by Peter Marks
‘Nathan you’re drunk,’ she realised.
‘And you’re wonderful..’
‘And you’re whacked..’
‘Probably....but that doesn’t alter the facts.’
‘The fact is you’re pissed and I’m still sober, so be a good boy and get me a drink will you..’ It was more of an order than a request. He hated being patronised but he didn’t want to displease her (mainly because she’d refuse to give him a head job later if he didn’t start seriously suck up to her) so he took the cup she handed him and was about to go in search of the nearest vat when she grabbed him.
‘Nat...’
‘What?’ He growled annoyedly before Kelly smothered him, burying her glazed lips on his prickly cheek, hugging him tightly, whispering in his ear that she thought he was pretty special too. Wright knew better but he felt she had every right to her opinion. He didn’t argue and instead he let his lips do the debating until she sent him on his way.
Watching him stagger off, Kelly tried figure out just what the attraction was. She couldn’t decide if she truly loved him or whether she was merely infatuated with him.
She knew which-ever it was, she certainly should have been less confused than she was.
________________
It was 2.30 am. It was now a dark Sunday morning and it was still raining. Bundled in the front seat of the car, his two cold hands held over the spouting vents of the dash in the hunt for heat, Nathan was pleased to be on the way home at last. Relaxed, he lay a weary headache on the high tan headrest and snuggled close to Kelly as she threaded her way past the drunks and the car thieves who were about the only others sharing the lonely morning road with Wright and Kelly. And her swearing and swerving.
Almost asleep, but awake to the promise of sex then sleep, Nathan contented himself for the moment with holding her warm hand. Wright was receptive and amorous and hormone aware of the potent lure of the female flesh that was driving him home. To bed.
Leering drunkenly, he watched her cute posterior casually caress the seat beside him. As they stopped at the lights, he realised how randy he was. How much he was looking forward to some sweaty gyrations on the trampoline mattress before sleep overtook them.
Kelly soon cancelled any hopes he had of such early morning gymnastics.
When the lights turned green, Kelly saw red. Turning to the drunk next to her, she told Nathan she wasn’t impressed with him or his behaviour, saying that she was weary of being embarrassed by him. Eyes ahead, deciding she was angry with him, she said that next time she’d date a primate who’d surely prove more socially acceptable - so Wright suggested she date a chimpanzee. So Kelly threatened to bend his banana. So Wright threatened to peel her, grabbing for the front of her dress. He grew sullen and sulked when she slapped him away, informing him that his demeanour was infantile, his attitude juvenile and that he had the mental age of her brother (who was three).
To prove her wrong and prove his maturity, Wright shoved his thumb in his mouth and sucked it hungrily.
Chapter Fourteen
AMAZING GRACE
SMALL BUT FAMOUS, nurtured by the Mediterranean, the island swam eerily in the crisp afternoon heat.
Nestled coyly on the western shore of this always summer place, a hidden beach of white powder sand wedged tight between fractured planes of sculptured granite. On the barren hills beyond, stuck like moss to tree, weather tough scrub dotted the brown bare landscape.
Interrupting the erosion, separating land from beach, there was a line of bushes thick, dry and destitute growing gnarled from dust soil. Almost invisible, perched static between calm sea and cinema blue sky, mainland Greece appeared as a mere fleck on a summer horizon.
Basking under the flare sun, lying naked on the soft sand, an expanse of eve pure paleness, a solitary figure, a young girl, was sunbathing.
Sabine was nineteen and not at home. She was French by kiss, unhappy by nature, and a shop assistant by unkind fate. She was on holidays from the grimy little shop on the Rue De Ville where she sold magic lotions to withered old women who thought beauty really was only skin deep.
Contentedly alone on the deserted beach listening to Athens FM on a small radio, she pictured Paris. Thought of the small room she occupied with her witch black cat Sheba and the treasured collection of James Dean memorabilia that clung as fan paper to the mildew damp walls. Of the grim weather and her lover Pierre who visited her in her comfortable bed.
Laid her, breathed fevered with her, whenever his wife was blind to his absence.
