by Anita Notaro
‘Girl talk.’ She tugged at his T-shirt and dragged him close until their faces were only inches apart. ‘She’s nice. She came over thinking I was someone else.’
‘Oh?’
‘Someone called Linda. Is there something you’re not telling me?’ Laughing, she poked him in the ribs, feeling tipsy.
‘Ah, Linda, now there’s a story.’ He leaned over and kissed her full on.
‘Thanks for bringing me. I’m having a great time.’
‘I could eat you instead of dinner, you know.’
‘With or without salt?’
They kissed again; it was one of those light easy ones that suddenly turns serious and Annie was sorry when someone called them to tell them food was being served.
The evening wore on and everybody mellowed. Some couples danced and some smooched and some smoked dope, while others sat around and talked and laughed. Any lingering warmth from the watery sun disappeared rapidly once darkness fell, so the patio heaters were turned on. Most of the revellers had given up and moved inside, although the doors remained open as a gesture to the few hardy bodies left.
Annie and Marc sat under a spreading orange glow. They snogged until someone came and dragged them indoors for dessert, which they were already enjoying. Later, Annie saw him talking earnestly to Audrey and she watched him with a sense of ownership.
When the time came to leave Annie realized that they were both quite drunk. Marc abandoned his car and they grabbed a cab, and kissed passionately for most of the journey. Annie felt like a teenager as she adjusted her clothing when they pulled up outside her house.
‘Next time, no alcohol for either of us. It gets in the way of things. Deal?’ he asked as he walked her to the door.
‘Deal.’ Her heart was beating at twice its normal speed, knowing what he meant. ‘When will I see you?’ she asked, the drink giving her courage.
‘What nights are you off?’
‘Tuesday and Sunday.’
‘Tuesday it is. I’ll ring you tomorrow to make arrangements.
‘Sleep tight.’
‘I’ll be thinking of Tuesday. I won’t be able to sleep.’
‘You’d better. You’ll need all your energy.’ She could feel herself blush as she said it, but she didn’t care.
One last passionate kiss and he was gone, smiling back over his shoulder as the taxi pulled away.
Chapter Twenty-Five
TUESDAY COULDN’T COME fast enough for Annie, although she really needed Monday to recover from the worst hangover she’d ever had. Work was hell, the smells from the kitchen made her nauseous and her head was killing her, despite half a packet of fizzy tablets that failed to live up to their claim.
Marc had rung as promised this time and when he suggested coming over to her place and bringing some Chinese food, she doubted they’d get around to eating it. Luckily, she slept soundly on Monday night and woke feeling fresh and tingly and nervous about the evening ahead. She cleaned the house again and changed the sheets, then she sprayed Febreze over everything and stuck air fresheners in all the rooms, so that the whole place smelt like a cheap hotel toilet.
In the local garage she bought flowers, popcorn and biscuits and threw in a bottle of not very convincing wine for good measure. Despite the deal with Marc she felt she might need at least one glass, for although she was high as a kite she was also nervous as a kitten.
Once again she wished for a much-needed bath, but settled on a long, weak shower then covered herself in the latest Intensive Care Body Lotion. She shaved and plucked and painted and put on her cheap sexy underwear and felt like a virgin. It had been so long that she was almost one anyway and she hugged herself in delicious anticipation as she played music before giving in and pouring herself a glass of wine. She’d had as much to drink since she met Marc as she’d had in the previous ten years, but it was a pleasant feeling as it hit the spot on an empty tummy. She contented herself with small invalid-like sips. There was no way she was getting drunk and missing a second of tonight.
She dressed in a pair of tight, plastic trousers that looked like leather and made her bum look round and sexy, then panicked and put on a long-sleeved jumper so it didn’t look as if she was trying too hard.
By the time she heard the knock-knock she’d convinced herself that Marc wasn’t coming. Her heart pounded as she let him in.
‘Dinner, madam.’
‘Smells gorgeous.’ She could barely look at him, afraid her face gave everything away.
‘So do you.’ He kissed her, but only lightly, and followed her inside. ‘Where’s the candlelit table?’
She was flustered: she’d been so sure he wouldn’t be interested in food.
‘Two minutes.’ She ran into the kitchen, grabbed plates and cutlery and kitchen towel to use as napkins, and reappeared almost immediately, with some matches in her mouth. He laughed.
‘Are you sure you’re not lying when you tell me you work in a restaurant, or do you always greet your customers like that?’
‘Only the important ones,’ she murmured through gritted teeth as she laid the coffee table in front of the fire and lit the candles she’d carefully placed ‘casually’ around the room. The fire was lighting and it looked cosy and much less ordinary than it did in daylight.
‘Want to watch the show?’ was not what she’d expected to hear.
‘I’d love to,’ was not what she’d expected to say back.
So they sat in the easy warmth of firelight and had their candlelight dinner and he roared with laughter as she gingerly produced the wine, but agreed to ‘one glass only’. Annie didn’t admit to already having had half a glass earlier. It was cosy and intimate and the best bit so far was being part of his world as they watched the programme. They exchanged stories; Marc was in several scenes, and she was so full of praise that he looked pleased. Afterwards he amused her by telling tales of catastrophes on set and she felt happy and said a quick but fervent prayer for it to continue.
