming, held high over her head . . .

She screamed again, and again, and again.

After all ...

It was the ultimate shower scene.