She remembered his odour, his touch, his urgency.
The memories were to delicious to ignore so she sent a vibrator finger between sunglazed legs in nostalgic reminder, toying and teasing in the slit darkness until the the clitoral wand grew blood rich and magic. Her legs spread, her breathing quickened, she heaved and shuddered until the wand wavered and the hot need vanished.
By her side, face down, a paperback romance was spread half read in the mattress sand by a faded straw bag she’d bought last year while holidaying in Spain that sat upright, as if on guard, and was packed tight with her workless necessities. The clothes, cosmetics, oils, food and drink.
Relaxed and revitalised by her week in the sun, she sighed, deliciously contented atop a large, brightly coloured beach towel the size of a bed sheet while behind her, unseen, the bushes rustled as an oddly dressed man brushed creeping by.
Echoing from a glass shore, cool waves, vigorous yet controlled, lapped rhythmically. Lifting her head from the soft towel she stared at a welcoming sky which was cloudless. Convivial.
Reaching into the fathom depths of the souvenir straw, she sought out the almost empty bottle of tanning lotion and gently, shielding long lashed eyes from a beach perfect sun, flipped the cap from the hot plastic and began anointing herself with deliberate, lazy strokes taking care not to miss any area of supple skin which, young, stretched taught over an inch perfect frame.
Successfully cloaked in the shield solution, her urgent urge now satisfied, she rolled leisurely onto a well tanned back. A languid nymph of glistening bronze, she was blissfully isolated from Paris and parents, and serene, propped on one elbow, her legs outstretched and bikinis discarded, she sipped an iced Campari from a tall glass through a pink ribbon straw. Deliciously, she drew the slick amber liquid between pouting lips that were glossed red, moistened by the slow sensuous caress of a long slender tongue.
Lying still, drinking slowly, her mind wandered.
She lay dreaming.
Closer now, from the scrub bushes and so still hidden from view, the parched leaves again moved imperceptibly as he crept on.
A relatively tall man (but short on all fours as he now was - creeping) dressed mad elegant in a baggy white suit, snuck unnoticed through the arid undergrowth toward the white beach. His face was intense and decisive as he crawled stealthily over the hot sand trying to avoid the prickles that, painfully persistent, reminded him what an unwelcome stranger he was.
Wrapped noose like around a thin neck, fitted over a high collared polo shirt, he wore a wide yellow tie embroidered garish with small green bowler hats down its flapping length. On feet socked in neon blue, red sandals gleamed in the glare of a benevolent Grecian afternoon.
Quietly, breathing stilled, he slid cautiously over the crystal sand which shifted lazily under each stealthy step.
Sin exhausted, pleasure gained, drink finished, Sabine rose and scampered innocently bare to the translucent sea. Cupping finely manicured hands, she collected translucent pools of the clear water, cooling herself with the salt dew by pouring the sparkling liquid over strong arms, then fantasy thighs, then pert breasts that tilted toward her fabulous face. Perspiring slightly, she dove gracefully into the shallow depths to calm the furnace flesh. A sweet mermaid memory, she slid fluidly through the scant waves, moving easily through the blue wetness.
The bushes parted. He ogled entranced as, like a goddess awakened, she
strode damp from the shimmering sea. Drying each porcelain curve with the rug towel, Sabine settled weary into the radiant sand.
Binoculars to bulging eyes, the bushes rustling with the slight disturbance, his attentions were focused immediately forward as he followed her every elegant movement in neat perversion, staring hungrily at her two full lavish breasts sliding enchantingly across a bronze chest.
Sabine reached for the paperback, her face shining like a polished mirror, brown and beckoning.
Lowering the binoculars toward her playful hips, he devoured the narrow darkness held shadowy and suggestive between the teasing thighs.
She looked up. Sent intense green eyes at a placid sky, watching the seagulls swoop and slide against the azure backdrop coating her vision. With a lazy flick of a Chanel fragrant wrist, she casually, deftly, swept aside an encroaching thicket of liquid blonde hair from a perfect face.