They talked about the show and their careers for a long time. She was laughing at yet another of his stories, which she suspected were more than slightly exaggerated, when he caught her unawares by leaning over and kissing her fully open mouth, covering her lips with his and stifling her giggles.
In an instant the atmosphere changed and he pulled her to him and their kisses deepened.
‘I want you to sit on me like you did the other night in the car.’
Without a word she did as he asked. Even through the fake leather and her underwear and his clothes she could still feel him.
He moved his hands all over her body, caressing her soft round bottom and eventually settling on the waistband of her trousers, running his finger along her waist until she was trembling with pleasure. She didn’t know whether he was going up or down with his fingers and she wanted both. Slowly Marc unzipped her but did nothing else, just looked at the silky white lace thong, then ran his hands up her back and slid them around to her breasts. Cupping them, he stroked her nipples through the thin material. She knelt up so that her breasts were level with his mouth, but he declined her offer and simply continued to stroke them. His teasing worked. She was very aroused and had to stop herself from burying his head in her tits.
After a while he lifted up her jumper and she closed her eyes in pain as he slipped his hands underneath the satin and found what he was looking for. She pulled off the sweater herself when she could stand it no longer, amazed at her own desire, and he gave in very slowly to her unspoken demand that he kiss her nipples. When he did it was the most exquisite torture. As soon as he took his mouth away she tried to push him back again but he smiled lazily, as if knowing the effect he was having on her. He eased her off him, stretched her out on the couch and slowly undressed her, peeling the trousers from her overheated body. Annie could almost smell the burning rubber and when he removed her thong she was on fire anyway. He removed his clothes slowly, all the time watching her, and she was too aroused to be embarrassed.
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nbsp; Quickly, he bent over her and kissed her hard and slipped inside her expertly and she was surprised at the intensity of the sensation it evoked. She desperately wanted to come and yet didn’t want it to end.
‘You are gorgeous and I want to fuck you so much.’
He looked down at her with half-closed, darkened eyes and she arched her back so that she could feel him deeper inside. He shuddered and she gave a little groan.
‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Just don’t stop.’
‘Well, I might have to, otherwise it could all get too much for me.’ He eased his penis out and paused to look down at her, then he plunged right back in again and she shuddered and he leaned over and cupped her breast in his hand and ran his fingers over her nipple, then he licked and teased and all the while she tried to push him deeper inside her.
‘I think I’m going to have to give you what you want. I don’t think I can wait much longer.’ His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily.
‘You will use a condom?’ It went straight from her head to her mouth and she was afraid that she’d spoilt the moment.
He looked annoyed for a fraction of a second and then she was sure she’d imagined it as he took a sachet from his trousers on the floor and gently eased the rubber over his penis, all the while watching her. She closed her eyes because it was so intimate, then writhed as he plunged back inside her.
She thought she might not be able to concentrate, afraid in case he was angry with her, but he kissed her hard and played with her breasts and within seconds they were like melons and she was breathing heavily again and so was he. They came together and he kept up the thrusting until she screamed and released years of pent-up frustration that had never managed to escape even when she masturbated.
‘Was it OK for you?’
She nodded. ‘You?’
‘Oh yes. That was fantastic, although you sure can pick your moments.’ She knew he was referring to the condom incident and she wanted to ask him about it but couldn’t find the right words. He kissed her again and they lay together, with him still inside her, until his erection subsided.
‘That was painful.’ He stroked her stomach.
‘In that case you won’t want to do it again later.’ She was teasing him and he smacked her bottom playfully.
‘Don’t get smart with me or I’ll make you pay.’ He sat up and tidied himself and she did the same, feeling a bit vulnerable and embarrassed. Why were the moments afterwards always so awkward in the early stages, she wondered, reaching for her glass just to give herself something to do with her hands, now that they weren’t exploring his body.
As they talked and joked some of the old ease returned and he put his arm around her and pulled her close to him.
‘I suppose I should be making tracks soon.’
‘Oh, I eh, thought you might stay.’ It sounded insecure and possessive, she thought, mentally kicking herself.
‘I’d love to.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘But I’d better not. A huge bundle of scripts came in the door this morning and I really have to get on top of them tomorrow. I’m working on Thursday and then in again on Saturday for rehearsals and I’m way behind in the story.’
‘No problem. I need a good night’s sleep anyway.’ She was a bit disappointed.
‘What are you up to for the rest of the week?’
‘Working most nights.’ It sounded deadly boring and she tried to cover. ‘I’ve got a few people to meet though, about some work in theatre.’ She had an informal cup of coffee half arranged for Thursday with a production manager, an old acquaintance really, so it wasn’t wholly a lie, she reasoned.
‘Sounds great. And hopefully you’ll hear from Max any day now.’
She couldn’t tell him how much she was banking on it, it would make her seem way too desperate.
‘I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens there.’
‘When are your episodes on, by the way?’
‘Next week, I think.’
‘Maybe we could watch your first one together?’
She sincerely hoped she’d see him before then, but wasn’t about to ask, no matter how much she wanted to have another date nailed before he left.
‘I’ll call you later in the week.’ Marc drained his glass and put paid to her current round of hopes and dreams.
‘That’d be nice,’ was the best she could muster.
She watched with just a hint of despair as he finished dressing. Stop being such a drag, she chided herself. It was so typical of her insecurity: just when she should be basking in the afterglow of perfect sex, she was already wondering if he was tired of her. What was it about some women that they constantly did this to themselves? She made a determined effort to tease him and look happy and by the time he’d left she was sure that everything was fine between them.
They were now a real couple, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
TIME WAS PASSING slowly for Libby. It would have been easier if she’d been working, in some ways. Idle days meant too much time to think, and thinking led to tears and despair and comfort eating and liquid tranquillizers. She spent as little time as possible in the office. Seeing them all reminded her of the new series and she was now more convinced than ever that it was going to be a disaster. She was bolshy on the phone and insisted they fax or courier over papers. More often than not she didn’t answer her mobile. She knew she was taking out her worry about the business and general unhappiness on her work, but she needed an outlet.
‘She’s impossible,’ was the general consensus in the production office, even if they all felt guilty for thinking it. But they’d had enough of her constant rudeness and the way she barked instructions at whoever happened to answer the phone. The combination of Libby Marlowe and a series that some of them were secretly doubtful about was beginning to take its toll and Jeremy called a meeting one day in an effort to quash the barely simmering rebellion.
‘We’re really trying hard, Jeremy, honestly.’
‘She hates all the recipes.’
‘And the clothes.’
‘We can’t get any answers to our queries.’
‘She isn’t returning calls.’
‘My deadlines are fast approaching.’
‘She doesn’t like any of the links, but won’t give me any feedback.’
On and on it went and the producer knew the frustration had been building for weeks. But he also knew he had to defend her.
‘Look, I appreciate what you’re all saying, but for fuck’s sake guys, the woman has just lost her husband in the cruellest way possible. He went out to dinner and never came home. How do you expect her to be?’
‘We should have postponed, or got someone else,’ one of the researchers, who’d been on the receiving end of yet another tongue-lashing that morning, murmured sullenly.
‘Well, that’s not an option now and we all have to do what we can to make it as easy as possible for her, and us, to get through the rest of the series.’ Jeremy would not bad-mouth one of their most high-profile presenters: these things had a way of getting back to people. Dublin was just too small and the industry was incestuous.
‘Here’s what I’m proposing. Everyone give Rosa a list of queries they need answers to. I’ll arrange a meeting with Libby and people can be at the other end of a phone line in case I need clarification. I’ll go out to her house, if she’ll buy it – that way she might be more relaxed. Meanwhile, I’d be very grateful if there was no more bitching. Let’s just try to get through this and then I’ll take you all out for a good night, OK?’
They liked Jeremy and that was the only reason he got away with it. Everyone had had enough.
‘I may have to buy some more clothes. Some of the ones I’ve already altered will be a bit tight, I suspect, and I really don’t want her trying on anything that’s going to upset her further.’ Eileen Waters blushed, knowing she had to let them know, yet feeling disloyal to Libby, whom she liked.
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bsp; ‘Fine, do whatever you have to. Just talk to Phil about budget, we don’t have a huge amount left to play with.’ He knew he’d have to discuss the whole money thing again with Leo Morgan, but the older man had warned him to keep Libby happy. This was turning into his worst nightmare but he had to be very careful not to communicate his fears to the team or he knew the whole thing would unravel.
Later that day he rang Libby and tried to arrange a meeting. It was clear from her voice that she didn’t want anyone to come to the house, which was fair enough.
‘We have a few queries, nothing much.’ He had a list as long as his arm and he was already mentally crossing several of them off as he spoke.
‘I’ll call in on Friday late afternoon.’ Libby wanted to end the discussion.
‘Fine, thanks.’ He was relieved.
She hung up without a goodbye and wandered around the house and ended up in the kitchen as usual. Taking a plate of food to her desk, she began to sort through the latest pile that had been couriered over from her office. Most of the letters reached the wastepaper basket in record time, but one caused her heart to race.
It was from that awful woman who’d tried to accost her outside reception a while back. How dare she get in contact with her again? She scanned the contents and was just about to pick up the phone to complain to security once more when her eyes caught sight of the word ‘husband’. Libby hung up and started to read the letter again, properly this time.
Annie was in the throes of a classic post-sex dilemma. The old warning about men not respecting you came back to haunt her, even though she knew it was a load of rubbish. A phone call would have helped greatly. She hovered around the house and practised the casual conversation she’d have with Marc if she ever plucked up the courage to ring him and end her misery.
‘Hi, it’s me.’ Way too casual – what if he didn’t have a clue who me was?
‘Hello, it’s Annie, just wondered if you fancied a pint at the weekend?’ Too contrived.
‘Marc, it’s Annie Weller. Did you lose some money at my house the other night by any chance?’ Wouldn’t fool a simpleton, even.