The light was intense. Searching the bag, she found her sunglasses and concealed the limestone orbs, deep and clear, behind the dark lenses.
The temptation was irresistible, she was irresistible, a quiet perfection soaking the golden rays that fell upon her like manna from heaven.
Sweeping out of the bushes toward her, Wright, shrieking undying love, pounced, falling on her like a man’a from hell.
________________
‘Nathan what are you doing to the cat, you pervert!’ a loud voice suddenly enquired, interrupting his pounce. And dissolving his daydream.
So cruelly replacing fantasy with reality that it almost gave him an acute myocardial infarction. Looking up, he let go of the cat, wished Sabine luck and, grasping an ailing heart, saw Kelly hovering. Overhead. And overly annoyed as grim faced she rhythmically tapped a stilettoed foot upon the meandering garden path, her confined but nimble toes dancing in dull warning on the cracked pavement, a concrete ribbon that joined the house to humanity.
Wright smiled innocently. Whispered to the cat: ‘Der fuehrer, now we’re in trouble...’
Rising to his feet, he confronted her.
‘Great expression Kel ...is it yours or did you rent it from an undertaker for the day?’
Kelly’s expression remained grim. She continued tapping.
‘I was just playing with it,’ he explained, furiously patting the cat, stroking it into a mindless purr.
‘You’re always playing with it,’ she said. ‘Damn wanker...’ she added coolly, casually adjusting the sweep of her gilt hair searching Wright’s eyes for any sign of resident intelligence. He gazed at her. Blankly.
‘I meant the cat!’ he added, defending his dishonour.
‘Copulating with it more likely,’ she said, accusingly.
‘Not while I’ve still got you,’ he reminded her, tossing teeth at her and wrapping himself amongst her arms before she could escape the advance. Or accuse him of pet-a-phelia.
________________
While he’d been busy creating Sabine, giving her a well deserved holiday and solo sex while dallying with the cat Kelly, unseen and unheard, had crept silently up the garden path (which was exactly where Wright would lead her anytime given half a chance).
Frowning, she’d stood grudgingly intrigued by the deviant display taking place in the middle of the front lawn.
With arms crossed, handbag at the ready, she’d waited to pounce if this cat cavorting went beyond the bounds of decency and had acted smartly when censorship demanded, suddenly intervening and becoming an unwanted referee.
And just when Wright was about to score Sabine.
________________
Kelly. Kelly Catherine Grace. “Amazing Grace” Wright called her and amazingly she bore a striking resemblance to the woman after whom she’d been named; namely Grace Kelly.
The story was that Kelly’s mum had wanted the best for her daughter so bequeathed this dreadful name to her in the forlorn hope that such a title would manifest for her daughter the similar fairy tale existence.
She’d wanted Kelly to marry a prince just like the real Grace Kelly had but so far, and so galling, her daughter had failed miserably to find royalty. (Had found only a frog her mother said. A lily pad loiterer who, no matter how many times Kelly kissed it, failed to mutate. Wright staunchly refused to become amphibious or, much to Kelly’s mothers perpetual chagrin, croak).
Kelly’s attributes were obvious. She was elegant, educated and well mannered. She was intelligent and attractive - beautiful even, stunning actually, a tall leggy blonde superficially superb.
So very demanding.
She could afford to be. Nagged Nathan with the confident aplomb of the truly sensuous for she was one those women who knew instinctively that there’d be other men just waiting to get at her if this one didn’t suffice. (Or refused to reform. Wright refused to reform so remained under sufferance).
________________
A coitus interruption, the front fence silhouetted her slender frame as Kelly stood tapping, deep blue eyes gazing alertly out from a cascading fringe. She was dressed in a grey woollen jersey which, oversized, draped squarely over the two padded shoulders. The collar of her white shirt was turned up and she wore a pair of grey tailored trousers which, form fitting and expensive, seemed laminated to her long shapely legs.
Resting calm , fastened there with a small silver clasp shaped as a bird in flight, she wore a necklace of cloudy white pearls which lay in a frosty semi-circle.across her gentling heaving chest.
On her threatening feet, Kelly wore shoes that were imported - made in Italia. Patent leather stilettos that were cape red with subtle touches of grey piping moulded about tailored edges.
She looked stunning.
She breathed slowly, deeply, the cue of pearls strung single file across her chest colliding gently as she tried to prize Wright from her neck. His lips kept coming. She kept her distance.
‘Come on Kelly, give me a kiss,’ he said, pointing to two suction sections that were puckered in thrilled anticipation.
With her hands firmly on shapely hips, she gazed at the man as one would a naughty boy and she knew he’d throw a tantrum just like one, if she didn’t. So she did.
She kissed him tenderly and was mildly surprised to find that she enjoyed it.
________________
She wasn’t happy. Kelly wore the new clothes and the expensive accessories she’d purchased yesterday in manic answer to her gloom not her narcissism. It was fabric and leather brought in a fit of American Express Anxiety because her life wasn’t as good or fulfiling as she imagined it should have been. It wasn’t like Dallas. Or Dynasty. Wasn’t at all like it was in the glossy magazines so she was becoming more and more disenchanted with the direction her life was taking.
Lately, she’d become savagely certain it was rudderless so she grew increasingly restless and unceasingly less happy. With life; with herself; with Nathan - so she brought material goods in a futile attempt to vanquish such anguished qualms.
Perhaps it was true, perhaps Nathan’s melancholic pessimism was catching. That she was now infected by it.
Kelly was confused and confounded but had no idea what to do about it so she hesitated and was lost. Did nothing. Found herself feeling lonelier and sadder than she should have, so began to blame Nathan for her emptiness.
Began remorselessly to build a case against Nathan deep in her subconscious and began to blame him for her dismay.
________________
She radiated rancour. ‘Why are you looking so glum?’ Wright enquired sincerely, having no idea he was responsible for so much of her distress. He gave her a hug then took her hand and led her toward the house past a silent Serepax who was sitting forlornly by the porch rather pissed off that the romp had been cut short by this blonde referee (who Wright, as he’d hoped, was currently leading up the garden path).
From the street a car screamed into the driveway and scared Serepax into the shrubbery. Wright whirled around to see the grinning face of Simon leering
at him from over the steering wheel of the old and well patched Holden Utility, its rear end overflowing with pipes, and cement and all sorts of unidentifiable machinery. The engine growled low as the car churned toward them.
Still grinning, Simon switched off the engine and fell out the door.
‘Nice try Stumbles,’ Wright laughed, letting go of Kelly to pick up a clod of dirt and then, raising a puny bicep, hurling the seedy missile at the horizontal hazard before it had a chance to regain its feet - or composure. Shambles continued stumbling.
‘Nathan, stop that!’ Kelly ordered.
‘No way... stop this Shambles,’ Nathan laughed, continuing to hurl dirt at an earthbound Simon.
‘Jerk....’ Simon stated brusquely, brushing the soil from his overalls, getting to his vast feet while Wright reached for a second sod. So Kelly kicked him.
Then he stopped reaching to start hopping.
________________
In an often futile attempt to control the child Wright, his girlfriends (past and present) had one consistent characteristic. They kicked. Or punched. Or generally made chisel assaults on the various parts of his aging anatomy. Knowing they couldn’t compete verbally, they got physical instead, showing him how superior they were by beating the crap out of him.
________________
‘Hello Simon, you’re looking well,’ Kelly said, giving him a warm hug and a familiar peck on the cheek when he’d finally found his feet. Then found his face flushing dye red looking well and truly embarrassed by such affection.
Simon knew that Kelly was more demonstrative than his wife (Wright knew dead relatives who were more demonstrative than Simon’s wife) so he was continually embarrassed by such greetings - when some-one made it obvious they liked him (which Simon’s wife never did).
Simon, although he blanched regularly at her uninhibited welcomes, adored this about her. He knew he’d have to get his spouse pissed, drugged and bribed before she’d show anywhere near this much affection. He also knew Kelly was better looking than his wife. And sexier. (Famine was sexier than Simon’s wife Wright often slandered).
